'Yes, I talked to her!

'Before Celia left or after?'

'Both probably. Yes, both!

'Was she with anyone? I mean a boyfriend!

'No!

'Did you ask her?'

'Maybe. But you notice, don't you? There's an attractive young woman, you look to see if she's with anyone!

'She wasn't with Robert?'

'Not in that way. I mean, I think I saw them talking when she first got here. Anyway, please! Robert Isbister! This was a beautiful girl with a brain. What would she be doing talking to Robbie? I mean all he wants in the world is to be as famous as his father!

'You did speak to her though. What about?'

'Film. I told Fran that. She was a film freak. She even had a camcorder with her. She showed me how it worked!

'She was filming the party?'

'I don't know. Maybe.

She was talking about the film club. Why was it that all they had were block busters? Why couldn't we get some European stuff occasionally? She said that was the one thing she missed about living in Shetland. A good art-house cinema. She was pretentious, you know, in the way bright kids are, but she didn't take herself too seriously!

'Did you try it on?'

'Not seriously!

'What does that mean?'

'She made it clear she wasn't interested. You know me. I don't need to work at it. There are lots of women out there!

But Perez remembered other conversations with Duncan, the effort he'd put into charming Fran. If he'd been really taken with Catherine, he'd have worked at it.

'How did she seem? I mean what sort of mood was she in?'

'She was buzzing, really elated. I told her, whatever you're on, I want some of it!

'Do you think she had been using?'

'No. She was young, that was all. Young and pleased with herself. The way I used to be!

'Did she stay the night?'

'Apparently. According to Fran she was seen on the bus from town at lunchtime the next day. But she wasn't with me. I was feeling sorry for myself, got maudlin drunk and passed out. It's been happening a lot recently. I only held it together yesterday because Cassie was here! He paused. 'Did you see her at Fran's?

My beautiful Cassie?'

'Yes!

'I wasn't sure I wanted a child when Fran told me she was expecting. I didn't think I was ready for it., Now I can't imagine life without her. I couldn't bear it if Fran took her away again!

'Is there any danger of that?'

'I'm not sure. She seems settled enough here, but you can never tell, can you? She'll meet someone else eventually. Now you have to go. I need to shower and change. I'm taking the afternoon flight south.

Work!

Perez stood up. 'When will you be back?' 'Tomorrow evening. You don't need to worry. I'm not planning on running away!

Before going back to his car and despite the rain, Perez walked round to the back of the house, which faced towards the shore. He stood for a moment, trying to find some shelter under the wind-stunted sycamores, and looked down at the beach where he'd sat with Alice. He'd been convinced that he loved her and couldn't understand why she didn't reply to his letters once she got home.

It was Saturday. No school, but no rest. Usually on Saturday Sally went into Lerwick for youth orchestra practice. Her father often gave her a lift and stayed in town to do some work in his office. At least that's what he said. Sally wasn't sure. Saturday was Margaret's day for cleaning and laundry and nobody wanted to be around when she was in the middle of that. This morning Sally woke up feeling light-headed and strange.She'd had a disturbed night. Too much dreaming.

Sometimes she worried that was all her life consisted of. Dreams. Nothing in it was real. The family life her mother had created - kirk on Sunday, sitting down to tea together every night, everything placid and ordered and calm - all that was a sham. Sally went along with it for a quiet life. She pretended to be a dutiful daughter, yet there were times when she wished her mother was dead.

Even her friendship with Catherine hadn't been what it seemed and it had been a real effort to keep the resentment and jealousy from floating to the surface. Sometimes the effort of all that acting made her feel weird, cut off. Like she was looking down at herself. She'd tried to explain it once to Catherine, who hadn't understood it at all.

At breakfast she still didn't feel like eating. She could tell her parents were anxious and she quite enjoyed the idea that they were worried about her. It made a change. All that time when the kids at school had been picking on her, she'd tried to explain to them what was going on, but they hadn't really taken it in. 'Take no notice,' her mother had said. 'Sticks and stones!

'Why don't you give orchestra a miss today?' Margaret was putting the pans to soak in soapy water. Even at the weekends she didn't believe in a leisurely breakfast and the plates were snatched away as soon as you'd finished. 'It's delayed shock, I expect. Maybe we should ask the doctor to take a look at you. Have a day at home!

