Raven Black (25 page)

When she got in beside him, he put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her gently towards him and kissed her. She sensed something different about him. Relief. Perhaps that was what all the people who'd been touched by the drama were feeling. Not just relief because a murderer had been locked up, but because it would stop the police prying into their lives. They all had secrets. Mr Scott, Robert. Perhaps even her parents. Now the policeman from Fair Isle would leave them alone.

He drove north without speaking. She stroked the fair hairs on his wrist and he played with her hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb. She wanted him to kiss her again, but was too shy to ask, and anyway there was an excitement in waiting.

'Where are we going?'

. 'I thought we'd go to
Wandering Spirit.
Would you be interested in seeing her?'

His boat was moored in Whalsay. That meant getting the roll-on roll-off ferry to the island. She tried to think if she knew anyone who worked on the ferry who might tell her parents, but Robert seemed so keen that she had to go along with it.

They were at the front of the queue for the ferry and sat in the van on the quay holding hands watching it approach, squat and flat-bottomed and pitching forward with each wave. There were a couple of trucks and just one other van. They sat in the lounge for the crossing. Robert bought her coffee from the machine. He knew the man in the other van, who was sitting there too, but he didn't introduce her. While the two men were chatting about fish and some party there'd been at one of the bars on Whalsay, she looked out of the window and watched the island getting closer. She couldn't remember if she'd been there before. Not for years certainly.

The boat was just as grand as everyone said it was, gleaming white and bristling with aerials and radar masts, much bigger than she'd imagined. Robert was very proud of it. You could tell how much it meant to him. It wasn't just a way of making a living. It defined him. It was who he was. When Sally thought that, she decided it was something Catherine might have said, and that made her proud too.

He took her below and showed her the room where the crew sat when they weren't working. It had leather seats and a big television. There was a fridge. He took out a couple of tins of beer and offered one to her. She took it. She could feel the movement of the boat under her. It sat low in the water and the grey sea was very close through the glass. The horizon tilted, a regular, mesmeric beat.

'Did you fancy Catherine?' she asked suddenly. 'I mean I can understand why you would. She was stunning to look at!

'No,' he said. 'Honestly? I wouldn't have wished that sort
of
death
on
her.
Of
course not. But I thought she was a stuck-up cow. All that stuff about films and art. All that talking!

'Will
you
take
me
to
one of
the parties at the Haa
one
day?'

'I didn't take her,' he said quickly. 'She was there.

We were chatting. That was all!

'But will
you
take me?'

'Aye, why not?'

She'd drunk _the lager quickly and it was stronger than she was used to. The movement
of
the boat disorientated her.

He fetched her another can. They talked. About his work, his family. Later she would remember him describing his mother.
People don't understand
her.
It's all Hunter's fault. She's so soft she can't say no
to him. And his father, though that wasn't like hearing about a real man.

More like some hero you'd read about in a book. But her mind wasn't engaged. She was aware of her body under her clothes, her tongue against her teeth , the skin of her feet against the undersole in her trainers. Everything held in, tied up. She bent down and unlaced the shoes. She kicked one off and prised off the other by pushing down its heel with her foot. She pulled off her socks and rolled them into a ball. There was a carpet on the floor with a rough texture, almost as hard as coconut matting. She flexed her feet against it. Robert, who had still been talking, about a gale which had blown up out of nothing when they were off Stavanger, fell silent. 'Sorry,' she said. 'It's a bit hot in here!

He bent down and took a foot in his hand, twisting her body as he did, so she was almost lying along the bench seat. He rubbed the sole of her foot with his thumb, as he had been playing with her hand in the car. She thought she might faint.

Later, she thought, Is this how it is for everyone? Is it the same for old people? She wondered about her father and mother, if they did occasionally get it together. Part of her thought it might be better for them, not so hurried and scrabbled. Her father would be more patient. Not quite so rough or demanding. But she dismissed that idea as disloyal and ridiculous. What could she expect for her first time? Robert was lying back and smoking a cigarette.

Now she would have liked him to speak, but he seemed lost somehow in his
own
thoughts. Perhaps all men were like that afterwards. She would have liked to ask, Was
that
all
right? Did I
do
the right things?
But she knew it was wiser to stay quiet.

At last she said, 'I should go back or I'll miss the bus! She had plenty of time but she was starving. Now she wasn't dreaming of sex, but Kit-Kats and crisps, maybe a bacon sandwich.

He roused himself slowly and she saw again what she'd found attractive in him. She watched his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms and his back. It hadn't been a big mistake after all. In the lounge on the ferry she found herself smiling. He sat next to her with his wide hand on her leg and when he dropped her off at the school he kissed her. They still hadn't discussed what had happened.

It was too early for school to finish and she went to the shop on the corner and bought chocolate and a magazine. She turned straight to the problem page, but none of the letters there could help her.

On the bus on the way home her phone rang. She answered it immediately, certain that it would be Robert. He would say something sweet and reassuring. He would tell her how much he'd enjoyed being with her. But it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar at first.

'Sally? Is that you? Your mother gave me your number. I'm so sorry to disturb you. This is Fran Hunter. You know, from the house by the chapel!

Duncan Hunter's ex-wife,
she wanted to say. But of course she didn't. How rude that would be!

'I wondered if you'd be able to babysit. I've been asked to teach a couple of evening classes at the college. The teacher's going to be off sick for a few weeks. Maybe you'd feel awkward, because Catherine used to . . . But your mother said to ask anyway. . ! The voice tailed off.

'No; Sally said quickly. 'Really, I'd be pleased to!

She was thinking it would be
one
way to meet Robert without her mother knowing. Risky, but better than being
out
in Lerwick with him. 'Any time!

