‘What did that involve?’

  ‘If our kids were struggling emotionally, if they were being bullied, or there were troubles at home, they knew that they could go to George.’ She looked across the desk. ‘Even here we can’t escape some of the problems adolescents face everywhere, especially since Covid: eating disorders, cyber-bullying, self-harming. Of course there was a female staff member on his team, but George took the lead.’

  ‘Did the Stout lads have any troubles at home?’ This, Perez thought, might be another line of inquiry.

  ‘Not that I was aware of,’ Martindale said, ‘but then I might not have been aware of them. Unless there was a safeguarding issue, the conversations that the students had with George were confidential. Lawrie and Iain both stayed in the hostel, of course, and some students find that daunting, but they went home at weekends, and when I did meet them, they seemed happy enough.’

  ‘According to his partner, George came into school yesterday morning. Do you know why that was?’

  ‘I knew that he was here, but I only saw him briefly. He was just back from that conference in Inverness. So he could have been updating colleagues about that, or breaking the habit of a lifetime and doing some routine admin. He asked if I’d be free for coffee and a catch-up, but I was busy all morning and he said he had a meeting off-site in the afternoon.’

  That could have been with me, Perez thought, or he might have meant a meeting at Maeshowe with his killer.

  ‘Did he tell you who the meeting was with, what it was about?’

  He held his breath, waiting for the woman to reply, but she shook her head. ‘As I said, I only bumped into him briefly. It probably wasn’t anything to do with school. He had an active life in the community. I don’t know where he found the energy. I was anxious that he might burn out.’ She paused for a moment, before adding bitterly: ‘No chance of that now.’

  Chapter Twenty

  PEREZ DROVE FROM THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL straight to the college at the top of the town where he’d agreed to meet the Geordie archaeologist Paul Rutherford. Term had finished for the students and the place was almost empty, quiet, with a slightly chaotic air. It was as if all the staff were waiting to set off for an office party or were getting over one that had happened the night before. It seemed that very little work was being done.

  Rutherford took Perez to his office again. His face was grave. ‘I heard about George. What’s happening to us, Inspector? Things like this don’t happen here in the islands. Not to good men like Archie and George.’

  ‘You knew him well?’

  ‘We were friends,’ Rutherford said simply. ‘Good friends.’ A pause. ‘This isn’t bias because we were close, but he was one of the brightest people I know. He could have had a senior academic post in a university, but he chose to come here and to teach our kids. He loved the place and its history. He loved the people.’

  ‘You’d met his partner, Miles?’ This wasn’t the conversation Perez had expected to have, but he knew Rutherford’s insight would be useful. This was a lucky encounter.

  ‘A few times.’ Rutherford smiled. ‘Miles isn’t the most sociable of people and gives very little of himself away. They were a strange couple, but the relationship seemed to work all the same. George once told me, after far too many glasses of wine, that he was deeply and madly in love still, after all the years that they’d been together.’

  Perez thought about that. It was a truism that the intensity of emotion in love and hate could become tangled and twisted.

  ‘You hadn’t been aware of any crack in the relationship?’

  Rutherford shook his head. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t all smooth sailing – George loved a drama and a good argument – but they seemed very strong to me.’

  ‘I had to inform Miles of George’s death.’ Perez paused for a moment. ‘He could use a friend now. He might seem reserved, even offhand when you make the approach, but I think he’d really be glad to see you.’

  ‘I found him fascinating when I met him. His apparent need for secrecy intrigued me. I once asked George if Miles was a spy.’

  ‘What did George say?’ Perez was intrigued too.

  ‘He laughed and said that Miles could turn his hand to anything he wanted, but that his life was full of secrets. Which left me none the wiser. George did love a mystery though. He could have been joking at my expense, not expecting me to believe a word of it.’

  ‘I’m here to pick your brains,’ Perez said, ‘about one of the people staying in Westray. He’s not under suspicion at all, but because the story stones were used as murder weapons, I’m interested to know more about him. He’s a professor of archaeology and he was on the island as a student when the stones were first discovered.’

  ‘You’re talking about Tony Johnson?’

  ‘Yes, do you know him?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘Not personally. I know of him. I’d heard he was in Westray.’

  ‘Who told you he was there?’

  Rutherford looked across his desk at Perez. ‘George Riley. He phoned me from the island, early on the evening that Archie Stout died. Just for a gossip, he said.’

  ‘You didn’t mention that when I spoke to you last.’

  ‘Didn’t I? Of course I should have done. I suppose we were just talking about the story stones then. As I explained, George and I were friends. When he phoned, he told me he was stranded by the weather. He was bored, I think, though maybe he had other things on his mind.’

  ‘Any idea what?’

  Rutherford shook his head. ‘Maybe he was just pissed off because he’d had to change his plans. His idea had been to spend half a day in Westray checking a few details for the kids’ book he was writing and then be home for an evening with Miles. A decent meal and several glasses of very fine wine was more his notion of a good time than roughing it in the home of a former student.’ Rutherford looked apologetic. ‘Those are his words not mine.’

