Shetland 05: Dead Water (38 page)

‘But Francis was convinced that the scheme was rotten at its core,’ Perez said. ‘He told me when I visited him on Fetlar that there hadn’t been a development in Shetland that didn’t have corruption at the heart of it. He really believed the project must be based on council fraud, that there’d be a huge scandal and Evie would suffer. If he’d been less paranoid and trusted his daughter’s judgement more, two men might still be alive. It’s one of the saddest aspects to the case.’

‘In the meantime Markham was trying to get in touch with Evie.’ Willow was in her usual place on the sheepskin rug, as comfortable as a cat, long and sleepy.

‘He phoned her and he left messages on her voicemail,’ Perez said. ‘And perhaps he gave away enough of his concern for her to guess the gist of what he wanted to say. The night of her hen party something had certainly troubled her.’

‘Who did Markham meet in the Bonhoga?’ Sandy asked. He’d finished his beer. Perez could tell that he’d like another, but didn’t want to ask.

‘That was Jessie Watt. Brian, who runs the cafe, thought it might have been Evie, but they look very similar. It was Jessie, dressed up and smart. Markham had already phoned the Watts about Henderson’s affair. The meeting was Jessie’s attempt to persuade him to keep the matter quiet, but he refused. He said Evie should know the sort of man she was about to marry.’

‘So Jessie knew that her husband was a murderer?’

Perez shrugged. ‘She must have been a part of it – of Markham’s murder, at least. The two of them left Fetlar together. The ferry boys said they hadn’t seen the Watts leave the island that day, but Francis took his own boat out. He kept an old van in Vidlin for picking up tools and wood, to use on the mainland. Francis drove Jessie to the Bonhoga, where she had a last attempt to persuade Markham to go south and leave them all alone. Afterwards they followed Markham to Sullom Voe. That must have been a time of decision for them. They could have driven away and caught the ferry home, but Francis wasn’t a man to let him go. By then he was furious and desperate to stop Markham telling Evie about Henderson’s affair and to stop him writing about Power of Water.’

‘Jessie says she tried to persuade him.’ Willow said. She stretched. ‘Stupid, weak woman. She can’t have tried very hard.’

Perez thought that Jessie had spent her life believing that Francis was right. It would be hard to stand up to him about this.

‘So they came back to the Lunna junction to wait for Markham, knowing he’d have to come that way to go home. They won’t have known that he’d arranged to meet Henderson near Scatsta.’

Perez imagined the couple waiting in the tatty white van. There were always vehicles parked at that junction – it was a meeting place for car-shares into town. Nobody would take any notice of them. Perhaps Jessie had prepared a picnic. Something traditional of course: bannocks with reestit mutton, home-bakes. Had the plan just been to scare Markham? To send him on his way?
You’ve already broken our girl’s heart once. Now you want to do it all over again. She has a chance for happiness, for a new life with a good man.
Or were the elaborate travel arrangements evidence that Francis Watt was already contemplating murder? Perez thought the couple would have spent the waiting time talking about Markham, winding each other up, persuading each other of his wickedness. The tension must have been unbearable as the light faded and the visibility grew poorer.

‘How did they know it was Markham’s car?’ Sandy broke into Perez’s thoughts. ‘The fog would have been so thick by then that they wouldn’t have seen it coming.’

‘But they’d have heard it, wouldn’t they?’ Willow was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow. Her hair had changed colour in the firelight. ‘That engine. There’d be nothing else like that in Shetland. Worth taking a chance on, anyway. Worth starting the van and driving out, causing the oncoming car to swerve into the lay-by. If they’d got the wrong car, they could pretend it was an accident.’

Perez nodded. And again he ran the scene in his head. Markham would have been shocked, and even the new, changed Markham would have been angry. He’d have climbed out of his car shouting and swearing. Anyone would. And Francis Watt, shut off from the real world by the fog, his nerves taut from the waiting and his wife’s endless talking, had lashed out. He’d taken a spade from the back of the truck and hit out.

Perez hadn’t taken part in the interview of Francis Watt. He hadn’t trusted himself to stay calm and professional, but he would have liked to ask how Francis had felt at that point. Had he enjoyed the sensation of power? Was that why he’d decided to kill again?

