you?’ He found it hard to believe that this was news to Martin. A place like Biddista, information escaped, seeped into general knowledge without any effort. ‘Didn’t you wonder what Sandy and the doctors were doing out there?’
‘I’ve been in here since the shop opened. Nursing a bit of a hangover.’
‘Why would you think I was joking?’ How tasteless would that be? he thought. Like claiming a death in the family had caused an art exhibition to cancel its opening.
‘Well, I mean, it’s a shock. Did he kill himself?’ Suddenly Martin lifted his daughter into his arms. He looked out of the doorway, down to the hut and Sandy, who was still sitting on the harbour wall. ‘Why would he go into Kenny’s hut to kill himself?’
‘Was Kenny the only person to use it?’
‘No, we just call it that because he built it. Everyone living in Biddista can leave their gear there. Kenny, me, the new chap who’s moved into the house at the end of the row, Bella, Roddy.’
‘Who’s the new chap?’
‘He’s from England. A writer. Peter Wilding. Here to finish a book, he said. Willy, who used to live in that house, moved into sheltered housing last year and Wilding moved in. I’d never heard of him but he obviously does all right at it if he can afford to take the summer out. He doesn’t seem to do much writing. Mostly he’s sitting at his upstairs window, staring out over the water. Maybe waiting for inspiration, huh?’
The girl struggled to be released from his grip and ran back to her toys.
‘Does Wilding have a boat?’ Perez asked.
‘No. I asked him out when I was going with Kenny once, just to be friendly. But a bit of a breeze blew up and it made him kind of nervous. I think he felt ill. I don’t think he’d go out again.’
‘Why does he need to get into the hut then?’
‘He asked if he could leave a couple of boxes of his things there. Willy’s house is very small.’
‘If he’s from England maybe there’s a connection with the dead man.’
‘They can’t have been friends though. A strange kind of friendship at least, to see someone you know upset and do nothing to help him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wilding was at the party at the Herring House last night. Bella invited him. She likes famous people. He was there when the stranger had that turn. If he’d known him he surely would have said so then.’ Then Perez remembered Bella mentioning the man, only she’d described him as a collector.
‘You can’t think of anyone else round here who might have been putting up the dead man? We can’t find a car.’
‘No one around Biddista takes in paying guests.’
‘What time did you leave the Herring House?’
‘It was probably about eleven before I’d finished clearing up.’
‘I understand Roddy Sinclair kept you company.’
‘We had a few drinks. There were plenty of bottles open. It would have been a waste not to finish a couple of them.’ Martin grinned. Is he really like some carefree child? Perez thought. Is it true that he wasn’t even moved by his father’s death?
‘He invited you back to the Manse to carry on with the party?’
‘He said he’d promised Bella he’d stop drinking on his own. I think she worries about him. He gets a bit wild sometimes. Last time he was home she suggested he go somewhere to dry out.’
‘Did he?’
‘Of course not. He’s young. He drinks a lot. He’s only different from any other Shetland boy his age because he has more money. He’ll grow out of it.’
‘You didn’t go with Roddy to the Manse?’
‘No, I knew I’d be there all night. He started to make a bit of a noise as we left the gallery. Dawn has to be up early for work and I knew she’d not appreciate the racket. That brought me to my senses.’
‘Was anyone around?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Any lights in the houses?’
‘I’m not sure. This time of the year when it’s not so dark out, you don’t really notice.’ He paused. ‘I think Wilding was back sitting at his upstairs window looking out.’
‘Can you remember when he left the party?’
‘Sorry. I was in and out of the kitchen all evening. People seemed to disappear quite quickly after the chap caused the scene. Roddy played a couple of numbers then everyone drifted off. I guess Wilding went then.’
‘Do you know anything about this?’ Perez slipped the flyer cancelling the exhibition on to the counter.
Martin read it, frowning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Who died? Bella didn’t say anything about cancelling to me.’
‘Nobody died,’ Perez said.
‘It’s pathetic.’ For the first time in the conversation Martin seemed serious. Intense.
‘What is?’
‘People being so jealous of Bella. Because she’s good at what she does and makes money from it.’
‘Do you have anyone specific in mind?’
Before Martin could answer, the child turned back from the toybox to face them.
‘Look at me!’ She was wearing a clown’s mask. Her hair, caught in the elastic, stuck up around it. The mask was identical to the one the stranger was still wearing as he hung in the jetty hut waiting for the crime-scene investigator from Inverness. Perez felt his stomach flip as it had earlier that day. With a flight of fancy he thought the mask stopped the child looking human. It was as if someone had stolen her soul.
But Martin only laughed. ‘Hey, Alice,’ he said. ‘Where did you get that? It’s really freaky.’
The girl giggled and ran out of the shop into the sunshine without answering.
Chapter Ten
The child ran into her grandmother’s house, leaving the door ajar after her. Her mother wouldn’t be at home. Perez knew that, as he knew all the other things about the family, the information gathered without any effort on his part, over the years. Dawn Williamson was a teacher at Middleton, the nearest primary school. Martin and Aggie looked after the girl between them while she was at work. Dawn was an incomer, so his understanding of her background was a little sketchy. She’d already moved to Shetland, was already teaching in the school when she took up with Martin.
Perez took the carrier bag of food back to Sandy, left it on the harbour wall beside him and crossed the road again before the man discovered his requests hadn’t been exactly met. He stood on the pavement outside Aggie’s house and knocked at the door. He liked Aggie. He’d returned to Shetland just in time to be involved with her husband’s accident. He’d taken a statement from her, had respected her calm, the way she refused to speak badly of the dead man.
Aggie let him in. She recognized him at once.
‘Jimmy Perez, what are you doing in Biddista?’ There was a trace of nervousness in her voice. Wherever you were in the world, a policeman on your doorstep meant trouble. When he didn’t answer, she went on, ‘Well, come away in. You’ll tell me in your own good time.’
He couldn’t think that he’d seen Aggie since her husband’s funeral, but she’d not changed – a trim, slight woman now in her early sixties. Standing at the square table, covered in patterned oilcloth, she was preparing for baking. In front of her stood a set of scales, a china bowl, a bag of flour and another of sugar, three eggs loose on a saucer, a wooden spoon. He could have been in his mother’s kitchen in Fair Isle. She had a mixing bowl of exactly the same pale yellow. Aggie had been greasing a baking tray with a margarine wrapper. Alice had run ahead of him and was sitting on a tall stool drinking juice from a plastic beaker. The clown’s mask had been
