It was too early for school to finish and she went to the shop on the corner and bought chocolate and a magazine. She turned straight to the problem page, but none of the letters there could help her.
On the bus on the way home her phone rang. She answered it immediately, certain that it would be Robert. He would say something sweet and reassuring. He would tell her how much he'd enjoyed being with her. But it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar at first.
'Sally? Is that you? Your mother gave me your number. I'm so sorry to disturb you. This is Fran Hunter. You know, from the house by the chapel!
Duncan Hunter's ex-wife, she wanted to say. But of course she didn't. How rude that would be!
'I wondered if you'd be able to babysit. I've been asked to teach a couple of evening classes at the college. The teacher's going to be off sick for a few weeks. Maybe you'd feel awkward, because Catherine used to . . . But your mother said to ask anyway. . ! The voice tailed off.
'No; Sally said quickly. 'Really, I'd be pleased to!
She was thinking it would be one way to meet Robert without her mother knowing. Risky, but better than being out in Lerwick with him. 'Any time!
Chapter Thirty
The Bruces arrived from Aberdeen on the same plane as Jane Meltham, the crime scene investigator. They looked small and bewildered as they walked across the tarmac from the plane, older than Perez had expected. He'd expected them to be the age they'd have been when Catriona died. That's how they were in his head. But of course they hadn't been preserved in the peat like her. You would never have thought they were coming home; they were more like refugees arriving in a strange country. The boy with them, Catriona's younger brother, was taller than they were. Roy Taylor took the family in one car and Perez drove Jane in another.
'Interesting stuff, peat,' she said as they passed the Sumburgh Hotel. 'What did the girl look like?'
'Undamaged,' he said. 'You'd have thought she'd been kept alive somewhere and buried only hours ago. There was a faint brownish tint to the skin and her hair had turned a kind of chestnut colour. That was all. She'd been wearing a cotton dress and that hadn't rotted at all'
It was impossible to shift the image of the girl from his mind. They'd cleared some of the mud from her face, knowing they shouldn't touch anything at the scene, but wanting to identify her, so there'd be some thing definite to tell the parents. After all these years of waiting it would be intolerable not to give them an identification. She'd been lying on her back. Her fair hair, filthy now, was arranged loosely around her face.
Had Magnus done that? Had he thought it looked prettier? Or had he wanted the ribbons for himself? Perez couldn't make sense of it. Was that the only reason he'd killed her?
The procurator fiscal had decided they had enough evidence to charge Magnus. For the murder of Catriona Bruce at least. And of course he was right. There were the ribbons. A confession of a sort, though after that first interview Magnus had stopped talking. He'd sat there with that nervous grin on his face, just shaking his head. Even in private discussion with his lawyer he'd said nothing, apparently.
They would get a conviction. Manslaughter perhaps because of diminished responsibility. There'd be medical reports to show he had a low IQ, possible brain damage, but Magnus Tait would certainly go to prison. He'd leave Shetland for the first time in his life to be locked away. That wasn't enough for Jimmy Perez. He wanted to know what had happened that day when Catriona had run up the track to visit Hillhead. He wanted to know what had prompted Magnus to stab her.
Because she had been stabbed. Even before the crime scene investigator's arrival they could tell that. The body was so well preserved that you could see the wound in the girl's chest, the fabric of the dress marked with rust-coloured stains. And more than anything, Perez wanted to know why, after eight years, Magnus had decided to kill again. Why Catherine Ross? Just because she'd wandered quite by chance into his house on New Year's Eve and he'd taken a fancy to her? Was it because of her name? If she'd been called Ruth or Rosemary, would he have left her alone? And why, this time, had he strangled?
Jane was talking about the bog bodies found by archaeologists. 'They were thousands of years old and still intact,' she said. 'It's hardly surprising you get the same result after eight years. Fascinating! He could tell she was itching to get to the scene and have a look. She hardly gave a glance at the magnificent coastal landscape passing the window.
He left her with the team on the hill and went back into Lerwick. He couldn't face the Incident Room, Sandy with his I-told-you-so smirk, the jubilation. They'd already be drinking probably, celebrating the arrest and the Inverness boys' imminent return to civilization. Both camps would be celebrating that. He needed. a sleep and a shower.
At home his answerphone was flashing. His mother of course. He'd not had a chance to phone her back on Sunday night. He was tempted to ring her now, without any more thought. Yes, I'm coming home. I'm fed up here.
Let the factor know I'm interested in Skerry. But he ignored it, stood mindlessly under the pathetic dribble of his shower, fell into bed and went immediately asleep.
When he woke it was late afternoon and dark outside. He didn't feel rested. He woke as he'd fallen asleep, troubled by the anxiety that was eating away at him. About Fran and Cassie. About Magnus. A fear that they'd cocked up the whole bloody case. The old man might have killed Catriona. But Catherine?
He checked the phone messages. A sort of penance or punishment. There was one from his mother but it was short and apologetic. Sorry to bother you. I know you're busy. I don't mean to nag. That didn't make him feel any better.
The next was from Duncan Hunter. I've heard the news about Magnus Tait. Good work. I don't suppose this is relevant now, but I've remembered something about that party at the Haa. Give me a ring. I'll be in the office all day.
No number. As if he assumed everyone would know the number of Hunter Associates. That you couldn't possibly manage in Shetland without it.
Perez looked it up in the directory and dialled. A young woman said Mr Hunter was in a meeting and unavailable. Could she take a message? Perez could picture her. She'd be young and skinny, long red nails and thin red lips, a tiny skirt hardly covering her bum.
'I'm returning Mr Hunter's calclass="underline" he said. 'Inspector Perez. He did say it was urgent!
'Just one minute!
There was a blast of music. Not the usual bland electronic noise for Hunter Associates. This was something contemporary with the sort of beat young people bounced to in nightclubs. Duncan had probably paid for it to be composed specially. It stopped as suddenly as it had started, mid-phrase.
'Jimmy. Thanks for getting back to me. Look, maybe you're not interested any more!
'I'm interested!
'I can't talk now. Let's meet later. Monty's. I'll buy you dinner. It'll be quiet on a Monday night. Around eight!