few oiled birds,' he said. 'There was some pollution further north! He was talking to himself. She scrambled down the beach after him, almost tripping when the shingle shifted underneath her boot. He turned and caught her elbow just in time to stop her falling. His grip was strong and the physical contact shocked her. Even when she was young she couldn't remember him touching her. He'd never been one for giving a cuddle. Once he realized she was firm on her feet he pulled his hand away and walked ahead of her, his head bent to look at the shore. Almost immediately he found a long-tailed duck, freshly dead, and held it out, stretching the wing carefully, so she could see the individual feathers.
'It's been oiled,' he said. 'Not badly, but enough to kill it!
She didn't know what to say. She couldn't pretend to be sad about a dead sea duck. She wandered down to the water; let it wash over her wellingtons, until he'd moved on. She stood looking out over the grey sea, letting her mind go blank.
When she caught up with him he had another corpse in his hand. 'Guillemot,' he said. He turned it over, felt along the bone between its wings. 'There's no fat at all. Precious little muscle! She expected him to drop it into the black bin bag and continue walking, but he couldn't help explaining about it. About climate change; the melting polar ice, the effect it seemed to be having on plankton and sand-eels. 'The food for seabirds is disappearing,' he said. 'Last summer puffins, red-throated divers, arctic skuas, raised no young at all!
Sally understood why her mother resented his passion. He cared too much about it. And it was all too big. How could they compete with his concern for the whole planet? Even the brutal murder of a schoolgirl seemed insignificant in comparison. Sally remembered then that Catherine had wanted to interview her father. She'd heard him speak on Radio Shetland and been impressed by him, And she hadn't been impressed by many people. They'd been sitting in the little living room at the back of the Ross house, doing some homework, the radio on in the background, when his voice had suddenly filled the room. Sally had been excited despite herself.
She couldn't remember now what he'd been talking about. Overgrazing maybe. That was his party piece. And Catherine had said, 'He's so committed. He really cares about that stuff, doesn't he? Do you think he'd let me interview him?' And she'd sounded as passionate as him. Very alive. It was difficult now to think that had gone.
It seemed as if Alex had read her thoughts. 'You must miss her. The Ross girl!
Sally remembered how lonely she'd felt, waiting for the school bus. 'Yes,' she said. 'I miss her a lot!
'I didn't know her. Not really. But she seemed a strange kind of girl!
'I liked her!
'You mustn't be scared: he said. 'I wouldn't let any thing bad happen to you!
It was the first time she'd thought there might be anything to be scared about.
'Did she ever interview you for her project?' Sally asked. She'd have expected Catherine to tell her if she had, but with Catherine you never knew. She had her own secrets.
He frowned. 'What project would that be?' 'Something we were doing for school. About Shetland. Her impression of it as an outsider, I think. She wanted to talk to you about your work!
'No: he said. 'She never did that! Something about his voice made Sally think that he would have liked that and he was sorry it had never happened.
Robert phoned her when they got back to the Land Rover. She was sitting in the passenger seat on her own, fiddling with the radio, trying to get some decent music. Alex had gone to chat to the woman in the farm. The new people were interested in natural history, he said. He'd get them to look out for more oiled birds on the beach. She watched him walk up to the front door. He opened it without knocking and took his boots off, leaving them on the step. And that was when Robert phoned. It couldn't have been better timing. Almost as if he'd been watching, waiting until she was on her own.
'Do you want to come out tonight?'
'I can't! She didn't have the energy to make up an excuse to get away from her parents. It would be a nightmare without Catherine to cover for her.
'When then?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'Give me a ring next week. During the day. If I'm in class I'll call you back later.' She wanted to ask what he'd been doing, to chat, to make ordinary conversation.
But he said, 'I don't know when it'll be. I'm taking the boat out.' Then he hung up.
It was a quarter of an hour later when her father got back and by then she was very cold. She wondered what he could have been up to in the house with the young woman. She was proud of herself for not falling in straight away with Robert's plans, but she wished she had something more definite to look forward to.
The following morning she went to the kirk with her parents, because she didn't have the energy to make a fuss. While they were praying for peace in the world she was thinking about Robert Isbister. Of course. He
/ was always there, distracting her, worming his way into her head. Why hadn't she gone with him when he asked her?
Why hadn't she fixed a definite date for later in the week? The familiar words washed over her and she joined in the responses but she didn't hear a thing. She wondered if her father, dressed in a suit, scrubbed and polished, was listening or if his mind was elsewhere too. Afterwards, while her parents stood chatting, the minister came up to her and patted her hand. He was an obese man, so fat that the effort of walking made him wheeze. 'If you need anyone to talk to, you know where I am. This must be a very difficult time.' She could hardly say he'd be the last man in the world she'd confide in, so she just thanked him and hurried off to wait outside.
Sundays followed the same pattern. After the service came Sunday lunch. Margaret always put the joint in the oven and peeled the potatoes before they set out for the kirk, so when they got back there wasn't too much to do.
They were driving back down towards the school after the service and Sally was lost in thought when Margaret said,
'Should we ask Mr Ross to have the meal with us? It must be dreadful for him sitting on his own in that great house.
There'd be plenty of food.'
Sally was horrified. She tried to imagine Mr Ross, sitting at their kitchen table while her mother hacked at the overcooked meat and picked,away at him with her questions.
'I think it's too soon,' Alex said. 'He'd see it as an intrusion. Maybe later.'
Her mother seemed to accept that and they ate, as usual, on their own.
They were sitting by the fire when the phone went. Margaret was knitting but had her eyes glued to the omnibus edition of a soap, which she pretended to despise but always watched. Sally had just finished the washing-up. Her father had changed out of his suit and was reading. He got up to answer the phone but her mother set down her knitting and said, 'It's all right. I'll go. It'll probably be a parent.' Margaret liked speaking on the phone even better than she liked watching bad television. She felt in control with the receiver in her hand. Important. She had a special voice, calm and a touch patronizing for parents. But she came back almost immediately and seemed a little put out.
'It's for you,' she said to Alex. 'That detective.'
Chapter Twenty-Five
Perez met Roy Taylor for lunch in the bar of the hotel where the Inverness boys were staying. Taylor had suggested it. 'Just a chat; he'd said. 'You can fill me in on your meeting with Hunter. We can think where we want to go from here.' Perez didn't mind. Sunday was his mother's day for a long phone call and he still didn't have an answer for her. He stuck his head round the door of the Incident Room on his way through town.
Taylor had done the news conference and the phones had been ringing ever since. There was nothing useful though. Not at this stage. Mostly it was people reporting cars they didn't recognize on the road south from Lerwick on the night of the 4th. Some people who'd seen Catherine at the party at the Haa.
The bar was full of people eating Sunday lunch. Most of them recognized Perez, but they could see he was busy and didn't bother him. Taylor seemed depressed. He listened to Perez's story of the interview with Duncan Hunter
