'Be careful,' she said. 'He's kind of creepy. An obsessive, I think. One of those people who've never quite grown up, can't do real relationships, only teenage crushes.'

'Did he have a crush on you?'

'On me. On Bella. Maybe on any woman who fits in with his fantasy of the time. I was almost tempted to work on his house, though. It's a lovely place.'

Driving down the island, Perez tried to separate his prejudice from what he knew about Wilding. He was definitely a writer. Perez had checked on Amazon. Fantasy novels, quirky, funny but with a dark edge. He'd read some of the reviews. And he'd checked other things too. Wilding had spent a short time in the psychiatric unit of his local general hospital after his girlfriend had left him. He'd made a nuisance of himself, had become obsessed with her. Never violent though. Taylor had talked with the officers who'd taken the complaints. The woman hadn't been frightened by him, just irritated and annoyed. They'd thought him weak and ineffectual, had never believed he'd cause her harm.

Usually that sort of history would have made Perez sympathetic. In his previous job he'd been famous for being soft on nutters. But he couldn't like Wilding. Perhaps it was the money that repelled him. It was hard to feel sorry for a man who was very rich. One of the articles he'd tracked down on the internet had named the sum paid to Wilding as an advance on his last book. He certainly wouldn't need to resort to blackmail.

Perez turned off the main road south, crossed the cattle grid and drove along the side of the thin loch that led towards the sea. It was another lovely day. Perhaps it would continue to be a hot dry summer. His thoughts turned to the photo of the group in the Manse garden, the men in smart clothes, Bella in her slinky red dress. Behind them a perfect sky. It had been hot then too. For the first time it hit him that Bella was the only woman in the picture. Of course he'd seen that, but he'd accepted it as natural. In most gatherings, even now that she was older, Bella was surrounded by men.

A white van came down the road in the opposite direction. Perez pulled in to the verge to let it past, waved at the driver. Davy Clouston, the builder Wilding must be using to do up the house. A good choice. Clouston was a fine workman. Not cheap, but reliable. Perez wondered how Wilding had persuaded him out at such short notice.

The writer would be alone in his new house now, ready to greet visitors. He could have arranged to see Perez later in the day at Biddista, but perhaps he'd wanted to show off the impressive building.

The wrought-iron gates had been pushed open so Perez could pull on to the drive. The gravel was so pierced by weeds and flowers that it looked like an alpine garden. He parked in front of the house and saw Wilding standing at the front step. Like an English laird, Perez thought. And he was wearing corduroy trousers and a tweed jacket to complete the picture. The man was beaming. If he had any anxiety about the interview he was hiding it well.

'Come in,' he said. 'I'm so excited that this place is mine. I fell in love with it the minute I saw it. I know it's dreadful to feel like this when other people are grieving, but I've dreamed of having my own place on Shetland since I first saw Bella's paintings. I never thought I'd get somewhere so delicious.' He opened the double doors and let Perez into a wide hall. Specks of dust twisted in the sunlight. 'I've brought the essentials,' he said. 'Coffee and biscuits, and I've arranged for the electricity to be switched on.'

He led Perez into a room, which was empty except for an unidentifiable item of furniture shrouded by a dust-sheet. It wasn't such a big house, Perez saw now. Two living rooms facing the sea, with a kitchen and bathroom at the back. Probably three bedrooms upstairs. Smaller certainly than the Manse. Wilding was bent over a kettle, which he'd plugged into an ancient socket close to the floor. He spooned coffee into a jug, added the water carefully. 'You do have it black, don't you, inspector? You see, I remembered.' He polished a mug on his shirt and poured the coffee through a fine strainer. 'The best I can do in the circ.u.mstances, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Shall we take it outside, make the most of the weather?'

They sat on a drystone wall looking down over the beach and the flat island at the mouth of the bay.

'Why didn't you tell me you'd been to Biddista before?' Perez looked at the horizon.

'I'm not sure that you asked.'

'You didn't tell Bella that you'd met before, that you'd been a guest in her house?'

