Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN PEREZ GOT THROUGH TO WILLOW, she was at home with James.

  ‘Sorry to miss your calls. I was at the cathedral carol service with James. And then he was a bit fidgety in the car, so I thought I’d get him home before calling you back.’ A pause. ‘Well, what did George Riley have to say?’ She sounded eager. She obviously thought that there’d been a breakthrough in the case.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Perez was about to explain, but Willow broke in. ‘Are you saying he wasn’t there?’

  ‘He was there, but he was dead. Like some sort of ancient sacrifice. Stashed just where the light would catch the body as it came into the chamber for the solstice.’ A pause. ‘He’d been hit over the head with the other story stone.’

  There was a silence for a moment. Perez could almost sense Willow’s thoughts racing through the phone. ‘The murders are obviously linked then,’ she said. ‘And Archie was found close to a Neolithic site on Westray.’ Another silence. ‘Do we think our killer is a history buff? Or someone with stories of their own to tell?’

  Perez was thinking too. ‘It’s all so contrived. Definitely not some random killing. I have to go and inform Miles, George’s partner, of his death now. I’m not sure what time I’ll get home. Dr Grieve has agreed to come in on this evening’s ferry. He’s already checked in. I’ve said he can stay with us. I’ll pick him up at the terminal, and I might not be home before then. That is okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Of course.’

  Perez thought then that nothing would ever throw her. She was his rock, the calm centre of his world.

  It was dark. The Range Rover was still parked in front of the grand and slightly ridiculous house outside Finstown. It must belong to Miles. Perez had confirmed that the car he’d seen outside the Maeshowe visitor centre had belonged to George Riley. It should already have been brought into Kirkwall on a low loader. Now he stood on the steps, his breath coming in clouds, and rang the bell. It echoed inside. There were footsteps and the door opened.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. I was expecting George. He’s always losing his key, or he can’t be arsed to look for it. What do you want? I thought he was meeting you this afternoon.’ The man was frowning as if this was an invasion too far.

  ‘He was.’

  Miles stood blocking the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Perez said. ‘We need to talk.’

  George’s partner must have picked up something from the tone of the inspector’s voice, because he stood aside, and instead of taking Perez to the kitchen, he led him into a grand living room, which had a piano in one corner and long windows covered by red velvet curtains. They wouldn’t have been out of place in a Victorian theatre. The fireplace was elaborately tiled, and radiated heat – it was banked with coal. Miles sat on a plush plum-coloured sofa.

  ‘What’s happened?’ His voice was very quiet.

  ‘George is dead.’ Perez hated euphemisms. In this situation, it was better to be honest and straight.

  ‘How?’ Miles was very tight, very tense, as if that was the only way he could hold himself together. It seemed to Perez that every muscle in his body was working just to keep him upright. But he thought too that Miles Chambers was a man used to the unexpected, used even to news of other people’s tragedies.

  ‘He was murdered,’ Perez said. ‘In a situation very similar to Archie Stout in Westray. We have to assume that they were killed by the same person, though we can’t rule anything out at this stage.’

  ‘So he was hit,’ Miles said. ‘Battered. It must have been quick?’

  ‘Yes, it would have been quick.’ Perez didn’t know how true that was, but in this case, honesty was less important than kindness.

  Then the control that had been holding Miles in place failed him. He sagged, his back curled, and he covered his face with his hands. When he straightened, he looked, dry-eyed, out at Perez. ‘You’ll have questions. I’ll try to answer them.’

  ‘Can I get you something? A drink?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Later, when I’m on my own, I suspect I’ll get very, very drunk. But not now. Now, I need to help you with your investigation.’

  ‘Do you know what George was doing this morning? I know he got back from Inverness on the ferry yesterday evening.’

