Raven Black Read online

  'Do the police have any idea what happened?'

  'They didn't tell me anything. I'm to have someone attached to me to keep me informed. But apparently until the specialist team arrives from Inverness tonight, there's nothing to say!

  'Who did you see?'

  'Perez, the local guy. He's in charge until the team from the mainland arrives! He paused. 'He was sensitive enough, but the questions he asked made me realize how little attention I'd given Catherine recently. I was so wrapped up in myself. Self-pity. Such a destructive emotion. And now it's too late. I could tell the inspector thought I was a dreadful father, that I didn't care!

  She wished she could say that of course he'd been a good father, but he'd have seen through the lies.

  'I'm sure Catherine understood,' she said.

  'He asked me about her friends. Did she have a boyfriend? I know about Sally, of course. The two of them met up as soon as we arrived here. But I couldn't put a name to any of the others she hung out with. Only the ones I teach. Sometimes there were boys in the house, but I never asked if there was anyone special. I didn't even know where she was the night before she died. It didn't occur to me to worry about her.

  This is Shetland. It's safe. Everyone knows everyone else. The only crime comes out of binge drinking in Lerwick on a Friday night. I thought I had time. I could allow myself the space to get over Liz's death and then I could get to know my daughter!

  He still spoke in the impassive tone he'd used since he'd turned up on her doorstep. She thought it wasn't real yet. He was trying to convince himself. He needed to feel in his gut that Catherine was dead.

  'Have you got anything to drink?' She was finding the tension unbearable.

  'In the kitchen. Wine, beer in the fridge. Whisky in the pantry!

  'Which would you prefer?'

  He considered as if it was a matter of great importance.

  'Red wine, I think. Yes. That's in the pantry too! He didn't offer to get it. Perhaps he was incapable of moving.

  In the kitchen she laid a tray. Two glasses. The bottle, opened. A plate with a lump of Orkney cheddar she'd found in the fridge, a tin of oatcakes, two small blue plates and a couple of knives. She realized she hadn't eaten all day and she was hungry.

  When she returned he was sitting in exactly the same position as when she'd left him. She didn't want to squeeze on to the sofa with him and sat on the floor next to a low table. She poured the wine for him and offered the cheese, which he refused. At last, to break the silence - after all, he had said that he wanted to talk about Catherine - she asked, 'When do the police think she was killed?'

  'I've told you. I don't know anything! He must have realized that he sounded rude. 'I'm sorry. It's not your fault. That was unforgivable. It's guilt again! He twisted the stem of his glass. 'I didn't see Catherine last night. I hadn't seen her for two days. That wasn't unusual. You know what it's like here. Transport is difficult. Last night I was late home.

  I'd been in school all day, although term didn't start for the kids until this morning!

  He looked up at her. 'We'd had a training session. And in the evening all the staff went out for a meal together. It's the first social event that I've gone along to. They've invited me before of course but I've always managed to refuse.

  This time I couldn't say no. The meal was almost an extension of the training day. Team building. You know the sort of thing?'

  She nodded quickly. Now that he'd started talking, she didn't want to interrupt.

  'It was actually a very pleasant evening. We sat talking over coffee. It was later than I realized when I got back.

  There'd been a text message from Catherine sent in the morning. Don't worry if you don't see me tonight. Might stay out again! He paused, punishing himself. 'Lots of love. Catherine. She'd been to a party the night before. When she wasn't home when I got back from Lerwick, I assumed she was staying out again and that she'd go straight to school this morning!

  'Where was the party?'

  'I don't know. I never asked! He stared into his wine. 'But in one sense it doesn't matter. We know she did come home at lunchtime. The police told me that much. She was seen on the bus and by that old man who lives at Hillhead! And by me, Fran thought. I saw them together. Euan continued. 'They seem to think she was killed close to where her body was found.

  They won't let me see her. I can't bear that.'

