too that Fran should understand what living in the Isle was about – she still had romantic ideas of a harmonious community existence. He wasn’t sure she’d stomach the part religion played in bringing about the cohesion – the sort of religion preached by his father at least.
Thought of his father had been with him, reminding him of his cowardice, since he’d woken up. Perez still hadn’t confronted the man about his relationship with Angela Moore. The night before, the moment had never been quite right. Perez had got back to Springfield in time for a late supper and the family had spent all evening together. To take his father outside and say he had something important to discuss would have alerted Mary and even if she suspected anything about her husband and Angela she would hate to think the relationship had become part of the inquiry. Over the meal James had been jovial, a good host. Perez thought his father was probably relieved. He’d taken the jewellery from the Pund and thought his secret was safe. What had he done with it? Thrown it out of the
They left early for the kirk because James would be preaching, and took the long way round by the road because the ground was still sodden. Fran thought God was about as real as the tooth fairy. She came from a family of unbelievers and, to her, religious faith was incomprehensible. But today she behaved herself. She was soberly dressed in a long brown skirt and a little tweed jacket, brown leather boots. Just as they went in through the kirk door, she whispered to him: ‘I hope you know I’m only here because I love you, Jimmy Perez. You owe me.’
Then after a quick grin she followed Mary to her seat.
Whenever they discussed religion, Perez always ended up agreeing with Fran. Stories and metaphors, that was the Bible. But in his gut he couldn’t dismiss his father’s teaching so lightly. He’d grown up with the notion of sin and had spent his adolescence haunted by guilt. He thought guilt was like a tapeworm living – and growing – inside him.
They’d just sat down when John and Sarah Fowler came in. The congregation turned to look at them; visitors were always welcomed to services but were something of a novelty. John beamed amiably around him, but Sarah still seemed tense. Perez thought she’d been most happy in the field centre kitchen. Away from the lighthouse she seemed lost.
His father took as his text Galatians 5:22 on the fruits of the spirit. At first Perez let the words wash over him. He was still thinking about the double murder, looking for connections between the women. He’d assumed at the beginning that Jane’s death had come as a direct result of Angela’s but it wouldn’t do to close his mind to other possibilities, to dismiss altogether an irrational killer targeting women. The team in Lerwick should do a more detailed check on the North Light visitors and staff. Were there unsolved crimes of violence against women in the areas where the incomers lived? He felt in his jacket pocket for a pen, so he could jot down a few notes.
Then the meaning of his father’s sermon seeped into his consciousness. Perez set down the pen and the scrap of paper and began to listen more carefully. As he laid the pen on the narrow shelf built into the seat in front of him he saw his hand was trembling. Anger. It was all he could do not to walk out.
James had moved on to talk about self-control. One of the fruits of the spirit. It might be the last in the list but it was by no means the least important. James leaned forward and repeated the words for emphasis: ‘By no means.’ He turned over a sheet of paper on the lectern. James took his preaching seriously; he always made notes.
‘In Proverbs, we learn that controlling one’s own passions is harder than conquering a walled city fortress. A man must have mastery over his own behaviour. If he can’t control himself, he’d be like the city after its walls are destroyed. Defenceless.’ The last word came out in a thundering roar, but seemed to have little impact on the audience and James sought to find an image closer to home. ‘Think how it would be if you were out in a small, flimsy kind of boat in the gale we’ve had in the last couple of days. Bad enough in something like the
The music started and they swung into a hymn. Sarah Fowler had a sweet voice and seemed to know the words. The couple were sitting just in front of them and Perez could make it out over the rest of the congregation. Beside him, Fran was singing too, but she could never hold a tune. It was something they laughed about.
After the service the islanders stood outside in the sunshine and chatted. No talk of the murders. The conversation was about when the bairns would get in from the Anderson High, a sixtieth birthday party to be arranged in the hall. Perhaps the Fowlers’ presence constrained them. The couple stood for a moment too on the edge of the crowd, rather awkwardly.
Fran went up to talk to them: ‘Did you walk all the way from the North Light?’
‘It’s a lovely day,’ John said. ‘And we wanted to get away for a while. I’m sure you understand.’
‘I’ll give you a lift back,’ Fran said. ‘That is OK, Mary? I can use the car?’
Mary looked for James as if the decision wasn’t hers to make, but Perez answered for her. ‘Sure, no problem. Take it. But come straight home or you’ll be late for lunch.’ He didn’t like the idea of Fran without him at the lighthouse.
He was still furious at his father’s hypocrisy; how dare James preach about self-control? Perez thought he couldn’t sit down for another meal with the man until the matter of Angela Moore had been discussed. Even if he’d got the whole thing wrong, if he made a complete fool of himself, he had to know.
Mary hurried away after a few words with her friends. She had the meat to get into the oven. Fran went with her, followed by the Fowlers. She muttered to Perez as she went: ‘If I don’t get out of these clothes soon, I’ll almost believe I’m a Sunday school teacher or a member of the WI.’
‘I’ll hang on for my father,’ Perez said. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. You don’t see him often enough.’
James was still playing at being minister, shaking hands and asking after his flock. At last the rest of the congregation drifted away and the two men were left in the bright autumn sunshine, their long shadows making strange shapes on the boggy grass.
‘That sermon.’
James turned to face him. They’d started to walk slowly away from the kirk. ‘Yes?’ Pleased that his son was showing an interest.
‘I really don’t know how you’ve got the nerve.’
‘What do you mean?’ Big James’s face was dark and impassive. No reaction other than a slight frown.
‘Did you show much self-control when it came to Angela Moore?’
His father stopped suddenly in the road. What had Perez been expecting? Bluster and denial? A plausible explanation, which would make
Perez waited. All his life he’d been scared of this man and now his father was stuttering like a child caught in some petty mischief.
‘You were having an affair,’ Perez said at last.
‘No!’
‘You slept with her.’
‘Once,’ James said, his voice high-pitched with stress. Then, more controlled: ‘Yes, I slept with her once, but there was no sort of relationship.’
‘You gave her presents. Jewellery.’
‘I fancied myself in love with her.’ The man paused. ‘But it was lust. I see that now.’ He began walking very quickly down the road. Perez followed until they were marching in step.
‘And what did my mother make of that? She was happy, was she, that it was only lust?’
James stopped abruptly. ‘You have no right to pry into another man’s marriage.’
‘I have every right!’ Perez realized he was yelling so loudly that the back of his throat hurt. ‘I’m investigating a