‘Then what happened?’ It was Sandy again, wanting to move things on. Perhaps he had an appointment in town. A lass to meet, or there were friends waiting for him in a bar, ready to celebrate the end of the case. Perez got to his feet and fetched him a beer from the fridge.

‘They didn’t want to leave Markham there.’ Willow sounded cheerful now. The case was over and she hadn’t screwed up. ‘Soon traffic would be coming back from Lerwick and people would be collecting their cars after work. So they put him in the back of the van. Of course it was Francis’s idea to take him to Aith. The Fiscal’s home territory. An indirect message to the scarlet woman. In the interview Francis told me he thought it would be fitting to set Markham afloat on the water. So they loaded the body into the yoal. He looked in Markham’s briefcase before they pushed the boat into the marina. Of course there was nothing much in there, because there wasn’t much of a story at that point. Just a pile of postcards Markham had picked up from the Bonhoga that morning. Jerry must have posted one to Annabel Grey in Brae when he stopped there for his lunch. Francis took a few of them. Mementos.’

Another indication, Perez thought, that Francis had enjoyed the killing and wanted an object to trigger the memory of it.

‘Late that night they drove Markham’s car to Vatnagarth and then they steamed back to Fetlar,’ Willow said. ‘To make their boats and knit their jerseys and finalize plans for their daughter’s wedding. As if nothing had happened.’

‘But Markham had met John Henderson,’ Perez said. ‘And John suspected that Markham’s murder was connected to the story. The old story of his affair with the Fiscal. I think he’d decided that he had to tell Evie all about it.’

‘Even though she’d probably guessed some of it, guessed at least that Markham was in Shetland to pass on some gossip about Henderson. And she can’t have cared, can she? She went out, got pissed and then decided it didn’t matter. The next day she was behaving just as normal. She loved him and was going to marry him anyway.’ Willow looked up at the men. ‘Such a dreadful waste! What did Markham think he would achieve?’

‘Henderson made the mistake of phoning Francis first,’ Perez said. ‘To warn him that Evie might be too upset to marry him. He’d have thought it was the honourable thing to do. The men were old friends. And perhaps something in Watt’s response to the call made John suspect he was the killer.’

‘So Henderson had to die too.’

‘He did. And perhaps by then Francis saw himself as a kind of avenging angel. He must have convinced himself that this was for the best, that Evie didn’t deserve an adulterer like Henderson after all. This time there was an even more elaborate crime scene. Henderson next to his wife-to-be, with the mask over his head.’

Willow took another drink. ‘A forensic psychiatrist will have a fine time with that!’ She looked into the fire. ‘Jessie had nothing to do with that killing. Francis left home early and was just home by the time you visited them that afternoon, Jimmy. Jessie was working in the fields all day. She didn’t ask where Francis was going in his boat. She didn’t want to know.’

They sat for a moment in silence.

‘In the end I think Watt blamed Rhona Laing for everything,’ Perez went on. ‘She seduced Henderson, not caring that his wife was dying. She began the whole business. In Francis’s head, she’d even turned
him
into a killer.’

Perez sat back in his chair. ‘I saw Evie this afternoon,’ he said. ‘She’s staying with Jen and Andy Belshaw.’ He thought of the young woman’s fury, her blazing eyes and violent words. Hatred of her parents was helping her through her present grief, but that wouldn’t last.

Perez wanted his visitors to go now. He was tired and needed to be left with his own thoughts and his own memories. The others must have realized that, because suddenly they were on their feet, and the door was open, and the chill night air was in the house.

Sandy went ahead of them, almost running down the bank to the car. Perez decided that he definitely had an appointment with a woman. Willow stood for a moment. ‘I’m away south tomorrow,’ she said. ‘My father’s birthday. I’m off on the first plane, so I’ll not see you.’

‘But you’ll be back?’ There was a moment of panic. He saw how much he would miss her.

‘Oh, I’ll probably be back. You know these cases. Always ends to tie up.’

He thought she would kiss him again as she had in the hotel that night. A dry kiss on his cheek. But she gave a little wave and followed Sandy down the hill. Perez stood in the open door and felt cheated.

Chapter Forty-Seven

The next day was fine and still and surprisingly warm. A week away from May, but it felt like summer. Rhona Laing served tea outside, on a round wooden table, sheltered by shrubs. Hidden from view, the space had the feeling of a child’s den, a secret garden. Had she sat here with John, drinking wine or coffee, away from the prying eyes of her neighbours? Perez had been summoned by phone.