'Well, I thought that might be a little ungallant.' Wilding turned to Perez and smiled. 'It might imply that her memory was failing her. Or that I should mean more to her than I obviously do. I thought too that she might prefer to forget that summer.'

'Why would she want to do that?'

'It was a rather wild time. Frantic. We all have a little more dignity these days.'

'How did you come to be there?'

'She invited me. We met on a train. The sleeper which went then from London to Aberdeen. Perhaps it still does. I was on my way to Dundee to talk at a literary lunch and she was going home. Neither of us had berths booked and we sat up all night drinking and talking. One of those memorable, strange encounters that can change your life. "Come and stay. I love creative people." She was, still is, so charismatic, don't you think? I was bewitched. So after the gig in Dundee I went on to Aberdeen and got the ferry north, took her at her word. The old St Clare: oilmen boozing in the bar and kids dossing on deck in sleeping bags. When I turned up at the Manse I'm not entirely sure she knew who I was even then. She'd had a lot to drink in the train. I'd imagined a love affair, that she'd invited me because we were in some way kindred spirits, but the house was full of people.'

He turned to Perez and smiled. 'It was a little humiliating. I turned up on the doorstep with champagne and chocolates and there was a blank stare before she welcomed me in. You can see why I didn't want to repeat that experience a second time. If she wasn't going to know me after two days, she was hardly likely to remember after nearly fifteen years.'

'Who else was staying that summer?'

'I'm not sure. A couple of young men, art students from Glasgow.'

'Jeremy Booth,' Perez said. 'He was there.'

'The man who died at the Biddista jetty?' Wilding seemed genuinely surprised. 'Was he?'

'You don't remember him?'

'No.'

Perez laid the photograph of Bella's party on the wall between them. 'Perhaps this will jog your memory.'

Wilding looked at the photograph. 'Good G.o.d, I can't even remember this being taken. I don't think I ever saw it. Doesn't Bella look wonderful? But rather unhappy, I fancy.'

'That's you, I think.' Perez pointed to the dark man, standing in line.

'So it is, of course. That's still how I remember myself. It's always a shock when I look in the mirror.'

'What were the masks about?'

'A whim of Bella's. Her idea of a sophisticated evening.'

Perez pointed again. 'We think that's Jeremy Booth. Do you recognize him?'

Wilding considered. 'Perhaps I do. You know, the name seemed familiar when you first told me it. He was an actor, just as you said, and he was there that summer. Not for long though. I was obsessed and I couldn't leave until everyone else did, but he was only there for a few days. He arrived right at the end of my stay. Bella had picked him up in much the same way as she'd collected me from the train. I think he had the same expectation as me of romance, a s.e.xual encounter at least, and was similarly disappointed. He followed her round like a lovesick puppy, but n.o.body could take him seriously. He looked very different then from his picture in the paper and the man who caused the scene in the Herring House. He had long hair. Jem, he called himself. We got on rather well. I can't believe that Bella remembered him. She had so many admirers.'

'She had this photograph. Something triggered her memory.'

'It was taken at the farewell dinner,' Wilding said. 'We told each other we didn't want to go and yet most of us seemed relieved it was over.'

'You came back, though, after fifteen years. The place must have held some importance to you.'

'Ah, this time I was in Shetland with quite different expectations. I wanted peace and an escape from my girlfriend. At least an escape from my obsession with my girlfriend. I met Helen soon after my stay at the Manse. She's very different from Bella. Frail, rather shy. Though she haunted me too.'

'You don't look very haunted.' It was an unprofessional comment but Wilding, with confidence and his precise, arrogant words, sitting on the wall with a chocolate biscuit in one hand and his coffee in the other, seemed incapable of such sensibility.

'I've had to toughen up, inspector. I've learned it's the only way to survive.'

'Why Biddista? You could have gone anywhere in Shetland.'

'I think I explained that before. I did still love the paintings. Bella's work got better, much stronger, as she got older, and I renewed my contact with her by email. I hoped of course that she'd recognize my name but she didn't. When I said I wanted a break in Shetland, she offered me the house in Biddista to rent.'

They sat for a moment in silence.

