‘So you gave up the names of your friends?’
Ben nodded.
Now at last, he stood to go. This time it was Perez who called him back. ‘I think Angela was glad to be pregnant,’ he said. ‘It was planned. It was you she chose. She wanted your baby.’
At that point Perez decided to leave. Now he knew enough. He couldn’t face watching Sandy question Sarah Fowler. It wasn’t right that the woman was still alive. She must have known her husband was a killer after the first murder, even if she hadn’t realized he’d come to Fair Isle with the intention of stabbing Angela Moore. Perez could understand that Fowler might have nurtured his obsession in secret. He’d dreamed about his revenge for years and planned it in every detail. He’d arranged the crime scene like a theatrical set, each prop with its own meaning. The knife in the back, symbol of betrayal. The slender-billed curlew feather, the one he’d collected in the desert of Uzbekistan, which would be his proof and his ticket to glory, before Angela had stolen the possibility from him.
But once Angela was dead Sarah Fowler must have known. She’d stood beside her husband in church, singing hymns and pretending to pray. Had she convinced herself that her imagination was playing tricks? That John Fowler was a good man? Or was she so wrapped up in her own grief, the loss of her child, that she didn’t care?
Hurrying down the corridor away from the interview room, Perez caught a glimpse of her in the distance. She was wearing a long grey cardigan with a hood, which gave her the appearance of a nun. He supposed she was another victim but at the moment he hated her more than he hated Fowler.
Outside, he was surprised to find that it was still light and that there was pale sunshine reflecting on the water in the harbour.
Chapter Thirty-nine
In the house by the shore his father was asleep in his chair by the fire. He jerked awake when Perez came in, looked around him for a moment as if he weren’t exactly sure where he was.
‘Duncan phoned,’ he said. ‘Cassie wants to see you.’
Perez lay awake for most of the night thinking about that. He’d agreed to meet the girl of course. Just now he’d have done anything for her. But it was the last thing he wanted. Surely she would blame him for her mother’s death. He didn’t think he could face that. Or the little twisted smile, that was just like Fran’s. The voice. A bit of Shetland in it after a couple of years at school, but still using Fran’s words. Words from the south that sometimes they had to explain to him.
They arranged to meet in Lerwick in the Olive Tree, the cafe in the Tollclock Centre, because it was neutral territory and Fran had liked it there. It had been more her sort of place than his. Fancy salads and an arty clientele. She’d said the coffee was to die for.
Perez’s relationship with her ex-husband Duncan Hunter was awkward. They’d been friends at school, good friends, despite the difference in their backgrounds. Duncan’s family came from big Shetland landowners, the closest thing to aristocracy there was in the islands, and he still lived in the big house on the shore at Brae. They’d fallen out before Perez had taken up with Fran and since then had maintained an uneasy truce for Cassie’s sake. Perez worried sometimes when the girl stayed with her father. Duncan drank too much, had a chaotic life of parties and diverse and sometimes dubious business interests. More skeletons in his cupboard than a professor of medicine. Fran had said Cassie needed contact with her father. ‘You’re not jealous Jimmy, surely?’ That twisted grin again. And Perez had admitted that maybe he was jealous, just a bit. He’d be proud to be considered Cassie’s father and there were times when he’d wished Duncan lived anywhere other than Shetland, so the three of them could form their own family.
Today Perez arrived at the cafe half an hour early. The least he could do. He wouldn’t want Cassie to have to wait for him. He bought coffee. He didn’t recognize any of the patrons. They were probably visitors waiting for the ferry to start boarding: the terminal was just down the road. Lifting the cup to his lips he found his hands were shaking. He got up to leave. He couldn’t face Cassie after all. Duncan would surely understand and make his excuses. He was standing there, poised to make his escape, when Dougie Barr came in, obviously on his way to the ferry too. He had an enormous rucksack on his back and was strung about with optical equipment.
The birdwatcher saw Perez immediately and stood blocking the door, flushed with embarrassment, not wanting to intrude, but feeling it would be rude just to walk away. Perez couldn’t bear his discomfort and gave a little wave to put him at his ease. He heard Fran’s voice in his head: What is it with you, Jimmy Perez? Are you some sort of saint? Reassured, Dougie approached; he said nothing, but he held out his hand.
‘Tell me,’ Perez said. ‘Did you know Fowler was a killer?’ The question had been bothering him. He’d pondered it in the middle of the night. How widely could he spread responsibility?
‘No!’ Dougie was horrified. ‘I’d have said. Honest. I didn’t guess about the curlew. I believed the stories Angela made up about Fowler being a stringer. She fooled me too.’ He paused. ‘I thought it was Hugh. I could tell she didn’t like him, that maybe she was even scared of him. Wishful thinking. I couldn’t stand the guy.’
He reached out again and touched Perez’s shoulder, then turned and left the cafe. He’d find somewhere else to eat before he boarded the boat.
That was when Perez saw Cassie, walking through the shopping arcade. Not holding Duncan’s hand, but close to him. Six years old. Small for her age, stocky, brown hair cut in a fringe over her eyes. Enormous eyes like a bush baby’s, made even bigger because she’d been crying. She saw Perez and rushed towards him and he swung her into his arms as he always did. Now he clung on to her as if she were saving him. He was aware of a couple at a nearby table staring and realized there were tears on his cheeks. The people turned awkwardly away, almost affronted by the emotion.
Duncan bought coffee for himself, juice and chocolate cake for Cassie. Fran had never liked Cassie eating too much junk, but Perez swept the thought away. Let the girl have whatever she wanted.
‘I want to go home,’ Cassie said.
‘I’ve explained it’s kind of difficult.’ Duncan looked at Perez. ‘We have to sort things out.’
‘I want to go to school. I have to go to school.’ One way of coping, Perez supposed. Hadn’t he gone into work to watch Sandy interview the witnesses? Though now, a couple of days on, he couldn’t understand how it had seemed important.
‘Miss Frazer will understand,’ Perez said. Miss Frazer was the head teacher at Ravenswick, had only been there for a couple of years. She and Fran had become friends.
‘I’m in the play,’ Cassie said patiently. ‘I’ve learned my words.’ Then: ‘Jessie will be missing me.’ Jessie, her best friend, granddaughter of Geordie, who took the visitors out to Mousa in his small boat.
‘Could you move into the Ravenswick house for a while?’ Perez talked to Duncan but was aware all the time that Cassie was listening. ‘It would probably be good to have things back to normal. I mean as normal as we can make them.’ He was still crying, wiped his face with his napkin, hoping that Cassie hadn’t noticed.
‘Sure.’ But there was some uncertainty in Duncan’s voice. He travelled a lot for work, didn’t really like to be tied down.
‘I’ll help,’ Perez said. ‘Any way I can.’