'No, I wasn't on duty just then.'

'Could I get to talk to someone who did?'

The purser looked at his watch and sighed.

Perez sat where he was and said nothing.

The purser stood up and gestured for Perez to follow him. An elderly couple leaned against the rail on the upper deck looking out at the town. The mist was already starting to clear, so at least there was something to look at. They were thin and brown and they were holding hands.

'Honeymooners,' the purser said as they approached. 'You'd think at their age they'd have more sense.' His tone changed when they were within earshot. 'Come and meet Dr and Mrs Halliday, inspector. I think they might be able to help you.' For the first time since Perez had entered his office he smiled.

Perez found the sudden transformation in his att.i.tude and body language disturbing. But this was the man doing his job. It was all about playing a role.

The Hallidays were from Phoenix, Arizona. They were collectors of contemporary art. They even owned a small Bella Sinclair. 'We were so disappointed that the exhibition opening was cancelled, inspector. George here had fixed up a taxi to take us and bring us back.'

'Can you describe the man who gave you the flyer?'

The couple looked at each other. 'It would be helpful,' Perez said. He wondered why they hesitated.

'I guess it's hard to say,' the man said, 'because of the fancy dress. That was all I noticed.'

'Fancy dress?'

'Well, yes. He was dressed like a clown. Not the sort with a red nose and bright clothes. This one was all in black and white. Cla.s.sy, you know. Like something from the commedia dell'arte.'

'Was he wearing a mask?'

'That's right. A mask. I remember because our kids always used to find them kind of scary.'

By the time Perez reached the police station, the sun was shining. Taylor had been on the telephone to say that they were already at the airport at Dyce and scheduled on the first available flight out. 'You'll meet me and take me straight to the scene.' No question.

In his office Perez looked at his watch. He only had half an hour before he'd have to set off for Sumburgh. He wandered into the incident room. Sandy was on the phone and didn't notice him. It was clear that this was a personal conversation with one of Sandy's Whalsay friends. There were arrangements to meet for drinks, gossip about some woman. Perez reached over and cut the connection. Sandy began to splutter indignantly, then stopped.

'Not enough work, Sandy? That's fine then, because there's something I'd like you to do for me. A guy dressed as a clown was handing out flyers at Morrison's Dock the day before yesterday to all the pa.s.sengers coming off the cruise ship. Someone else must have seen him. Go and talk to anyone who was working there. Did anyone chat to him? Find out who he was and where he was staying.'

'You think he's our victim?'

'Two strange men dressed as clowns in Shetland on the same day? A bit of a coincidence, wouldn't you think?'

Sandy looked sheepish and grinned. 'Someone phoned for you,' he said. 'Kenny Thomson.'

'What did he want?'

'I don't know. He wouldn't speak to me. Nothing that won't wait. He said it wasn't urgent.'

So Perez left without phoning Kenny back, allowing more time than he needed for the drive south, thinking he could make the call from his mobile while he was hanging round at the airport. He had to drive right past Fran's house on the way to Sumburgh. He saw her silhouette in the window of the bedroom she used as a studio. She was working. He imagined her standing in front of her easel, frowning, oblivious of everything going on around her. She said her work was all about concentration. Sometimes she spent all day on a piece, not even stopping to eat. He admired her pa.s.sion, but he didn't quite understand it. He couldn't concentrate for more than twenty minutes at a time without wanting coffee, contact, the feedback of other people.

He speeded up and carried on down the road. Sumburgh was crowded with people who'd been trapped in Shetland by the fog. There was compet.i.tion for places on the first plane south and some of the pa.s.sengers were irritable. There was an English family: a man and a woman, a toddler in a buggy, a baby in a sling. 'What sort of place is this?' the woman said. Her voice was too loud, she needed other people to hear her. 'A bit of mist and everything grinds to a stop. If this is your idea of an adventurous holiday, Charles, you can keep it. Next year we're going back to Tuscany.'

As she set down a piece of charcoal, Fran caught a glimpse of Perez's car driving past. She paused for a moment, half expecting him to stop, but he drove on. She watched with relief as he continued down the hill. The thought of him had been at the back of her mind all morning, but she didn't want to dwell on it now. She had so little time to work. The school day was short and there were only a few more hours before she would need to collect Ca.s.sie from cla.s.s. She turned back to the sketch, an idea for a larger piece, her head full of colour and shape. Perez was forgotten.

