said a team would come from Inverness and the detectives and scene of crime officers would need to see the body on site.
He'd thought it hardly likely they'd make the three o'clock plane from Aberdeen. More likely the six-thirty. But she supposed there would be questions for Euan. Perhaps that would be a distraction of a sort. She thought the worst time would be returning to the big glass house and his dreams of two dead women.
She considered phoning to check if he was home. It wasn't having to confront the image of Catherine's death which prevented her. She hated seeming like the relatives waiting by the school gate. What if Euan thought her prurient and intrusive? What if her motives
There was a knock at the door. Cassie was engrossed in a television programme and hardly looked up. The tension and excitement outside the school seemed to have passed over her head. Usually Fran would just have shouted,
Euan stood outside. He was wrapped up in a long black overcoat, but he was shaking.
'I was on my way home,' he said. 'They offered to send someone with me. I told them I preferred to be on my own.
But now I can't face going into the house. I don't know what to do!
She felt she should offer him comfort, put her arms around him as she had when he'd broken down talking. about his wife. But now he was too cold and distant. She thought it would be like attempting to hug a formidable headmaster if you were still at school. Impossible.
'Come in,' she said. She sat him by the fire and poured him whisky.
'I was teaching a group of third years. A
'I'll phone Duncan,' Fran said. 'He's always wanting extra time with Cassie. She can spend the night with him. Then I can come back with you to the house, see you in. I can spend as long there as you need!
At first she wasn't sure if he'd heard, but eventually he nodded. He sat with his coat still on while she made the arrangements, but after a few moments set the whisky carefully on the table and took off his gloves with great concentration.
Duncan arrived with a flourish, his palm on the horn. She took Cassie out to him although on other occasions this loutish behaviour would have kept her in the house, forcing him out of the comfort zone of his 4x4 to knock at the door.
'Shall we go?' she said to Euan. He had sipped the whisky, but barely touched it.
He stood up without a word. She was reminded of a visit to a psychiatric hospital to see one of her London friends who was being treated for anorexia. Euan had the same stiff gait and immovable features of some of the other patients in the day room, drugged up she'd supposed, to keep them quiet and safe.
Automatically polite, he opened the passenger door for her, and drove slowly down the hill. At his house he braked a little sharply, forgetting the snow and the car skidded for a few yards before stopping.
She walked into the house before him and switched on all the lights. He hesitated before following. He stood in the hall, apparently bewildered. It was as if this place was strange to him.
'What would you like me to do?' she asked. 'Would you prefer to be alone?'
'No!' he said sharply. 'I'd like to talk about Catherine. If you can bear it! He turned to face her. 'They said you found her body!
'Yes! She held her breath, dreading that he would ask what Catherine had looked like, but he just stared at her for a moment and moved on. She realized she was trembling.
He led her through to the back of the house, to a room she hadn't seen on her previous visit. It was small. The walls were painted deep red and there were a couple of posters for art-house movies. At one end stood a desk with television and DVD player and a rack of DVDs. Against the wall was a small sofa which looked as if it let down into a bed. There was a book face down on the sofa. A paperback anthology of Robert Frost's poetry. Fran supposed it was a school set text.
'This is where Catherine brought her friends,' Euan said. 'She liked her privacy, kept her bedroom to herself. The police have already been in here. I gave them a key earlier. She'd have hated that, the thought of them going through her things! He looked around him. 'It's not usually this tidy. Mrs Jamieson came in yesterday to clean!
'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.
