Shetland 05: Dead Water (29 page)

‘Of course, Sandy. Good call.’ Willow nodded at him and he seemed to relax.
Once he looked at me like that,
Perez thought.
Once he needed my approval.
‘How did it go?’

‘Maria was a bit of a cow,’ Sandy said. ‘She didn’t believe that there’d been any relationship between Jerry and Annabel. At least that was what she said.’

‘And Peter?’ Perez wasn’t sure why, but he thought Peter’s response to the Greys was even more important.

‘He didn’t say much at all.’ Sandy frowned. ‘He just stared at the lass.’ He glanced down at his notes. ‘Annabel went out into the garden. She said she wanted to be on her own to think about Jerry.’ Another pause. ‘I phoned the vicar of St Luke’s, the church where the advent course was held, when I got back here. He was quite interesting on the relationship between Annabel and Jerry.’

‘In what way?’ Willow leaned forward.

‘He wasn’t convinced Jerry was genuine. The Christian thing. You know. He didn’t
know
that Jerry was making the whole thing up, but he wasn’t sure.’ Sandy checked the notebook. Perez thought it had become a habit. Sandy knew quite well now what he wanted to say. ‘And then there was Annabel’s dad.’ He paused for breath. And for effect.

‘What about Richard Grey, Sandy?’ Willow was sharp now.

‘He didn’t trust Jerry Markham, either. And Grey is wealthy. A private income, on top of what he makes as a barrister, according to the vicar.’

In his head Perez replayed one of the conversations he’d had with Maria Markham. Jerry had told his mother that he would never need to ask her for money again. Perhaps Markham had calculated that, if he married Annabel Grey, he’d be rich enough in his own right. Or at least in his wife’s. Had he played the convert so that he could marry into a wealthy family? The idea seemed fanciful, but perhaps Jerry was desperate. He was a journalist and he understood about research. Had he turned up at the church that day because he knew Annabel would be there? Could anyone be that calculating?

‘What do you make of all this, Jimmy?’ Willow sounded suddenly cheerful.

‘I think that if Jerry expected to marry into serious money, we have to reconsider his motivation in coming to Shetland.’ Outside, the rain continued to batter on the windowpane and on the grey pavement. Perez imagined Cassie inside his neighbour’s kitchen, sitting at the table with her best friend. Cosy. Safe. ‘I mean he was hardly likely to risk blackmail if he was going to be rich soon anyway.’

‘Would he have been rich, though? If Richard didn’t like Jerry, and
he
was the one with the money.’ Willow’s thoughts were fizzing again. ‘Richard seemed reasonable enough while he was here, but he’s got his way now, hasn’t he? There’s no chance that Annabel will marry Jerry Markham. I don’t know how these things work, but perhaps he threatened to disinherit Annabel if she went ahead with the marriage.’

Perez thought that sounded like something from the Jane Austen novels Fran had enjoyed so much. He’d tried to read them to please her, but they’d always sent him to sleep, so he’d never found out how they ended.

‘Annabel’s an idealist,’ Willow went on. ‘A romantic. She might have been happy to go ahead with the marriage anyway. Poverty might seem quite attractive to someone who’s never had to live with it. But all we know about Jerry would suggest that he’d be quite keen on the money too.’

‘Perhaps Jerry
had
changed.’ Perez saw that there was a small river running down the street outside. ‘Perhaps his trip north was his way of proving it. Some sort of test. Or quest.’

But even as he’d spoken the words he thought how ridiculous all this sounded. Like a legend, a story of gallant knights and fair ladies. Annabel had even taken herself off to a nunnery, for goodness’ sake! And Jerry Markham had charged north. Not on a white stallion, but in a red racing car. Perez thought the solution to this investigation would turn out to be more squalid and prosaic than that.

‘You think Richard Grey sent him back to Shetland to prove himself?’ Now Willow sounded sceptical too.

‘I don’t know.’ Perez thought the character of Jerry Markham was slipping away from him, growing vague and blurred. ‘Really I don’t know what to think any more about any of them.’

They sat for a moment looking at each other, the burst of excitement over, disheartened again.

‘We could always ask the Fiscal about Richard Grey,’ Sandy said.

‘What would the Fiscal know about him?’ Willow looked up sharply.

‘According to Grey, they worked together in London, when she was young. A junior member of chambers. Then she got ambitious and moved on.’