But that was the last thing Sally wanted. 'I'll probably feel better if I'm out!

Her father poured himself a last mug of tea from the pot. 'Why don't you come with me? It's my day for the beached bird survey. Fresh air and a bit of exercise. That might do the trick.'

She couldn't come up with any reason to refuse him. She could tell he really wanted her to go, and like her mother she found it hard to stand up to him. She went into the bedroom and changed into jeans and an old sweater, then stood in the porch to pull on her wellingtons. He was already waiting for her. Margaret came out with a flask and a packet of sandwiches and stood to wave them off. Sally could tell she was eager to have the house to herself.

They only made it untidy.

The rain had cleared overnight and it was a little warmer. A false promise of spring. Sitting high up in the front seat of the Land Rover there was a view across the fields to where Catherine had been lying.

One of the pieces of police tape had come loose. The ravens were sky-dancing in the thermals at the top of the cliff.

'What did she look like?' Sally asked.

He knew what she was talking about, but there was a moment's silence while he considered. She thought he was going to tell her not to think about Catherine, that she should put all thought of the murder from her mind. At last he said, 'She looked dead. I'd never seen a dead body before. You think it'll just look like someone sleeping, but it doesn't. You mustn't worry about what happened to her out there. The birds. All the rumours that are flying around. Whatever made her Catherine had gone by then. Long gone! He paused. 'Do you understand what I mean?'

'Yes, I think so!

Every month Alex walked a stretch of the coast looking for birds which had been washed up dead. He wasn’t the only one. All around the islands there were people walking their own patch, Pete from the RSPB, Paul, Roger, all the volunteers. It was a census, a snapshot of the health of the islands' bird population. He explained this to Sally as he manoeuvred the Land Rover down a narrow track towards a small farm. She listened, glad of the distraction. There was something comforting about her father's obsessions. They were always the same. The house at the end of the track was freshly whitewashed and a line of nappies blew behind it. As they approached a young woman came out and scattered grain to the chickens which pecked around the garden. She waved at Alex before disappearing inside.

'A young couple's just taken it over,' he said.

"'Incomers. At least they're living there. It was a holiday let for a few years! She was surprised that he knew about the new family. She'd thought he didn't notice much about people.

He led her past the house on to a pebble beach. It shelved steeply into the water and there was a line of seaweed, piled up, which marked the high tide. She could smell it from where they were standing. 'We might find a few oiled birds,' he said. 'There was some pollution further north! He was talking to himself. She scrambled down the beach after him, almost tripping when the shingle shifted underneath her boot. He turned and caught her elbow just in time to stop her falling. His grip was strong and the physical contact shocked her. Even when she was young she couldn't remember him touching her. He'd never been one for giving a cuddle. Once he realized she was firm on her feet he pulled his hand away and walked ahead of her, his head bent to look at the shore. Almost immediately he found a long-tailed duck, freshly dead, and held it out, stretching the wing carefully, so she could see the individual feathers.

'It's been oiled,' he said. 'Not badly, but enough to kill it!

She didn't know what to say. She couldn't pretend to be sad about a dead sea duck. She wandered down to the water; let it wash over her wellingtons, until he'd moved on. She stood looking out over the grey sea, letting her mind go blank.

When she caught up with him he had another corpse in his hand. 'Guillemot,' he said. He turned it over, felt along the bone between its wings. 'There's no fat at all. Precious little muscle! She expected him to drop it into the black bin bag and continue walking, but he couldn't help explaining about it. About climate change; the melting polar ice, the effect it seemed to be having on plankton and sand-eels. 'The food for seabirds is disappearing,' he said. 'Last summer puffins, red-throated divers, arctic skuas, raised no young at all!

Sally understood why her mother resented his passion. He cared too much about it. And it was all too big. How could they compete with his concern for the whole planet? Even the brutal murder of a schoolgirl seemed insignificant in comparison. Sally remembered then that Catherine had wanted to interview her father. She'd heard him speak on Radio Shetland and been impressed by him, And she hadn't been impressed by many people. They'd been sitting in the little living room at the back of the Ross house, doing some homework, the radio on in the background, when his voice had suddenly filled the room. Sally had been excited despite herself. That's my dad.

