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  The bedroom seemed even emptier than the kitchen. In the wardrobe a suit, shiny and threadbare, brought out for funerals and weddings. And for being taken into custody. Perez felt in the pockets, but found nothing. In the drawers there were underclothes grey from age and from washing by hand. In the kitchen it seemed that Willow had wanted to check the sideboard for herself. Perez heard the clunk of the cupboard doors and the opening of the drawers. Perhaps she was curious about what had spooked him. He should have shown her the Christmas card from Fran. How hard would that have been? Look, Cassie must have been very young when she did this. He’d lacked the courage even to do that.

  ‘Jimmy, there’s a letter from Minnie Laurenson’s solicitor.’

  Of course Willow’s search would have been more thorough. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be distracted by the handwriting of a dead lover. Perez walked slowly back into the kitchen.

  She’d put the letter on the kitchen table. It had the Rogerson and Taylor printed letterhead and was dated nine months previously. The wording was formal and rather imperious:

  We understand that you have in your possession the keys to Tain, Gulberswick Road, Ravenswick, now the property of our client Ms Alissandra Sechrest. We would be grateful if you could return the fore-mentioned keys to our office at 6 Commercial Street, Lerwick, at your earliest convenience.

  ‘Would he have taken the keys into the office?’ Willow was standing almost directly under the bare bulb, and her face looked shiny and hard like a plastic doll’s.

  ‘Oh, I think so. Magnus was a bit scared of anyone in authority. Something like this would have made him nervous. He’d have been on the first bus into town with the keys in his pocket.’

  ‘So the murdered woman pretending to be Alissandra didn’t get the keys from here.’ Willow moved a little and now it was her hair that caught the light. Perez thought it was like spun sugar, a little burnt, turned into caramel.

  ‘It seems not.’ But he was distracted. He read the letter again. ‘Doesn’t this seem a bit heavy-handed to you? I mean, why not just phone up Magnus and ask him to drop the keys into the office next time he was in town? They’d know he wouldn’t do any damage to Tain.’

  She shrugged. ‘Isn’t that lawyers for you?’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’

  Willow had moved into the bedroom and was searching there. It irritated Perez that she couldn’t trust him to do a good job. But after all, he’d missed the solicitor’s letter, so he was in no position to complain. She came back into the kitchen.

  ‘Anything?’

  She shook her head. ‘It always seems a terrible intrusion, going through a dead person’s belongings. Much worse, somehow, than searching when the owner is around.’

  ‘So a wasted trip,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have dragged you up here.’

  ‘What is it the scientists say? That even negative results are significant. And maybe you’re right about the solicitor’s letter. It’s certainly worth following up with them.’

  Perez switched off the light and they stood outside. While they’d been in the house the fine rain had stopped and there were patchy breaks in the clouds, the occasional glimpse of a half-moon. ‘Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee?’

  She paused for a moment. When she spoke he couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Ah, Jimmy. I don’t think you’re in the mood for company tonight.’

  They walked down the hill in silence towards the lights of his house and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or sorry.

  He saw Willow into her car and waved her away. There’d been no phone reception on the hill, but now his mobile started buzzing with texts and emails. The house seemed empty without Cassie’s chatter. The breakfast dishes were still dirty on the draining board and he washed them, before looking at his phone. He thought there was nothing now that couldn’t wait and he was still reliving the shock of seeing Fran’s handwriting in Magnus’s Christmas card. He had little written by her. Neither of them had been sentimental. There was no shoebox full of cards in this house. All he had was her last shopping list, attached to the fridge by a puffin magnet, and the letter she’d written him in Fair Isle, half-joking and half-serious, bequeathing him her daughter in the event of her death. That was hidden away in a secret place. He’d been tempted to throw it away, but knew he’d have to show it to Cassie when she was old enough.

