just inside the door in his stockinged feet. Her mother was in the same room, but they weren't talking or even looking at each other. Perhaps they'd been arguing and had stopped when they heard her coming from her room, although that was unlikely. Sally had never heard them raise voices to each other. Usually her mother did as she pleased, but if Alex was insistent Margaret gave in quickly. She knew there was no point in putting up a fight. In matters which meant a lot to him he was stubborn, immovable as rock.
What meant most to him was his work. That was what Margaret said occasionally, muttering it under her breath like a defiant schoolgirl, not quite brave enough to say it out loud. Sally had heard her though. Perhaps Margaret had meant herself to be heard. Anyway, she sensed Alex's work as a presence, forcing her parents apart, like the experiment they'd done in physics in the first year, when the magnets couldn't come together no matter how hard you pushed them.
Now, Sally's mother was doing her best to be pleasant.
'Good day?' she asked, speaking to Alex, not to Sally. Sally had already had the questions about her day at school.
'All right,' he said. 'There's been some oil found on a beach near Haraldswick. Some skipper washing out his hold. You'd think by now they'd know..:
'This time of year, there's not much harm it can do. By the spring when the birds come back to nest, it'll all have gone: Margaret couldn't help herself. She thought he overreacted where his work was concerned. All those seabirds.
Did it really matter if one or two were lost?
'That's hardly the point: He scowled, shook himself out of his jacket, hung it on the hook in the porch. Sally wondered sometimes why he'd married at all. Without Margaret he'd be able to work all the time, glued to the computer in winter, out on the islands when the light days came.
She supposed they loved each other, or had done once. She didn't think they'd have sex now of course. At their age you wouldn't expect it. They probably hadn't done it since she was born. But she thought her father probably missed it. She saw the way he looked at women. Younger women. And sometimes he touched Margaret, slid his hand over her body, and Sally thought there was something desperate in the gesture. Desperate and a bit pathetic.
Her mother had cooked a chicken for tea, a treat midweek. 'Something to cheer us up a bit,' she'd said when Sally came in. Sally had smelled it cooking when she was in her bedroom, had been looking forward to it, but now she was sitting at the table she couldn't face it. Usually her mother would have made a fuss, spoken about good food going to waste, but today she just seemed concerned. Sally excused herself from the table and left her parents there, eating in silence.
Chapter Twenty
Jimmy Perez knew he should go back to the narrow house by the sea wall and speak to his mother on the phone. When Sarah had left, all that he'd wanted was to scuttle back to Fair Isle where he'd always been safe. The promotion in Shetland had been the next best thing, but he'd told himself he was just waiting until a croft became vacant at home. It was typical that now he was being offered what he'd dreamed of he couldn't make a decision. The drama of the investigation was confusing him. He couldn't see straight any more.
As he approached Fran Hunter's house on the way to Ravenswick, Robert Isbister's van was coming up the hill.
The van had to stop at the junction and Perez saw the personalized number plate, caught a glimpse of Robert's mane of hair in his headlights. Everyone knew Robert. What had he been doing there? Where had he been visiting?
Hillhead? Euan Ross's place? The school? Could he be the friend Scott had talked about? But Catherine, surely, would have better taste than to knock about with him. He was good-looking enough if you liked the macho, Viking type, but he thought Catherine would want more than that.
There was a light on in Fran's house. Perez didn't stop, though he had a fantasy about what it would be like inside. Very warm. The mother and the little girl curled up together in the big chair which sat by the fire, reading a picture book together. The child would be sweet-smelling after her bath, her hair still damp, the mother relaxed at last, almost asleep. He thought, That's what I want. Then almost immediately after, But would it be enough?
He was still considering this as he drove down the Ravenswick road, and he passed Hillhead without noticing if Magnus was around. Euan's car was parked outside the big house, but there was no sign of life, the enormous windows were blank and uncovered. When he rang the bell at first there was no response. He thought some acquaintances must have come to collect the teacher, to take him away from all the memories of his daughter. He must, after all, have some friends at the school.
Then a light appeared at the back of the house Perez saw it through the glass as a wedge through an open door -
and there were footsteps, slow, old footsteps. Then the front door opened.
'I'm sorry to disturb you,' Perez said. 'Could I have a word?'
Euan stood for a moment, blinking as if he didn't recognize the inspector, or as if he'd just woken and wasn't quite sure where he was. Then he made an effort to pull himself together and when he spoke he was as courteous as always.
'Come in: he said. 'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting!
'Did I wake you?'
'Not exactly. I find it difficult to sleep. A sort of day dream, perhaps, reliving old times, trying to capture something of her, while there's still a flavour of her in the house. It's real, you know. A perfume. The shampoo she used, I think. Something else I can't pin down. I know it won't last for long.' He turned and led the way into the house. Perez followed.
They ended up in the kitchen, though this wasn't where Euan had been sitting. He switched on lights, filled the kettle, made an effort to pull himself back to the present. 'Are you all right in here?'
The kitchen was a workplace, modern, lots of stainless steel and marble. There wouldn't be many memories of Catherine here, little for Perez to contaminate with his questions.
'Of course.' Without waiting to be asked, Perez sat on one of the tall chrome stools by a workbench.
'Coffee?'
'Please.'
'Have you come with information,' Euan asked. 'Or questions?'
'Questions, mostly. We won't have any details from the post mortem until tomorrow.'
'I'm glad she's going south on the ferry,' Euan said. 'She loved the boat and never really enjoyed flying.' He looked up. 'What a foolish thing to say.'
'I don't think so. I prefer the ferry too, going to sleep in one place, waking up somewhere different. It makes you realize how far away from anything we are.'
'I thought she'd be safe here. I did think it was different.' He turned away sharply to make coffee. 'Now, what questions do you have?'
'The officer who searched her room found a handbag, but we've still not found Catherine's house keys. Was it usual for her to go out without them?'
'I'm not sure. I always lock the house. Habit, I suppose. Perhaps she was more careless about it.'
'I've been at school all day, talking to the staff and the students. I spoke to a boy called Jonathan Gale. He gave Catherine a lift home on Hogmanay. Do you know him?'
'I don't teach him, but I know of him. A bright English lad. He's been to the house once or twice. I always thought he had a soft spot for Catherine. You don't think he killed her?'
'Not at all. Just checking out his story.' He paused. 'Does the name Robert Isbister mean anything to you?'
Euan frowned. 'No, should it? There are Isbisters in school, but no Robert, I think.'
'It's probably nothing: Perez said. 'He's older than Catherine, but someone she might have bumped into at parties. I saw him drive up the road just now. I wondered if he'd come to visit you.'
