Raven Black (22 page)

'Couldn't the tide have taken her? If she'd fallen from the diff?' Taylor spoke for the first time.

'Only on a high spring tide with a strong wind behind it. There's a shelf of rock and a shingle beach which only gets covered twice a year. The weather was bad but it was a neap tide and the wind was offshore. If she'd have fallen she'd still have been there when the cliff rescue team looked the next day.'

'What sort of child was Catriona?' Perez asked.

'Margaret must have talked about her. Was she the sort who might wander off?'

'Perhaps that's why I wasn't too worried when I heard she was missing. She was a minx by all accounts. A bit precocious anyway. Always showing off in class, Margaret said. She thought Sandra spoiled her. But they were an older couple, her and Kenneth. They'd had to wait a while for kids to come along:

'Catriona wasn't easy then?'

'Lively: Alex conceded. 'She was certainly that: 'Bad she run away before?'

'Not run away. But she caused a bit of a stir the week before she vanished. Nobody could find her. Kenneth was down at the schoolhouse looking for her. They discovered her in Hillhead. Mary Tait was baking and Catriona wanted to wait until the scones came out of the oven. Mary said she insisted. Just refused to leave. That's why everyone assumed she was there when it happened again:

'Where do the family live now?'

'I don't know. Margaret might remember. We had a Christmas card the first year, but nothing after:

'And what did you make of Catherine Ross?' There was a long pause. 'She was a young woman,'

Alex said. 'Not a child:

'Only the same age as your daughter:

'Well maybe she's a young woman too, only we don't want to see it. Margaret doesn't at least. Sally's never had much confidence. She's a pretty lass, just not skinny like some of those stars they all read about. She's always been worried about putting on weight. Catherine was different though. More sure of herself. More sophisticated. Margaret didn't like it. She thought Sal was overpowered by her, that she was leading Sal astray: And what did you think?'

'I was pleased that Sally had a friend of her own age living so close. At first we both were. It can't have been easy for Sally being the teacher's daughter. It sets you apart right from the beginning. She found it hard to make friends with other children. I was worried about her, thought at one time she was being bullied. Margaret didn't think there was too much to - worry about and we let it go. We hoped it would be better when she moved to the Anderson, but she never seemed happy there either. It was worse if anything. Sally didn't seem to have any friends at all. Not until Catherine arrived. Perhaps she just tried too hard to belong and that put the other kids off:

'And Catherine made a difference?'

'Sally wasn't on her own so much. I'm not sure how close they were: Be paused again. 'Perhaps Margaret was right and Catherine was only using her. But I didn't see it that way. I thought she was unhappy. She wasn't good at making friends either. And she was a teacher's kid:

'Is there anything else you can tell us about her?'

'I don't think so. She wasn't an easy girl to know.

She was always polite. You could tell she'd been well brought up. But she was never relaxed. She wanted to make an impression. Perhaps her father could tell what she was thinking. I'm not sure anyone else could: Perez thought the girl had fascinated him. Those weren't the sort of things you'd normally say about your daughter's friend. Alex had wanted to understand her. 'Did you ever meet her on your own?'

Alex looked shocked. 'No,
of
course not. Why would I?'

'What were you doing the evening before Mrs Hunter found her body?'

'It was another late night. A meeting
of
the natural history society. Their visiting speaker had let them down so I gave a talk! He looked up. 'There were thirty people there. It wasn't a brilliant speech, but they'll remember it!

'What time did you get home?'

'I went for a drink with them after. One drink. So it was probably about ten-thirty when I got in. Perhaps a bit later!

'Was it snowing then?'

'No. There was even a gap in the clouds, a bit
of
moonlight. The snow came later!

'Did you see anything unusual when you drove down the hill?'

'A body in the field, do you mean? I'm sorry, I've thought about it. I didn't notice anything but that doesn't mean it wasn't there. The road was very icy. I was concentrating on getting down the bank in one piece!

'Was there a light on in Hillhead?'