  He made a cup of tea and looked at his phone. A list of routine messages that he’d answer the following day. Suddenly he felt very tired. And then he saw there was a recent voicemail from Sandy. The man was so excited that Perez had to play it twice before he could properly understand it. It seemed Sandy had seen Tom Rogerson in the Scalloway Hotel with a strange woman. Perez thought there was little suspicious in that. Tom had business meetings all the time. Sandy’s last sentence was more interesting: ‘They drove off in separate vehicles, boss. And Tom Rogerson’s car has a Shetland flag sticker on his bumper.’

  Perez couldn’t settle. He knew he should go to bed, but he was too wired, and instead he sat by the remains of the fire and played out the events of the evening in his head. The fact that Tom Rogerson had the Shetland flag as a bumper sticker was interesting, but shouldn’t be given too much importance – so did half the local population. Perez worked through the search of Magnus’s house. He’d been distracted from the moment he’d entered the place, by memories of the old man and of Fran. Willow had been too sensitive to criticize or insist that they go through the house more thoroughly. Perez pulled on his boots, went outside and walked back up the bank towards Hillhead.

  It was colder than he’d remembered and even brighter; there was almost constant moonlight, covered at times by brown-edged clouds. He found gloves in his pocket and pulled them on as he walked. He didn’t bother with the torch. At the house he forced himself to concentrate on the present, went straight in and switched on the light. He stood in the centre of the room and looked around, forcing himself to consider places they might have missed on the first sweep. Finally he arrived at the Shetland chair. Straight back, low arms, all once made of driftwood pulled from the shore. And beneath the seat a drawer. Croft houses had been small and shared with animals; no space could be wasted. Willow wouldn’t have realized.

  He stooped and pulled open the drawer. At first he was disappointed. It seemed empty. Then he saw there was a brown envelope lying flat on the base. It was almost the same size as the drawer, so he’d taken it at first as a paper lining. No writing on the front and not stuck down. So thin that he warned himself it was probably empty. Still wearing his gloves, he slid the content onto the table. A glossy coloured photograph. The head and shoulders of a woman. The shoulders bare, so even though there was only the suggestion of the curve of her breasts, it was mildly titillating. The photo was of the murdered woman, though this was a younger version and must have been taken at least ten years earlier.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late Saturday night, and Jane sat in the house waiting. Kevin had gone to bed, tired after a day working with the engineers on the road. Michael was staying at his girlfriend’s house in Brae. But Andy was still out, and it was Andy who worried her. She’d sent him a text and tried to phone, but there’d been no reply.

  He’d been on the early shift at Mareel. If someone had called in sick or he’d been asked to stay on to work late, he would have been in touch. Jane knew he wasn’t the most reliable son in the world, but there was reception in that part of town and even if he hadn’t phoned, he would have texted. Before he’d gone away to university they’d been close. During his study leave for Highers he’d come into the kitchen and perch on one of the countertops, long legs swinging, dark eyes full of mischief, and talk about his dreams. He’d be a film-maker or a script editor, or he’d form a company of clowns and tour the world. She’d never known when he was being serious or when he was winding her up, but she’d loved the conversations. He was a member of the Youth Theatre and some days she’d run through
the script with him and help him learn his lines.

  Her first response when he’d told them he was staying in Shetland and not returning to university had been selfish. She’d been overjoyed. She’d missed him dreadfully, not just as a son but as a companion. Kevin’s talk was of lamb prices and family gossip. Like Simon Agnew, Andy had provided a view onto a wider world. She’d been worried, of course, that he was throwing away a great opportunity, but she’d thought he could make a career for himself in the islands. She was using the Internet to sell her produce nationwide; surely he could use his enthusiasm to make a name for himself in whatever field he chose in a similar way. She even dreamed that he might join her business. He could be her marketing manager, develop her website and use his artistic talents in her advertising.

