Joe smiled sadly. ‘There was a minor incident at the terminal. A bit of a spill. Not even big enough for us to put the boom across the voe. But Jerry turned it into a disaster and sold the story to one of the broadsheets in the south. That gave Andy a lot of hassle with his managers, who wanted to know why he’d let the thing blow out of proportion. Jerry was never his favourite person after that.’
‘Yet Jerry was in the terminal the afternoon before he died. Andy met him and showed him round.’ Perez wasn’t sure how important this was, but wished he knew what Jerry had been doing at the terminal, wished there was a notebook, fragments of an article on a laptop, to point them in the right direction.
‘Mr Markham was a hotshot reporter these days. Andy could hardly turn him away.’
‘Did you know Jerry was back in Shetland?’
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I haven’t been down at the Ravenswick Hotel for months.’ He gave a brief grin. ‘I can’t afford the prices in the bar these days.’
‘John didn’t mention him?’ Perez finished his coffee, wondered if he needed more.
Joe shook his head. ‘But then John wouldn’t. He was the most private man I’ve ever met. If Markham was trying to get in touch, nobody else would know about it.’
‘Markham didn’t call in here the afternoon he died?’
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I was working that day and, like I said, I didn’t even know he was back.’ He paused and studied the photo of his family on his desk. ‘Something odd did happen.’
‘Yes?’ Outside the office window, Perez saw that the weather was changing again. A front was coming in, bringing a westerly breeze and scraps of cloud.
‘John was here in the office. He’d just come in from bringing in the Lord Rannoch and we were talking about the roster for the next couple of months. His mobile went. Usually he’d just ignore it, switch it off and say he’d deal with it later. But he apologized and went outside to take the call. Then he came back and asked if he could take an hour off.’ Joe looked up from his desk. ‘That was unprecedented. Even when his wife was ill, John organized things so that he never took time off work. So I said fine, of course.’
‘Did you ask him what the call was about?’
‘Not directly. I didn’t want to pry. I probably said “Everything OK?” And he just nodded and went out.’ Joe stood up and went to the window, looked at the sky with a sailor’s eye. ‘I thought it was something about the wedding. Evie panicking about details. You know women before the big day. And John was besotted with her. She was the only person he’d leave work for.’
‘Did he go out in his car?’ Perez was trying to eep his voice calm, but he thought this might be something new. If John Henderson had met Jerry Markham on the afternoon he died, they might be close to finding a motive for Henderson’s death. If he’d seen or heard something, the killer might have been forced to stop him talking.
‘I don’t know. There was a thick fog. It came in very suddenly. It was quite clear when John came into the office for the meeting, but when he went I couldn’t even see the tugs across the water. I don’t think I heard his car, but then the fog muffles sound too. I assumed he’d driven away.’
‘And he came back that afternoon?’ Perez asked. He glanced across at Willow, who seemed sharper, more alert. She’d recognized the significance of this piece of news too.
‘Yes, almost an hour after he’d left,’ Sinclair said. ‘He put his head round the door to let me know.’
‘How did he seem?’
Sinclair gave a little laugh. ‘How could I tell? John was never one for showing his emotions at the best of times. And I saw him for a second as he called in to let me know he was back.’ He paused and became suddenly serious. ‘But he didn’t look like a man who’d just committed murder. Don’t go down that route, Jimmy. John Henderson was a good man. I’ll not have his memory sullied by rumours.’
They sat for a moment in silence. The wind blew some scrap paper round the yard outside the office. Sinclair frowned at it as if it was an affront to his idea of order.
‘John was working here after Jerry had died,’ Perez said. ‘Did he talk at all about what had happened?’
‘Everyone was talking about it! Jerry Markham wasn’t the most popular man in Shetland, as you’ll have gathered. So it was almost as if folk were taking pleasure in the fact that he’d been killed. Enjoying the excitement anyway. The drama of the Fiscal finding him in the racing yoal.’
‘And what was John’s reaction?’
‘He said it was wrong to treat another man’s death as a subject of gossip. There was always something of the preacher in John, and sometimes the men didn’t take to it. For example, he didn’t like swearing. Get a bunch of seamen together and there’s always going to be swearing. Usually he was mild enough and didn’t make a fuss about it. Just a gentle comment that they should watch what they were saying. But the talk about Markham upset him. I thought he was going to lose his temper, but he walked away from them. Again I asked him if he was OK. He didn’t really answer. That was the last time I talked to him.’
Andy Belshaw had said that Henderson had been excited about Markham’s death and had wanted to talk about it. Was the discrepancy significant? Or was it the result of two witnesses with different perspectives? Perez wasn’t sure.
‘You worked with Evie on the tidal-power project?’
‘Aye. And that was kind of a favour to John. She wanted some local folk to support her and reckoned I’d know something about the tides. I asked John why he didn’t do it himself, but he’d never been one for committees. The Fiscal was there too that morning.’
‘And does she know about tides?’
Sinclair allowed himself a little smile. ‘More than you’d think! She’s a fine sailor. That Contessa of hers is a big yacht for one woman to manage, and she’s a natural. She also has a sense of the next big thing politically. It’s not the good of the planet that she has on her mind, but the good of Ms Rhona Laing.’
‘How did they seem?’ Willow asked. It appeared that she’d been following the conversation after all. ‘The two women, I mean.’
Sinclair shrugged. ‘They sniped at each other. Nothing rude. All very polite. But cats in a bag, you know. It was Evie’s project, but the Fiscal’s never been one to play a subordinate role. I let them get on with it.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry – I’ve got to go. Yet another meeting. This one in Lerwick.’ He walked with them from the office towards their car.
Willow suddenly asked, ‘What do you make of her? Of the Fiscal?’
If the question surprised him, Sinclair didn’t let it show. ‘She’s good at her job. A tad officious at times. Folk have taken a time to get used to her ways.’
‘Has she ever visited you here?’
‘No! What reason would she have to do that?’
The harbour master stood watching them get into the car. Driving away, Perez saw him stoop to pick up the piece of paper that had been flying around the yard and stuff it into a bin.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Fiscal was back at work. She left her office, walked past the whitewashed police station and crossed the road to the Gothic town hall. Gusts of wind tugged at her skirt and made her eyes water. She hoped her mascara hadn’t run, and in the lobby stopped for a moment to check her reflection in the glass door. She’d considered sending her apologies to this meeting, but had known all along that the only response to these murders was to behave as usual. That was the message she’d send to the forum. And pretending that she was perfectly in control was her way of holding things together personally too.
The Shetland Community Forum met once a month to consider matters of importance to the islands. It had been the brainwave of the police superintendent in Inverness as a response to increased drug abuse in the islands. Community engagement, he’d said, was the answer. Rhona Laing thought he must have recently attended a course on the subject. Something put together by sociologists. Naturally he never ventured north to attend these gatherings. A number of prominent Shetlanders, leaders of trusts and social organizations, councillors and politicians had been invited to join. Most months half a dozen people turned up, sat round a table and decided very little. Rhona was usually there, as a matter of principle: she’d agreed to join and so she should attend. After a particular long-winded meeting she’d agreed to act as chair. Today she expected a bigger turnout than usual and was regretting that decision. She wasn’t sure she could go through with it, that she could hold herself together.