She couldn't remember now what he'd been talking about. Overgrazing maybe. That was his party piece. And Catherine had said, 'He's so committed. He really cares about that stuff, doesn't he? Do you think he'd let me interview him?' And she'd sounded as passionate as him. Very alive. It was difficult now to think that had gone.

It seemed as if Alex had read her thoughts. 'You must miss her. The Ross girl!

Sally remembered how lonely she'd felt, waiting for the school bus. 'Yes,' she said. 'I miss her a lot!

'I didn't know her. Not really. But she seemed a strange kind of girl!

'I liked her!

'You mustn't be scared: he said. 'I wouldn't let any thing bad happen to you!

It was the first time she'd thought there might be anything to be scared about.

'Did she ever interview you for her project?' Sally asked. She'd have expected Catherine to tell her if she had, but with Catherine you never knew. She had her own secrets.

He frowned. 'What project would that be?' 'Something we were doing for school. About Shetland. Her impression of it as an outsider, I think. She wanted to talk to you about your work!

'No: he said. 'She never did that! Something about his voice made Sally think that he would have liked that and he was sorry it had never happened.

Robert phoned her when they got back to the Land Rover. She was sitting in the passenger seat on her own, fiddling with the radio, trying to get some decent music. Alex had gone to chat to the woman in the farm. The new people were interested in natural history, he said. He'd get them to look out for more oiled birds on the beach. She watched him walk up to the front door. He opened it without knocking and took his boots off, leaving them on the step. And that was when Robert phoned. It couldn't have been better timing. Almost as if he'd been watching, waiting until she was on her own.

'Do you want to come out tonight?'

'I can't! She didn't have the energy to make up an excuse to get away from her parents. It would be a nightmare without Catherine to cover for her.

'When then?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'Give me a ring next week. During the day. If I'm in class I'll call you back later.' She wanted to ask what he'd been doing, to chat, to make ordinary conversation.

But he said, 'I don't know when it'll be. I'm taking the boat out.' Then he hung up.

It was a quarter of an hour later when her father got back and by then she was very cold. She wondered what he could have been up to in the house with the young woman. She was proud of herself for not falling in straight away with Robert's plans, but she wished she had something more definite to look forward to.

The following morning she went to the kirk with her parents, because she didn't have the energy to make a fuss. While they were praying for peace in the world she was thinking about Robert Isbister. Of course. He

/ was always there, distracting her, worming his way into her head. Why hadn't she gone with him when he asked her?

Why hadn't she fixed a definite date for later in the week? The familiar words washed over her and she joined in the responses but she didn't hear a thing. She wondered if her father, dressed in a suit, scrubbed and polished, was listening or if his mind was elsewhere too. Afterwards, while her parents stood chatting, the minister came up to her and patted her hand. He was an obese man, so fat that the effort of walking made him wheeze. 'If you need anyone to talk to, you know where I am. This must be a very difficult time.' She could hardly say he'd be the last man in the world she'd confide in, so she just thanked him and hurried off to wait outside.

Sundays followed the same pattern. After the service came Sunday lunch. Margaret always put the joint in the oven and peeled the potatoes before they set out for the kirk, so when they got back there wasn't too much to do.

They were driving back down towards the school after the service and Sally was lost in thought when Margaret said,

'Should we ask Mr Ross to have the meal with us? It must be dreadful for him sitting on his own in that great house.

There'd be plenty of food.'

Sally was horrified. She tried to imagine Mr Ross, sitting at their kitchen table while her mother hacked at the overcooked meat and picked ,away at him with her questions.

'I think it's too soon,' Alex said. 'He'd see it as an intrusion. Maybe later.'

Her mother seemed to accept that and they ate, as usual, on their own.

They were sitting by the fire when the phone went. Margaret was knitting but had her eyes glued to the omnibus edition of a soap, which she pretended to despise but always watched. Sally had just finished the washing-up. Her father had changed out of his suit and was reading. He got up to answer the phone but her mother set down her knitting and said, 'It's all right. I'll go. It'll probably be a parent.' Margaret liked speaking on the phone even better than she liked watching bad television. She felt in control with the receiver in her hand. Important. She had a special voice, calm and a touch patronizing for parents. But she came back almost immediately and seemed a little put out.

'It's for you,' she said to Alex. 'That detective.'

