Thin Air: (Shetland book 6) (33 page)

Sandy stared at it, frowning. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘It’s hard to tell, but yes, I think it is. But why would that picture make someone commit a murder?’

‘If we knew that, Sandy, we’d have the case closed and be on our way home.’

Willow looked towards Perez to share the news, but he wasn’t there. He’d finished his call, wandered out into the courtyard and was standing quite still. The public bar was closed as a mark of respect following Charles Hillier’s death, so there were no lights to shine on the yard. Through the window Willow saw his silhouette. He seemed lost in his own world. Again Willow thought there must be some domestic crisis concerning Cassie.
Anyone who took on that man would have a whole heap of baggage to deal with too.

She heard a sound from inside the house, a door being quietly shut, the rustle of clothing, and she walked through into the grand lobby. The only light came from a long sash window next to the front door and was milky, filtered by the mist. David Gordon stood at the top of the curved staircase. He was still in the clothes he’d been wearing during the day and it seemed that he’d made no attempt to sleep. She wondered how long he’d been there and if he’d heard any of the conversation.

‘David, are you OK? Can I get you anything?’

He muttered something that she couldn’t make out and turned away. It was only then that she saw that his hair was covered with fine droplets of water and there were wet footprints on the parquet floor where she was standing. David had been outside. She imagined him standing on the terrace and looking down over the shore to the spot where he’d found his lover’s body. Willow was about to ask where he’d been, but he’d already disappeared back into his room. She hesitated, unsure whether to follow him, when she heard Jimmy Perez come back into the kitchen. Willow thought how disengaged he seemed. She had an urge to shake him.
Leave the past behind, at least while you’re working.
In the end it was Sandy who asked who’d been on the phone.

‘Eleanor’s mother, Cilla,’ Perez said. He frowned and Willow saw that the content of the call had been preoccupying him. So she’d been wrong. He was entirely focused on the case. She felt a twinge of guilt.

‘Anything useful?’

‘It could be.’ But he didn’t seem happy or excited. This was a different Perez from the one who’d sat beside her in the car in Yell, urging her on down the narrow roads to look for Monica Leaze and then to catch the ferry.

‘Perhaps you could tell us what she wanted then, Jimmy. It’s getting late.’ Willow was losing patience once more. This wasn’t the time for games. She thought she needed a large drink and remembered there was a bottle of Chablis in the fridge. Monica’s tipple. She set it on the table with three large glasses. ‘Come on, Jimmy. We won’t be going out again tonight. Pour us both some wine and tell us what this is all about. We have important information too. There’s a lot to discuss.’

‘Cilla has been having an affair,’ he said. ‘She thought Eleanor had found out about it, suspected
that
was why she’d asked Cilla to meet her for lunch the day before they all set off for Shetland.’

‘And Eleanor was upset? I don’t quite see how that’s relevant to her murder.’

‘The affair was with a younger man.’ He turned so that he was staring out of the window again. Willow hoped he wasn’t going to go moral and God-bothering on her. With Perez she never knew exactly how he would react. He looked back into the room and directly at her, weighing his words. ‘With Marcus Wentworth. Cilla’s field of expertise is Middle Eastern and North African art. He runs occasional cultural tours. That was how they met. The fact that Polly and Eleanor were friends was just a weird coincidence.’

‘But he must be half her age!’ Sandy sounded horrified.

Suddenly Willow felt wide awake, and she thought again that they could now look at the facts of the case from an entirely new perspective. ‘Well, that gives us a very strong motive, doesn’t it?’

Perez nodded. ‘I think Marcus was the man Eleanor met in the Bloomsbury restaurant. She was trying to persuade him to end the relationship with her mother. She knew how upset Polly would be if she found out. And Eleanor took a phone call from him when she was in the Sentiman. Again she was telling him to sort out the situation.’

‘Marcus has got Polly all lined up for the role of wife and mother,’ Willow said. ‘The woman to step into his mother’s shoes and become lady of the manor. Very aristo. He’s not going to be best pleased if Eleanor threatens to spill the beans to her best friend.’

