Red Bones Page 4

  Perez thought this was still a huge house for two people and one baby. He wondered where Ronald had met his Anna. There was a history of Shetland men going out to find their wives. During his brief spell at university perhaps. Perez had married an Englishwoman. Sarah, soft and gentle, pretty and fair. But he hadn’t had it in him to be the sort of husband she’d wanted. He’d always been too easily caught up in other folks’ problems. ‘I always come at the bottom of the pile,’ she’d said. ‘After work and your parents, sorting out the neighbour’s delinquent son and the plumber’s cat. You’re drained when you do find time for me. You’ve nothing left to give.’ At the time he’d thought she was talking that way because she’d just been through a miscarriage. Now he could see there was some truth in her words. He couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business. He told himself it was about being a good detective, but he’d have been curious even if work weren’t involved.

  Sarah was happier now without him, married to a doctor and living in the Borders with him, her children and her dogs. And Perez had taken up with another Englishwoman, divorcee Fran Hunter. Sarah had always been needy. Fran, he thought, didn’t need him at all.

  Sandy was shuffling in his seat. Perez’s long silences always made him uneasy. ‘Shall we go in then?’

  ‘You’re not to speak,’ Perez reminded him, then told himself that Sandy had just lost his grandmother and smiled to soften the words. ‘Just introduce me, then keep your mouth shut.’

  Sandy nodded and got out of the car.

  Perez guessed that the building plot had been chosen for its view. It was on a low promontory and the sea would be visible on three sides. To the west it would be possible to see Laxo and the mainland. You’d be able to measure your days by the ferry moving backwards and forwards across the water. It was a square bungalow, low like the traditional croft houses, but made of wood so it looked Scandinavian and with windows in the roof. It was painted blue. The long extension at the side had a lower sloped roof. Perez wondered what the extra space was for. They wouldn’t keep animals there: it had a row of glazed windows. At the back of the house a small garden led down to the shore. A bed of daffodils was sheltered from the wind by a drystone wall – a patch of colour in the mist. An upturned dinghy had been pulled above the tideline. Sandy opened the front door and shouted. Perez heard a muted reply from further inside the house and followed him in.

  The couple were both sitting in the kitchen. It seemed to Perez that they hadn’t moved much since returning from Setter, after Sandy had rushed into the house to tell them Mima was dead. The shock had frozen them.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Perez had demanded when Sandy had confessed that he’d left Mima and run to the Clouston house. For God’s sake, the man could be a suspect.

  ‘The doctor was off the island. Away on holiday. I knew it would take time to get the air ambulance here. I thought someone else would know best what to do. Their house is closest to Setter.’ Sandy had looked up, staring at Perez. I know I’m stupid, but let it go. Just today. Today I can’t face a bollocking. ‘And Anna, she’s kind of organized. Capable.’

  You wanted her to tell you what to do, Perez had thought. And you’ve always hated being on your own.

  So here the couple sat, in silence, still dressed in the jeans and jerseys they’d pulled on when Sandy had roused them from their bed. Ronald must be in his late twenties if he was close to Sandy’s age and they’d been to school together, but he looked older. Grey somehow. Perez thought realizing you’d killed someone would do that to you. Ronald looked up when the men came into the kitchen, half rose in his chair, then the effort seemed too much for him and he sat down again. The woman had dark hair, twisted into a band at the back of her head, but untidy now, starting to come down. She sat very straight despite her obvious exhaustion, the shadows under her eyes. It seemed to Perez that she was furious, so angry that she didn’t trust herself to speak. He couldn’t tell if the fury was directed at her husband, at Sandy or at the situation in which they found themselves. Or Perez, for the intrusion into their grief. On one of the workbenches lay half a dozen rabbits ready for skinning and gutting. Baby clothes hung from an airing rack lowered from the ceiling.

  ‘This is my boss,’ Sandy said. ‘Detective Inspector James Perez.’ He followed Perez’s instructions to the letter, said nothing more, leaned against the wall in the corner of the kitchen, an attempt to be inconspicuous. Perez took the spare chair and sat at the table, between the man and wife, sensed again the tension in the room.