  But the Andy who returned from Glasgow had been very different from the lad who went away on the ferry, the family car full of his belongings and books. He was withdrawn and battered. When she tried to talk to him, he turned away. He still had friends in the islands, but they were never invited back to the house. She no longer woke up to find the living-room floor covered with young people of both sexes curled up in sleeping bags, looking like enormous slugs. He’d found work in Mareel easily enough, but still he seemed isolated. He could turn on the charm and the banter for the customers in the bar, but when he came home he seemed exhausted and spent most of his time in his room. She’d asked Simon’s advice, wondered if Andy was clinically depressed, but Simon had said just to give it time.

  Her phone pinged with a text and she felt a surge of relief. It would be from Andy, telling her that he was spending the night with a friend – maybe that he’d had too much to drink to drive home. And wasn’t that a good sign? Even though her secret fear was that he’d inherited her addictive personality and that at university he’d somehow got caught up with drugs. If he was partying with his mates, at least it would mean that he had started to socialize again. But the text was from Rachel, the young woman she was sponsoring at AA: Are you still awake? OK to chat?

  At first Jane was tempted to ignore the message. She had her own worries, which had nothing to do with Rachel. Then she thought at least talking to the younger woman might distract her from her anxiety about Andy. There was a kind of superstition in thinking he wouldn’t arrive while she was still worrying about him. If she was behaving more normally – talking to Rachel, as she often did – he might sail into the house full of apologies and with a rational explanation for not staying in touch.

  Rachel answered on the first ring.

  ‘How are things?’ Jane tried to keep her voice cheerful and unworried. ‘You’re up late. Working a late shift?’

  ‘Yes, just got in.’ A pause. ‘I was feeling a bit low, actually.’

  ‘Anything specific?’

  ‘Not really. I’ll feel happier when they catch this killer. You must be petrified; it happened so close to where you live.’

  Jane thought they’d all feel happier once the killer was caught. Now there was a general suspicion of anyone who lived in the area. She’d started looking at her neighbours differently. Wondering.

  ‘How’s work been?’

  Work was Rachel’s stress point, but also her comfort zone. She was more comfortable talking about the patients who turned up in A&E than she was discussing her own problems.

  ‘I saw a child who’s been self-harming. She’s only thirteen and the family seems stable, happy. Who knows what’s behind it? That’s for the psychs and not for me.’ But all the same Rachel seemed to feel the need for an explanation. ‘Peer pressure maybe. She seems to be one of those kids who’s a little bit desperate, who tries too hard to be part of the gang. The ones destined to be rejected.’

  Was that you? Jane wondered – not about Rachel, but about herself. Were you destined to be rejected? Is that why you accepted Kevin so readily, when he came along to sweep you off your feet? Because you were grateful to have been picked out?

  She didn’t come to a conclusion because she thought she heard the sound of a car on the track. She strained to listen, but everything seemed quiet outside. Certainly Andy hadn’t come into the house. It must have been her imagination. Wishful thinking. She continued her conversation with Rachel, reassured by the stories of other people’s accidents and traumas. After all, her own life was almost trouble-free.

  When she replaced the phone, Rachel seemed happier. It was almost two o’clock and Jane decided to go to bed. Andy wouldn’t be coming back now and she didn’t want to try phoning again. He was probably asleep. Perhaps he’d hooked up with a girl. Or a boy – since he’d been a young teenager she’d suspected he might be gay, though she’d never quite found the words to ask. Whatever, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed. This was Shetland; if any harm had come to him, someone would soon tell her.

  She took her coffee mug into the kitchen and saw that Andy’s car was in the yard. It must have been him that she’d heard coming down the track when she was speaking to Rachel. But he certainly wasn’t in the house. She pulled on her shoes and went out to check if he was still in the vehicle. Perhaps he was asleep there and she’d wake him and bring him into the warm. But the car was empty. The clouds blew away from the moon and there was a sudden wash of pale light over the land that led down towards the sea. Andy was standing close to the wall that separated their land from Tain’s. He was staring down towards the wreckage that had once been a house. She was about to call out to him, to ask what the matter was, but something about the way he was standing, so hard and upright, prevented her from disturbing him. She went back into the house and went to bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The police station was Sunday-quiet, despite the investigation. They met in the ops room, with superior coffee from the machine in Perez’s office and chocolate biscuits on a chipped plate. Perez had the photo he’d found in Magnus Tait’s house on the table in front of him. Vicki Hewitt was still at Tain, sorting through the debris, but Willow and Sandy were there.