  ‘I think that he went into school. He said there was something he had to do. But I’m not sure. I’d hoped we’d have the morning together. I’ve only recently retired from a rather demanding job in the Foreign Office, and we spent so much time apart over my Whitehall years. Snatched moments. He loved Orkney, this house, and couldn’t contemplate moving to London. I couldn’t imagine giving up work. I have always had an inflated sense of duty, and I felt that I had a valuable role there. Then I reached a point where I needed to be with George more than I needed to be in charge of my department. But when I arrived here, it seemed that George was still wrapped up with island affairs. I almost felt that I was getting in the way, that he resented my presence.’ He stared out at Perez. ‘We argued this morning. Nothing major. A niggle because he wouldn’t change his plans to spend the morning with me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Perez wasn’t sure how to go on. He added: ‘George told me that you were lovers.’

  ‘Did he?’ The man’s face lightened. ‘I always felt the need for discretion. I hated the idea that people should know our business, but I find that very comforting. A kind of acknowledgement. A validation.’

  ‘So this morning,’ Perez prompted, ‘you think he went into school? Was there a meeting?’

  Miles shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. I could have accepted that he’d have to attend an organized meeting. No, he said it was research, something he needed to check. Then he would head out to Maeshowe to see the sun in the chamber. I asked if I could come too, but he told me he’d arranged to meet you there. And there was something else he needed to sort out. A problem that was troubling him rather. Nothing much troubled him, so I could tell that it was important. I sulked like a teenage boy, like one of his pupils denied a treat, but I didn’t make a fuss.’

  ‘Did he come home at lunchtime?’

  ‘No. He said he’d grab something in town. Once the sun had thawed out the soil a bit, I did some more work in the garden. That’s my project. It keeps me sane. Almost.’ Miles looked directly at Perez again. ‘I haven’t been entirely truthful. I retired from the Civil Service on medical grounds. I was forced out. Stress. Burnout.’

  ‘I can think,’ Perez said, ‘of no better place to recuperate.’

  Miles was continuing to speak. ‘The anxiety makes me a little paranoid. I scroll through possible scenarios in my head: that George had run away to Westray because I was annoying him, that he had another lover, that I’d misinterpreted the whole relationship.’

  Perez shook his head. ‘He spoke of you so fondly. I don’t think any of that was true. Do you know exactly why he went into Westray?’

  ‘He said it was to research his book. He’d just be there and back in a day. But I wasn’t sure that I entirely believed him. I thought there was more to it than that.’ He gave a little smile. ‘That worm of doubt crawling inside my head once more, especially when George said he had to stay over because of the storm and that he was spending the night with one of his former students.’

  ‘We’ve investigated that,’ Perez said. ‘The two of them met by chance on the ferry. It was an act of hospitality, nothing more than that.’

  Though how can I know? How can I be sure? Am I just being kind again?

  ‘Did he have any enemies? My working theory is that George was killed because he knew something about Archie Stout’s death, but we have to explore all the possibilities. You will understand that.’

  Miles nodded. ‘You’re right. He wasn’t the sort of man to make enemies. He was usually a warm person, open, good at everything he did.’

  There was a silence, deep and intense. The house was too far from the road for there to be any traffic noise. Perez waited. He thought that Miles had more to say. The man spoke at last. ‘He was preoccupied. Even before Archie Stout died, before he went to Westray, there was something on his mind. I asked him what was bothering him, if I could help in any way. “This is nothing to do with us,” he said. “This is something I need to sort out for myself.” I wonder if he was protecting me, if he thought I wasn’t mentally strong enough to help him.’

  Perez thought that was another coincidence because Archie Stout had been preoccupied too.

  ‘Did he talk to you about what he did on Westray, who he met? Anything that seemed strange to him?’

  ‘He wouldn’t talk about his Westray stay at all, and that wasn’t like George. He’d be sad that someone had died of course but he’d usually be rather enjoying the drama of a murder. I’d told him about your visit and thought he’d come back from Inverness full of theories and suspicions, playing the big detective, creating an exciting narrative. It wasn’t as if he and the dead man were close. The man was the father of two of his students. But he just shut down the conversation.’