Perez met Roy Taylor for lunch in the bar of the hotel where the Inverness boys were staying. Taylor had suggested it. 'Just a chat; he'd said. 'You can fill me in on your meeting with Hunter. We can think where we want to go from here.' Perez didn't mind. Sunday was his mother's day for a long phone call and he still didn't have an answer for her. He stuck his head round the door of the Incident Room on his way through town.

Taylor had done the news conference and the phones had been ringing ever since. There was nothing useful though. Not at this stage. Mostly it was people reporting cars they didn't recognize on the road south from Lerwick on the night of the 4th. Some people who'd seen Catherine at the party at the Haa.

The bar was full of people eating Sunday lunch. Most of them recognized Perez, but they could see he was busy and didn't bother him. Taylor seemed depressed. He listened to Perez's story of the interview with Duncan Hunter in silence. He'd bought drinks as soon as they'd come in, but most of his pint was left untouched. They were sitting in a gloomy corner where no one could overhear them.

'I've phoned Mr Ross and asked him to find the camera for us,' Perez said. 'If Catherine was filming the party we might be able to identify more of the people there.'

Taylor looked up from his beer. 'I thought we'd have made more progress by today. I'd hoped it would all be cleared up by this weekend. It's turned out to be more complicated than I'd hoped.'

Perez saw the Englishman had come to Shetland thinking it would be a simple case that he'd sort it quickly and return home in glory.

Taylor took a quick gulp from his pint. 'Is there anything we've missed?'

'Alex Henry; Perez said. 'The teacher's husband. We got a statement from him because he was second person on the scene, but nobody's really talked to him. If we are linking the murder of Catherine Ross with Catriona Bruce's disappearance, maybe we should. He stays right beside the house where both girls lived.'

'He was living there when Catriona went missing?'

'Margaret Henry has been teacher at Ravenswick for years. She taught the girl. There's a statement in the file.

She might even have been the last person to see her before she vanished. She claimed to see Catriona run up the track towards Hillhead that afternoon. It was a Saturday. No school.'

'Was he interviewed at the time too?'

'Only briefly. Everyone was convinced Magnus Tait was the killer.'

'Tell me about him.'

'There's not a lot to tell. He's a scientist. Conservation Officer for Shetland Islands Council. It's his job to monitor the natural history, consider planning applications. The post was created with oil money originally. He seems conscientious. He's made a few enemies - you know the sort of thing. Objecting to house building on the grounds that a marsh with rare plants in it would be drained. The fishermen hate him because he's threatened to prosecute them for shooting seals. He's quiet. A family man. A bit of a loner maybe!

'We'll go and see him then, shall we?' 'You want to come?'

'Go on Jimmy. Let me! And Taylor smiled, pretending to be a kid, begging to be let into the big boys' gang.

Perez didn't say that as he was the SIO he could do what he liked.

'I’ll phone him. This afternoon OK?'

'Don't you have a life, Jimmy? Someone you want to spend your Sunday afternoon with?'

'Nothing that won't wait'

Alex Henry had an office in the museum, a solid grey building close to the library, up the hill from the harbour. He said he'd meet them there. When they arrived the light was on and the door was open. He was standing by a tray in the corner with a kettle in his hand. 'I was making tea,' he said. 'Is that all right? There's only powdered milk!

He was a squat, thickset man. Perez could see him on a boat. He'd have a low centre of gravity and he'd keep his balance in a storm. He was wearing a handknitted sweater and baggy jeans bought through a catalogue without trying them first.

'You didn't mind not coming up to the house, Jimmy,' he said. 'It's been a difficult time, especially for Sally.

Everywhere we go there are reminders!

'Not at all!

His office was very small and they sat in the museum itself, surrounded by exhibits, models of brochs and Viking boats, chairs and spinning wheels. There was a special display about Up Helly Aa. That wouldn't be long, Perez thought. It was always a nightmare to police. The islands full of visitors. The fire. The booze.

'How can I help you?'

'It's possible that Catherine's death is linked to the Bruce girl,' Perez said. 'We're talking to every man who lives in the Ravenswick area. You know we have to cover all the angles!

, 'Of course!

'Can you tell us what you remember of Catriona?'

'Now, after all this time, very little. Then it was such a terrible thing. So shocking. We had Sally by then, though she was only little, and I couldn't imagine what the Bruces could be going through. When it happened you thought it was impossible you'd ever forget It was all people talked about!