  ‘Why didn’t he stay at the Pierowall Hotel? They would have had rooms free, and he could have eaten there.’

  ‘I asked him that. That was when he told me about Johnson. “The fraudster is there and the last thing I need is to spend time with him. At least Nat Wilkinson is a reformed character these days.”’

  ‘Do you know what he meant by that, “the fraudster”?’

  There was a long silence. ‘Within academic circles, I understand that there have been rumours. I come from the north-east of England, and I still have contacts in the region. Johnson is a professor at Durham. I did my master’s degree there.’

  Another silence. ‘What sort of rumours?’

  ‘That the paper he wrote on the story stone runes wasn’t completely his own work. The feeling was that his sudden change of research focus meant that he couldn’t have had the depth of understanding to produce the findings. At best he must have had help which he never credited – at worst all his ideas came entirely from someone else.’

  ‘Did you pass on these rumours?’

  Rutherford shook his head. ‘It’s a big step to accuse another man of plagiarism. His career would have been ruined, and I had no proof.’

  ‘But George found out anyway?’

  ‘He suspected that Johnson’s work was appropriated from a local man, someone he’d got to know, an amateur with an obsession with Viking culture, who had hardly any formal education. Someone who’d lived and breathed the subject since he was a boy, who’d travelled to Scandinavia to follow up his studies and research the carvings there.’

  ‘And the name of the man?’ But Perez thought he knew. He’d seen the books and the maps in Nistaben when he’d stayed there as a boy. He remembered Archie’s father as a calm, grey-haired man, a voracious reader during the dark winter evenings when there was little to do on the farm. Now it seemed he’d been a businessman too, buying a stake in the Pierowall Hotel when it was in danger of closing. But, Perez thought, Magnus been more attracted to the tradition of the island than making money. His research into the history of Westray and his desire to keep the hotel, a valuable community hub, open had probably come from the same impulse.

  ‘Magnus Stout, Archie’s father.’ Rutherford paused for breath, but his anger carried him on. ‘Johnson didn’t name Stout as a joint author or even acknowledge his help when the paper was published. He took all the credit for himself.’

  ‘And Magnus didn’t go public about being left out of the picture?’

  Rutherford shook his head. ‘I don’t think he viewed it as a big deal. He was a Westray farmer who loved what he did, living on the island and bringing up his boys. He was grateful that Johnson had put the island on the archaeological map and glad that he’d contributed to its historical fame.’

  ‘They stayed friends,’ Perez said. ‘Right until the end.’ He looked across the desk at Rutherford. ‘And nobody else challenged Johnson’s findings?’

  Rutherford shrugged. ‘Who would have believed us? There’s still so much intellectual snobbery in academia. Who would believe that an ill-educated farmer from Orkney could have made such a breakthrough?’ There was another pause. Perez thought that Rutherford was choosing his words carefully. ‘George was going to turn the intellectual theft into a story for his kids’ book. Magnus was going to be the hero of the tale. The whole story would be told from his point of view. He said that Johnson would find it impossible to challenge the content of the book – after all, George could say it was only a story, or a theory – but at least local people would realize what had really happened.’

  ‘Would an alternative narrative about the discovery of the translation of the runes in a children’s book really damage Johnson’s reputation?’ Perez was sceptical.

  Now Rutherford grinned. ‘George had plans. Nothing he liked better than making mischief. He’d made a list of important academics, broadcasters, journalists – he had a lot of media friends away from the islands, he’d grown up in those sorts of circles – and he was going to send them all a proof copy. He’d already found a mainstream publisher willing to take on the book. Along with the proof, he planned to send a little note explaining the background. Johnson is something of celebrity now, with his television appearances and books, and journalists love a scandal. I think there might have been quite a stir among historians, but the story could well have spilled over more widely.’

  ‘Had George made Johnson aware of those plans?’

  Rutherford shrugged. ‘That I don’t know. But he was never particularly discreet. It’s possible that word would have come out before the book was published. In fact, I think he was planning to send out proofs before it was available for sale.’

  ‘At the very least,’ Perez said, ‘George might have discussed the idea with Archie?’

  ‘Oh, I think so. He’d need Archie’s blessing, wouldn’t he, before stirring up such a hornets’ nest? George was an honourable man. I don’t think he’d have gone ahead without talking to Archie first.’

  ‘You didn’t mention this to me when we last met.’ Perez tried to keep any element of judgement out of his voice. The last thing he needed was to guilt-trip Rutherford when he was being so helpful.

  ‘Of course I should have done!’ The guilt, it seemed, was there without any help from Perez. ‘It never occurred to me that a wrangle over intellectual copyright might cause the murder of a Westray farmer. It only seems relevant now with George Riley’s murder.’

  ‘Perhaps Johnson and Archie met that night.’ Perez was running through possible scenarios. ‘George didn’t mention anything like that when he phoned? He hadn’t seen them together?’

  He thought that investigation was all about what if. Perhaps Archie realized for the first time just how much Johnson had stolen from his father – he and George would have met at the pier when the ferry came in. Archie was proud of the island’s heritage, and he’d had a very short fuse. He’d been drinking all day and the resentment on his father’s behalf could have grown until he’d demanded a meeting with Johnson. It was possible that Archie had removed the story stones from the heritage centre, a dramatic way of making his point, and that Johnson had grabbed one of them to kill his accuser.