  ‘Sandy took your gun,’ he said. Not a question. He’d checked already. Sandy had got that part of procedure right at least. It was one way to start the discussion, factual, safe.

  Ronald looked up again. ‘I don’t see how it could have happened,’ he said, almost on the verge of tears. ‘I was shooting between here and Setter, but nowhere near the house or garden.’

  He turned towards his wife. She stared stonily ahead of her. Perez saw that this was the conversation that had been going on all night. The man had spent hours trying to convince the woman that the tragedy hadn’t been his fault and she had refused to excuse him, to make his guilt any less. Clouston looked like a child desperate to be held.

  ‘It was very dark,’ Perez said. ‘Dreadful visibility. You must have lost your bearings. It happens.’ Despite himself he felt sympathy for the man. This was his curse, what his ex-wife had called ‘emotional incontinence’. The ability always to see the world through other folks’ eyes.

  Anna Clouston remained rigid.

  ‘Tell me in some detail what happened yesterday evening,’ Perez said.

  And now the woman did speak. ‘He was drinking,’ she said. Her words were bitter and accusing. ‘As he does every night when he’s not actually working.’

  ‘A couple of cans.’ Ronald looked up at Perez, pleading. Perez resisted the temptation to reassure him. ‘Friday night I deserve a couple of cans.’

  ‘Were you working at all yesterday?’ Perez asked. Back to the safety of facts.

  ‘No. These days we just do two or three long trips a year with the deep-sea ships. I got back about a month ago.’

  ‘So you were in all day?’

  ‘No. I went into Lerwick. I wanted to go to the library.’

  Perez would have liked to ask what books the man had chosen – he was fascinated by the detail of other people’s lives, even when it had no direct relevance to his work – but Ronald was continuing: ‘Then I stocked up in the supermarket. The shop in Symbister is fine, but sometimes you’d like something a bit different. Since we brought the baby home we’ve not managed to get into town. I got back about seven thirty.’

  ‘Nearer eight,’ Anna said. Not contradicting her husband, but trying to be accurate. Perez thought she was starting to relax a little. At least she was prepared now to participate. He smiled at her. ‘But you stayed here?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps Sandy explained, the baby’s only a few weeks old. He certainly hasn’t got the hang of sleeping at night yet. I took the opportunity to grab some rest.’ And Perez saw now that she was very tired. Without the adrenalin triggered by Mima’s death she’d be asleep on her feet.

  ‘Did you work before you had the baby?’ It wasn’t relevant, but he wanted to know, to understand her better.

  ‘Yes, from home, so I’m hoping to get back to it as soon as I can.’

  ‘What is it you do?’

  ‘Traditional crafts,’ she said. ‘Spinning, weaving, knitting. I work mostly with Whalsay wool, either the natural colours or I dye it myself. The fish is already disappearing. Sheep prices have gone down. The oil’s nearly gone. Eventually we’ll have to develop new industries in Shetland. Or go back to the old ones.’ Perez thought it was an old argument; she’d had this discussion many times before. He wondered what the wealthy Whalsay fishing families made of it.

  ‘You sell the clothes you make?’

  He could tell she was confused by his questions. What could this have to
do with an old woman’s death? But his interest pleased her too. ‘Mostly over the internet. I hope to develop the business, to teach the old skills to other people. That’s why we built on at the side of the house. The idea is to run residential fibre workshops. I only started advertising at the end of last year and I’ve already got some takers. A small group from the US have booked up for the summer. We won’t be quite ready to put them up in the house – especially with a young baby – so they’ll stay in the hotel and come here for workshops.’ For a moment her anger seemed to dissipate and her face lit up. Work mattered to her. ‘What will they think when they hear about this? It’s the sort of business where you pull in customers by word of mouth. No one will come to the island if they think they’re going to get shot!’

  ‘Fibre workshops?’ It seemed an odd sort of title. Besides, he was hoping it would calm her to talk about it.

  ‘Any of the crafts based around wool.’

  Perez saw now that she must be wearing one of her own creations, a hand-knitted jersey in natural fleece colours, mostly greys and moorit, a rich dark brown. ‘You spent most of the evening together?’