He thought. 'I'm sorry, I don't remember! He paused. 'There was light in Euan's house. There's that big glass extension. The blinds weren't drawn!

'Did you see anyone inside?'

'No. No one!

'Is that all, Mr Henry? Or is there anything you think we should know?'

Alex paused again, so Perez thought this time the open question might come up with something. Occasionally it worked. But the man just shook his head slowly. 'No,' he said. 'I'm sorry I can't help! Which, Perez thought, didn't quite answer the question.

Fran had acquired a dog. One of the mothers at school had turned up with it the evening before. She'd been tentative. 'We don't want to intrude but we thought she might be a comfort. There's no harm to her, but she makes an awful lot of noise when she's disturbed.

We thought, being on your own, and so close to where the body was. . !

Fran had invited the woman in, offered her wine which she refused and tea which she accepted. Fran had intended this as a polite introduction to refusing the gift. In London she'd always hated dogs. They crapped on the pavements and whined. The woman talked about their respective children, about the school. 'Oh, she's a great teacher, Margaret Henry. She stands no nonsense!

Fran didn't offer her own opinion. Neither did she discuss the murder. But when the woman stood up to go, the dog stayed. Fran had the sudden superstitious feeling that if she rejected the offer she would be setting herself up for something dreadful to happen. An attack on the house, on her and Cassie. She imagined the parents talking about it afterwards in the playground.
It was her pride, you see.

We offered her the dog to look after her and she turned it down.

So Fran had a dog called Maggie. A mongrel with a lot of collie in her. Black and white. Cassie was delighted - she had pestered often for a pet - and spent the evening tormenting the animal, who accepted the treatment with such equanimity that Fran thought it unlikely she would be much good as a guard dog.

Now it was Sunday afternoon and Cassie was at a school friend's birthday party. She'd dressed in her favourite dress, all pink frills and glitter, working herself almost into tears when her hair wouldn't stay up as she'd wanted it.
What will the others think of me, looking like this? Other people's mothers have straighteners and curling
tongs.
By implication Fran was a terrible parent.

Fran tried to understand the tantrums. It would be Cassie's first proper sleepover. A rite of passage. She'd been given a lift to the party and Fran had stood at the door waving her off, but Cassie didn't notice. She was already giggling and gossiping with the other girls in the car. Maggie was lying asleep in front of the range.

Fran began work again on a pen and ink drawing she'd started earlier in the week. It was inspired by Raven Head, the patterns on the rock face, the shingle beach below. She'd begun with a clear vision of how she hoped the design would work, but now she found it impossible to concentrate. There was a prickly restlessness which felt like caffeine overload. She'd caught Cassie's frenetic mood. In a moment of frustration she screwed the paper into a ball and threw it on to the fire.

She felt she'd been trapped in this one room for days. If I was in London, she thought, I'd call someone.

We'd meet in a bar
for
a late lunch, a couple of glasses of wine. There'd be people around, noise, gossip. If I’d found a body there, I'd talk it out of my system. The image wouldn't sit in the back of my mind, contaminating every thought. It wouldn't float in front of my eyes when I was trying to draw.

She pulled on a pair of wellingtons and a coat and opened the door. The dog followed. An astonishing change in temperature had occurred outside overnight. It was as if Ravenswick had become a different place, softer, less hostile. The police were still on the road down by Hillhead, but there weren't so many of them on the hill now.

From this distance the men looked like children's stick drawings, like the drawing Cassie had made in the sand on the beach at the Haa.

She could see Euan's house too. His car still stood outside. She thought on impulse she should visit. If she was feeling stifled, how much more difficult must it be
for
him? She walked down the hill with the dog
yap
ping at her ankles. When she knocked at the door, Euan opened it immediately and glared out at her. She took a step back in surprise.

'I'm sorry' he said. 'I thought you were a reporter. The police stop them at the top of the bank, but one or two have got through. It's not the locals. The nationals must have got wind of the case now too!

