‘Mr Belshaw isn’t onsite today.’
‘Where is he?’ The question mild and polite.
The man checked a clipboard. ‘Working from home.’ A sniff of disapproval.
If Perez had asked for an address, the guard would have refused to give it or made a fuss about it, and Perez didn’t want to give him that pleasure, so he said nothing. He knew that Belshaw lived in Aith and that his wife was the school cook there. He could track down the Belshaw home in seconds. Driving past the Harbour Authority complex on the other side of the voe, Perez was tempted to call in there first, to talk to Sinclair and the pilots, but Willow had asked him to talk to Belshaw as a priority and she was the boss. He’d see Sinclair later. After feeding back the results of the Belshaw interview to Willow. No point making things hard for himself, or for her.
It was a fine day, mild and still. The Aith road was quiet and he just had to stop once to let a tractor pass in the opposite direction. He slowed down to come into the village and caught a brief glimpse of Rhona Laing, looking out of an upstairs window of the Old Schoolhouse. Willow had said the Fiscal was on leave, and Willow had notified Laing’s assistant about the second murder. Perez couldn’t understand why Rhona had taken time off. It wasn’t like her to give up her role in a major inquiry. Perhaps she’d been told to back away because of her involvement, but he couldn’t imagine she’d give way without a fight.
His first instinct was to pull in next to the Old Schoolhouse and talk to her. A courtesy, but also because he was curious to gauge her reaction to Henderson’s murder. Then he remembered Willow’s antipathy to the woman and thought again that he should check with the inspector first. In this investigation he wasn’t free to make his own decisions. So he carried on through the village and pulled in next to the co-op. No phone signal in the car, but just enough to make a call when he got outside and walked towards the marina.
Willow too sounded rested, less stressed than she had the night before. ‘Jimmy. What have you got for me?’
He explained about Belshaw working from home and that the Fiscal was in the Old Schoolhouse. ‘I wondered if you’d like me to talk to her. About Henderson.’
There was a long pause, and Perez thought first that Willow would insist on doing the interview herself, and then that the phone connection had broken.
‘OK, Jimmy.’ A small, hard chuckle. ‘You’ll be more tactful than me. But don’t tell her more than you need to. And don’t let her get away with anything.’
He was going to ask how she’d got on with Maria Markham, but this time the phone did go dead. Besides, there’d been background noise, which sounded as if she was still in the police station and hadn’t yet made the trip south to Ravenswick.
In the co-op Perez bought a bar of chocolate and a bag of tatties for the evening’s supper and found out where the Belshaws lived. The house was just out of the settlement on the way to Bixter, and he thought he’d walk up to the Old Schoolhouse first and talk to the Fiscal. He could do with stretching his legs and he enjoyed these mild spring days. He stood for a moment at the gate, looking in at her garden. He hadn’t noticed it before and was surprised by its lack of order: overgrown shrubs and a patch of grass thick with clover. In one corner an old enamel bucket over a head of rhubarb. She obviously wasn’t much of a gardener. His father had always divided people into those who loved the water and those who loved the land.
Rhona Laing took a long time to open the door. She was wearing blue jeans and a navy sweater. No make-up, which made her somehow look vulnerable. More attractive and softer. ‘Jimmy,’ she said. A touch of impatience in the voice. ‘How can I help you? I was just about to spend a morning in the boat. I have a few days’ leave owing.’
‘Have you heard about John Henderson?’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s dead,’ Perez said. He wished she’d invite him in. It felt strange carrying on a conversation like this on the doorstep. Almost disrespectful. ‘He was stabbed yesterday morning in his garage at Hvidahus, and his body was moved to the junction down towards Evie Watt’s place. Made to look like a straw dummy. You’ll have seen them there, kind of scarecrows, in the run-up to the wedding.’
The Fiscal stared at him. ‘What is going on here, Jimmy? Two violent deaths in North Mainland in less than a week. And what is that strange young woman from the Hebrides doing to stop it?’ Her voice was high-pitched and shrill.
Perez found it hard to believe that she didn’t know about Henderson’s murder. Surely her assistant would have been on the phone to her as soon as he’d been notified by Willow Reeves. ‘Your office didn’t let you know?’
‘They’ve been told not to disturb me when I’m on holiday.’ Still she was poised on the doorstep. Did she really expect him to go away and let her get to her boat? He couldn’t understand her reaction.
‘We should talk about this,’ Perez said. ‘It must be related to the Markham killing, and you’re involved with that. You found the body.’
‘And that was why I took leave.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘There was a conflict of interest. I do see that. Besides, Inspector Reeves made it very clear that she’d prefer me not to supervise the case.’
‘We should talk,’ Perez repeated. ‘You’re a witness of sorts.’
And only then did she move aside and let him in. She made coffee for him without asking if he wanted any. They sat in the kitchen. Perez had never been in the house before and it was rather grand, in a sleek, minimalist way. Clean lines, white walls, everything freshly plastered, the corners sharp as blades. No untidiness here. He wondered what Sandy Wilson had made of it.
‘Did you know Henderson?’ he asked.
She shrugged. ‘I’d met him of course. Social occasions. Regattas. He was a great seaman. Instinctive.’
‘What was your impression of him? As a man, not a sailor?’
She considered. ‘He was quiet, thoughtful. Shy perhaps. Not one to put himself forward in a group. From what I’ve heard, he was quite different from Jerry Markham.’
‘So you have no idea what connection there might be between them?’
She shrugged again. ‘None at all.’
They sat in silence. Perez thought he liked her much better this way – quiet, a little unsure. ‘I have to ask you where you were yesterday morning,’ he said. ‘Early. I know where you were later in the morning. You were at Hvidahus then with Evie Watt and Joe Sinclair to look at the tidal-energy site.’
Suddenly she was herself again, fierce and intimidating. ‘Are you accusing me of murder, Inspector Perez?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not. But you should tell me where you were. You know how these things work.’
‘Oh yes.’ Suddenly she seemed very tired. ‘I know how these things work.’
‘John Henderson lived at Hvidahus,’ he said. ‘That’s where he was murdered. Did you see anything unusual? A car at his house?’ But he thought it likely that the man was already dead when the tidal-power working group had been there.
‘No,’ she said. ‘There was nothing unusual.’
‘So where were you before you set out for your meeting?’
‘I was here, Jimmy. I made some phone calls. From my work mobile, so I suppose I could have made them from anywhere. But my car was parked up on the road. Everyone in the village would have seen it.’
Perez nodded. Rhona Laing wasn’t stupid. He’d check and find that everything was as she’d said. But a car wasn’t the only way to travel round Shetland. The Fiscal had a fine boat, and most of Shetland’s communities could be reached from the water. There’d been no roads in Shetland for centuries – all travel had been by sea. Perhaps this wasn’t much of an alibi; he’d ask around and see if the boat had been there all morning too.
Chapter Twenty-Five