Chapter Fifteen.

Edith had taken a day off work. Kenny was delighted. He liked nothing better than having her at home all day. This was how things had been arranged when his parents had been living here his mother had never gone out to work. And it had been like this when his own children were young. Even when he was working outside it made him happy to know that she was in the house.

Because Edith wasn't in a rush to get off to work, they had breakfast a little later than normal. Edith made the coffee she liked, spooning the grounds into the cafetiere, which she put on the Rayburn to keep warm, and pouring in the water from the kettle slowly and carefully. Kenny thought that later in the afternoon, when he'd finished the neeps and they'd walked on the hill together to look at the sheep, they would make love.

Looking at her standing with her back to him, reaching into the cupboard to fetch down her mug, he thought he would like to take her back to bed with him now. Her hair was still pinned up from her shower, so her neck was bare. She wore jeans which fitted well around her backside. He liked her in jeans so much better than in the smart work clothes. Even in middle age her body was firm.

He went up to her and stroked her neck with fingers which he knew were rough. She turned round and smiled at him, knowing just what he was thinking.

'Not now,' she said. 'You'll have to wait.'

And of course he would have to wait, because in these things women always got their way. They held all the cards. You couldn't force them. He supposed that was how it should be but sometimes he thought it a little unfair.

At the table he watched her eat toast. Wholemeal now, always. She bought the bread from a bakery in Scalloway. She put lots of b.u.t.ter on and it had melted. Some had dripped on to her fingers and she licked them. At first she had been quite unselfconscious, then she saw him watching her. She smiled again and licked the fingers on her other hand very slowly. A game. Now he was quite content to wait until later before he took her to bed. She would play the game for him all day and the antic.i.p.ation would be better than getting what he wanted straight away. The thought of that made him feel a little faint and he didn't catch immediately what she was saying.

'It seems wrong keeping that dead man in the hut for a whole day.'

'The fog kept the police from Inverness from getting in.' The evening before, he'd gone to the bar in Middleton and everyone was talking about it. He'd only stayed for one pint. The pleasure the people took in having a dead body close by seemed unnatural to him. If it was someone they knew they'd have behaved differently, but some people were even telling jokes.

'I thought it was suicide. It seems a lot of fuss about a suicide.'

Kenny didn't know what to say. He thought of the body swinging from the rafter. When he'd told Edith about the dead man she'd been so kind to him and had understood immediately what a shock it had been.

'Oh my dear, you shouldn't have had to see that.'

People died occasionally at the care centre. She said she'd never got used to it, but it seemed to him she took everything in her stride.

'Aggie Watt came here yesterday,' he said now. 'She asked if the body could be Lawrence.'

'It couldn't be,' Edith said. Then, 'Or could it? Surely you'd have recognized your own brother.'

'I'm pretty sure it's not Lawrence, but I'd like to see the man again without the mask. I've been thinking about it.' He'd lain awake a long time in the night, worrying about how Lawrence might have changed over the years, whether he might have made a terrible mistake. He'd thought Edith was awake, but he hadn't told her about his fears, hadn't felt able to tell her before about Aggie's visit. He'd needed to sort out in his own mind what he thought before discussing it with her. 'I wondered if I should ask that Fair Isle man, Jimmy Perez. Would they let me look at him again?'

She thought about it for a moment. 'Yes,' she said. 'I think you should ask him. I don't think for a moment it is Lawrence, but it might set your mind at rest.'

Kenny thought he would phone Perez. He wouldn't wait until the policeman was back at the jetty. He didn't want to see the dead man again there. Lying out in a mortuary somewhere, the mask taken from his face, that would be different. More dignified.

All morning while he was working in the field he caught glimpses of Edith. She'd done a pile of washing and once the fog lifted she came to hang it out on the line behind the house. He stopped for a moment and watched her, so deft, lifting the sheets from the basket, folding and stretching them and pinning them on the line. He waited for her to turn and wave to him, but she didn't seem to notice he was there. When he went down for his coffee, she had just finished washing the kitchen floor. She was on her hands and knees on a folded towel, wiping the last corner with a cloth. He stood in the porch in his stockinged feet. Again she must have heard him come in, but she didn't acknowledge his presence until she'd finished. Then she turned and smiled at him.

