Blue Lightning

‘Tell me about Angela,’ Perez said.

Dougie hadn’t been expecting that. He’d thought there’d be a list of questions, a bit like the script he prepared for the call centre staff.

‘I mean, you must have known her quite well,’ Perez went on. ‘You’ve been coming to the island for a long time.’

‘She was a very good birder.’ It was what came first into Dougie’s head. He realized it was the tribute Angela would have wanted. No, he thought. She would have wanted more than that: brilliant. The best of her generation. He didn’t think he could go that far.

‘But competitive,’ Perez said. ‘Not a team player. Not an easy person to get on with. That’s the impression I have.’

‘She knew how good she was,’ Dougie conceded. ‘She didn’t suffer fools gladly.’

‘Did you like her?’

Dougie thought about that for a moment. Had he liked her? She’d been a kind of obsession, but that wasn’t the same thing. ‘We got on OK.’

Perez leaned forward across the table. ‘You see, in this case motive is important. Any one of you staying in the centre had the opportunity to kill her. You all had access to her knife. It didn’t have to be a premeditated crime. The knife was there in the bird room. But why would anyone do it?’

‘She could wind people up,’ Dougie said. He finished the coffee and carefully set the mug on the table.

‘How do you mean?’

‘She’d prod and poke until she got a response. She enjoyed making people angry. She thought it was a laugh.’

‘And you think she just went too far? She provoked someone to kill her?’

‘It could have happened that way,’ Dougie said. ‘Everyone was tense anyway. Stranded here because of the weather.’

‘Did she ever make you feel like that? Angry.’

‘Nah, I was never worth provoking. Fat Dougie. Too easy a target. She took me under her wing.’ Dougie struggled to explain the relationship he’d had with Angela. ‘You know how sometimes really fit women have an ugly friend. Someone who’s not a threat. Someone to confide in. That’s how Angela was with me. I was the ugly friend.’

‘Even though you only came to the field centre once a year?’

Dougie hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to tell Perez. He’d decided to stick to answering the questions, not to volunteer any information, but the questions were more wide-ranging and personal than he’d expected. And he thought Jane had guessed how things were between Angela and him. She’d probably tell Perez anyway. ‘We kept in touch,’ he said at last. ‘Email mostly. Sometimes by phone.’

‘Didn’t you resent it?’ Perez asked. ‘The way she used you, I mean.’ When Dougie didn’t answer at once, he added: ‘Or perhaps you didn’t feel used? You didn’t mind being the ugly friend?’

‘I knew I could never be anything else,’ Dougie said. ‘It was better than nothing.’ He paused. He had never thought he’d tell anyone about his feelings for Angela. And in five minutes this strange islander with the dark hair had wheedled information out of him that he’d always kept secret. Dougie thought this was what it must be like to be under hypnosis. Perez said nothing. He waited for Dougie to continue and Dougie felt compelled to speak.

‘I loved it when she phoned me. It was always late at night. I imagined her in the bird room, looking down over the cliffs to the sea. It was exciting. She knew she excited me. Perhaps she only did it when she needed a boost for her ego. I didn’t care, even when she just wanted to talk about her marriage, other men. I was flattered that it was me she’d chosen to talk to.’

‘Were there other men?’

Dougie nodded. He expected other questions, a demand for specifics, but Perez didn’t follow that line of inquiry.

‘What did she say about the marriage?’

‘That Maurice was a sweet man but sometimes he bored her so much that she thought she would die. She wasn’t sure she could stand living with him any more. “And he’s crap in bed.” That was what she said.’ Dougie felt he should apologize for Angela. She wasn’t malicious, not really. Sometimes she said outrageous stuff just to make me laugh. But he had the feeling Perez understood anyway.

‘Do you think she was seriously considering divorce?’ Perez asked.

‘Nah! Maurice was just what she needed: someone to look after the domestics so she could spend all her time birding. He was too convenient to have around. And he was besotted with her. She knew he’d let her get away with anything.’

‘Did you go and see her in the bird room the night she died?’

Dougie was astonished. Was the inspector some sort of magician? Could he read men’s thoughts?

‘Because it’s the sort of thing a friend would do,’ Perez went on. ‘There’d been that scene with Poppy. Angela might have been upset. I thought you might call in to check that she was all right.’

‘I heard her go into the bird room,’ Dougie said. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I’d brought a bottle of whisky to the island with me. I don’t drink much, but other people do.’ And you still feel the need to buy friendship, don’t you, Dougie? ‘I took it down. I offered a drink but she didn’t want one. “Not for me, Dougie. You have one if you like.” I didn’t stay for long. She was working. She made it clear I was disturbing her. If we had any sort of friendship it was always on her terms.’

‘Did you have a drink? Was there a glass on her desk?’

‘Nah, I didn’t bother either. Like I said, I don’t really like it.’

‘Did she tell you what she was working on?’

‘No. We talked about Poppy. Angela said if the wind didn’t change soon, so she could get rid of the teenager from hell, there’d be a murder.’ Dougie looked up at Perez. He didn’t want the Shetlander to think he’d made some sort of crass joke, but Perez still focused on the notes on the paper before him.

The detective looked at him. ‘Was she alive when you left her?’

‘Yes!’ Dougie felt himself flush. Would Perez assume that was a sign of guilt? He couldn’t help himself. He always blushed like a girl when he was nervous. In the distance he thought he heard the sound of the plane coming in. Jane had said there’d be no flights today, but perhaps she’d got that wrong. Would it be full of birders? He wanted to be on the hill to meet it, to show the incomers his find.

But Perez still had questions: ‘Were there any feathers in the bird room? Was Angela working with them?’

‘That night? No.’

‘Any time?’

Dougie knew what this was about. Ben had described the feathers in the hair. ‘I don’t understand why there should be. Unless there was some special study I knew nothing about.’

‘Was Hugh asleep when you went back to the dormitory?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you have heard him if he left the room in the night?’

‘No,’ Dougie said. ‘It takes me a long time to get to sleep, but when I finally go off, I sleep like the dead.’

Chapter Sixteen

In the field centre kitchen Jane made a cottage pie. Easy to prepare and also Maurice’s favourite. She’d do a veggie chilli for Ben. Jane was starting to worry about Maurice, who was still holed up in the flat and who hadn’t really eaten anything the previous day. The community nurse had come up to the lighthouse the morning that Angela had been found dead and offered sedatives, but Maurice had refused to see her: ‘I don’t need her pills. I don’t need tranquillizing. I don’t want to forget my wife.’

Now, Jane wondered if she should get the nurse back. The woman was chatty, easy-going and she was probably the source of many of the rumours floating round the island about Angela’s murder. She’d be happy enough to call in. But it was unlikely that Maurice would be persuaded to see her, and Jane didn’t want to provide