‘Is Ronald in? I ken he was out with Davy earlier, but he’s back now, isn’t he?’
‘He was,’ Anna said. ‘But he went up the road to see his mother.’ Sandy thought Anna still sounded angry. He had a picture in his head of a pan of soup standing on the Rayburn and ready to boil over. He thought that was how Anna was feeling: ready to boil over at any minute. It couldn’t be easy having a mother-in-law like Jackie living just up the hill and a baby crying and keeping you awake all night. ‘She phoned to say that Andrew’s had a bad day. Ronald went a while ago though, so he shouldn’t be long.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to wait? Can I get you some tea?’
Sandy wondered if his mother would have been more pleasant and easy to get on with if she’d had a little business of her own like this, if she hadn’t been forced to live her life through her sons.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
He followed her when she walked through to the kitchen, carrying the sleeping baby with her in a basket. She was talking about some of the emails she’d had from women wanting to book on her course. Their enthusiasm seemed to have excited her. Sandy had never seen her so lively, so lit up.
‘There was one from Idaho who said she’d knitted Shetland patterns for twenty years and never thought she’d actually make it to the islands.’ Anna turned from pouring out tea to look at him. ‘You and Ronald were very lucky to grow up here, you know.’
Sandy supposed that was true, but now he was just looking for an excuse to leave and to get back to Lerwick.
She stood with a mug in each hand. ‘Shall we take this outside? The sun’s still quite warm out of the wind.’
They sat on a white-painted seat, their backs to the house. Sandy felt suddenly awkward. He’d never been on his own with Anna before and didn’t know what to say to her. After her chattering in the kitchen, it seemed quiet; there were just the noises he didn’t usually notice, the sheep and the gulls, the wind rattling a bit of loose wire on the fence.
‘How is Ronald?’
It must have sounded abrupt to her because she seemed startled and hesitated before she replied.
‘Obviously he’s pleased the police have decided to drop the case against him, but he’s still upset.’
‘Only natural.’
‘Perhaps now he’ll think a bit before he goes out with the boys, drinking, behaving like a lunatic. Perhaps he’ll realize how much he has to lose.’
Then it seemed to Sandy that Anna was almost pleased that Mima was dead because it had pulled Ronald back into line. She’d always have that one moment of foolishness to hold against him. Just remember what happened last time when you didn’t listen to me. What was it with island women that they had to control their men?
He set down his mug on the path.
‘Maybe Ronald didn’t kill Mima,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
He realized he’d been a fool to open his great mouth. What could he say to her now? But as he’d spoken he’d thought it was probably true. Ronald was no fool. He wouldn’t have shot Mima no matter how dark and foggy the weather.
‘Nothing,’ he said ‘Nothing official. I just don’t believe it happened the way everyone thinks. There could have been someone else who was responsible.’
Anna looked up at him astounded. He mumbled an excuse and walked away before his great stupid mouth let him down all over again.
Chapter Twenty-one
Perez didn’t tell Sandy about Hattie’s phone call or that he was coming into Whalsay to meet up with her. He was hoping he could reassure her and leave again before word got out that he was there. He assumed that she wanted to talk to him about the dig. On the phone he’d sensed she had something to confess, something that was making her feel sheepish, uncomfortable with herself. It would likely be some irregularity she wouldn’t want Paul Berglund and the university to know about. Perhaps there had been earlier finds on Setter land and she’d had her own reasons for not telling her supervisor about them. It would be easy enough to set her mind at rest if the matter had nothing to do with the old woman’s death.
Although he hadn’t been looking forward to the trip, when he arrived at Laxo the weather lifted his spirits. The fog had cleared. The breeze blew the water into little white peaks and even on the ferry he could feel the sea moving beneath his feet. Billy Watt was on duty again and they stood on the car deck chatting. Billy had married late and had a little boy. ‘Eh, man, it’s fantastic. The best feeling in the world. You should try it.’
I should, Perez thought. He imagined what it must be like to hold his own child in his arms. Do men get broody? Is this how women feel? He told himself it was just the time of the year. Spring. All those new lambs on the hill. He should concentrate on the case.
‘I’m meeting one of the lasses from the university in the camping bod,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me how to find it?’
So when he drove off the ferry at Symbister he knew exactly where he was going and he didn’t have to ask. He pulled into the side of the road and walked down past a couple of empty houses until he reached it. He looked at his watch. Five to six. He was pleased; he didn’t like to be late. Many of the Shetlanders he knew had a relaxed attitude to time and it always irritated him.
He expected Hattie to be waiting for him. There’d been desperation in her voice on the phone; although she’d said it wasn’t urgent he knew she’d been eager to talk to someone. But there was no response when he knocked at the door. Ten minutes later he was feeling uneasy. He looked inside. It seemed quite primitive: a bare floor, a camping stove and a pile of assorted plates, cutlery and tins on a wooden shelf. Equipment for use with the dig was stored there too: a theodolyte, camera and tripod, surveying poles. On the table a pile of pink sheets of thin paper that seemed to be used for recording finds. There was no sign of Hattie and no explanation for her absence. He walked into the house in case she’d left a note for him and once inside couldn’t help looking around. Beyond the kitchen there was a bedroom with four bunks, two against each wall, the lower of each made up. One was tidy, the sleeping bag straightened for use, clothes folded on a plastic chair at one end. The other, which he presumed was Sophie’s, was a mess.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He turned, startled and embarrassed. The inside of the house was in shadow and the figure was silhouetted in the doorway.
‘I was looking for Hattie.’
‘In our bedroom?’ Sophie stood accusingly where she was, blocking his exit.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know. We’d arranged to meet here. I thought she might have left a note.’
She said nothing, though just the way she was standing made it clear what she was thinking. Ye ah, right!
He walked towards her and her image came into focus. ‘Look, I’m sorry to have intruded. There must have been a misunderstanding. Just tell me where she is and I’ll leave you in peace.’
Still she stood her ground. She was almost as tall as he was. She wore a sleeveless vest under a denim jacket. Her stomach was flat and firm. She had the poise he associated with film stars and models. He wondered how she and Hattie got on away from the dig, what they could have to say to each other.
‘What do you want her for?’ Her tone was amused, but he was left in no doubt that she expected an answer.
‘I think that’s between her and me.’