Wilding led them upstairs to his workroom. Beside the computer there was a pile of paper, a typescript covered in scribbled notes. His focus still seemed drawn to it and his offer of coffee lacked any real warmth. It seemed as if he wanted them to go so he could get on with his work.
‘I get so caught up in the detail of a book,’ he said. ‘I lose the overall picture, the story I set out to tell.’
‘We’re here to talk about Roddy Sinclair,’ Taylor said. How self-centred could you get? he thought. A young man was dead and this guy was stressing about a fairy tale. Taylor was an obsessive himself and recognized the signs.
‘How can I help?’ For the first time Wilding seemed to give them his full attention. ‘It’s such terrible news. I can’t imagine what Bella must be going through. I wondered if I should call on her. What do you think? I don’t know what the convention is here.’
‘She’d probably be glad to hear from you,’ Perez said. ‘Maybe leave it for another day.’
‘I spoke to your colleague this morning. I don’t think I can help any more.’
‘He’ll have asked, I expect, if you saw Roddy yesterday.’
‘I saw him in the morning. From the window here. He walked down the street to the post office.’
‘And then he came back?’
‘I didn’t notice that. He was probably chatting to Aggie and then I was concentrated on my writing. This problem which has been haunting me for several days.’ Again his eyes flicked to the manuscript on his desk. ‘He must have come back. There’s no other way to the Manse, but I didn’t see him.’
‘We’ve identified the man who was killed here at the jetty,’ Perez said. ‘His name was Jeremy Booth.’
Taylor thought Wilding expressed a brief moment of recognition. ‘Do you know him?’
Wilding frowned. ‘The name sounded familiar for a moment. But I had an agent called Booth once. Perhaps that was it. I had to sack him. His name was Norman. Probably no relation to the victim.’
‘This is a serious matter.’ There was an edge to Perez’s voice which surprised Taylor. ‘Are you sure you’ve never heard of the man?’
‘No,’ Wilding replied. ‘I don’t think I have. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’
Taylor thought he didn’t sound sorry either.
‘How did you come to live in Biddista?’
‘I think I explained before that I’ve always admired Bella’s work. I wrote to her years ago to tell her how much pleasure I took from her paintings and we began a correspondence.’ He paused, saw that more explanation was required. ‘I’ve recently separated. My partner left me. It was unexpected, to me at least. I’d thought we were happy. But she’d been seeing someone else. I had a sort of breakdown. I even spent a couple of weeks in hospital.’ He stopped and looked over to where they were sitting. ‘Perhaps you know all this already. I suppose you check the backgrounds of people close to a murder case.’
Not well enough, Taylor thought. Obviously. He felt the old anger at a job not properly done.
Wilding continued. ‘I suppose I behaved rather badly. I followed my partner. Sent her flowers and presents. Tried to persuade her to change her mind. Her lawyer called it harassment, though I didn’t see it that way. I was never charged with an offence but she took out an injunction to stop me bothering her. I thought it would be safest to move away.’ He smiled briefly at Taylor, who seemed the most sympathetic of his listeners. ‘Shetland was about as far away as I could get.’
He seemed strangely unemotional now, talking about the obsession, the injunction. He could have been describing someone else.
‘What was your girlfriend’s name?’ Taylor tried to keep his voice even, but he allowed himself a tentative excitement; this held the possibility of some sort of motive.
‘Helen. Helen Adams.’
‘And her new partner?’
‘Jason Doyle. A rather vulgar name, I thought. It was a surprise when I found out he was a lawyer. I’m sorry to disappoint you, inspector. He wasn’t called Booth, and he’s a creature of the inner city. I don’t suppose he’d ever choose to visit Shetland. I haven’t killed anyone.’
‘What are your plans for the future, Mr Wilding?’ Perez again, crisp and clipped. He was being sharp enough now, Taylor thought. Perhaps it was because he was dealing with an incomer and he wasn’t so involved.
The writer answered immediately. ‘I’d like to settle here. Make a fresh start. My partner and I never had children. There’s nothing to take me back.’
‘How did you come to rent Willy’s house?’ Perez dropped in the question as an afterthought.
‘Didn’t you know? Bella owns it. The council sold off all these houses some years ago. Willy was given the option to buy, but he’d already retired and couldn’t raise the mortgage. She gave him the money. Security and a rent-free home for the old man, and an investment for her. He doesn’t have any family. Recently he moved into sheltered housing. When I emailed her that I was looking for a short-term let in Shetland, she offered it to me.’
Taylor wondered why that fact hadn’t come to light before. Perez was supposed to know these people, everything about them. But then, could it have any importance? Another small domestic detail. Nothing likely to lead to murder. It was time to move on.
Perez, though, seemed reluctant to leave the writer.
‘Did you go out yesterday evening?’
‘Not on to the hill. Only for a walk on the beach.’ Wilding looked directly at the Shetlander. ‘If I could help you, inspector, I would. I liked Roddy. He was young and irresponsible, but he didn’t take himself too seriously. He made people laugh. More than that, Bella doted on him and I’d do anything in the world to make her happy.’ His face softened. Taylor thought he was besotted. That obsessive streak again.
He moved over to take a seat in front of the computer, to show them that he wanted to go back to work.
Outside on the road, Perez said abruptly that he needed to get back to Lerwick. He had an appointment he couldn’t cancel. If Taylor wanted to continue questioning the community, he’d arrange for a car to pick him up later. Of course Sandy had already spoken to everyone. The implication was that Taylor was unlikely to come up with anything new and it was all rather a waste of time.
Taylor forgot that earlier he too had thought there was little to be gained by talking to the Biddista residents. He saw this as a chance to beat Perez on his home ground. He sensed an edge in the competition. ‘I’ll just pay a visit to Miss Sinclair,’ he said. ‘I know you talked to her yesterday, but she should be calmer now. She might remember more.’
It was late afternoon on a Saturday. In Inverness Taylor hated the weekends when he wasn’t working. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t made friends there; somehow he’d always known he wouldn’t be staying and that had made him keep people at arm’s length. Suddenly the exile in the highlands seemed pointless. What was the point of spiting his father, even though he was no longer alive?
He was so wrapped up in these thoughts that he arrived at the Manse without realizing. He rang the bell and heard the tinny ring inside. The door was opened by a woman he didn’t recognize. She was wiry, smartly dressed. His first thought was that she might be a housekeeper or cleaner, but that was dispelled by the calm air of authority when she spoke.