'I wasn't sure if you'd want a visitor. I'm quite happy to go if you like. . !

'No. I should be looking through Catherine's things. The police have asked to see her video recorder. But I'm not sure I can face it yet. Let's have some tea, shall we?'

.

She left the dog in the garden and followed him.

When he took her into the space-age kitchen, she saw what an effort it was
for
him to hold it all together.

His hand shook as he held the kettle under the tap.

'I want to know about the other girl: he said, his back still towards her.

'What other girl?'

'Catriona Bruce. The other girl who lived here. The other girl who disappeared!

He turned and lifted two mugs from a shelf. 'At first it didn't matter who'd killed Catherine. Not really. It was being without her. Her absence. Very selfish, I'm sure, but that was all that mattered. Then you told me about the other girl and I realize it makes things different!

'How?'

'If Catherine's death is part of a pattern, it could have been avoided. You do see what I mean?'

Fran wasn't sure she understood at all, but she nodded slowly.

'So I have to know what happened to the girl eight years ago. It's a way of making sense of things. A way of understanding why Catherine died!

'Catriona's body was never found!

'I know that: The electric kettle had boiled but he ignored it. His tone was impatient and the anger had returned. 'Of course, I know that: He walked past Fran. 'Come here: he said. 'Come here! He seemed about to grab her arm, but stopped himself. He led her through into a small utility room, with a sink, washing machine and drier. It was a dark little room which had escaped the improvements in the rest of the house. It smelled damp. 'This must have been the old kitchen: he said. 'And this must have been the larder!

He opened a cupboard door. 'Look.' His voice had risen to a shrill squeal. 'Look.'

The inside of the larder door hadn't been painted for years. He pushed it wide open so she could see the marks in felt-tip pen drawn inside showing the height of the children who'd lived there. By each mark there was an initial and the date. He pointed to the lower mark. 'B: he said. 'That's for Brian, her younger brother. I asked the detective. He told me his name. This is Catriona.' The mark was pink. 'This is how tall she was a month before she died.'

'She was small for her age,' Fran was moved despite herself. Cassie would only be a couple of centimetres shorter.

Euan seemed to have forgotten that he'd offered her tea. He wandered back to the kitchen and sat on a stool with his head in his hands. She stood for a moment, helplessly, but realized there was nothing she could do for him. When she said she should go, he seemed not to notice.

Fran set off up the bank. She needed to walk away from the vision of the educated man crumbling in front of her, looking for an explanation in patterns and old pen marks on a wall, becoming obsessed with another child.

Was it guilt which drove him? The guilt of knowing he'd not been much of a father? The dog danced beside her then ran on. She came to an area of flat ground before the land started to rise steeply. Everything here was soggy, the ditches full of melted snow, the peat soaked and spongy. There was a pale sunshine which reflected from the standing water, the pools and puddles which had appeared overnight.

They ran together into one wide, shallow lake. She splashed through it, thinking, Cassie would love this.

I don't think I can handle this on my own, she thought. It wasn't just the big things, like Catherine and her father.

There was other stuff she'd have liked to discuss with friends. Men, for instance. She missed having a man in her life, would have liked to have admitted that, joking, weighing up the possibilities. Here, it was impossible to talk about it. People wouldn't understand.

She missed even the trivial conversations about clothes, diet, holidays, the stuff she'd despised when it was a part of her life. She'd always thought of herself as an independent woman. Strong. Now, for the first time since moving back to Shetland she longed for the company of her women friends.

Here, she'd always be an outsider. Always. Cassie might grow up with a Shetland accent, marry a local man, but people would never forget that her mother was English. It would have been different if Fran had stayed married to Duncan. There would have been acceptance of a kind then. Now she couldn't see how it would work out.

Of course there were other incomers, expat English. Hundreds of them, like Euan and her, trying to forge a life for themselves in the islands. Some of them tried so hard to be local that they made themselves ludicrous, with their spinning lessons, their music and attempts at dialect.