of course not:
'Walk away from her: These words though were spoken by a grown-up. They'd been facing the fire and beyond it the water, so they hadn't heard Jimmy Perez coming up behind them. Sally thought he must have moved very quietly over the shingle. He was a quiet man.
'Your mother wants to speak to you, Robert. Come along:
Robert began to move and she thought, That's it then. Celia has won. Every time Celia shouts for him, he goes running. And she knew she'd probably never see him again. She watched Robert scramble away until he disappeared into the darkness. Further up the beach there were voices, something of a scuffle. She couldn't work out what that was about. She thought Robert wasn't a very elegant mover. He had rather short legs. His bum was too near to the ground. She wondered how she could have thought him worth bothering about. He'd left her his coat, but she shivered and turned back to the fire, feeling it hot and fierce on that side of her face. There'd be a red mark like a slap, she thought. In her hand she held the knife she'd taken from Robert's belt when he'd tried to hold on to her.
'Would you have killed him too?' the policeman asked.
She didn't answer. She angled the knife, so the blade reflected the embers. The blade looked scarlet in the strange red light, as if it was covered in blood already.
'We found Cassie: he said. 'She's all right!
'It was nothing to do with Robert: she said. 'He'd left the back of the van open. Cassie had wandered away from her Mam. I said I'd help her find Mrs Hunter. There was rope in the van. I was in the Girls’ Brigade. I'm good at knots! She paused. When they'd skidded at the Brae junction, she'd heard Cassie bounce around in the back. Robert hadn't noticed.
'Why did you take her?' the detective said. 'You don't have to answer. I shouldn't be talking to you at all without a lawyer, but I wondered. A kid like that. What could she have done to hurt you?'
'She saw me that night with Catherine. She'd woken up. Some nightmare. Saw me through her bedroom window in the moonlight. I convinced her it must have been a dream. Then, when I found her this evening in Lerwick, lost, all upset, I thought I couldn't take a chance. Stupid!
'Why didn't you kill her straight away?' he asked.
She shrugged. 'I had to wait until it was quiet, didn't I?'
'Was that what the knife was for?'
She shrugged again.
'You've no use for it now: he said. 'Best to give it to me!
She didn't answer. She sat down on the sand and held the knife on her knee. In the distance she heard the sound of cars driving away from the Haa.
The party was over. Robert would go home with Celia.
They deserved each other.
'Sally, give the knife to me!
She thought she might reach him with it before he could stop her. Weighed up the possibility in her head. The thrill of doing it: Would there be the same buzz as when she'd killed Catherine? Perhaps it would be more exciting. She imagined bone shattering and blood, the power of standing and watching his life seeping into the icy sand. There'd be no chance of getting away now, of course.
She'd never thought she would get away with killing Catherine. Not even when they locked up the old man. This was Shetland, where you couldn't fart without the whole place knowing. Anyway, she'd have been disappointed if it had stayed a secret for ever. Imagine her friends at school, their faces when they found out. She'd give anything to be in the house room when the news broke, when her face was on the front of the papers and on the television. She'd be a celebrity.
'Sally. Give it to me.'
She held the bone handle of the knife in her hand, ready to strike out at him, then was overcome by tiredness again.
She stood up, and with the last of her energy, she threw it away from her towards the sea. It twisted in the air, and landed in the shallow water. She didn't see the splash because of the dark, but she heard it.
He walked right up to her, held her hand and pulled her to her feet. It wasn't a rough or unkind gesture. It was as if he was trying to help her. He put his arm round her shoulder and walked with her up the beach. From a distance, they'd look like lovers.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Perez dropped Roy Taylor off at the airport the next morning. Now he was satisfied they had the right person for the Catherine Ross murder, the Englishman didn't want to stay. The restlessness which he'd just about managed to hold in check while the investigation kept his interest was moving him on. Already he was thinking about the next case. He shook Perez's hand warmly before leaving the lounge, but didn't look back as he walked over the tarmac to the Aberdeen plane. Perez waited until the plane took off and almost wished he was on it. He still hadn't made up his mind about the move to the Isle. His mother had given up asking him about it. She'd probably resigned herself to the fact that he wouldn't be coming home.
On the way back to Lerwick he stopped at Fran Hunter's house. He told himself as he drew up that he was stopping on impulse, but really it had been at the back of his mind since leaving the airport; even before that, he'd considered it as an option when he'd set out from home. She was pulling sheets from the washing machine into a plastic basket, didn't stop when she called for him to come in.
'I wanted to know how Cassie was feeling; he said. 'She's still asleep. By the time we got in this morning it was almost light. The doctor looked her over. Just a few bruises he said from being banged around in the back of the van!
He didn't know what to say. They both knew it wasn't the physical effects which would last.
She'd straightened up now. 'I don't suppose I can ask you questions about what happened. I don't suppose that's allowed!
'Ask me whatever you like,' he said. 'You're not the sort to go to the press. And if anyone has a right to know, it's you!
'Did you ever think I was involved?'
'No,' he said without hesitation. 'Never!
Without asking if he wanted a drink she moved the kettle on to the hotplate, rinsed out the cafetiere which stood on the draining board and spooned in coffee.
'Why did she do it? I've been trying to think. I mean, I fell out with people when I was a teenager. You do, don't you, at that age. One minute you think you're soul mates. The next you wonder how they can be so cruel. But I never pulled a scarf round their necks and strangled them!
'It wasn't just a matter of friends falling out,' he said.
She poured his coffee, remembered that he took it black.
'She'd had a hard time at school. Since she'd been in primary. I was bullied a bit too, know what it's like. And it can't have been easy, I suppose, to have your mother as teacher!
'God, no. Especially someone like Margaret Henry.
That would be a nightmare!
'It got worse when she moved to the high school.
A sort of routine bullying. Never physical. Not really. People knocking into her in a way which could have been accidental, tripping her up. But a sort of cold indifference. She was never included. Never wanted. Everyone made it