'Just wait for a minute until it dries.' She was still kneeling at his feet and had to tilt her head to look up at him.

'Why don't we walk down to the Herring House?' he said. 'Get one of Martin's posh coffees there. He'll surely be open now.'

'I can't go looking like this.' But he could tell she was pleased by the suggestion.

'Why not? You look lovely. You always look lovely.'

They walked down the track together, hand in hand. Kenny felt as if he was on holiday too. He took a quick look towards the jetty. There was a police car there and tape stretched right across the entrance, but nothing much seemed to be happening. He guessed that the police from Inverness hadn't arrived yet.

The cafe at the Herring House let in all the light whatever time of day it was. Extra windows had been built into the wall facing the water.

There were more people there than you'd usually get on a weekday morning, and Kenny recognized some of them. A couple of elderly ladies from Middleton who'd taken a trip out in case there was anything to see. They turned out for any reported accident or disaster. A journalist from the Shetland Times. It occurred to Kenny that the plane bringing in the Inverness police would also be carrying reporters from the national press. Now he was here he felt awkward. He supposed he and Edith were just like the others; they'd come to the Herring House in hope of news.

Martin Williamson came out from the kitchen to take their order. He had a light, almost dancing, way of walking that made Kenny think of a racehorse just before it went into the stalls. Kenny nodded at the other customers. 'At least it's good for business, then, having a dead body next door.'

Martin grinned. 'Aye. I'll not be sorry when they take it away though. It seems kind of weird, leaving it there all night. Mother's in a right state about it. I don't think she slept.'

'I know she's upset. She came to see me yesterday.'

'You can't blame her,' Edith said. 'When you think what happened to your father. It must bring it all back.'

'Have you heard when the police from Inverness will get here?' Kenny asked. He was thinking that Perez hadn't phoned him back. When the dead man was taken away he'd have a chance to see him, then he'd know for certain that it couldn't be Lawrence. The more he struggled to conjure his brother's features in his head, the more they became blurred and slid away from him.

'First plane out of Aberdeen,' Martin said. 'They'll be in any time.'

Kenny asked for a cappuccino for Edith and a latte for himself. They always had the same when they came here. Because it seemed like a holiday he added a couple of pieces of cake to the order and Martin danced away.

They'd almost finished when Roddy Sinclair made an entrance. He stood at the door and heads turned. Everyone recognized him and there was a brief moment of silence before the conversation continued. He looked as if he'd just got out of his bed. His hair was tousled and he still seemed half asleep. Or maybe, Kenny thought, he'd been up all night. He didn't find a table and wait for Martin to take his order, but walked towards the kitchen, leaned on the doorframe and shouted in.

'Double espresso. Strong as you like.' There were other people at the tables waiting to order, but n.o.body seemed to mind him jumping the queue. Typical Sinclair, Kenny thought. They're arrogant, the lot of them. Across the tables, one of the Middleton old ladies smiled at the boy and gave him a little wave. Kenny thought that was typical too. Women would let the Sinclair boy get away with anything.

Roddy tilted his body away from the doorframe so he was standing upright.

'Fantastic view from here,' he said. 'It always surprises me.' He sauntered towards them. 'Do you mind if I join you?'

'We'll be going soon,' Kenny said, but the boy seemed not to hear and sat down anyway. Outside now there was strong sunshine. A sailing boat was on the water halfway to the horizon. Kenny tried to work out who might own it and decided it didn't belong to anyone local.

Roddy leaned forward across the table. 'I understand you were the one to find the body.' His accent was just as strong as when he'd been a boy. Kenny wondered if he practised at night in his Glasgow flat, in the hotel rooms in exotic cities. It was his trademark. He nodded.

Martin carried across the coffee. Roddy nodded his thanks, but continued to look at Kenny, and waited till Martin had moved away before continuing the conversation.

'You're sure he was a stranger?' he asked. 'You'd never seen him before?'

Kenny allowed himself to be distracted a moment by the smell of the espresso. If it tasted as good as it smelled he could be converted too. He didn't want to make a scene here in front of Edith, but he wanted to tell Roddy Sinclair to mind his own business. What right did he have to interrupt them here? Spoil the time he had with his wife?

'I didn't recognize the man,' Kenny said.

'He was here at Bella's launch,' Roddy said. 'But I didn't take much notice of him then.'