‘Jimmy, I think you deserve an explanation.’

The tea was Earl Grey. Fran had enjoyed that too.

‘I did care for John,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t a thoughtless fling.’

Perez said that really it was none of his business.

‘You saved my life, Jimmy. As I said, you deserve an explanation.’

‘I should have made more effort to answer your phone call.’ He poured more tea.

‘And I should have been prepared to confide in you.’ She looked at him coolly across the table. ‘I’ve always struggled to place my trust in men.’

Perez thought she would find that even more difficult now.

Rhona continued. ‘I’d allowed myself to be blackmailed by Markham,’ she said. ‘Ridiculous! That made it hard for me to tell anyone what had happened. It made me party to a criminal activity . . . If it had just been the affair . . .’ Her voice tailed off. ‘But I couldn’t have people gossiping about John when Agnes was still alive. Markham was leaving for London. I assumed if I paid him off, that would be the end of it.’

‘What happened the day you were abducted by Francis Watt?’ Perez had read her statement, but that had been dry and factual. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her. She’d been imprisoned all day. And still had the marks of the encounter on her body.

‘I was just about to leave for work, in the office checking my emails. I heard someone in the house. I think he’d been in there before. I’d had a sense, you know, of my space having been invaded, of my things having been moved, earlier in the week. I’d thought I was going mad, but he’d found some way in. Security isn’t at the top of our list of priorities here. You know that, Jimmy.’ Perez saw how grey she was and thought she’d been living in a nightmare since she’d found Markham’s body.

‘At first he was quite polite,’ she said. ‘He apologized for disturbing me so early. Then he changed. As if a switch had been tripped. He began to rant. About how I’d ruined his daughter’s life. It wasn’t the affair with John that he objected to, but that I’d let Markham find out about it. “Would it have hurt you to be discreet?” As if I’d been boasting about the relationship to everyone I met. Then he said I’d turned him into a killer. Until that point I hadn’t believed that he was more than a strange middle-aged man.’ She looked up at Perez. ‘I reached for the phone, but he was too quick for me. And very strong. I suppose it’s hard physical work, building the yoals.’ She reached out towards her cup, but paused, her hand resting on the table. ‘How could someone who creates such beautiful objects turn into a monster?’

‘He wanted to protect his daughter,’ Perez said. ‘At least that was how it started. And he was convinced he was right, that in some sense the murder of Markham was justified. In his eyes, Markham was an evil man.’

‘But he couldn’t have thought that about John,’ Rhona Laing said. ‘Nobody could believe that John was anything other than kind and generous.’

Perez thought about that. It seemed to him that Watt’s instinct for survival had taken over then. He hadn’t been thinking about Evie when he killed John Henderson. He’d been protecting himself. At the same time hating himself for doing it. And that was why he’d attacked the Fiscal: he’d needed somebody else to blame.

Rhona was continuing her story. ‘He wrapped me in a piece of tarpaulin and stuck me in a van, drove me down to the marina. Nobody was around. Besides, nobody notices a scruffy white van. I did struggle when he took me out, Jimmy, but he was too strong.’ She sounded ashamed. ‘He lifted me as if I was a baby, put me below in the
Marie-Louise
and sailed her round to Hvidahus. A long sail. I know that now, but I didn’t at the time. I thought he intended to drown me then, out in the voe.’

She sat for a moment in silence. In the distance there was the sound of a curlew on the hill. ‘He knocked me around a bit in the cabin and I must have fainted. I don’t remember the trip to Hvidahus at all.’

Perez had been shocked by the marks on her arms, the bruised cheekbone, but hadn’t mentioned them. Rhona Laing wouldn’t be a woman to want sympathy. ‘When I woke up we’d arrived at Hvidahus pier. He made me walk to the hatchery. He had a knife to my back.’

‘You stuck the Jamieson’s receipt behind the clock,’ Perez said. He wanted her to know that she’d taken some control in the situation.

‘It was in his jacket pocket. I thought maybe if the worst happened, it might help. Fingerprints. I don’t know . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

‘It did help! I knew it wasn’t yours. I didn’t have you down as a knitter.’