  ‘I had dinner ready for Ronald when he got back,’ she said. ‘Neither of us got much sleep the night before. The baby was restless, colicky. I knew Ronald would be tired. And James slept for most of the afternoon.’

  Again Perez would have liked to ask where the couple had met. Even on this short acquaintance they seemed an ill-matched partnership. Perhaps Sandy’s description of Ronald had coloured his opinion, but Perez thought the man came across as vague, passive, even allowing for the shock of Mima’s death. Although she looked younger than her husband, Anna was forceful and ambitious. But she cared enough for him to have prepared a meal, to understand that like her he’d had a long, tiring week.

  ‘Any visitors?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Ronald frowned.

  ‘Did you have any visitors yesterday?’

  ‘Sandy came for lunch to see the baby.’

  ‘And in the evening?’

  ‘Aunt Evelyn called in just as we’d finished eating.’

  Perez wondered what sort of a cook Anna was. If she was interested in the old Shetland crafts, was she a traditional cook? He wished there was a lingering smell of the food, some dirty pots by the sink, to give him a clue. Why did it matter? Why was he so fascinated by the minute details of other people’s lives? He wanted to recreate in his mind the scene in the kitchen before Ronald had gone out after the rabbits.

  ‘Who’s she?’ he asked, trying to focus again on the conversation.

  ‘Evelyn Wilson. Sandy’s mother.’ Ronald shot a quick look at his cousin, almost asleep on his feet, slumped against the workbench.

  ‘Where was your shotgun during this time?’

  ‘Locked in the cupboard in Anna’s office. Where it always stays unless I’m using it.’

  ‘And the key?’

  ‘In the drawer in Anna’s desk. What is all this about? Nobody else took the gun away. It was there when I decided to go out later.’ Ronald wiped his hand across his face. Although it wasn’t particularly hot in the room there was sweat on his forehead.

  ‘How long did Mrs Wilson stay?’

  ‘I made her a cup of tea,’ Anna said. ‘She wanted to talk about the dig. They found the piece of a human skull and it’s been sent away for dating. She’s a great one for community projects. She chairs the island Community Forum and thought it would be a good idea to put a page about my workshop project on the Whalsay website.’

  ‘She sees you as a natural ally?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna said, considering. ‘I suppose she does. Not everyone on the island takes much interest. Ronald’s always been passionate about history – it was his subject at university – and I find the Setter dig fascinating too.’

  She looked across at her husband. Perez supposed this was something they had in common, but Ronald showed little enthusiasm for the archaeology now. His face was still blank and grey.

  ‘Evelyn was here for about half an hour?’ Perez asked.

  ‘Something like that.’ Anna stood up, stretched. ‘Would you like some coffee? I should have offered before. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The shock, I suppose.’

  ‘You were fond of Mima?’

  There was a pause. ‘I’m not sure she liked me. But of course I’m sorry she’s dead.’

  Perez thought this was a strangely careful and honest description of the relationship. After a sudden death many people pretended to a closeness that didn’t exist.

  ‘Coffee would be brilliant,’ Perez said. ‘Black for me. You’ll know how Sandy takes his. So much sugar it’s like treacle.’

  They waited in silence while Anna filled the kettle and switched it on. She reached into a high cupboard for mugs. Watching, Perez thought she’d already lost some of the weight around her belly. He imagined she’d be a great one for keeping healthy, a regular visitor to the Whalsay swimming pool, built with the oil money that had come into the islands in the eighties. He could imagine her jogging. He wondered if Ronald had ever taught her to shoot.

  ‘So what time was it that Mrs Wilson left?’

  ‘Nine o’clock perhaps.’ Anna spooned sugar into Sandy’s mug and handed it to him, then set the second in front of Perez. Sandy had been right: she was the organized one in the relationship, taking the lead and answering his questions. ‘The baby woke and needed feeding. She saw herself out.’

  ‘What did you two do then?’