Perez spoke first. 'You went to visit w.i.l.l.y in the care home. Did you talk about that summer?'

'Of course not, inspector. w.i.l.l.y can't remember what happened last week. I enjoy hearing his stories, that's all.'

'What happened that night fifteen years ago? The night the photograph was taken?'

'Really, inspector, can it have any relevance to your present investigation?'

'I think it can. It might tell us why Jeremy Booth came back.'

'We all drank too much and made fools of ourselves.' He paused. 'At one point Bella was weeping. I'd never seen her lose control in that way before. The tears were rolling down her cheeks, her face was all red and blotchy. She was ugly. It was horrible. It was that image I think that persuaded me to leave with the others. I didn't want to know that she was human.'

'Why was she crying?'

'I don't know. Someone said something to offend her, perhaps. She could take offence very quickly.'

'Was there a row? An argument?'

'No. We were all too drunk and stoned to fight.' He paused. 'We didn't see her the next day. She stayed in bed. We joked that she must have a ma.s.sive hangover, but really I think she was embarra.s.sed that we'd seen her like that. We went without saying goodbye.'

'n.o.body thought to check that she wasn't ill?'

'The boy, Roddy, was there. I suppose he'd stayed all night, gone to bed before the festivities started. Or perhaps his parents dropped him off in the middle of the morning. I don't remember. He spent a lot of time in the Manse that summer. He was quite young then, but a bright little thing. We sent him into Bella's bedroom to see how she was. How cowardly we all were! We couldn't face her. He came back to the kitchen where we were all sitting. "Auntie says, 'p.i.s.s off the lot of you!'" It was so much the sort of thing that Bella would have said that we went with a clear conscience. We always did what she told us.'

'Booth left with you too?'

'Not exactly the same time. w.i.l.l.y gave him a lift to Lerwick in his van. I'd been in w.i.l.l.y's van before. There were no real seats in the back. I remember the bruises. I decided to leave Biddista in style and ordered a taxi from Lerwick.'

'We've found another body in the Pit o' Biddista.'

Wilding turned sharply. 'I heard you'd found bones. Couldn't they have been there for generations?'

'You have no idea who it could be?'

'Of course not!'

'And you're quite sure you didn't recognize Booth when he made the scene at the Herring House?'

'Would you remember someone you'd seen briefly fifteen years ago? And he'd changed so much.'

'Did he get in touch with you? You're pretty famous now and you've written about the move to Shetland on your website. An email perhaps. I'll be in Shetland, can we meet to talk about old times? We know he intended to catch up with friends when he was here.'

'Not me, inspector.'

Perez thought Wilding would stick to whatever story he'd created. Perhaps he even believed it. Perhaps it was true. He stood up. 'Thank you for your time, Mr Wilding. If you remember anything, please get in touch.'

'Of course.' Wilding was playing the good-natured host once more. He took Perez's mug, walked with him back to the car. There he stood for a moment and gave a malicious grin. 'I've asked Fran Hunter to manage the interior design of the house for me. I can't think of anyone better, can you?'

'No,' Perez said. 'I don't think I can.'

Chapter Thirty-nine.

Kenny heard the news about the bones in the Pit o' Biddista on Radio Scotland while he was washing up the breakfast dishes. Edith had already left for work. Now the gathering of the people on the cliff the night before made sense to him, and since hearing the radio report he'd been waiting in the house all day for the police to turn up. Because the bones must belong to Lawrence, mustn't they? That would explain his sudden disappearance. Lawrence might have told Bella that he was leaving the islands, but something had happened before he could get on the ferry or the plane. Not an accident. Lawrence had grown up on the cliffs, had been more sure-footed than any of them. Nor suicide. Kenny knew Lawrence too well to believe that. But an act of violence. That would explain his absence, the years without a letter or a phone call.

