‘Give me the gun,’ he said. He spoke very slowly and quietly. ‘You can’t shoot the both of us at once.’
Ronald turned, hesitated for a moment. The inspector reached out and lifted the gun from his hands. There was a moment of resistance then he gave it up without a struggle, grateful, Perez thought, not to have to make the decision to use it. Perez dropped the gun on to the ground, then pulled Ronald’s arms behind his back so he could cuff his wrists. For a moment they stood very close as if they were performing a strange dance. Sandy lowered his hands. The inspector realized then that Sandy hadn’t known Perez was there. He’d expected to die at the hands of his friend. History repeating itself.
Chapter Forty-four
In the police station on the hill Perez sat in the interview room and waited for Ronald Clouston to come in with his lawyer. It was still dark. Perez stood at the narrow window and looked down at the lights of the town. At the end of January, during Up Helly Aa, the guizers would march right past here and there’d be the sound of pipes and chanting men, the pavements packed with watching people, their faces lit by the burning torches. Now everything was quiet.
In the corridor outside he heard murmured voices. The door opened and Ronald Clouston came in with a middle-aged lawyer and Perez’s colleague Morag. The conversation had been between the professionals; Ronald seemed to be sleepwalking. He was quite calm but his eyes were glazed. He stood by the table and would have remained standing if his lawyer hadn’t touched his shoulder and gestured for him to sit down.
Perez switched on the tape recorder, gave the date and the time, listed the people present. Then he sat for a moment. It should be his moment of triumph, but he was only aware of a terrible sadness. The story of Ronald Clouston and the Whalsay murders would be passed on like the tale of the dead medieval merchant, the Shetland Bus and Mima’s infidelity. The real and personal tragedies would be lost in the telling.
‘Why did you kill Mima Wilson?’
No answer.
‘I think it was because your father told you to.’ Perez could have been talking to himself. ‘You always did what your father told you to, didn’t you? Even after he had his stroke, he was really in charge in the big house. You could never stand up to him. He told you to leave university and work on the Cassandra and you did. Do you really have any personality of your own, Ronald? Did your parents decide it was time for you to marry and have a family, so there’d be another generation to go to the fishing?’
I understand that sort of pressure after all. I know the effect that can have on a man.
Ronald looked up, his eyes focused on Perez for the first time. ‘Anna has nothing to do with this. Leave her out of it.’
‘She will have to deal with it though. With having a husband who’s a murderer. Your son will have to deal with it.’ Then, hardly missing a beat. ‘When did you first find out your grandfather was a murderer? Were you still a peerie boy?’
They stared at each other.
Even now and knowing what the man had done, Perez suddenly felt a trickle of pity for him. What is wrong with me?
Ronald began to talk: ‘Father told me when I was taking my Highers. I was planning to go to university. Mother was fine with that but my father was furious. My place was with the family and the boat. “You don’t know what we’ve been through to achieve all this. And now you want to throw it all away.” That was when he told me.’
‘But you still went off to take your degree?’
‘Yes, I still went off. After what he told me I wanted nothing to do with the boat. I thought I’d never go back to Whalsay.’
‘You changed your mind when your father was ill?’
There was another moment of silence.
‘I suppose it was a matter of loyalty,’ Ronald said.
‘And money!’ Perez was surprised by how hard and bitter he sounded. He hardly recognized his own voice. ‘You told me yourself the money was addictive. Did you miss the good life while you were away in the south?’
Ronald said nothing.
Your father welcomed you back,’ Perez went on. ‘The prodigal son!’
Now Ronald spoke. ‘I’ll not discuss my father’s part in all this. He’s an old man and he’s ill. I confess to the murders. He should be left to live his life in peace.’
Perez felt a sudden jolt of fury. No pity now. ‘Really, I think that’s the last thing he deserves.’
Ronald looked away.
Perez took a breath. ‘So, you refuse a discussion. Let me tell you a story then. Let me explain what’s been going on here.’ In his head Perez still had the image of Hattie’s body lying in the trench in the blood, and he wondered how he could sit here having a reasoned conversation with her killer, how he could have felt that moment of pity. Because it’s what I do, he thought. And it’s the only thing I do really well.
He started to speak, directing his words at Ronald as if they were the only people in the room, talking only just loudly enough for the tape machine to pick up his voice. ‘It’s the war. We have three brave Whalsay men working with the Shetland Bus: Jerry Wilson, Cedric Irvine, whose son now runs the Pier House, and your grandfather Andy Clouston. Saving lives. Then along comes a young Norwegian man. Per. He was brave too and deserves the dignity of a name. He’d come to Britain for a special purpose, more an accountant than a soldier, to collect money to finance the work of the resistance.’
Ronald’s eyes widened.
‘How do I know that?’ Perez went on. ‘Because a detective digs into the past. I’m an archaeologist too. I’ve spoken to the Norwegian Embassy and to historians here in Shetland. When Per disappeared he was carrying a fortune in Norwegian currency, sealed up in half a dozen tobacco tins.’ He looked up. ‘It sounds like a child’s tale, doesn’t it? An adventure story or one of the trowie myths. Buried treasure. Unreal. But it was real enough at the time. Until the fortune disappeared and everyone assumed that Per had turned traitor and taken the money with him.
‘But Per was a brave and honest man. Mima was a wild woman even then, and she’d been flirting with the good-looking stranger, who was kind to her, kinder than her husband would ever be. Jerry Wilson found them in bed together, lost his temper and killed the man. And disposed of the body with the help of his friend, who just happened to be a Clouston. Old Andy Clouston, your grandfather. News of the man’s disappearance got out, as it always will in a place like Whalsay, so they put around stories of their own: one of the tales, passed down to Cedric, was that Per had been a traitor.’ Perez paused. He wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of water into the interview room. His throat was dry and he felt light-headed through lack of sleep. He looked up at Ronald, who must have been exhausted too. He could have had no real rest since he started killing.
Perez continued. ‘They’d buried the Norwegian at Setter, in that bit of land where nothing much grew and had only ever been seen as rough grazing. Mima never knew that. She wasn’t even sure the Norwegian was dead. Neither did she know about the money, though I think Jerry held out the promise of wealth in the future. ‘One day we’ll all be rich. Then you’ll have a fine house and fine clothes and you’ll travel the world.’ The plan must have been that when the war was over and the Norwegian was forgotten they’d begin to spend it. But Jerry never got to see his share. He was drowned.’ Perez looked up, forced Ronald to meet his eye. ‘Did Andrew describe how that happened? He was only ten but he was there and he saw it all.’
At last Ronald spoke. ‘They were out in a small boat. There was a freak storm and Jerry was washed overboard. My grandfather had to choose between saving his friend or his son.’ The words came out like a lesson learned at school.