  ‘We had a row,’ Anna said, ‘about my husband’s drinking.’ She was still on her feet and the anger suddenly returned. Perez thought she looked rather magnificent standing there, straight-backed, eyes flashing. Perhaps it was the new baby, the hormones. He was glad the fury was directed at Ronald and not at him.

  ‘He seems incapable,’ she went on, ‘of going a single night without a drink.’ From the corner of the room, Sandy caught Perez’s eye and looked suddenly sheepish. There would be lots of Shetland men who would find it hard to keep off the booze for a night. ‘I suggested that just for once he should try. We eat healthily, take plenty of exercise. Now we’ve got the baby to think about.’

  ‘A couple of cans,’ Ronald said. A repeated mantra. He looked at both men in the room for support.

  ‘But then to take out your gun,’ she said. Perez could tell she was almost losing control. ‘Just to spite me because I asked you to stay in. I’d been in all day and I wanted some company. Was that too much to ask? Can’t you see what you’ve done? You’ll go to court, maybe to prison. If you weren’t working with your family you’d almost certainly lose your job. And you know what it’s like here. Wherever we go there’ll be people whispering behind our backs. There’s that fool that shot Mima Wilson. I don’t think I can bear it.’ She caught her breath at the start of a sob.

  Ronald looked wretched. He got up and put his arms around her, tentatively at first. For a brief moment she allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder.

  From another room came the wail of a baby. It was piercing and relentless and Perez had to stop himself covering his ears to shut it out. How could you live with a noise like that? Anna pushed herself away from her husband and left.

  There was an awkward silence. Perez could hear a ringed plover calling from the shore. He thought Anna had married Ronald believing she could change him. She treated him more like a son than a lover. And he behaved like a naughty little boy. Obviously embarrassed by his wife’s outburst, Ronald returned to his seat.

  Perez took a sip of the coffee. Instant but strong and hot. ‘What time did you go out last night?’

  ‘Ten o’clock. A bit later maybe. It was eleven-thirty when I got in. Anna had already gone to bed. Look, I don’t know what had got into me. The strain of the baby maybe. I should have realized how much difference a child would make, the sudden responsibility. James seems to have taken over our lives. I should have been more thoughtful, but I wanted to get out and clear my head, to forget about the family,
just for a while. I had stuff to think about. Perhaps it was to spite her, to show her I didn’t have to put up with her nagging. I don’t see how I could have hit Mima. I wasn’t shooting near to her house. And how could I have known that she’d be wandering around outside? It’s a nightmare. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and it’ll be over.’

  ‘Were you out on your own?’

  ‘Yes, I was on my own!’ He looked directly at Perez. ‘Nobody else was out shooting last night. I’d have heard them. I’m not blaming anyone else. I don’t know how it happened. Some freak shot maybe. Or like you said I must have lost my bearings in the fog. What will happen now?’

  ‘We’ll need a statement,’ Perez said. ‘You’ll probably have to come into Lerwick. Not now. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Will I be charged?’

  ‘Not my decision. That’s down to the Fiscal.’ Again Perez felt an impulse to reassure the man. One foolish action leading to terrible consequences which would haunt him for ever. Most likely it’ll go down as a dreadful accident. Although shooting in those conditions was crazy, reckless, there was no criminal intent. We can all see that. Everyone hates the rabbits. But there was nothing kind about making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. He really didn’t know what the outcome would be.

  Perez stood up. ‘Stay here until we get in touch with you. Try to get some sleep.’

  ‘I’ll try, but I can’t get that picture of Mima out of my head. Such tiny bones. Like a snipe that’s been shot. That frail.’

  On the way out of the room, Perez stopped so suddenly that Sandy, shuffling behind, almost bumped into him. He turned back towards Ronald. ‘Where did you meet your wife?’ In the end he couldn’t resist the question, which had been haunting him throughout the conversation.

  Ronald answered immediately. ‘She came into Shetland on holiday. She’s always been interested in the traditional crafts and she came to Whalsay to talk to Evelyn about the island knitting. It has its own unique pattern, apparently, and Evelyn’s a kind of expert. We met in the Pier House Hotel one night and kept in touch. She came to visit a few times . . . Maybe she fell in love with the place and not the man.’