Caroline interrupted quickly. ‘There’s no point in going to Voxter. I’ve only just spoken to George to explain why we’d be late back. He didn’t mention anything.’
‘Was Grusche there?’
‘I presume so. George didn’t say.’
‘Go all the same, Sandy.’ Perez’s voice was firm. Sandy thought how splendid it was to have the old Perez back. There’d been a time following Fran’s death when he’d thought he’d be lost to them forever. ‘Anything out of the ordinary, report back to me.’
None of them asked where Perez intended to search. They had the sense that he wouldn’t have told them anyway.
Outside, Sandy thought that the fog was lifting a little. They’d passed the darkest point of the night. He walked away from Sletts, first onto the road and then by the path that led above the beach towards Voxter. His mind wandered. A week ago the Malcolmsons would have been preparing for the hamefarin’, the house full of activity and the smell of baking. Friends and family would be turning out to help make bunting and decorate the hall. Caroline would be in her element directing proceedings. Then he wondered if he would ever marry, and that led him on to thoughts of Louisa.
The sky was definitely lighter now, but still he shone his torch and shouted Polly’s name. If she’d fallen she might see the pinprick of light in the gloom. He imagined finding her alive and well, and thought how pleased Jimmy would be then. At the planticrub he paused. But there was no sign of Polly here. No phone lying on the grass to be discovered. He looked down towards the sea. The sky was brighter still. A faint glimmering line along the horizon. There was a sharper point of light, which he assumed to be from Willow’s torch as she searched the beach. He walked on down the bank towards the Malcolmsons’ croft, shouting the woman’s name, thinking he must look like a madman, howling into the darkness.
He’d just left the crub when his phone rang. He answered without seeing who was calling. ‘Jimmy? Is that you? Any news?’
But it was a woman’s voice on the other end and it took him a moment to work out who was there. Mary Lomax.
‘Sandy, I’m really sorry.’ She seemed distraught, on the verge of tears.
‘What’s happened?’
‘David Gordon has done a runner. I didn’t realize until I heard the sound of the car starting. He must have come down the back stairs. I tried to run out to stop the car, but I was just too late.’
‘You should tell Jimmy Perez.’ Sandy didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to take responsibility for the missing man. And Jimmy had told him to check on Grusche and George, so that was what he intended to do.
The buildings at Voxter were darker shapes against the sky. Chickens stirred in the hen house as he passed. He stopped outside the house and looked in through the window. The light was still on in the kitchen. There was no sign of George in the chair, where Sandy had left him earlier in the evening, though a nearly empty bottle of whisky and a glass remained on the table. No sign of Grusche, either. Sandy thought if they had any sense they’d both be in their bed. Caroline had said she’d spoken to them when she’d phoned Voxter about the missing woman, but that might have been a while ago. Sandy wondered if George was outside helping in the search. He tapped on the window, but there was no response, so he walked round to the front door. He switched off his torch because there was light from the window and his eyes were accustomed to the dusk now. The door was unlocked and he went inside.
There was a rush of sound and a white figure appeared in front of him. It was Grusche in an old-fashioned cotton nightgown and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. ‘Who is it? Lowrie, is that you?’ She sounded older than Sandy remembered, panicky and frail. He realized that if she’d come out of a lit bedroom, he would be just a shape to her.
‘It’s Sandy Wilson. The detective from Lerwick.’ ‘Sandy, what are you doing here at this hour of the morning? You scared me.’ She reached out for a switch and suddenly the room – a small scullery with space for boots and coats – was full of light.
He blinked. ‘Polly Gilmour is still missing. Jimmy Perez sent me here to see if she’d wandered this way.’
‘We’d have told you if she was here, Sandy. Of course we would. Caroline phoned earlier to say she was missing.’ She paused. ‘These have been terrible times. I’ll be glad when the English people go south again. They’ve brought nothing but trouble.’
Sandy thought that Caroline was English too, but perhaps Grusche already counted her as local.
‘Could I speak to George?’
She hesitated for a moment. ‘He’s asleep,’ she said. ‘He’d been drinking all evening and I sent him to bed.’ Her voice was bitter. Sandy decided you could never tell what went on between a man and his wife. The picture they showed to the world could be quite different from what went on in the home. It started with the wedding – all music and smiling, a kind of performance – and then unless you were lucky things started to crack. Maybe Grusche was so eager for Lowrie to move back to Shetland because George provided no companionship for her at all.
She stood where she was, poised between the bedroom and the kitchen, as if she was unsure whether to go with him or back to her bed. In the end she wrapped the shawl around her head and led him into the kitchen.
‘I should try to wake George,’ Sandy said. Perez had told him to speak to the man.
‘You’d be wasting your time,’ Grusche replied. ‘You’ll get no sense out of him when he’s like this.’ She stood blocking the door and he saw she was adamant that her husband shouldn’t be disturbed.
‘Does it happen often?’
She shrugged and moved to the Rayburn and lifted the kettle onto the hot plate.
‘Often enough. He needs help, but I don’t think he really wants to change. He’s not been the man I married since he left the lighthouse service.’
‘It must be hard living with him.’ Sandy couldn’t see how this had anything to do with the two murders, but he knew that Jimmy Perez wouldn’t walk away if a witness was just about to speak to him.
‘Not really. He’s a good man. He works hard and he’s always been a good father to Lowrie. He can be the life and soul of a party. He just needs a drink before he can face new people or difficult situations, and then he can’t stop drinking when he’s had a few drams inside him. There are lots of Shetlanders who are just the same.’
Sandy thought that was true too.
The kettle on the hob whistled. Grusche made the tea.
‘What do you think happened to Polly?’ she said. She put a mug of tea on the table in front of him.
‘I’m not sure.’ Sandy sipped the tea. ‘It was very foggy. It’s easy to lose your way.’
‘She’ll maybe have been chasing after Eleanor’s ghost-child,’ Grusche said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She thought that she’d seen Peerie Lizzie. It seems the spirit appeared to her on the night of the hamefarin’. And then again on the beach the next day.’ Grusche paused. ‘Caroline and I took her out for lunch in Yell and I thought she was kind of obsessed with all that nonsense. I suppose if your best friend is killed, you lose your perspective. It’d be easy to start believing in the spirit world. And she was determined to track the lassie down.’ She paused. ‘Polly seemed rather mad to me, Sandy. I don’t think she’s entirely safe to be left alone. You need to find her.’
Sandy wasn’t sure what he made of that, but he supposed that Willow and Jimmy would be interested in Polly Gilmour’s state of mind. ‘You’ve known her for a long time?’
‘She was one of Lowrie’s friends since they started at university together.’