Kenny was almost pleased that the body had been found. Thinking that a few bones, like the carcase of a sheep in a ditch, was all that was left of his brother made him feel ill, but still it was a kind of relief. What had hurt most since Lawrence had disappeared was thinking he hadn't cared enough about him to keep in touch. He'd pictured Lawrence in a strange town, a strange country even, with a new family. A blonde wife, because Lawrence liked blondes, two sons. He'd be older, his hair grey but still thick and curly. They'd be sat together at the supper table, laughing at one of Lawrence's silly jokes, not thinking at all about the family back in Shetland. But if Lawrence had died without leaving the islands there had been no perfect family, no laughter.

By ten o'clock he'd still not heard from the detectives working the case. Kenny phoned the police station in Lerwick and asked to speak to Jimmy Perez. A young woman said he was out. Could another officer help? Kenny tried to imagine talking to someone else about Lawrence, that big Englishman for example, but the idea horrified him. He asked the young woman to tell Inspector Perez to call him back as soon as possible. He gave her his phone number in Skoles and his mobile number, made sure she repeated them.

'It's urgent,' he said. 'Tell him it's urgent.'

By midday there was still no word from Perez. Kenny had gone out briefly to finish singling the second field of neeps, only because he knew there was mobile reception there, and he could see the road right to the end of the valley. He thought Perez might drive out to talk to him, rather than phone. If they'd found out that the bones belonged to Lawrence they would want to tell him in person. Kenny couldn't quite explain the excitement he was feeling. It was different from when he'd asked to see the body of the hanged man. He'd known deep down that person wasn't Lawrence and, even if it had been, he would still have to live with the thought of his brother abandoning him. This time he thought there really might be an end to the waiting and to the feeling he'd been rejected for all these years.

He went to the house, intending to phone the police station again, but instead he found himself phoning Edith at the care centre. She answered with her calm, businesslike work voice.

'Edith Thomson speaking.'

He could picture her in her office, behind her desk, with the photo of Ingirid and Eric on the windowsill behind her. The photo of him which she said she liked the best, pushing his boat into the water.

Now, he wasn't quite sure what to say.

'I wondered if you might like to have lunch with me.' Suddenly he wanted to see her. He felt like a young man asking a woman out for a date, all shaky and nervous. He'd felt a little that way around Jimmy Perez's mother.

'What's happened?' Her voice was alarmed. He had never before offered to take her out to lunch when she was working. Not even on her birthday or their anniversary. He knew she liked to eat with the people who used the centre. She said it kept her in touch with how things were going there.

'Have you not heard the news on the radio?'

'No,' she said. 'I've been very busy today. I've hardly moved out of the office.' He could imagine her, frowning with concentration, tapping away on her computer.

'There's been another body,' he said. 'An old one.'

There was a pause at the end of the line.

'And you think it might be Lawrence?'

'I think it must be.'

'I can't get away,' she said. 'You can come here if you like, though. Of course you must come here.'

But just having spoken to her had calmed him. 'Maybe later. I know you're busy at lunchtime.' He replaced the phone, thinking there was nothing after all to be anxious about. Nothing had changed, except his idea of what might have happened to Lawrence. He looked in the fridge for something to have for his lunch, but there was nothing there that he wanted to eat. He thought he would go to the shop and buy something. A pie or a burger, and a cake. Aggie didn't close until one and he would get there just in time. It would do him good to get away from the croft, even if it was only for a while.

The shop was empty and Aggie sat reading, just as she always did if she was on her own. She was surprised to see him.

'Kenny. What can I do for you?' They'd known each other since they were babies and yet she always kept her distance from him. A certain formality. Had she been that way even when she was a child?

'I fancied something tasty for my dinner,' he said. 'Edith buys all the healthy food. Today I thought I'd like something a bit different.'

'Comfort eating,' she said, and smiled.

He knew then that she'd been thinking exactly the same thing as him about the bones the police had found.

She looked at her watch. 'There'll be no one else in the shop now. Why don't you come next door with me? I could do you sausage, egg and chips. Would that suit you?'

The invitation shocked him. She'd come to Skoles when they'd had a bit of a party at Christmas or New Year, but she'd never invited them into her house. Aggie and Edith had got on well enough when they were young, but the women had never been great friends, at least not since Lawrence had gone. Lawrence had seemed to hold the whole of Biddista together.