The room fell silent as they considered this information. Willow spoke first. ‘That woman was born ambitious.’ She looked at them. ‘Is this significant? Another coincidence?’

‘It’s odd that Grey didn’t try to make contact with Rhona Laing when he was here. If they were such old pals. If he wanted more information on the background to the killings, the Fiscal would be the person to help him.’ Perez tried to tease out the strands of his thoughts, but reached no conclusion. As Willow had said, there were too many connections.

‘I have remembered one thing.’ It was Sandy – tentative, still eager to please. There was a silence while he gathered his thoughts. ‘It’s probably not important. The night Rhona Laing found Jerry’s body in the yoal, the night we assume his car was taken to the car park in Vatnagarth.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘Well, that was when Evie Watt had her hennie do. Her women friends in a minibus, all out on the lash. A three-legged pub-crawl raising money for charity. I saw them on the road to Voe. Maybe some of them saw something? The car?’ When there was no response he added, ‘I know it’s a long shot.’

‘It’s hard to imagine Evie Watt getting bladdered,’ Willow said.

‘She was throwing up by the side of the road when I saw her.’ Sandy frowned. ‘I didn’t recognize her at the time, but it came to me later that I knew her.’ A pause. ‘Maybe she wasn’t used to it.’

‘Or someone spiked her drink.’ Perez remembered the photo of Evie in the animal suit in her house. She’d been pulling faces, looking rather odd.

‘How would we get a list of the women on the bus?’ Willow asked. ‘I wouldn’t want to trouble Evie or her family again.’

Perez thought she couldn’t face the Watts again so soon. It was more about that than sparing their feelings.

‘We could ask Jen Belshaw,’ Sandy said. ‘She was on the bus.’ He turned to Willow. ‘They were talking about her in the bar in Voe when we stopped there for lunch on Saturday. Don’t you remember?’

She shook her head.

‘Jen Belshaw,’ Perez said. ‘Married to Andy Belshaw, the press officer at Sullom Voe. Works as school cook at Aith, where the first body was found. Volunteers in Vatnagarth, where Markham’s car was found. Rows in the same team as the Fiscal at the regattas. You didn’t think to mention before that she was with Evie Watt on Friday night? Providing her maybe with an alibi for Markham’s murder?’ He’d raised his voice, but really he was angrier with himself than with Sandy. He’d intended to interview Jen, but then Annabel Grey had turned up and he’d forgotten to follow that thread of the inquiry.

‘It’s not just Jen Belshaw that’s providing the alibi.’ Sandy was fighting back. ‘It’s a minibus full of pissed women, in fancy dress and all tied to each other. Honestly, I don’t see how Evie Watt could have moved that car on Friday night, even if she was sober.’

He sounded so self-righteous, and the picture he painted was so silly, that the mood in the room lightened again and Willow started to giggle.

‘Jimmy, will you go and see Jen Belshaw first thing?’ she said. ‘She looked up at them. ‘Let’s call it a day now, shall we? Have an early night.’

They left the building together. The rain had stopped and the sky was lighter.

When Perez called into his neighbour’s house to collect Cassie, the table was laid for supper and he was expected to stay for a meal.

‘Really,’ he said. ‘There’s no need. I have food in the house.’

But Cassie had helped to prepare the pudding and he could tell that she would be disappointed if they left immediately. And the casserole smelled very good, and Maggie and David were good company. They were careful not to talk about the case while the children were in the room, but later, when the girls were watching television and the adults were drinking coffee, Maggie mentioned it.

‘It must be hard, Jimmy. Another murder investigation. So soon.’

He didn’t answer directly. ‘Did you know Jerry Markham when he was a boy?’ he asked. ‘You’d have been almost neighbours.’ Maggie had grown up in Ravenswick. She’d have been older than Jerry, but not by so much.

‘He was a classic only child,’ Maggie said. ‘Spoilt rotten. By his mother at least.’ Then: ‘Oh, I’m sorry Jimmy, I didn’t mean that Cassie’s spoilt because she’s on her own. She’s a lovely girl.’

He waved his hand to show that no offence had been taken. He wished folk would be less sensitive around him.

‘Was he malicious, do you think?’

‘No, just thoughtless. One of those kids who love being the centre of attention, who try just a little bit too hard. I always thought that he was very young for his age. Maria had never really let him grow up. Even when he was in his twenties, he seemed to me like a little boy pretending to be an adult.’

