Sandy was looking out for them. It was nine o’clock. As they opened the main door to the Springfield House the long-case clock in the hall chimed the hour. He had the light on in the kitchen and had been peering out at the shadowy courtyard to check that the car he’d heard belonged to them. He’d looked like an anxious child, left alone in the house for the first time, waiting for his parents to return.
‘I need tea.’ Willow slumped in one of the chairs and took off her shoes. Perez saw that there was a small hole in the toe of her hand-knitted sock.
Sandy switched on the kettle. ‘So, did you find Monica?’
Perez explained about the empty bungalow and the visit to the gallery.
‘So you think she was away before the killings?’ Sandy said. ‘I can’t confirm that. Nobody from North-Link or Flybe will be available until seven tomorrow morning.’
‘She can’t have left on the Friday.’ Willow had her hands cupped round the mug of tea and Perez thought she looked exhausted. ‘She saw Eleanor’s body.’ She explained to Sandy that they’d seen a sketch of the dead Eleanor in Monica’s house.
‘That’s not necessarily true, is it?’ Perez had been thinking about that. ‘She didn’t need to see Eleanor’s body to make the drawing. She just needed to know that it would be there.’
‘The murderer confided in her beforehand, you mean?’ Willow looked up sharply. ‘If you’ve got a theory about this, Jimmy Perez, now’s the time to share it.’
Perez hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say. His phone started to ring and he took it out of his pocket. Cilla, Eleanor’s mother. He’d saved her number when he was in London.
‘Inspector Perez.’ She sounded very old and her voice was slurred. She’d been drinking. ‘I’ve been thinking about our conversation.’
‘Yes?’
‘I wasn’t entirely honest with you.’ She paused. He imagined her in the room in Pimlico, looking out at the small garden, a large glass in her hand. Mourning her daughter in the only way she could. As far south as London it would already be dark; moths would be attracted to the light in the window. Perez wondered whether he should prompt her again, but at last she continued. ‘I think I know why Nell wanted to talk to me that day before she set off for Shetland. I know what was on her mind.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Willow couldn’t work out to whom Perez was talking on his mobile. The Shetlander got up suddenly and walked away from her. He opened the kitchen door and continued the conversation there in the doorway, facing outside. She could only see his back, which was hunched slightly. The open door let in the chill air. The call would be about Cassie, Willow decided. She was the love of his life, these days. Fran reincarnated, another kind of ghost. It was a lot for the girl to live up to.
Sandy was talking and he pulled her attention back into the room. ‘I’m pretty sure that I have proof Eleanor was in Shetland before, and that she met up with Monica Leaze.’
‘How do you know that, Sandy?’
‘I did as Jimmy suggested and talked to a friend who works at Mareel arts centre. She couldn’t help, so I contacted the manager at the Hay’s Dock, the restaurant at the museum.’
‘And?’
‘She knows Monica Leaze. She remembers Monica having lunch there with three other people. One of them was a woman with dark hair. I emailed my mate the photo that Polly Gilmour let us have and she confirmed that it was Eleanor.’
Willow forgot about Jimmy Perez for a moment. Monica Leaze must be the ‘Monica’ of Eleanor’s notebooks. ‘Did your friend recognize any of the other people?’
Sandy shook his head. ‘Two men. That was all she said.’
‘I don’t suppose the restaurant manager overheard any of the conversation?’
‘No.’ Sandy was disappointed because he couldn’t contribute more. ‘The women seemed like good pals, though, and greeted each other like old friends. It didn’t look like the first time they’d met.’
Willow wasn’t sure that meant anything. She had arty friends too and their natural form of greeting, even to a stranger, was a hug, kisses on both cheeks, exclamations of delight.
‘Monica had a portfolio with her,’ Sandy went on. ‘The group looked at some paintings. Had them spread over the table.’
‘Then what?’
‘They went outside. They’d had wine with their meal and they were laughing. Like it was a sort of celebration. My friend was looking out of the window a bit later and saw the group taking photos of each other on that decking between the museum and the dock.’
Willow’s brain was fizzing with ideas and snatches of memory. She fetched her laptop and fired it up. ‘This is a scrap of a photo found on the hill near Eleanor’s body. Look at the blown-up image. Could that be the outside of the museum, do you think?’
Sandy stared at it, frowning. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘It’s hard to tell, but yes, I think it is. But why would that picture make someone commit a murder?’
‘If we knew that, Sandy, we’d have the case closed and be on our way home.’
Willow looked towards Perez to share the news, but he wasn’t there. He’d finished his call, wandered out into the courtyard and was standing quite still. The public bar was closed as a mark of respect following Charles Hillier’s death, so there were no lights to shine on the yard. Through the window Willow saw his silhouette. He seemed lost in his own world. Again Willow thought there must be some domestic crisis concerning Cassie. Anyone who took on that man would have a whole heap of baggage to deal with too.
She heard a sound from inside the house, a door being quietly shut, the rustle of clothing, and she walked through into the grand lobby. The only light came from a long sash window next to the front door and was milky, filtered by the mist. David Gordon stood at the top of the curved staircase. He was still in the clothes he’d been wearing during the day and it seemed that he’d made no attempt to sleep. She wondered how long he’d been there and if he’d heard any of the conversation.
‘David, are you OK? Can I get you anything?’
He muttered something that she couldn’t make out and turned away. It was only then that she saw that his hair was covered with fine droplets of water and there were wet footprints on the parquet floor where she was standing. David had been outside. She imagined him standing on the terrace and looking down over the shore to the spot where he’d found his lover’s body. Willow was about to ask where he’d been, but he’d already disappeared back into his room. She hesitated, unsure whether to follow him, when she heard Jimmy Perez come back into the kitchen. Willow thought how disengaged he seemed. She had an urge to shake him. Leave the past behind, at least while you’re working. In the end it was Sandy who asked who’d been on the phone.
‘Eleanor’s mother, Cilla,’ Perez said. He frowned and Willow saw that the content of the call had been preoccupying him. So she’d been wrong. He was entirely focused on the case. She felt a twinge of guilt.
‘Anything useful?’
‘It could be.’ But he didn’t seem happy or excited. This was a different Perez from the one who’d sat beside her in the car in Yell, urging her on down the narrow roads to look for Monica Leaze and then to catch the ferry.
‘Perhaps you could tell us what she wanted then, Jimmy. It’s getting late.’ Willow was losing patience once more. This wasn’t the time for games. She thought she needed a large drink and remembered there was a bottle of Chablis in the fridge. Monica’s tipple. She set it on the table with three large glasses. ‘Come on, Jimmy. We won’t be going out again tonight. Pour us both some wine and tell us what this is all about. We have important information too. There’s a lot to discuss.’
‘Cilla has been having an affair,’ he said. ‘She thought Eleanor had found out about it, suspected that was why she’d asked Cilla to meet her for lunch the day before they all set off for Shetland.’