  'What did the police say about the old man?' 'Nothing. Why?'

  She hesitated only briefly. He would hear the rumours eventually. Better that the information come from her.

  'There was a lot of gossip when I picked Cassie up from school this afternoon. You know how parents talk. A young girl went missing a while ago. She was called Catriona Bruce and she lived in this house.

  The old man, Magnus Tait, was suspected of having a hand in her disappearance. People are saying that he killed Catherine!

  He sat very still. He seemed frozen, incapable of moving. 'I don't think it matters who killed her,' he said at last. 'Not yet. Not to me. Later it might seem important, but it doesn't now. All that matters now is that she's dead!

  He reached out and poured himself another glass of wine. Fran wondered at the difference in his mood tonight, and when he'd broken down talking about his wife. She supposed this was shock. It didn't mean that he cared less for his daughter. Had he been this calm in his dealings with the police? What would Perez have made of it?

  Soon after she said she would go home. He made no objection, but looked up just as she was about to leave the room. 'Will you be all right? Should I walk up with you?'

  'Don't be silly,' she said. 'There are police all over the valley!

  And it was true. As soon as she was on the road she could hear the distant chug of a generator and as she approached Hillhead, she saw that the crime scene was illuminated by big arc lights. A constable standing by the farm gate nodded to her as she walked past.

  Chapter Ten

  When Sally got in from school her mother told her about Catherine Ross, but rumours had been flying around Anderson High since midday and it was all anyone had been talking about on the bus. Sally pretended it was a surprise though. She spent her life pretending to her mother. It had become a habit. They discussed it, sitting together at the kitchen table, so Sally knew something was wrong.

  Her mother didn't like sitting without something to do - a pile of mending or her knitting or the ironing. Or preparation for her work in the school. Often the table was spread with shiny white card while her mother wrote out lists of words in thick black felt pen under various headings. Nouns. Verbs. Adjectives. Margaret despised inactivity.

  It wasn't in her nature to make a drama out of the incident, but Sally could tell she was concerned. As close to agitated as she could get.

  'Your father drove past after Cassie Hunter's mother found the body. She was in quite a state apparently. Hysterical.

  He had to call the police. She refused to move!

  Margaret poured tea and waited for a response from her daughter. What does she expect from me? Sally thought.

  Does she think I should cry?

  'Your father thinks she was strangled. He heard a couple of police talking! Margaret set down the teapot, fixed her gaze on her daughter. 'They'll want to speak with you, because you were friends. They'll want to know who she knocked about with, boys. But if it's too upsetting you must say. They can't force you to speak to them!

  'Why would they want to know that stuff?'

  'She was murdered. Of course there'll be questions.

  Everyone's saying that Magnus Tait must have done it, but there's one thing knowing who killed her and another proving it!

  Sally found it hard to focus on her mother's words. She found her thoughts slipping back to Robert Isbister. But that wouldn't do. It was important to concentrate. 'When I speak to the police, will you be there?'

  'Of course. If you'd like us to be!

  Sally could hardly say then that it was the last thing s
he wanted.

  'I was never sure about that Catherine! Her mother stood up. She sliced a loaf and began buttering the bread, making smooth, easy motions with the knife. She had her back to Sally. Margaret could never keep quiet if she felt there was something needed saying. It was a matter of pride with her.

  'What do you mean?' Sally felt her face flush and was pleased her mother wasn't looking.

  'I thought she was a bad influence. It changed you going round with her. Maybe Magnus didn't kill her, whatever people think. Maybe she was the sort of woman who brings violence on herself'

  'That's a dreadful thing to say. It's like saying some women ask to be raped.'

  Margaret pretended not to hear that. 'Your father phoned to say he'd be late.

  A meeting in town. We'll eat without him.'

  Sally thought there'd been more and more meetings in town lately. She wondered sometimes what he was up to. Not that she blamed her father. She hated mealtimes at home and tried to avoid them if she could. It would have been different if there'd been brothers and sisters, if her mother was less intrusive. All she got was questions. How was school today, Sally? What mark did you get for that English course work? Her mother picking away at her, probing.

