'We can't close off any options at this stage of the case,' he said evenly. 'You know how it works, Sandy, when you get to court. Some slick lawyer, out to make a name for himself. What other lines of enquiry did you follow, Inspector Taylor? What other actions did you take? Or were you so convinced by my client's guilt that you didn't try to look any further? It's my responsibility to obtain a conviction, not just to get a man in front of a judge. And you didn't even manage that when Catriona Bruce went missing. Someone like Magnus Tait needs careful handling. Do you understand what I'm saying, Sandy?'
Perez thought that hoping for understanding from Sandy Wilson was like waiting for piggies to float over Sumburgh Head, but by now Taylor was carried along by the flow of words and seemed not to notice the lack of response from the constable.
'We keep an eye on Tait. We'll be working on the crime scene for a few days and he lives close by, so that won't be hard. We can do it unobtrusively. If he goes out, we follow him. I don't want another murder.
But overnight I was thinking about what Jimmy said.
You disturbed my sleep Jimmy, but you were right. We explore the other options first. We only bring in the old man when we're absolutely sure!
Great, Perez said to himself. So now it's my responsibility if things go wrong. He thought Taylor was cleverer and much more devious than he'd realized.
Chapter Fifteen
Sally got the bus to school as usual. Waiting for it to arrive, the implication of Catherine's death hit her properly for the first time. Until now the events of the previous day had been like a drama, so exciting and different from everyday life that she hadn't been able to take it in. It had been like watching a video. Soon the film would end and she'd go back to the real world. Now, standing at the bus stop in the dark, her feet frozen already and no one to keep her company she realized this was the real world.
The absence of Catherine was more solid than the presence had ever been. In life Catherine's mood changed every minute. You never knew where you were with her. Death was constant. Sally felt if she reached out her hand she'd be able to touch the hole where once Catherine had been. It would feel hard and shiny like ice.
Sally could have stayed at home if she'd asked. Her mother wouldn't have minded and had almost suggested it.
She'd turned from the cooker, where she was stirring porridge when Sally came down for breakfast.
'Are you OK to go in?' she'd asked, dead sympathetic. It would have only taken Sally to hesitate for a moment for her to add Why not stay at home? I'm sure they'd understand.
But Sally had answered firmly and immediately 'I'd rather be with the others. Take my mind off things!
And her mother had nodded approvingly, thinking probably how brave her daughter was. It was ironic. There'd been hundreds of times when Sally had dreaded school, had dreamed up vague illnesses, headaches and stomach aches. Her mother had never shown the slightest sympathy then. She hadn't understood what it was like to grow up as a teacher's daughter, so there was no escape from school. The piles of exercise books on the shelf in the kitchen, her mother's painstaking writing of lists on the shiny card, all that was a reminder of what would happen when they walked across the yard and into the classroom. The calling of names, the sly pinches, the blank stares. And none of that had changed much when she moved to the high school. The kids were more subtle in their torture, but it was still a nightmare. Not even Catherine had understood that.
'Today her mother had asked if she fancied porridge for breakfast. Would she rather something else? An egg, maybe? When Sally had been bothered that she was putting on weight again and suggested fruit instead of porridge some days for breakfast, her mother had only sniffed and said she wasn't running a restaurant. She hadn't understood the agonies of needing to fit in.
Sally's father had already gone to work by the time she got up. She wasn't sure what he made of Catherine's murder. She never knew what he thought about anything. She thought sometimes that he had a life that none of them knew anything about. It was his way of surviving.
After breakfast her mother had begun to pull on her coat. 'I'll wait with you until your bus arrives. I don't like the thought of you standing out there on your own.'
'Mother, there are police all over the hill.' Because the last thing she wanted was her mother fussing over her, appearing concerned, but prying and poking for information. Robert Isbister took up so much room in Sally's head, it'd be hard not to let something about him slip. She couldn't bear her mother knowing about him. Not yet. Margaret would go on and on about him, about what a waster he was and nothing like his father. Sally could picture her right in her face, mocking and jeering. Sally had never been able to stand up to her mother. She might end up believing some of the things she said. And it was only the dream of being with Robert which kept her going.
So now she was standing by the bend in the road, waiting. Every now and again her mother's head appeared in silhouette at the kitchen window, to check that she hadn't been raped or murdered. She tried to ignore it. Her mind was suddenly filled with memories of Catherine. Although she tried to think of other things - the old romantic fantasies of Robert - pictures of Catherine wouldn't go away. She could see the two of them on New Year's Eve, first of all in Lerwick, then stumbling into Magnus Tait's house. Catherine had been so in command of herself that night, hard and bright and invulnerable.
The caretaker had put salt on the paths leading into the school, turning the snow into a slushy mess, which they carried on their shoes into the corridors. In the fourth year area a bunch of kids sat on the pool table, shoving and giggling. She thought they seemed very young. The radiators were full on and condensation ran down the windows.
The place smelled like a laundry, with all the drying coats and gloves. The first person she met was Lisa, tarty Lisa, whose boobs were so big you wondered how she managed to stand upright.
'Sal,' she said. 'I'm so sorry.'
In school it seemed everyone was still in the phase of considering Catherine's death a drama laid on for their own entertainment. Walking to the house room to dump her coat Sally could hear them whispering in corners, passing on rumours and gossip. It made her sick.
When she pushed open the door there was a brief silence, then suddenly they all crowded round, wanting to talk to her. Even the posse who'd taken over the table in the middle of the room and were usually too aloof to mix with anyone outside their own crowd. She'd never felt so popular. She'd never had a proper friend at school. Catherine had been the closest to it and Catherine was far too wrapped up in her own concerns to bother much about Sally.
Now she was the centre of attention. They gathered around her, covered her with mumbled commiseration: It must be dreadful.
We know how close you two were. We're really so sorry.
Then came the questions, tentative at first, becoming more excited: Have the police talked to you? Everyone's saying it was Magnus Tait - has he been arrested?