  ‘Sorry, no.’ Rutherford was apologetic. ‘It was just a chat. And I was cooking supper at the time. There was all sorts of noise going on with my kids in the background. I didn’t realize that it might be important.’

  ‘It probably isn’t important, just something that I need to follow up. Can you give me a shout if anything else occurs to you?’

  ‘Sure.’ More than anything, Perez would like to be sitting with Willow in the old manse in Harray, throwing out ideas, reaching some sort of viable conclusion. But Willow was in Westray. And so was the man he suspected might have killed twice.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  WILLOW SAT ON THE HARBOUR WALL at Pierowall and listened with fascination to Perez’s account of his conversation with Paul Rutherford. But she couldn’t allow herself to be swept along by his enthusiasm, his certainty that he’d found a probable suspect. She knew that her antipathy to the professor was in danger of colouring her attitude to the man, triggering an unconscious bias, and she needed, above all things, to keep an open mind.

  She and Phil had just arrived at the hotel after speaking to Rosalie Greeman. When the call came through from Perez, she waved at her colleague to carry on inside, mouthed: See you in a bit and stayed where she was, her back to the hotel, looking out over the still sea.

  A creel boat was making its way slowly towards the jetty. Its outline was reflected in the water, every line clearly etched, a mirror image. It was so quiet that she could hear the cries of the gulls that followed it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, I just don’t see it,’ she said at last. ‘Johnson and his wife were at Evelyn and Tom Angel’s house that evening, weren’t they? According to Evelyn they arrived at about six and stayed until the call came through from Vaila telling them that Archie had disappeared. I don’t see how the man could have made it to the excavation and back without the Angels noticing. And James Grieve said there would have been blood on the killer’s clothing. Tom and Evelyn would have noticed that.’

  Willow could understand Perez’s excitement, and she wished she could accept his theory. For the first time, he’d come up with something like a credible motive. Besides, she’d disliked the Johnsons on first meeting them and wouldn’t have minded at all if they turned out to be involved in the murders. Better them than one of Perez’s friends on the island. But policing wasn’t about personal preference and practically she couldn’t see how they might make this work.

  Perez wasn’t swayed by her argument. She could tell he was committed to his idea. Maybe dangerously committed. It wasn’t like him to be so wedded to a notion that he might twist the facts to fit the story he’d created in his head.

  ‘I’ve arranged to talk to Vaila,’ he went on. ‘Archie might have mentioned something about Johnson to her. Really, it’s one of the few theories we have that explains both men’s deaths.’

  ‘But that doesn’t get over the problem of opportunity.’ She was almost shouting now, trying to get through to him. ‘Johnson has an alibi.’

  ‘Can you talk to Evelyn and Tom this afternoon? See if they might have made a mistake about what time the Johnsons arrived there.’

  ‘Sure.’ A pause. ‘But they were certain. And what reason would they have to lie?’

  Perez continued talking, his words only just catching up with his thoughts. He was usually considered, cautious, and the ideas tumbling straight from his brain surprised her. But of course, this was personal. Archie had been as close as a brother. ‘Besides, I’ve been thinking about that. Even though Vaila might have thought Archie was missing when she first went into the bar, that doesn’t mean he was already dead then, does it? He could have met up with George to get more details of the professor’s scam and then accosted the Johnsons later. Or summoned the man to meet him. He’d have liked the drama of a meeting at the old excavation site. We know that Dr Grieve couldn’t be precise about the time of Archie’s death.’

  ‘That’s true!’ For the first time, Willow felt a spark of optimism. This might work out. Perez had thought this through carefully after all. ‘It would be interesting to know if the Johnsons received a phone call from Archie while they were at the Angels’ for dinner. I’ll talk to Evelyn and Tom before speaking to the Johnsons, just to see how it all might have worked out.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AFTER LEAVING THE COLLEGE, PEREZ HAD phoned Vaila’s mobile. When she’d answered she’d sounded wary. She knew about George Riley’s death – he’d asked Ellie to tell her what had happened soon after the body had been found – but it had been clear that she’d wanted to distance herself from the investigation.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy. I can’t cope with this. Not now. I can’t help you.’

  ‘You wanted me to find out who had killed Archie. For the sake of the boys.’

  ‘And have you?’ The question had been blunt, forceful.

  ‘There’s a new line of inquiry. I think you’ll be able to help us.’

  ‘I don’t know Jimmy. I’m at the stage where I just want to pretend none of this has happened. Lawrie is focused on the Ba’ – that’s all he talks about, strategies and plans, his way of coping, I guess – and Iain loses himself in the fantasies on his screen, and I just want to sleep and weep.’

  ‘I’ll come to you,’ he’d said. ‘To the hotel. Is that where you are?’

  ‘Aye, that’s where I am.’

  ‘Let’s have a late lunch. I doubt you’ve eaten. Just you and me. The boys will be okay?’