  Margaret should have joined the police, Sally thought. Really, after fending off a lifetime of her mother's questions she had nothing to fear from a detective.

  They ate the meal as always at the kitchen table. No television. Even when her father was with them, even on a special occasion, there was no alcohol. Margaret often said with pursed lips that parents should set an example. How could you blame children for drinking themselves stupid in Lerwick on a Friday night when the parents could scarcely go a day without a drink? Self-control was an old-fashioned virtue, Margaret said, which should be practised more often. Until recently, Sally had presumed that her father shared these views. He never disagreed with them. Occasionally, though, she thought she caught a glimpse of a more relaxed individual underneath. She wondered what kind of man he'd have turned out to be if he'd married someone else.

  The meal was over. Sally offered to wash the dishes, but Margaret waved a hand, dismissing the idea. 'Leave them.

  I'll see to them later.'

  Like sitting down before tea was prepared, this was another indication that a seismic shift had taken place somewhere in her mother's consciousness. Margaret couldn't bear to see dirty dishes standing. It was as if she had a physical response to them. Like some people had allergies which brought them out in lumps.

  'I'll go and start my homework then.'

  'No,' her mother said. 'Your father will be in just now and we want to talk to you.'

  And that sounded serious. Perhaps she'd found out about New Year's Eve. This place you couldn't fart without the whole of Shetland knowing about it. Sally wondered what else it could be that kept her mother in her seat, with dirty plates still on the draining board. She steeled herself for questions, began to rehearse the lies in her head.

  Then there was a knock on the door and Margaret jumped up to get it, as if she'd been expecting it all the time.

  There was a blast of cold air and a man came in, followed by a young woman in uniform. Sally recognized the woman, who was a kind of second cousin on her father's side. So Margaret would have been expecting the call; Morag would have warned her.

  That was how things worked with families. Sally tried to remember what else she knew about the woman. She'd joined the police after working in a bank for a while. Margaret had had things to say about that too. She always was a flighty 'young madam. Now she greeted the constable as if she was a bosom pal. 'Morag come away in by the fire.

  It must be freezing out there!

  Sally looked at Morag critically and thought she'd put on weight. Sally was aware of how people looked. She knew it mattered. Didn't you' have to be fit to work for the police? And there was nothing flattering about that uniform.

  The man was very big. Not fat, but tall. He stood just inside the door waiting for Morag to speak. Sally saw him nod towards her, encouraging her to take the initiative.

  'Margaret, this is Inspector Perez. He'd like to ask Sally some questions!

  'About yun girl that died?' Margaret was almost dismissive.

  'She was killed, Mrs Henry,' the detective said. 'Murdered. You have a daughter the same age. I'm sure you want him caught'

  'Of course. But Sally was a close friend of Catherine's. She's had a bad shock. I don't want her upset!

  'That's why I brought Morag, Mrs Henry. A friendly face. Now, why don't we take Sally into another room, so we don't disturb you?'

  Sally expected her mother to object, but something about him, the authoritative, easy tone, the assumption that he'd get his own way, must .have made her realize there was no point in putting up a fight.

  'Through here,' she said stiffly. 'I'll just put a match to the fire. Then I'll let you get on with it!

  The room was tidy, of course. Margaret couldn't abide clutter. She allowed the music stand and Sally's fiddle to stay out, either to encourage spontaneous practice or to give the impression to guests that they were a cultured family, but everything else was in its place. She never let her marking or preparation for school escape into here. Perez folded himself into a seat with his back to the window, stretched out his long legs. Margaret had already closed the curtains.

  It was a ritual. One of many. In winter, as soon as she came in from school, she shut the curtains in every room in the house.

