The crew were lowering the boat from the slipway into the water. Perez would have been glad to help but the operation was over before he arrived at the jetty. Old school friends grinned up at him.
‘You arrived just in time then, Jimmy. Are you volunteering to come out with us tomorrow?’
They knew he suffered from seasickness if the water was very lumpy. More teasing. Had he always been the butt of their jokes? It wouldn’t have been because he was a Perez – here in Fair Isle that was a mark of honour – but because he was different, more thoughtful. They’d all been surprised when he said he wanted to join the police. It was the last thing they would have expected of him. He’d joined up for all the wrong reasons: not for car chases and action, or even a regular salary. He’d had a romantic notion of making things right.
‘The body of the murdered woman went out on the chopper,’ Perez said, smiling at them, because really there was no malice in the teasing. ‘No point me coming out with the boat. And you won’t have to deal with her.’
‘That wouldn’t have caused us any bother. It’s the living that make the fuss.’
Mary had made Perez sandwiches, enough to feed an army. He stepped onto the deck of the Shepherd and handed them round. His father was in the wheel-house and though he waved to Perez he didn’t come out to join them; even on the boat he kept himself apart. He was the skipper and they all knew it.
‘What did you make of Angela Moore?’ Perez leaned against the rail. The sun had come out again and he could feel the faint warmth on his face.
The young men looked at each other and then at James in the wheelhouse to make sure he couldn’t hear. The skipper disliked lewd jokes and bad language.
‘She knew how to have a laugh,’ one said. Careful. After all, Jimmy Perez was police, also his father’s son.
‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Tammy Jamieson was the youngest crew member, a clown, easy-going, generous. Not given to discretion. ‘She’d shag anything that moved. If he was fit enough.’
Then they were all jumping in with stories of Angela’s wildness, the flirting and the drinking. They’d been talking about her among themselves since they first heard of the murder. There was the day the cruise ship put in and she disappeared below deck with the head purser. The politician who’d flown in for an hour to speak to a meeting of the island council, and was still in the North Light two days later, and most of the time spent in her bed. ‘At least her husband was away that time.’
‘Has she ever had an affair with an island man?’ Perez asked.
Now they were careful again. They shuffled and giggled but they wouldn’t speak.
He pressed them: ‘There must have been rumours.’
‘Oh, you know this place. There are always rumours.’ And he could get no more out of them than that. It was already two o’clock and he had an appointment in the community hall with assistant warden Ben Catchpole. He might get Tammy on his own later. He might talk with a few beers inside him.
On the way south Perez thought about Angela. He hadn’t realized the reputation she’d gained on the island. His father would call her a scarlet woman. Perez had known her as a celebrity, someone the place was proud to acknowledge as a resident. This was another woman he couldn’t get a fix on. Sarah Fowler and Angela Moore: two unfathomable women. He was losing his grip. He thought maybe he should speak to Angela’s family. They had no record of her mother’s whereabouts, but there was a father, who’d brought her up. He lived on his own in Wales. The local police had informed him of Angela’s death but Perez had no information about how he’d taken it. He wished he could have been there when the constable had knocked at the father’s door, but what would he have asked? Was your daughter always a sexual predator? He made a mental note to track down the Welsh officer who’d notified Angela’s father of her murder.
Ben Catchpole was waiting for Perez outside the hall. Perez saw the tall figure as he walked from the road. It was playtime in the school and the children were playing in the yard; a couple of the girls were swinging a long rope for the others to jump over. Perez waved to the individuals that he recognized. They giggled and waved back.
Inside the hall, he set the tape recorder on the table and asked if Ben had any objections. The man shook his head. Then Perez realized he was terrified, so scared that he was almost frozen and could hardly speak.
‘How long have you been working at the North Light?’ Factual, unthreatening.
‘This is my third season.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’ In Perez’s experience most of the assistant wardens just stayed for one year. He looked at Ben’s statement. Although he looked so young he was nearly thirty. ‘I mean, it’s only seasonal employment. Aren’t you looking for something more permanent?
‘You think I should be settling down, Inspector?’
Perez didn’t answer and after a pause Ben continued: ‘I grew up in a weird kind of family. I mean it didn’t seem weird when I was growing up, but it was different from other kids’. My mum was one of the Greenham women and she couldn’t settle to domesticity when she left the Common. There was always a battle to fight, strangers coming to stay, discussions into the night about politics and justice and the environment. I suppose for me communal living seems kind of normal.’
‘I’ve checked your criminal record. You were found guilty of criminal damage. Lucky not to get a custodial sentence, according to the notes. That was here on Shetland?’
Ben must have been expecting the question, but still he hesitated before answering. ‘It was the anniversary of the Braer disaster. You know, the tanker that went aground at Quendale, leaving a slick of oil miles wide?’
Perez nodded. The disaster had made national news for weeks. Shetlanders had made a fortune out of the visiting media.
‘Nothing had changed! I mean, still people don’t take environmental issues seriously. I broke into the terminal at Sullom Voe.’
‘And did thousands of pounds’ worth of damage to oil company property.’ Perez had been working in the south at the time, but the Shetland police had still been talking about it when he joined the service there.
‘How much damage did they do to Shetland wildlife?’ Ben sat back in his chair, not really expecting an answer. ‘My mother came to court. She’d never been so proud of me.’ Perez couldn’t tell what he made of that. Would he have preferred a more conventional mother?
Perez slid Ben’s written statement across the table.
‘Is there anything you’d like to add to this?’ Perez asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you were close to Angela. She was more than just your boss, wasn’t she? Yet you don’t mention that in the statement.’ For a moment Ben just stared at Perez and it seemed he would maintain the poise, the pretence at confidence. Then he seemed to lose control of the muscles in his face. It crumpled. He screwed up his mouth and frowned like a child trying not to cry. Perez went on. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ Ben said. ‘Finding her in the bird room. At first I thought she’d fallen asleep there. She worked so hard that sometimes that happened. I’d go into the bird room before starting the morning trap round and find her still in front of the computer. I haven’t been able to sleep since she died.’
‘That isn’t quite what I asked you.’ But Perez saw now that Ben would talk to him. The strain had come through pretending he didn’t care too much what had happened to the woman. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Angela.’
‘I worshipped her.’
And suddenly Perez saw himself as a schoolboy, intense and passionate, following his German student around the island, declaring his devotion. ‘What did Angela make of that?’