wondered briefly what the woman would make of the ride, hoped the weather stayed fine. ‘I can book you on to that.’
Another silence. ‘Thank you, Inspector. That would be very kind.’
Then, although it was Sunday he called Vicki Hewitt, using the private number she’d given him in her message on his mobile.
‘What have you got for me, Vicki?’
‘It’s about those feathers, the ones on the first body. Not the stuff emptied from the pillow over Jane Latimer.’
‘What about them?’
‘I’ve got them to an expert. Some he’s pretty sure he can identify. There are kittiwake feathers, herring gull, a couple from waders – he’s fairly certain they’re curlew but he’d like to do a DNA test to be completely sure. Another from a swan.’
‘All those you’d find on the island,’ Perez said. But he didn’t think there’d been whooper swans yet that autumn. The only swan he’d heard about was the rare one that had caused all that fuss. And Angela had been dead when that was discovered.
‘Can you get your chap to get a DNA test on the swan too?’ he said. ‘Pin down the exact species.’
‘It’ll come out of your budget.’
He thought he really didn’t care.
Back in the small bedroom in the roof he went through the letters that had been addressed to Angela. He’d looked at them quickly the evening before, after Maurice had handed them over. Most of the mail was junk, circulars and advertising. There was a letter from her publisher, but it seemed designed to give away as little information as possible: ‘I agree we should meet to discuss the matter. Perhaps you could let me know when you’re planning to come south.’ Perez made a mental note to talk to the editor the following day. Then there was a thick white envelope containing a set of train tickets. First class advance National Express from Aberdeen to London dated the beginning of November. Had Angela already made an appointment to meet the publisher? The letter was so delayed that it was possible. Or maybe there was another reason altogether. Perhaps Maurice would know.
Later, he drove back to the North Light. There’d been a proper Sunday high tea. Cold meat and salad followed by one of his mother’s fruit cakes; although the lettuce had come in on the recent boat it was still limp and unappetizing. Fran seemed content enough to stay in Springfield, though she’d given him a wistful look when he said he had to go back to work. She’d brought out her sketchbook and made notes in charcoal, now she was roughing out a drawing, oblivious to
He went straight to Maurice’s flat, using the staff door through the kitchen. He didn’t want to get caught up in a conversation with the guests until he’d talked to Angela’s husband. In the flat the television was on too. This time football. Maurice got up and switched it off when Perez came in. His response to the knock had been a shout to come in.
There was the inevitable bottle of whisky and a glass on the table. ‘You will join me, Jimmy?’ Maurice nodded towards it. Then: ‘Don’t look at me like that, man. I’m not a drunk, but I find it helps dull the edges a bit. Now Poppy’s gone, what does it matter?’
‘Maybe a small dram,’ Perez said and Maurice went off to find another glass.
‘What about Angela?’ Perez asked. ‘Did she like to take a drink?’
‘Red wine. That was her tipple. And lots of it if the mood took her.’
‘But not recently,’ Perez said. ‘At our engagement party, for example. She didn’t have a lot to drink then.’
‘What are you saying, Jimmy? Where is all this leading?’ Maurice wasn’t drunk, but as he’d said the hard edges were blurred, his thoughts a little slow and fuzzy.
‘I spoke to the pathologist today,’ Perez said. He paused to make sure he had the man’s attention. ‘Angela was pregnant.’ Maurice blinked at him. ‘You didn’t know?’
Slowly Maurice shook his head.
‘She’d arranged to go south,’ Perez persisted. ‘I was wondering maybe for an abortion. But if she’d stopped drinking, was looking after herself, that doesn’t quite make sense.’
Maurice looked up. ‘The baby wasn’t mine. I had a vasectomy years ago. Maybe you should talk to the father.’ The first hint of bitterness since Angela had died.
‘Who would that be?’ Perez asked. ‘Who should I talk to?’
‘Maybe you should look close to home, Jimmy. Big James followed my wife around like a love-sick puppy.’ Then he shrugged, a sort of apology for loading his pain on to the other man. ‘No, it couldn’t be him. If anything happened there it was nearly a year ago.’
‘A more recent admirer then.’
‘Oh, they all admired her,’ Maurice said. ‘And who could blame them? The more difficult question is which of them might she have fallen for. Enough to carry his child. I didn’t think she cared for any of them that much.’
‘It could have been a mistake, an accident.’
‘Angela didn’t make those sort of mistakes, Jimmy. I found the morning-after pill in her bag once.’
‘Not a maternal bone in her body,’ Perez said. ‘That’s how you described her to me.’
‘So I did. But perhaps biology overtook her in the end. Perhaps she’d decided she wanted a child even if she couldn’t have one with me. Angela was used to getting what she wanted.’
Perez looked at the man. He didn’t seem as astonished by the news of Angela’s pregnancy as Perez had expected. Had there been signs? Sickness? After all, he’d had three children of his own. Had he guessed she was carrying a child, but not asked, not really wanting his suspicions to be confirmed? Or was the information just too much for him to take in?
‘I wonder if Jane guessed that Angela was having a baby,’ Perez said. Jane had been observant. Nothing much happened in the field centre without her knowing about it. If Jane had worked this out, could it be a reason for her death? ‘Did Jane drop any hint about it to you? Maybe after Angela died?’
‘No!’ It came out as a shout. Maurice held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I didn’t know Angela was pregnant.’
He hadn’t drawn the curtains and Perez looked out into the darkness. There were the lights of a ship, a big tanker from the shape of it, moving steadily south. Maurice had turned his body away, as if to make clear that the discussion was over. It was time for Perez to leave.
‘We’ve traced Angela’s mother.’
No reaction.
‘She’s coming into Fair Isle tomorrow. I’ve booked her on to the afternoon plane.’ He paused, but still Maurice gave no sign that he’d even heard. ‘I think she’d like to meet you, but that’s your decision.’
At last Maurice turned his head. ‘Of course I’ll meet her. You’ll make the arrangements, will you, Jimmy? You’ll bring her here.’
‘Why had Angela booked train tickets to go from Aberdeen to London at the beginning of November? It seems she had a meeting with her publisher, but do you know what that was about?’
‘No! It seems to me now that I didn’t know anything about her. She was my wife, but she could have been a stranger.’
He looked up at Perez, now obviously expecting him to leave, but still Perez sat where he was.
‘Is the lighthouse tower always kept unlocked?’
‘Of course not, Jimmy. It’d be a health and safety nightmare. We have kiddies staying here in the summer. You couldn’t have them running up and down the stairs, tampering with the light.’
‘But I found it unlocked this afternoon.’
Maurice shrugged. ‘Is it important?’
‘It could be. Did you have a key here?’
There was a pause. Maurice looked up from his whisky. ‘It was kept with the big bunch on the hook in the larder.’
‘The same one as the key to the bird room?’
‘Yes, but we never used most of them.’
‘But anyone staying in the centre would know where they were kept?’
‘Only if they’d asked Jane. She was the keeper of the keys.’ Then Perez thought at last he’d found a motive for