  ‘You went back to the house, Jimmy?’ Willow found it hard to understand that. Perez had seemed almost lost in the old man’s house. She’d cut the visit short, partly because it seemed like a wild goose chase – why bother looking for the Tain keys if they’d obviously been delivered to the solicitor? But partly because Perez had seemed so uncomfortable in the place.

  ‘I just remembered that I hadn’t looked in the small drawer under the chair.’ Perez was dark-eyed and dishevelled. It was as if he hadn’t slept at all.

  Willow thought this was how he’d been the first time they’d met: exhausted and preoccupied. At least now the preoccupation seemed to be with the investigation. ‘And at last we have a name,’ she said. She wanted to add a few words of congratulations. Well done, Jimmy! But she knew him well enough to realize he’d bristle at that and find the tone patronizing.

  Perez turned the photo face-down and they all looked at the signature on the back. It was clear, almost childish. Alison Teal.

  ‘Alis.’ Willow looked round the table. ‘The letter Sandy found in the box in Tain must have been to Alison, not Alissandra. A weird coincidence.’

  Perez turned the photo back so that the image stared out at them. ‘It looks like one of those publicity shots that marketing departments send out to fans. There’s nothing personal about this. Not even something bland like: To Magnus with very best wishes. What do we think? Was she a singer? Actor?’

  ‘I kind of recognize her.’ Sandy screwed up his face. When he concentrated he looked like a small boy.

  ‘How would Magnus get the photo of a pop star?’ Willow knew she’d have nothing to contribute to this discussion. In the commune, popular culture had been despised. She’d tried to get into rock music and soap operas as a form of rebellion, but the indoctrination had been too deep. ‘And why?’

  ‘He only got a television about a year ago,’ Perez said, ‘and this photo is a lot older than that.’

  ‘She was Dolly Jasper.’ Sandy was jubilant that the memory ha
d surfaced. ‘The maid in that TV drama set in a big house in the country in Victorian times. You know the kind.’ He looked round at them. ‘It was on a Sunday night. My parents loved it. I was only a kid; it must have been nearly twenty years ago.’

  ‘So perhaps Magnus got to see the TV show.’ Perez spoke slowly, but he was fully engaged now. Willow could see the ideas sparking in his head. ‘Maybe at Minnie Laurenson’s house – Tain, where all this started. Minnie kept in touch with the old man even when the rest of Ravenswick left him to himself. I can imagine a regular invitation: Sunday tea and then an evening in front of the telly. It would have been a treat for Magnus.’

  ‘And you’re saying he fancied the actress and sent away for a photo?’ Willow was sceptical. She could imagine the lonely old man becoming attracted to a pretty young actress. Obsessed even. People had considered Magnus simple. But she couldn’t see him being sufficiently organized to find the address of the TV production company and write to them.

  ‘Maybe. He liked objects that reminded him of people he’d taken to,’ Perez said. ‘There was no harm in it.’

  Willow wasn’t sure about that. It didn’t seem healthy, a lonely old man drooling over the glossy photo of a pretty young woman.

  ‘She came to Shetland!’ It was Sandy again, almost beside himself with excitement. ‘It was a big story. Maybe you were away south working then, Jimmy, or you’d surely have remembered it. The actress who played Dolly suddenly disappeared. There was a media campaign to find her. She’d been depressed and there was stuff in the media about drugs. The first thought was that she’d gone back to rehab somewhere, but she’d just run away to Shetland. When they found her she said she’d chosen Shetland after seeing it on a map. It looked so far to the north that it seemed like an escape. No other reason. Just that she was feeling low and wanted to run away. She drove to Aberdeen, left her car there and came up on the ferry.’