  Perez wouldn’t have expected that sort of response from the teacher either. Reticence wouldn’t have been the man’s default position. It occurred to him that the couple’s relationship had been less perfect than he’d first supposed. The silence could have been the result of a deeper conflict, a crack or a split. Sometimes a long-distance partnership was easier to maintain than close, day-to-day living. It was a big step though to believe that Miles was a murderer. His response to George’s death had felt totally authentic, and besides, the man had no reason to kill Archie Stout. He hadn’t even been on Westray when the farmer had died.

  ‘Is there anyone I can contact? Someone who might stay with you?’

  Miles shook his head. ‘I’ve been rather a recluse since I moved here permanently. George said it was his mission to find me some friends.’

  ‘Will you stay on in Orkney?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ As if the question was almost ridiculous. ‘This is where George was happy. The house is mine. George fell in love with it when it first came on the market, so I bought it. He insisted that it should always stay in my name. We never married, you see, so there’d have been legal complications if he’d been the owner. If he’d died first.’ Miles stared bleakly into space. ‘He asked me to marry him, but I hated the idea of any fuss. He wouldn’t have contemplated a wedding without a party. Besides, I have to stay. There’s my garden to consider. I have so many plans for the garden.’

  There was another silence, and again Miles was the first to speak. ‘If you don’t mind, Inspector, I think you should leave now. I do need that drink rather badly, and I think I might weep. For George and for me.’ He smiled again. ‘I can’t blub in front of anyone, you see. My public-school upbringing. So perhaps you could go now. Come back tomorrow if you like. Not too early because of the hangover. I’ve enjoyed speaking with you. But now, I do insist that you go.’

  Sitting in his car, the heater blasting, waiting for the windscreen to de-ice again, Perez imagined Miles in the big, theatrical house, with a bottle of very good malt whisky, howling alone.

  The ferry from Aberdeen arrived in to Kirkwall a little early. Dr Grieve hadn’t managed to book his car onto the boat. The vessel was already full of people returning home for Christmas, and there’d been no room left on the vehicle deck. Perez waited for him in the terminal building and watched the students with their rucksacks being greeted by parents, the older couples being met by children.

  The pathologist was as smart as ever, his shoes highly polished. ‘This is a bad do, Jimmy.’ His only comment on the second murder while they walked to Perez’s car and put his bags in the boot. ‘Are you sure you want to put me up? I can easily find a hotel.’

  ‘We’d like it. Really. Willow insisted.’ Grieve had always had a soft spot for Willow. ‘She might already be in bed when we get in though.’

  When they reached the house, however, Willow was waiting for them, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown, the fire still alight, and a platter of local cheese ready in the kitchen in case they were hungry. But not just, it seemed, playing the dutiful little wife. ‘I don’t want to miss anything. I can sleep in tomorrow, while you two are out working.’

  It was, Perez thought, an odd debriefing. Willow was still, in one sense, in overall charge, and she led the conversation. If it were anyone else, he thought, he’d resent it.

  ‘Have you had a chance to carry out the post-mortem on Archie Stout?’

  ‘Yes, there was nothing unexpected. He was a fit man, healthy for his age. He’d been drinking, but at the point of his death he wouldn’t have been drunk. He was hit from behind, and the murder weapon was at the scene. It was all as we surmised when I first saw him.’

  ‘Could you tell if the assailant was left- or right-handed?’ Willow again asked the question. Perez was feeling very tired now. He was willing to let her take the lead.

  ‘I’d guess right-handed, but I wouldn’t swear to that on oath.’

  ‘I think the assault on George Riley was almost identical to that on Archie,’ Perez said. ‘It’s difficult to tell though, because he was stuffed into the smaller chamber facing the entrance to Maeshowe, and I couldn’t see the back of his head. The stone has the same traces of blood and bone. We’ve left him where I found him, Doc. You can see for yourself. I’ll take you first thing tomorrow.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  DESPITE WHAT SHE’D SAID ABOUT LYING in, Willow was up before the men. She’d left Jimmy sleeping. Sleep never came easily to him, and he’d been restless the night before, troubled. An investigation would never just be work for him. It was a personal crusade, even if he’d never met the victim. He’d be troubled by guilt too. She knew that he’d be feeling responsible for Riley’s death, believing that he should have gone to more effort to meet the man earlier.