'You saw him alive?'

Kenny almost asked Roddy if the man could have been Lawrence, but what would Roddy know? Lawrence had left when Roddy was still a small boy. He was living in Lerwick with his parents and only came to Biddista to visit Bella. He had been an annoying boy even then, spoiled, running wild about the place.

'Yes. I wish I'd talked to him. If we knew who he was and where he'd come from, we could just get back to normal.'

What would you know about normal? Kenny thought. It seemed a strange thing for the boy to say. Normal was the last thing Roddy had ever wanted. He wanted drama, a different woman every night. Surely he'd be enjoying this small excitement.

Roddy turned to Edith. 'What do you make of all this?'

'Nothing,' she said. 'It sounds very callous, but I can't get excited by the death of a man I didn't know.'

Roddy was about to answer, but he was interrupted by the sound of a car driving down the road outside. Two cars. Everyone's attention was turned to the window. The old ladies from Middleton stood up so they could get a better view. Quite shameless. Despite himself, Kenny swivelled round in his chair so he could see too.

Jimmy Perez got out of one of the cars. With him was a tall, heavily built man with a bald dome of a head. You could tell even from this distance that he was the boss. There were two other men and a woman, and a couple of police officers Kenny recognized: Sandy from Whalsay and young Morag. Suddenly he didn't want to be here any more, staring down at the spectacle like children at the circus. He stood up and waited for Edith to follow him home.

Chapter Sixteen.

Roy Taylor wasn't sure what he felt about being back in Shetland. Certainly he was pleased to have finally arrived; all that waiting in Aberdeen had made him feel he was about to explode. And at least they'd got in on the plane. He hadn't liked to tell the rest of the team he didn't believe leaders should admit to weakness, all that sharing, caring stuff wasn't for him but he felt queasy on the Mersey ferry. An overnight crossing on the boat and he knew he'd have thrown up.

Now, standing at the front of the queue waiting to get off the plane, that memory of the Mersey ferry suddenly made him homesick. A series of images played in sentimental succession in his head. The view of the Liverpool skyline from the river, Scouse voices in busy pubs, singing his heart and soul out in the Kop on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. It made him wonder if it wasn't finally time to go back. His father was dead and couldn't hurt him now. He dwelled briefly on the possibility of returning, then pushed it from his mind. He had other things to think about.

He'd headed for Inverness because it was the farthest place from home he could find. There'd been a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic pleasure in landing in a town so alien, so unlike anywhere he would otherwise have chosen to live. As if he'd wanted to punish himself as well as the family he'd left behind. And now he was back in Shetland, which was even more remote and more strange.

The plane door opened. He took the steps at a trot and strode across the tarmac to the little door in the terminal building. He'd given instructions that his team should only bring carry-on luggage. They'd wasted enough time and he didn't want them hanging around again for the stuff from the hold to appear.

Jimmy Perez was waiting for them. They'd worked well together on a previous investigation and had got on, perhaps because they had such different styles. If Perez had been a full-time member of his team, Taylor would have found the unconventional att.i.tude, the long hair and the lack of urgency irritating. Here in Shetland, the quiet approach seemed to work. Perhaps too well. Taylor had always been compet.i.tive, and mixed with the affection was a residual resentment because Perez had been credited with solving the Catherine Ross case.

All the same he greeted Perez with warmth, taking his hand and clapping him on the back.

'How're things, Jimmy?'

The rest of the group should know that there would be no territorial rivalry on the case. Besides, it couldn't be easy for Perez to have a senior officer fly in to take over the most interesting cases. Taylor himself wouldn't be able to bear it.

They drove north and west, missing Lerwick, the only place in the islands where Taylor had felt anything like at home. At least in Lerwick there were shops and bars, chip shops and curry houses. If he thought of the s.p.a.ce all around him, he felt giddy and nauseous. It was the sleepless night in the Holiday Inn in Aberdeen, he thought. Once he got stuck into the investigation he'd feel on top of his game once more.

To pull himself back he began to fire questions at Perez, who was driving.

'Are you telling me that in a place as small as this no one can put a name to him?' He knew Perez would resent the tone, but couldn't help himself.

Perez paused for a moment before answering. 'We get fifty thousand visitors a year. Many of them have little contact with local people. It's not that surprising it's taking a while to trace him.'