Perez thought that helped him to bring Jerry Markham back into focus and to understand him better again.

By the time he had Cassie in bed, and her school clothes in the washing machine and her gym bag prepared for the next day, it was already late. Perez sat and watched the news on the television. Other tragedies. It was only when he was ready for bed himself that he checked his answer machine. One message. It was a surprise to hear the Fiscal’s voice. She sounded calm. Calmer certainly than when he’d called to tell her that there’d been another murder. ‘Something rather odd has happened, Jimmy, and I’d like to discuss it with you. I wonder if you’d give me a ring. When it’s convenient. It’s not urgent.’

He looked at his watch. It was too late to phone her tonight. He’d try her in the morning.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sandy thought it was like old times, he and Jimmy Perez out on the island together heading up to Aith, and Jimmy almost back to his old self. Perez didn’t say much in the car on the way north, but then he’d never been exactly chatty. And at least he didn’t sit in the passenger seat, crouched and brooding, looking as if he might hit you every time you asked him a question. It had been a bit like that until recently.

When they got to the Fiscal’s house, Perez told him to slow down.

But when Sandy asked if he should stop, Perez said to carry on. ‘There’s no sign of her,’ he said. ‘Her car’s not there. She left a message on my answer phone at home last night. I tried to call her this morning, but there was no reply. She must have been on her way to work.’

Sandy couldn’t see that it would be important. ‘She has your work mobile number. She would contact you on that if it was urgent.’

‘Aye, maybe.’ Perez seemed about to say something else, but no words came out. Sandy thought Willow would want to talk to Rhona Laing about the Fiscal’s connection to Richard Grey and she wouldn’t be best pleased if Perez interfered.

When they got to the school the children were in assembly, singing a hymn that Sandy remembered from when he was a boy. It took him straight back to the school in Whalsay, he and his cousin Ronnie sitting at the back of the hall causing mischief. In the Aith kitchen two women, dressed in white overalls and white caps, were preparing lunch. One was peeling carrots by the sink and the other was rolling out pastry on a workbench. This was Jen Belshaw. She looked very different from when he’d interviewed her in Vatnagarth and she’d been dressed in old-fashioned clothes.

‘You can’t come in here,’ she said. ‘Health and safety.’ She was a big woman, not fat, but soft and round. ‘We don’t know what germs you might be carrying.’ Though she was telling them off, it sounded as if she was laughing at the notion too.

‘Any chance we could have a few words?’ Perez stood in the doorway to talk to her and Sandy couldn’t really see past. ‘It’s about the murders.’

Jen Belshaw said something to her colleague and washed her hands in a little basin in the corner. ‘We’ll go through to the staffroom,’ she said. ‘There’ll be nobody in there at the minute. I might even make you a coffee.’ She led them into a pleasant room, easy chairs around the wall, a coffee table in the centre, and switched on a filter machine. ‘So how can I help? Andy said you were round at the house asking about John.’

‘Who was looking after your kids on Friday night?’ Perez asked. Sandy thought that was a strange place to start.

‘They stayed at my mother’s. Except Neil, who was playing football in Brae with Andy. Why?’ She wasn’t hostile, but she looked at Perez as if he were a bit mad.

‘And you were out with Evie?’

‘Aye, the hen party. A charity pub-crawl. Typical Evie. She couldn’t just get pissed and make a fool of herself, like everyone else. She had to save the world at the same time.’

‘Could you talk me through the evening?’ Perez said. ‘It’s not that I’m accusing anyone, but you might have been witnesses.’

Jen poured coffee. She seemed in no rush to get back to the kitchen. Sandy thought she was one of those competent women who could knock up a good meal in about ten minutes, and who was never flustered.

‘The bus picked us all up in our homes,’ she said. ‘Evie first, and then the rest of us. We started drinking in the Busta House hotel in Brae. We thought we’d better start there because it’s kind of grand and, though Veronica had said it was OK, we didn’t want to seem rowdy in front of their guests. So we just had the one drink, rattling the collecting bucket round the bar, and most of us were still quite sober.’

Perez nodded. ‘And you were all dressed up in pairs?’

‘Aye! Crazy!’

‘How was Evie?’

And it seemed to Sandy that this was the important question and that the others had been to get Jen relaxed and ready to answer.

There was a pause.