‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He could see that she’d been crying. She wasn’t the sort to cry easily and he was surprised by the display of emotion. He watched the other people walk back to the road. Most of the islanders had cars there. Jackie Clouston scurried back on foot to her mansion on the hill. Had she left Andrew alone to check what was going on?
Sophie sat on the grass beside the track. She was wearing combat trousers and a university sweatshirt, walkers’ sandals. Her toes were wide and brown. ‘I feel dreadful. There I was slagging her off yesterday, and all the time she was planning to kill herself.’
‘You had no idea anything like that was in her mind?’ He sat beside her.
There was a pause. Perez thought she was preparing to say something significant, but she seemed to decide against confiding in him and only shook her head. ‘I never knew what she was thinking at all.’
‘You won’t be able to work here. Not for a while at least.’ He still thought the Setter land should be treated as a crime scene. ‘When were you planning to leave?’
‘I thought I’d stay until after Mima’s funeral,’ Sophie said. ‘I decided when I heard what had happened. Hattie would like me to be there for that.’
In Utra Sandy was in a state of terminal panic. Joseph was nowhere to be seen. His mother was ironing a shirt for him and there was a pile of underpants on the kitchen table. Evelyn was obviously proud that her son had been chosen for the mission but was ratcheting up the anxiety. Edinburgh she could understand. Michael had been to college there and lived there. It represented sophistication. London was a different world, alien and violent. A place of hooded gangs and foreigners.
‘You’ll only be away a night.’ Perez took a seat.
‘Where will I stay?’
‘I’ll get Morag to book somewhere for you. And I’ve fixed up for you to meet Hattie’s mother in her home. It’s in Islington. Not far from the Underground. I’ll show you a map. She’s been told about her daughter’s death. Don’t worry, man. This time tomorrow you’ll be on your way back into Sumburgh.’
Evelyn finished ironing the shirt and hung it on a hanger on the door. She folded up the ironing board and propped it against the wall. Then she left the room with the underpants in one hand and the hanger in the other. They could hear her banging around in Sandy’s bedroom. She obviously considered him incapable of packing for himself.
‘Look,’ Perez said. ‘The woman’s a mother who’s just lost her daughter. That’s all you have to concentrate on. Forget about what she does for a living. Imagine how Evelyn would be feeling if your body was washed up on the shore.’
‘Guilt,’ Sandy said after a pause. ‘She’d be wondering what she could have done to prevent it.’
‘And Gwen James will be feeling just the same. You don’t want to make her feel bad about what’s happened. She’ll be guilty enough without you adding to it. Your role is to get her to talk about her daughter. Don’t ask too many questions. Just give her time and the sense that you’re really listening to her. She’ll do the rest.’
‘Couldn’t we suggest she fly up here? Then you could talk to her.’ Sandy had the air of a man desperately clutching at straws.
‘I did suggest it and I’m sure she will want to come up. But she says not now. She prefers to be in her own home. And I prefer you to see her there, on her own territory, where she’ll feel most comfortable. You can do this, Sandy. I’d not send you to London if I didn’t think you’d do it well.’
Perez left Sandy to get ready and went outside to find Joseph. The older man was in the barn doing something to the insides of an ancient tractor. When he saw Perez he wiped his hands on an oily piece of cloth. He looked very pale.
‘This is a terrible business. Two deaths on Setter land.’
‘Nothing to do with the place, surely,’ Perez said.
‘I don’t know. That’s how it seems.’
‘You were there last night.’
‘How do you know that?’ The older man looked up, startled. It was as if Perez had performed some sort of conjuring trick.
‘I saw you through the window. You looked upset. I didn’t want to disturb you. What time did you get there?’
‘I don’t know. After my tea.’
‘Did you go outside? Down to the dig?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see anything? Hear anything?’ Perez looked at Sandy’s father. In the gloom of the barn it was hard to tell what he was thinking.
‘No,’ Joseph said. ‘I just go there some nights to drink and forget. I didn’t hear a thing.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Sandy arrived at Heathrow at the height of the rush hour. He’d never liked the idea of the Underground, even before the bombings were all over the television. It seemed unnatural being shut in a tunnel, not being able to see where you were going. Anyway, he’d had a look at the map on the back of the A-Z Perez had loaned him and it all seemed too complicated for him to work out. He couldn’t make sense of the different-coloured lines. Instead he got the direct bus to King’s Cross. That was where it terminated, so there should be no danger of getting out at the wrong place. Perez had asked Morag to book him into a Travel Inn in the Euston Road. Sandy would check in and collect his thoughts before he went to speak to Gwen James. He was still astonished that his boss had trusted him to do the interview, felt extreme pride and extreme fear in the space of a minute.
The bus was full of people. Sandy looked to catch someone’s eye and start up a conversation with a local, a person who would be able to reassure him when he reached his destination. But they all seemed exhausted after their flights; they sat with their eyes closed. Those who did talk weren’t speaking English. Whenever he went to Edinburgh or Aberdeen, Sandy had the same reaction of claustrophobia for the first couple of days. It was being surrounded by tall buildings, the sense of being shut in, of not being able to see the sky or the horizon. This was just the same but the buildings were even taller and closer together and there was a feeling that the city was endless; there would be no escape from it.
Coming into the city centre, he had the odd flash of excitement when they passed a street name he recognized, a signpost to a famous monument, but it didn’t last. He was here for work. This was one interview he couldn’t get wrong. He peered out into the streets looking at the people who were walking past. Perez’s woman, Fran Hunter, was in London at the minute. He’d feel happier if he could glimpse just one familiar face. Of course he knew it was impossible. What was the chance of seeing her among all those thousands of people? But it didn’t stop him looking.
Walking to his hotel he had to push against the flow of people hurrying to King’s Cross and St Pancras Stations. He felt he couldn’t breathe. If he stood still for a moment they would flatten him, walk right over him without hesitating, without stopping to find out what was wrong.
In the hotel the receptionist struggled to understand his accent, but the room was booked and he was given a plastic card instead of a key. It seemed a very grand room. There was a big double bed and a bathroom. He looked out over the Euston Road at the line of traffic and the pavements heaving with people. He was so high up that the only noise was a dull hum, a background roar like waves on the shore on a stormy day, the sound Mima had called ‘the hush’. He turned on the television so he couldn’t hear it. He had a shower and changed into the shirt his mother had ironed for him. She’d folded it carefully in his overnight bag and it was hardly creased at all.
It took him a while to find the kettle hidden away in a drawer, but then he made himself a cup of tea and ate the little packet of biscuits. He didn’t feel like eating a proper meal. Perez had said he could get something on expenses, but he’d wait until after the interview. He wanted to phone Perez to tell him that he’d arrived safely,
