That was all the encouragement Annabel needed to begin her story. Willow thought she had turned it into a legend, polished it by retelling, not just to her friends in her smart university, but to herself. ‘It was in December, and I was home for the Christmas vacation. In the breaks I do some voluntary work – a regular commitment, started when I was still at school. I’ve been lucky in so many ways, and it’s important to put something back. Don’t you think so?’
Annabel looked up at them, but her father was the only person to respond, patting her hand again.
Left to herself, Willow would have urged the girl to continue more quickly, but Perez was content to wait. She hadn’t seen him so still. Willow had heard about his legendary patience, but this was the first time she’d seen it in action. At last Annabel continued: ‘This year there was an advent course in St Luke’s, the church on the square close to where we live. Beside other things, I helped out with that.’
‘Advent course?’ Now Willow couldn’t help interrupting. She felt a nerve in her ankle twitching. She’d been sitting still for too long.
‘For people looking for answers,’ Annabel said. ‘An introduction to the spiritual life.’
‘And Jerry was running a story about it?’
‘No!’ Annabel smiled. ‘He was one of the participants. At first he couldn’t take us seriously. I could tell. He was there for a joke or a bet. Or perhaps for a story. Yes, perhaps that’s why he turned up that cold December day. Or because it was raining and at least there’d be some shelter and lunch and coffee. But in fact, of course, he was sent to us. He needed to be there.’
Oh, shit, she’s a God-botherer! Another. As if there aren’t enough already in this case. Willow’s parents had been Buddhists in a vague, undemanding way, and she’d rejected all ideas of the supernatural before leaving school, had become an aggressive atheist. Another form of rebellion.
Annabel continued to speak. ‘He fought it of course. People often do. But that made it even more wonderful when he finally let the Lord into his life. He’d been so certain, so antagonistic, and then all the barriers were down. It was a privilege to be a part of the process.’
‘And now he’s dead.’ Willow couldn’t help herself.
‘And now he’s dead,’ Annabel agreed seriously. ‘Faith isn’t always an easy path.’
‘You think he was killed because he was a Christian?’ Willow made no attempt to keep the incredulity from her voice. In her head she had an image of Annabel at worship: a congregation of like-minded deluded souls, eyes half-closed, waving their arms in the air. Mad as snakes, but hardly a threat, hardly likely to provoke violence, just extreme irritation. She wondered if the girl’s father was a church member too. Willow found it hard to imagine. Richard Grey seemed too sophisticated to be part of that scene.
‘Jerry was committed to fighting evil.’ The woman’s voice was firm. ‘And that takes courage.’ She looked to her father for support and, although he nodded gravely, Willow thought the reaction was automatic. He didn’t share his daughter’s faith.
Perez broke in before Willow had a chance to speak again. ‘Was there a specific example of evil? I mean, a specific reason for Jerry visiting Shetland so soon after his conversion?’
It occurred to Willow that Perez might well be a God-botherer too. In these northern islands superstition would be rife.
Annabel didn’t reply directly. ‘We were planning to be married,’ she said. ‘Very soon. We saw no reason to wait. Jerry was going to be baptized, but once that was done, we’d decided to make plans.’ She gave a wide, sad smile. ‘Jerry spent Christmas with us. It was very busy for him at work and he didn’t have time to get home. Dad always goes completely over the top at Christmas. The biggest tree in the universe. Carols round the fire. And this year it snowed. It was quite magical. Walking back from Midnight Mass on Christmas morning Jerry asked me to marry him. It was the best present ever.’
Willow was struck suddenly by the similarity between the two cases under investigation. Both Evie and Annabel were committed Christians marrying an older man. Henderson had been quite different in character from Markham, but the outlook of the women – so certain, so proud of their faith, even in their grief – had much in common. But she couldn’t fathom how that could be a trigger to commit murder.
‘But he hadn’t told his parents about you, even though he missed spending Christmas with them and you’d become engaged?’ The thought had occurred to her as soon as the girl had described the proposal.
‘He didn’t want to tell them on the telephone,’ Annabel said. ‘He thought he should talk to them in person.’
‘Is that why Jerry came to Shetland?’ Perez asked.
It was a simple question, but the girl hesitated. ‘I think he might have told them while he was here,’ she said. ‘That was probably in his mind. But it wasn’t the main reason for the visit.’
‘What was that?’ Perez gave a small and encouraging smile.
And Willow suddenly saw this moment as an epiphany, a revelation that this lay at the heart of the investigation. If they could answer that question, they would find their killer.
Again there was a silence. Outside gulls were screaming. The hoot of a cruise ship leaving the pier.
‘He wouldn’t tell me,’ Annabel said at last, an admission she’d rather not have made. ‘He said there were things he had to sort out before he could commit himself properly to our relationship.’
Willow was tempted to scream at the woman: Didn’t you ask him what he meant? Didn’t you want to know if there was another woman in his life? Some sordid secret? She felt her dislike of Annabel Grey as a fog in her head preventing her from thinking clearly. Why the antipathy? Because of Annabel’s beauty? Her certainty? Her complacency? Her pampered childhood and her doting father?
‘Didn’t his secrecy make you doubt his affection for you?’ Perez asked the question gently, but the answer was fierce and clear.
‘No! He loved me and he wanted to spend his life with me. But his faith had made him question his past and his work. He needed time to get things straight in his head. I asked if I should come to Shetland with him, but he said this was something he had to do on his own.’
‘And where did you go when he was away?’ Perez asked.
‘On retreat,’ she said. ‘In the Easter holidays the University Chaplaincy organizes time out for anyone who wants to explore their faith more deeply. There’s a house in Sussex, run by nuns. A place of silence and contemplation. No contact with the outside world. That was why I didn’t find out about his death immediately.’ She looked up at Perez, and Willow saw that her eyes glittered with tears. ‘I had the sense that he needed my prayers.’
‘You told my sergeant that Jerry had sent you a postcard,’ Willow said. ‘Do you have it with you?’
Annabel opened her bag and set the card on the table. The same picture. A painting of three men playing violins. Willow held it by the edges and turned it over. On the back, Annabel’s home address in Hampstead. And two short sentences. Nearly done. Home soon.
‘This is definitely Jerry’s handwriting?’
‘Oh yes,’ Annabel said.
So Jerry had written the card and posted it before his death. But the message, Willow thought, was hardly any help at all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Later their colleague Morag took Annabel out for a short guided walk of Lerwick. Perez had suggested that she might like to see where Jerry had been at school, the office where he’d first worked as a journalist. While she was away, they interviewed her father. Willow had the sense that Grey was as keen as the detectives to have a discussion in Annabel’s absence, and she felt throughout that he was in charge of the meeting. He set the agenda and told them what he wanted them to know. At one point, describing his work as a human-rights lawyer, he said, ‘Ah sometimes, Inspector, I lose sight of the truth. I’m a weaver of stories. A persuader.’