‘I’m not sure how Polly would respond to the news, either. She seems fragile already.’

Willow looked at him sharply, uncertain exactly what Perez meant by the comment. She breathed deeply. ‘For the first time we’ve got a credible motive in this case. We’ll bring Marcus in first thing in the morning.’ She felt a rush of relief. In the end this would turn out to be an ordinary case with a human motive. Peerie Lizzie had nothing to do with it. ‘I feel like celebrating. Let’s have that glass of wine.’

But as she reached out for the corkscrew and the bottle, her mobile rang. It occurred to her again that this was like the operations room of a wartime mission. Phones ringing constantly from different agents in the field. New information arriving all the time and needing to be assimilated. Her caller was breathless, female and English. Willow recognized the clear tones and the academic precision. Caroline, Lowrie Malcolmson’s new bride.

‘We need your help, Inspector. It’s Polly. She seems to have disappeared.’

Chapter Forty

In the boat club, at the end of the meal, Polly couldn’t take her eyes off the dancing girl. It was as if she and the child were frozen in time and space and all the other guests were whirling around them until they became a blur of speed and colour. Then the music slowed and stopped and everything became normal once more. The child seemed to be aware of Polly’s eyes on her, because she stared back. Her eyes were blue and unblinking. Not rude, but curious.

Polly stood up to walk around the table to speak to her. She would feel less disturbed if she discovered the child’s name, if she got to the bottom of the apparent haunting and spoke to this strange girl, who appeared only to her and to Eleanor. But everyone was standing up to leave now and in the narrow gap between the trestle tables and the walls there were people struggling to their feet, kissing farewell, catching up on last-minute gossip. Words spoken in an accent Polly could scarcely decipher, adding to her sense of panic. An elderly woman with a walking frame was blocking her route. When she finally did squeeze past, the girl and the two boys had disappeared. So once again she was left questioning her judgement. Had her imagination been playing tricks once more? Was the dancing child like a shadow in the mist?

She pushed her way back to the door and down the stairs, thinking there might be a queue for the cloakroom and the girl might still be there. No sign of her. Polly grabbed her jacket and walked out into the night. The fog was so thick that it seemed she could taste it. It was salty like seaweed and dense on her tongue. A soup made of sea water and sulphur. The wall lamp outside the boat club bounced light back from the screen of grey. Somewhere at the mouth of the harbour a red buoy flashed very dimly. In the car park people were banging doors and shouting goodbye and words of warning about the journey home. Polly could make out some silhouettes, but there was nothing that could be the girl in white.

I’m becoming obsessed. I should leave it and find the others. Walk back to Sletts and finish packing. Tomorrow I’ll be on my way home and this will be just another story. Everything I’ve done here can be forgotten.

Then she heard a child singing. The words were high-pitched and clear:

Little Lizzie Geldard died today

The tide came in and drowned her.

The water swept the girl away,

It was night before they found her.

The words seemed to be mocking Polly and pulling her towards them. They weren’t coming from the car park, which was almost empty now, but from the footpath where she’d walked with Marcus and Ian earlier. Polly knew she should find the others and persuade them to listen to the song and help her to find the singer. For her own sanity she needed witnesses. But the words were getting fainter and seemed to be taunting her, calling her forward.
It was night before they found her.

There was a torch in her jacket pocket and she set off after the girl’s voice. She hoped the others would realize that she’d left and would follow, then thought that they might be anxious if she just disappeared. As she walked she pulled out her phone, but the signal was very faint. Marcus answered, but when she spoke to him she wasn’t sure he’d heard what she’d said. Then the connection was lost. She still had a signal, but it had been cut off at the other end. It occurred to her that Marcus had deliberately switched his phone off.

Marcus. Unbidden, thoughts of her last conversation with Eleanor forced themselves into Polly’s head. She was back on the deck the night of the hamefarin’. Both the men were asleep and it was just the two girls, like the old days in Durham. Polly had gone outside again to find Eleanor wrapped up in her theatrical velvet gown, looking like a character in a Victorian melodrama. Polly had fetched her quilted jacket and joined her. A new bottle of wine on the table between them. The fog coming and going and swirling in weird shapes over the shore. Just like tonight.

