‘So where does Roddy Sinclair fit in?’ Perez asked. Taylor had subsided in his seat, suddenly quiet after the ranting. ‘He’d only have been a child when Booth was last here.’
‘We are sure he was murdered?’
‘I’m sure,’ Perez said, realizing as he spoke how arrogant that might sound. ‘Impossible forensically to tell the difference between murder, suicide and accident. He fell and he smashed his skull. But he knew the cliffs very well. He grew up there. And he was all set to get the plane south. You were with me when he talked about it. His car was loaded up. Something must have taken him out on to the hill.’
‘The murderer arranged to meet him there?’
‘That’s how I read it.’
‘Nobody saw him that afternoon?’
‘They say not. Sandy’s been in Biddista this morning talking to people.’
‘I’d like to give it another go. I still don’t feel I’ve got a handle on the place.’ Taylor leaned forward, his old intense self. ‘Come with me, Jimmy. You’ll get more out of them than I will on my own.’
So Perez found himself back in Biddista, parked again by the Herring House, all his attention focused on three ordinary families and Peter Wilding, to whom he’d taken an irrational dislike.
Saturday was the Herring House’s busiest day. There was a coach outside and a party of elderly Americans was climbing out and trooping into the gallery. Perez supposed there was another cruise ship in Lerwick. Upstairs the café was full. They took one look in and decided it would be impossible to get Martin Williamson’s attention now. Perez had expected the place to be closed as a mark of respect, but he suspected Bella hadn’t given the gallery a thought and Martin had decided there were so many people booked in that it would be easier to stay open.
The post office had just shut and they found Aggie at home. She was in the garden taking washing from the line. Perez held out his arms to help her fold the sheets and they stood for a moment in silence, the sheet stretched between them, while Taylor watched as if they were performing a ritual dance. Inside she moved the kettle on to the hotplate.
‘You’ll have heard about Roddy,’ Perez said. He thought she looked very tired, more timid and mouse-like than ever.
‘That he’s dead. No details. The Whalsay lad that came to talk to me this morning was all questions and no answers.’
‘Roddy was found at the bottom of the Pit o’ Biddista. You’ll have heard that. We don’t know how he got there. We need to find out. You do see, Aggie?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘Poor Bella. I know what it’s like to live with uncertainty. But there are some things you can never know.’
‘You didn’t see him yesterday?’
‘Not on the hill. He came into the post office in the morning.’
‘What did he want?’
‘To buy some sweeties to take on the plane with him,’ she said. ‘He had a very sweet tooth, you ken, Jimmy. Just like a peerie boy.’
‘Did you have any sort of conversation?’
‘I asked him when he’d be back. I know he offended people. Dawn didn’t like the way he kept dragging Martin into Lerwick to parties; all the young girls threw themselves at Roddy and maybe she thought Martin would get caught up with the same sort of thing. I told her she didn’t need to worry. Martin has more sense and he loves her to bits. It’s good for him to have a pal. He doesn’t get so much company out here. Roddy said he was doing a show in the Town Hall in Lerwick in six weeks’ time and he’d be back for that. He was quiet, thoughtful, but he didn’t seem depressed. I thought maybe he was starting to grow up.’ She paused. ‘Have you seen Bella?’
‘Only last night.’
‘I don’t know how she’ll cope with this,’ Aggie said. ‘That boy was her life.’
They left her sitting in the rocking chair in the kitchen, reading a novel, its cover showing a young woman with a shawl thrown over her head, staring into the distance.
In the adjoining house Dawn was sitting with a pile of marking while Alice played with a doll’s house on the floor. It was a big house and the front came off completely so they could see all the rooms. The child held a tiny doll in one hand and moved her from room to room, talking to herself as she played out an imaginary conversation in her head. Perez and Taylor watched her for a moment through the window from the pavement. Dawn was frowning at something one of the children had written. Suddenly she became aware of their standing there and waved them to come in. She stood up to greet them and Perez thought he could see the first sign of her pregnancy.
‘This’ll be about Roddy,’ she said. ‘Everyone’s talking about it. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Come away into the kitchen. I don’t want Alice listening in.’
They followed her into a room the same size and shape as Aggie’s, but about fifty years away in time. There was a microwave on the bench, a juicer and coffee maker. Perez couldn’t imagine that anyone would be baking in this kitchen.
‘Do you think Roddy was murdered too?’ she asked as soon as the door was shut. They could sense her panic. ‘What’s going on here? I’m even thinking of taking Alice away until we know what’s happened. I don’t feel safe. I wish it was already the end of term. I could go and visit my parents.’
‘We can’t know,’ Taylor said. ‘Not for certain.’
‘It’s the uncertainty I hate.’
‘Booth, the guy who was hanged, came from the same part of the country as you,’ Perez said. The thought had come into his head and he spoke without considering how she might take the remark.
‘I didn’t know him! Yorkshire’s a big county.’
‘He ran a small theatre company, worked out of a village called Denby Dale.’
Dawn shrugged but didn’t answer.
‘Did you see Roddy Sinclair yesterday?’
‘Sandy’s already been here and asked that. I was at work till gone five, came back and cooked a meal for Alice and me, put her to bed and watched television until Martin came in from work. He was at the Herring House all night, in case you want to know what he was doing too.’
She seemed niggly and out of sorts. Perhaps she’d been feeling sick and tired. Sarah had been like that in the early stages of pregnancy. Everyone had said it was a good sign, the hormones working properly. Then she’d lost the baby at fourteen weeks. Perez would have liked to tell Dawn that these questions weren’t personal. Everyone would be asked the same. But perhaps at a time like this her feelings weren’t so important.
‘Do you know why anyone would want to kill Roddy?’ he asked. ‘He and Martin were friends. Roddy would tell him, wouldn’t he, if anything was bothering him?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘When he was drunk. But you’d take everything he told you with a pinch of salt. He was just a little boy showing off.’
Chapter Thirty-one
It had been Taylor’s decision to spend the afternoon in Biddista, but now he wasn’t sure what good he was doing there. They’d drunk lots of tea, that was certain. He’d be pissing every five minutes by the time he got back to his hotel. It seemed to him that the first two interviews with the women hadn’t pushed the case forward at all. Their lives were so quiet and domestic. He thought Perez was wasting his time with them.
After leaving Dawn Williamson they went on to the writer’s house. Perez paused for a moment outside before knocking. The Shetlander’s hesitancy was starting to get to Taylor. It was as if Perez never had the courage of his convictions. He needs to sharpen up, Taylor thought. He’d never survive in the real world beyond the Pentland Firth. Then it occurred to him that here, in this bizarre, bleak, treeless community, Perez’s strange methods might actually get results.