  She made coffee and laid the table for breakfast, then went to get her son dressed and ready for the day. She heard Perez stirring, and the sound of the shower. Both he and Dr Grieve were up when she returned to the kitchen with the boy, who was already in his coat, ready to go out.

  ‘I’m dropping James with Alison. She said she’d feed him and take him to nursery. I’d like to come with you to Maeshowe.’ This wasn’t a question. She wasn’t asking permission. She might officially be on maternity leave, but she was the senior officer. ‘I’ll see you there, shall I? Can you wait for me in the car park? I won’t be long behind you.’ And she left them there and drove off into the darkness, wondering why she was such a control freak, why she found it so hard to let go. She knew that it wouldn’t help Perez’s state of mind, his confidence, if she continued to interfere, but she thought too that she could contribute to the outcome.

  It was still dark when she arrived at the car park by the old mill, but the men were already there, waiting for her. There were other vehicles, all related to the investigation. Some of their people had been there all night. She pulled on her big coat and her knitted hat and allowed Perez to take her arm as they crossed to the main road. The ground was icy underfoot, and she wasn’t so proud that she’d risk her baby with a fall.

  Maeshowe was lit up. The spotlights that had so recently flooded the Noltland crime scene on Westray were here now, making the place look like a film set. There was an officer near the entrance to the footpath who recognized them and let them through the cordon.

  ‘You’ll be freezing,’ she said. ‘When does the next shift start?’

  ‘Half an hour. Ellie was here earlier with flasks and bacon sandwiches. A lifesaver!’

  She made a mental note to thank Ellie. She should have thought of that herself.

  ‘We need extra people on the ground.’ She was talking to Perez now, her scene mask already in place. The pathologist was walking ahead of them. She could hear the crunch of his boots, with their covers, on the path. ‘We’re seriously stretched. Glasgow can’t pretend that this is a little local incident now. Two killings. They’ll have to take it more seriously. They can drive to Scrabster, get the ferry and be here this afternoon.’ She realized how angry she was. Did headquarters only care about their own patch? ‘I know I’m officially on mat leave, but do you want me to contact their chief? Get them to shift their arses?’

  She sensed that Perez was smiling. ‘You can try if you like. But really do you think it would help? Three days before Christmas and a carload of resentful Glaswegians who have no understanding of a small community moving in.’

  He paused. ‘They’re already blaming me for not speaking to Riley earlier. I can understand why. I blame myself too. But I’m a useful scapegoat. They’d rather not get involved because then they might have to take some responsibility.’

  ‘They’re not all like that, Jimmy!’

  ‘No,’ he conceded. ‘Not all of them. I’d like us to deal with it ourselves though if I can. For Archie and for George. Let’s have Glasgow on standby to come in straight after Christmas if we haven’t had things wrapped up by then. We know the islands. Their officers are mostly city folk and people are more likely to talk to us without outsiders throwing their weight around.’

  ‘I spoke to Phil yesterday evening and explained about the second murder.’ In her mind, Willow relived the phone conversation they’d had, or rather the silences as her colleague had tried to process the news of Riley’s death. Phil had liked George Riley, admired him. He was another Kirkwall man who’d been influenced by the teacher. She’d been able to guess at Phil’s distress by what had been left unsaid. As news was getting out, she thought, the whole town would be horrified and seeking justice. Or revenge.

  ‘Did he have anything useful for us?’

  ‘He spoke to as many folk as he could, people who Ellie couldn’t get round to when we were there, but it seems half of Westray was on Orkney mainland yesterday afternoon. There was a late sailing of the ferry, and folk either came in for the service at the cathedral, or for last-minute shopping. Or just for a change of scene. Phil knows the purser and I’ve asked him to get the passenger details through to me.’