  Morag sat beside Sally on the sofa. Sally thought this was a pre-arranged move. Perhaps she was there to offer comfort Oh my God, Sally thought. I hope she doesn't touch me. Those fat, fleshy hands. I couldn't bear it.

  Perez waited until Margaret had left the room before speaking.

  'It must be a terrible shock,' he said. 'The news about Catherine!

  'They were talking about it in the bus on the way home. But I couldn't believe it Not until I got home and my mum said what happened!

  'Tell me about Catherine,' he said. 'What was she like?'

  Sally hadn't been expecting that She thought there'd be specific questions: When did you last see Catherine? Did she mention a row with anyone? How did she seem?

  She hadn't practised the answer to this.

  He saw her confusion. 'I know,' he said. 'It probably isn't relevant. But I'd like to know. It seems the least I can do for her, treat her as an individual'

  Still, Sally didn't quite understand.

  'She came from south,' she said. 'Her mother had died. It made her. . . different from the rest of us!

  'Yes,' he said. 'I can see that it would!

  'She seemed very sophisticated. She knew about films and plays. Different bands.

  People I'd not heard of. Books.'

  Perez waited for her to continue.

  'She was very smart. At school she seemed way ahead of us.'

  'That wouldn't have made her popular. With the teachers maybe, but not with the kids.'

  'She didn't care about being popular. At least that was the impression she gave.'

  'Of course she cared: he said. 'Everyone does to some extent. We all want to be liked.'

  'I suppose so.' Sally wasn't convinced.

  'But you were friends. I've spoken to her teachers today and to her father. They all say she got on better with you than with anyone else.'

  'She lived just up the bank: Sally said. 'We got the bus into town every day. There's no one else of my age / lives here.'

  There was a silence, broken by the clatter of plates in the room next door. The inspector seemed to be giving Sally's words more significance than she thought they deserved. Morag shifted in her seat as if it was torture for her to keep quiet, as if there were questions she was dying to ask.

  'I went to the Anderson,' Perez said at last. 'I expect things are different now. Then it was all cliques. We had to stay in the hostel. I came from Fair Isle and us and the Foula kids, we couldn't even get home at weekends. Then there were the
people who came in by ferry every week from Whalsay and Out Skerries. The lads from Scalloway were always fighting with the Lerwick boys. It wasn't that you didn't make friends from a different group, but you knew where you belonged.' He paused again. 'As I said, I expect things are different now.'

  'No: she said. 'Not very different.'

  'You're saying you two were thrown together then.

  You didn't hang around because you had much in common.'

  'I don't think she was close to anyone. Not to me, not to her father. Perhaps her mother. . . I had the impression the two of them were more like friends. . . Perhaps after that. . .'

  'Aye: Perez said. 'After that, it would be difficult to trust anyone.'

  The fire cracked and spat sparks.

  'Did she have a boyfriend?'

  'I don't know.'

  'Come on. She'd have talked to you about stuff like that, even if it wasn't common knowledge. She'd have wanted to tell someone.'

  'She didn't tell me.'

  'But?'

  She hesitated.

  'This is confidential: he said. 'I'll not tell anyone and if it gets back to your parents Morag gets the sack’.

  They all laughed, but there was enough of a threat in his voice for Morag to take it seriously. Sally could tell that.

  'New Year's Eve: she said. 'Yes.'

  'I wasn't allowed into town. My parents disapprove of bars. But all my friends would be there. I told them I was at Catherine's house but we both went to the market cross. Catherine's father never seemed to mind what she did. We got a lift back. I thought maybe ,Catherine knew the lad who was driving.'

  'Who was it?'

  'I couldn’t see. I was sitting in the back of the car.

  There were four of us, all crushed in. You couldn't see a thing. They were all off to a party except Catherine and me. Catherine was in the front with the driver. They weren't talking but it seemed like they knew each other.

  Perhaps because they weren't talking. There was none of that polite conversation you get with strangers. Maybe that's silly.'