And then Eleanor had started spilling out her story, her weasel words and excuses. ‘I’m so glad of the chance to talk to you on your own, Pol. This has been tearing me apart.’ And for a brief moment Polly had thought she was about to admit to an affair with Marcus. She couldn’t understand how they might have met, but she could see that there would be an attraction. Two beautiful people, both dark and handsome. Both intelligent. Polly was accustomed to playing second fiddle to Eleanor and might even have got used to that. The woman was easily bored and would have moved on very quickly. Marcus might have settled for Polly in the end. But that wasn’t what Eleanor had wanted to say at all.

‘You should know that Marcus is having an affair.’

‘With you?’ Keeping her voice even, because although she loved Marcus to pieces, her friends were still more important to her than he was. They’d rescued her when she was frightened and alone and had first left home. They’d kept her going in a strange and intimidating city when she’d moved to London.

‘Of course not with me.’ Eleanor’s voice was amused, with that touch of arrogance that never really left her. ‘I don’t want anyone other than Ian, these days. You know that, Pol. I’m a married woman. A reformed character.’

‘Then who?’

There’d been a silence and Polly had thought again that she’d glimpsed a white figure moving along the edge of the tide. A figure with a strange silhouette, hair peaked at the front like a bird’s crest.

‘With Cilla. My mother.’

And that was when something had broken inside Polly. Because Cilla was old and snooty, and always treated Polly as if Eleanor was doing her the hugest favour in the world by befriending her. How could Marcus have anything in common with a woman like that?

Eleanor continued to speak and seemed comforted because she no longer had to keep a secret. She’d probably convinced herself that she was really doing Polly a favour. ‘They met in Jordan when he was leading a group and she was on a field trip. Lust at first sight. For her at least. I saw them at an exhibition together and she introduced me. When you showed me his photo I recognized him at once.’ And Eleanor had paused and taken a swig of wine straight from the bottle and seemed to have no understanding of the effect she was having on Polly. Or seemed not to care. Then she looked up. ‘I did try to stop it, Pol. I tracked Marcus down through his website. I did tell him to stop it.’

On the cliff, lost in the fog now, Polly closed her eyes to blink away the memory of that conversation. She’d decided then that it couldn’t be true, that Eleanor was just stirring up trouble to create a drama. Of course Marcus wouldn’t make love to a woman nearly twice his age. Of course he wouldn’t betray her. Her phone rang, the shrill noise startling her and bringing her back to the present.

When she’d finished the conversation Polly felt sane again. There was no singing, just the distant sucking of waves on the shore at the bottom of the cliff. A faint murmuring that might be the call of seabirds. Then a child’s laughter.

Chapter Forty-One

When Willow, Perez and Sandy arrived at Sletts, Caroline was the only person there. The men were still out looking for Polly. It was properly dark now, past midnight, and the fog was as thick as ever. Caroline was sitting in the window of the cottage looking out for them. Sandy thought that she would have organized the search, and the men would have done as they were told. She was like some of his school teachers who never shouted, but scared the kids shitless all the same and always got the respect they felt they deserved.

In the car he’d wanted to ask questions. About the phone call from Eleanor’s mother and the men who’d met Eleanor at Mareel, and what Jimmy made of it all. But he’d kept quiet. On their way out Willow had said he should stay in Springfield House in case David Gordon did something daft. She said that the man had wandered away once and she wouldn’t put it past him to just walk into the sea and drown. But Jimmy had told her they’d need as many people as possible to search for the Englishwoman and they could get Mary Lomax in as a babysitter, so Sandy had been allowed along. But he knew he was there on sufferance, so he just sat quietly while Willow did the driving, and he kept his questions to himself.

In Sletts, Willow took charge. She and Caroline were two strong women together. Jimmy and Sandy let them get on with it.

‘You’ll have tried to phone Polly?’

Caroline nodded. ‘Of course, but we’re getting no answer. She made one call to Marcus while we were waiting to collect our coats, but then his phone cut out. You know what the reception’s like here.’