Sandy didn’t answer that either. He knew his father would never hurt anyone and that Perez was feeling so bad about the girl’s suicide that he was looking for someone else to blame.
Chapter Twenty-four
The Fiscal was wearing a soft suede jacket and a cashmere sweater in pale green. She’d put on wellingtons before coming on to the archaeological site, folding her trousers carefully into them so they wouldn’t be creased when she came to take off the boots. The three of them looked down at the girl in the trench. Perez could hardly think straight; ideas and pictures were dancing round his head. He struggled to hold himself together in front of the Fiscal. He’d had to notify her formally of another suspicious death, but he wished he’d had more time before she turned up. He hadn’t thought she’d be here on the first ferry.
‘Have we had a doctor to declare life extinct?’ the Fiscal asked. She carried a hardback notebook and a slim silver ballpoint. Throughout the discussion she was making notes.
‘Aye.’ Sandy got in first in his eagerness to gain her approval. ‘Brian Marshall came along earlier.’
‘Did he hazard an opinion as to cause of death?’
‘Everything consistent with suicide.’ Sandy again.
‘But he said there’d need to be a p-m. before we could come to a real decision.’ Perez almost felt that he was defending Hattie. This grotesque show, so tasteless and flamboyant, didn’t seem her style at all.
‘I don’t suppose he could tell us anything about the time of death?’
‘Nothing that helps,’ Perez said. ‘We know she was last seen at about four o’clock. I’d arranged to meet Hattie at six in the Bod and she didn’t turn up. That could mean she was already dead by then, but not necessarily. Sophie was working here until about four-thirty and claims not to have seen her.’
‘Where was she seen at four o’clock?’
‘On the footpath close to the shore.’ Perez was finding it easier to think straight now. If he could just focus on the facts he might see this through without making an idiot of himself. ‘I phoned round all the Lindby folk last night. Anna Clouston saw her making her way back towards the Bod. Hattie and her boss had been walking along the beach before that. He was congratulating her on making a significant find at the Setter dig, but he also told her that her assistant had resigned. She’d found Hattie difficult to work with and she’d decided to ditch archaeology anyway. I have the impression Sophie doesn’t need to work for a living and this wasn’t much more than a passing fad.’
‘So the assumption is that the woman killed herself after some sort of disagreement with her boss.’
‘I don’t think there was a disagreement. Berglund passed on the news of Sophie’s resignation. Hattie didn’t seem too unhappy about working the site alone.’
‘All the same…’ the Fiscal broke off and looked up from her notebook for a moment. ‘You say she had a history of mental illness?’
‘According to the mother when I spoke to her last night.’
‘There must have been an implied criticism in Sophie’s decision to leave, don’t you think? Sophie obviously didn’t enjoy working with Hattie. That would have been hurtful to a sensitive young woman.’
‘Perhaps.’ Perez hoped she could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn’t agree.
‘Any previous suicide attempts?’
‘We didn’t go into that sort of detail. But she did say she’d been treated as an in patient in a psychiatric hospital and the mother was obviously worried about her.’ Though not worried enough to come to Shetland to see for herself. ‘Her colleagues both say that since Mima’s death she’s become more isolated and withdrawn. Even her success at the dig doesn’t seem to have raised her mood very much. They’d found some silver coins to validate her theory about the building. Everyone expected her to be very excited. She was – she talked to me about her plans for the future of the project – but she still seemed troubled. Mima Wilson’s death seems to have affected her deeply.’
‘You’d met her, then. Couldn’t the resignation of her colleague have pushed her over the edge?’
‘Unlikely, I’d have thought. She seemed very self-contained to me. I had the impression that she preferred to be alone. Her boss didn’t seem to think that Sophie’s wanting to leave had upset her very much.’
The Fiscal seemed to come to a decision. ‘We need to talk to the mother before we commit ourselves on this. If the girl has attempted suicide before, we don’t want to turn this into a full-blown murder inquiry. That’ll mean bringing the team in from Inverness.’
Which had implications for budget, not to mention the Shetland tourist trade. The Fiscal wouldn’t make herself popular with the politicians if she called it as murder and it turned out to be something less dramatic. And at the moment she was very keen to keep in with the politicians.
‘I’m worried about the coincidence,’ he said. ‘Two sudden deaths, one explained as an accident, another as a suicide. I can’t accept it.’
‘That had crossed my mind too.’ Gently sarcastic. I’m not a fool, Jimmy. Her voice hardened. ‘But I won’t be drawn into conspiracy theories. She was a depressive young woman. This looks like a classic adolescent suicide.’
‘She was twenty-three,’ Perez said. ‘Hardly an adolescent.’
The Fiscal stretched. It was as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Yes, the most likely cause of death is suicide and that’s how we’ll play it for now. Is the mother coming into Shetland?’
Perez paused, remembering the phone call he’d made to Gwen James earlier, the silence on the other end of the line, broken eventually by a single sob. ‘Not immediately. She says she can’t face it. Not yet. I have the feeling that she would hate to break down in public and that she’ll be hiding out in her own home for a while.’ How did he know that? He wasn’t sure but he thought it was true.
The Fiscal frowned. ‘We need some background on the girl’s medical history. You’ll have to talk to her, Jimmy.’
Again Perez remembered the earlier call. ‘I’m not sure that’s a conversation we could have on the phone.’
The Fiscal considered for a moment. Perez thought she was weighing up the cost of a trip south against the value of providing good customer service to a politician. ‘Get yourself to London to talk to her, then. Get this afternoon’s plane south. Give me a ring when you get back.’
Sandy shuffled his feet, making the shingle scrunch and shift. Perez knew what was going on in the Whalsay man’s head. Take me too. He wasn’t sure if Sandy had ever been to London; perhaps once on a school trip. He pictured him wandering around the streets, staring up at the buildings he’d only ever seen in films or the television news. Sandy looked up at Perez and caught his eye. Pleading. Perez read the expression exactly. He’d sensed the tension in Utra. Sandy was desperate to escape, even if only for a couple of days. But there was no way he could justify both of them being away from Shetland.
Perez took a risk, knew he would probably come to regret it later. It was as much about showing Rhona Laing that he wouldn’t be bossed around as giving Sandy a chance.
‘I wonder if this is a job Sandy could do. It would be fine experience for him.’
Fran was in London. If Perez went himself he’d have the opportunity to spend the night with her. But she’d want to introduce him to her friends. He knew how it would be. Some trendy wine bar, loud voices discussing topics about which he had no knowledge and no opinion. He’d show her up. So this was about cowardice too.
Rhona Laing raised her eyebrows. ‘This is a sensitive job, Jimmy. The woman’s a politician.’ Sandy wasn’t exactly famous for his tact or discretion. Or his brains.
‘I think he’s ready for it. We’ll talk it through before he goes. And I want to be here.’