the wheel arches eaten away by rust. She parked just where Perez was standing and wound down the window. She was a Fetlar woman; she and Tammy had met at school.
‘Glad to have Tammy out with the boat?’ Perez asked.
‘Aye, he’s like a bear with a sore head if he doesn’t get on to the water every week. And I’m glad of the peace. I love him to bits but we all need some time on our own.’
‘Anyone you know coming in on the flight?’
She grinned. ‘Nah, I’m here as a taxi. Maurice phoned last night to ask if I’d give the birdwatchers a lift to the north end and bring them back. I’ll be at it all morning, it seems. A kind of shuttle. He said they’d pay and it’ll be something towards the holiday fund.’
Perez thought Maurice must be slipping back into his role of field centre administrator. Perhaps Jane’s death had forced him to pick up the reins again. Or maybe Rhona Laing had something to do with it; few men would have the nerve to stand up to her and Maurice had always taken the easy course. Almost immediately after thinking about the Fiscal, his mobile rang and her name flashed on to the screen.
‘Jimmy. Where are you?’
‘At the airstrip seeing the first lot of birdwatchers in.’ He watched them climb out of the plane, laden with telescopes, tripods and cameras. Dougie shepherded four of them into the waiting car. Even from where he stood he could sense their excitement. They stuffed their equipment in the boot and piled into the back. Dougie took the front seat. ‘You can start walking up the road,’ he said to the remaining four. ‘We’ll pick you up as soon as we’ve dropped this lot off.’
‘Jimmy?’ The Fiscal, impatient, waiting for an answer.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.’
‘I’ve fixed a time for the press conference. Two o’clock in the hall.’
Perez couldn’t hear what else the Fiscal had to say, because the plane rolled past him on its way to take off. He supposed the aircraft was doing a shuttle too. It would bring another lot of birders in and take out the folk already here.
‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Could you repeat that?’
‘I’d like you there, Jimmy. At the press conference.’ He sensed her growing irritation. She was used to getting an immediate response.
‘How are the reporters getting in?’
‘We’ve arranged one special charter. The rest will come on the boat. I’m hoping we’ll have got rid of most of the day-tripping birdwatchers by then.’
He thought she’d choreographed the whole procedure very well.
‘Well, Jimmy?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You will be at the press conference?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course.’
In the North Light they were eating breakfast. Dougie was missing, but all the other suspects were there: the Fowlers, Hugh Shaw, Ben Catchpole, Maurice Parry. Perez stood at the door watching them before they noticed he was there.
Again Sarah Fowler had taken up Jane’s place in the kitchen. Now Poppy had gone, she was the only female long-term resident left. Perez wondered what Fran would make of the assumption that she’d do the cooking, but he saw that she’d taken over the role with enthusiasm. The desperation of the night before seemed to have dissipated. She stood behind the counter just as Jane had done, sliding bacon and fried eggs from the warm tray on to plates, looking up occasionally to talk to the other guests. Again he wished he could find a way of understanding her better. What lay behind her switches in mood? Of course, last night, they’d all seemed to be in a state of shock. This morning, it was as if they’d determined to ignore the violence and continue as normal. Perhaps the fact that Jane’s death had occurred away from the centre made that more possible.
‘Would you like some breakfast, Inspector? Or coffee?’ Sarah Fowler had seen him and called him over.
‘Coffee,’ he said. ‘Please. So you’re left doing all the work?’
‘I’m much better having something to do. Really, there’s no need to organize anyone else to cook. I’d prefer to be busy.’
There was no sign of Vicki or the Fiscal in the dining room.
‘You’ve just missed your colleagues,’ Sarah said. ‘They took the field centre Land Rover.’
He nodded, took his coffee and sat at a table next to Maurice. ‘Poppy went out OK with the
‘Yes.’ Maurice was tidier than Perez had seen him for a while. Had he shaved before seeing his daughter on to the boat? Made a last effort to hold things together for her sake? Or was it the Rhona Laing effect again?
‘In the end she seemed quite reluctant to go,’ Maurice went on. ‘She said she was worried about me.’ He looked up. ‘Did you get in touch with Jane’s relatives?’
‘Her sister,’ Perez said. ‘Jane’s parents are quite elderly. The sister will pass on the news to them.’ He looked over to the birdwatchers on the other side of the table. ‘Why aren’t you at Golden Water with that American swan?’
‘The work of the field centre has to go on. We’re not all on holiday.’ Ben flushed and Perez wondered what had provoked such an angry response. Did he resent the plane-loads of birders tramping across the island? ‘Fair Isle isn’t just about rarities, despite people like Dougie. We’re doing real science here.’
‘Of course.’ Perez drank his coffee.
‘I’ve walked round the traps and now I’m going to do the hill survey. Without Angela someone has to keep things going.’
‘If you’re up on Ward Hill you’ll have a good view of the Pund.’
‘So?’ Another flash of anger and defiance.
‘I wondered if you were there yesterday. Someone was out on the hill and you might have seen something.’
‘I was on the hill in the morning. Jane was still in the lighthouse then.’ Ben stood up and walked out, almost flouncing, tossing his red hair like a young girl. Poppy had gone but it seemed Ben had taken her place as token petulant teenager.
‘We’re all rather short-tempered, I’m afraid,’ John Fowler said. ‘It’s the stress. You mustn’t take it personally.’
On the table beside him lay a notebook, the top page covered in squiggles of shorthand. Again Perez suspected his motives. Would all this become an article in a grand Sunday newspaper? It would make a good story, he could see that. The group of witnesses gathered together in the same building on a windswept isle, wondering which of their number was a murderer.
The journalist muttered something about helping his wife and wandered into the kitchen. Hugh said he’d go to Golden Water; it would be a good chance to catch up with his friends and he might as well make the most of his moment of glory. Perez and Maurice were left alone.
‘She was gay, you know,’ Maurice said suddenly. Then, when Perez didn’t respond immediately: ‘Jane Latimer. She was gay. Probably not relevant and it didn’t make any difference to me, but I thought I should tell you.’
‘Was it something she discussed?’
‘She didn’t make a big deal of it, but it wasn’t a secret. She talked occasionally about her partner – her former partner. She works in the media: television, film. Something like that.’
‘Did she form any relationships while she was here?’
‘Not to my knowledge, but then I might not have known. She would have been discreet. It seems unlikely though. We don’t get many single women staying at the North Light.’
Perez thought Sandy would be excited by this revelation. He would find it significant. But Perez didn’t believe that Jane was the primary victim in this case. She was killed for what she knew or what she had guessed, not for who she was.
Outside, there was the sound of an engine and through the long window he saw the helicopter arriving to take