The Bruces arrived from Aberdeen on the same plane as Jane Meltham, the crime scene investigator. They looked small and bewildered as they walked across the tarmac from the plane, older than Perez had expected. He'd expected them to be the age they'd have been when Catriona died. That's how they were in his head. But of course they hadn't been preserved in the peat like her. You would never have thought they were coming home; they were more like refugees arriving in a strange country. The boy with them, Catriona's younger brother, was taller than they were. Roy Taylor took the family in one car and Perez drove Jane in another.

'Interesting stuff, peat,' she said as they passed the Sumburgh Hotel. 'What did the girl look like?'

'Undamaged,' he said. 'You'd have thought she'd been kept alive somewhere and buried only hours ago. There was a faint brownish tint to the skin and her hair had turned a kind of chestnut colour. That was all. She'd been wearing a cotton dress and that hadn't rotted at all'

It was impossible to shift the image of the girl from his mind. They'd cleared some of the mud from her face, knowing they shouldn't touch anything at the scene, but wanting to identify her, so there'd be some thing definite to tell the parents. After all these years of waiting it would be intolerable not to give them an identification. She'd been lying on her back. Her fair hair, filthy now, was arranged loosely around her face.

Had Magnus done that? Had he thought it looked prettier? Or had he wanted the ribbons for himself? Perez couldn't make sense of it. Was that the only reason he'd killed her?

The procurator fiscal had decided they had enough evidence to charge Magnus. For the murder of Catriona Bruce at least. And of course he was right. There were the ribbons. A confession of a sort, though after that first interview Magnus had stopped talking. He'd sat there with that nervous grin on his face, just shaking his head. Even in private discussion with his lawyer he'd said nothing, apparently.

They would get a conviction. Manslaughter perhaps because of diminished responsibility. There'd be medical reports to show he had a low IQ, possible brain damage, but Magnus Tait would certainly go to prison. He'd leave Shetland for the first time in his life to be locked away. That wasn't enough for Jimmy Perez. He wanted to know what had happened that day when Catriona had run up the track to visit Hillhead. He wanted to know what had prompted Magnus to stab her.

Because she had been stabbed. Even before the crime scene investigator's arrival they could tell that. The body was so well preserved that you could see the wound in the girl's chest, the fabric of the dress marked with rust-coloured stains. And more than anything, Perez wanted to know why, after eight years, Magnus had decided to kill again. Why Catherine Ross? Just because she'd wandered quite by chance into his house on New Year's Eve and he'd taken a fancy to her? Was it because of her name? If she'd been called Ruth or Rosemary, would he have left her alone? And why, this time, had he strangled?

Jane was talking about the bog bodies found by archaeologists. 'They were thousands of years old and still intact,' she said. 'It's hardly surprising you get the same result after eight years. Fascinating! He could tell she was itching to get to the scene and have a look. She hardly gave a glance at the magnificent coastal landscape passing the window.

He left her with the team on the hill and went back into Lerwick. He couldn't face the Incident Room, Sandy with his
I-told-you-so
smirk, the jubilation. They'd already be drinking probably, celebrating the arrest and the Inverness boys' imminent return to civilization. Both camps would be celebrating that. He needed. a sleep and a shower.

At home his answerphone was flashing. His mother of course. He'd not had a chance to phone her back on Sunday night. He was tempted to ring her now, without any more thought.
Yes, I'm coming home. I'm fed up here.

Let the factor know I'm interested in Skerry.
But he ignored it, stood mindlessly under the pathetic dribble of his shower, fell into bed and went immediately asleep.

When he woke it was late afternoon and dark outside. He didn't feel rested. He woke as he'd fallen asleep, troubled by the anxiety that was eating away at him. About Fran and Cassie. About Magnus. A fear that they'd cocked up the whole bloody case. The old man might have killed Catriona. But Catherine?

He checked the phone messages. A sort of penance or punishment. There
was
one from his mother but it was short and apologetic.
Sorry to bother you. I know you're busy. I don't mean to nag.
That didn't make him feel any better.

The next was from Duncan Hunter.
I've heard the news about Magnus Tait. Good work. I don't suppose this
is
relevant now, but I've remembered something about that party at the Haa. Give me a ring. I'll be in the office all
day.

No number. As if he assumed everyone would know the number of Hunter Associates. That you couldn't possibly manage in Shetland without it.

Perez looked it up in the directory and dialled. A young woman said Mr Hunter was in a meeting and unavailable. Could she take a message? Perez could picture her. She'd be young and skinny, long red nails and thin red lips, a tiny skirt hardly covering her bum.

'I'm returning Mr Hunter's call: he said. 'Inspector Perez. He did say it was urgent!

'Just one minute!

There was a blast of music. Not the usual bland electronic noise for Hunter Associates. This was something contemporary with the sort of beat young people bounced to in nightclubs. Duncan had probably paid for it to be composed specially. It stopped as suddenly as it had started, mid-phrase.

'Jimmy. Thanks for getting back to me. Look, maybe you're not interested any more!

'I'm interested!

'I can't talk now. Let's meet later. Monty's. I'll buy you dinner. It'll be quiet on a Monday night. Around eight!

The line went dead before Perez had a chance to reply.

Monty's was probably the best place to eat in Lerwick. It was where the tourists went every evening once they found it, along with the expat English, who raved about the local produce to their friends. It was a bit pricy for the locals if it wasn't a special occasion. The room was small and the tables were close together, but as Duncan had said, a Monday night in January, it was quiet. He was already there when Perez arrived. He'd ordered a bottle of red and was one big glass in. When he saw Perez, he stood up and held out his hand.

'Congratulations!

'It's not all over yet.'

'That's not what folks are saying!