Perez was surprised that the man was so forthcoming. He didn't know him well, but Alex had never been one for volunteering information. When the Henrys went out as a couple it was Margaret who did the talking. The only time you couldn't shut him up was when he got started on the islands' wildlife.

'What did people say?'

'That Magnus had killed her. His father had died. It was just him and his mother. It was Mary, the old lady that kept the croft together. She was gone eighty when she died, tiny, but strong as an ox. Formidable. He did most of the work around the place, but just what she told him. She wouldn't hear a word spoken against him. I remember one day there were people gathered outside the house, calling for Magnus to give himself up and tell where the girl's body lay. The old lady came out. She screamed at them. My Magnus is a good boy. He hasn't hurt anyone, They admired her for sticking up for him, but it did no good. They still thought him guilty.'

'And you? What did you think?'

'I find it hard to have firm views on anything, unless I'm given proof. Too much the scientist, I suppose. I didn't think there was the evidence to convict him. I thought if he had killed her, in a moment of rage maybe, or more likely by accident, then he'd have admitted it. I couldn't see him lying. But I have no other explanation about what happened to the girl.'

'Did Catriona ever come into your house?'

'Aye, occasionally. We were friendly with her parents. Not in and out of each other's houses every day.

Margaret and I don't live like that. But special times. They used to come in for Boxing Day tea. We'd go to them New Year's Eve, take Sally with us, put her to bed upstairs, then carry her out still asleep when we went home. You know how it is.'

Oh yes, Perez thought. I know how it is. Is that how it'll be for me on fair Isle? Everything planned and the same for years to come.

'What were they like, the parents?'

'Quiet people. Kind. Kenneth's father had farmed that land and that was all he'd wanted to do since he was a lad.

But after Catriona went, he couldn't face it. They sold off the house and the land separately and then they moved south.'

'There were no problems? You never suspected that the parents might be involved?'

'Never once. It always crosses your mind, doesn't it, when you see fathers on the television and there's a child gone missing. I wonder if it could be you, if this is all an act. That's what we've come to. We can't trust anyone. But with Kenneth and Sandra, no, we never thought like that. Not once.'

'Were there any other children?'

Perez knew, of course. He'd read the file over and over. But he was getting more of a feel for the family by listening to Alex than he had from pages of witness statements.

'There was a peerie boy. Brian. two years younger than Catriona. Margaret taught them both.'

'Where were you that day, Alex? The day Catriona went missing?'

'I was working here, preparing papers for a planning committee. I didn't go home. I had a meeting the next day in Kirkwall and went straight down to Sumburgh to get the plane out. I didn't hear that Catriona was gone until I phoned Margaret that night. She said everyone was out searching. I was sure they'd find the girl, either dead at the bottom of Raven's Head, or alive on the hill, lost and scared. I never thought she'd just vanish.'

'Couldn't the tide have taken her? If she'd fallen from the diff?' Taylor spoke for the first time.

'Only on a high spring tide with a strong wind behind it. There's a shelf of rock and a shingle beach which only gets covered twice a year. The weather was bad but it was a neap tide and the wind was offshore. If she'd have fallen she'd still have been there when the cliff rescue team looked the next day.'

'What sort of child was Catriona?' Perez asked.

'Margaret must have talked about her. Was she the sort who might wander off?'

'Perhaps that's why I wasn't too worried when I heard she was missing. She was a minx by all accounts. A bit precocious anyway. Always showing off in class, Margaret said. She thought Sandra spoiled her. But they were an older couple, her and Kenneth. They'd had to wait a while for kids to come along:

'Catriona wasn't easy then?'

'Lively: Alex conceded. 'She was certainly that: 'Bad she run away before?'

'Not run away. But she caused a bit of a stir the week before she vanished. Nobody could find her. Kenneth was down at the schoolhouse looking for her. They discovered her in Hillhead. Mary Tait was baking and Catriona wanted to wait until the scones came out of the oven. Mary said she insisted. Just refused to leave. That's why everyone assumed she was there when it happened again:

'Where do the family live now?'

'I don't know. Margaret might remember. We had a Christmas card the first year, but nothing after:

'And what did you make of Catherine Ross?' There was a long pause. 'She was a young woman,'

Alex said. 'Not a child:

'Only the same age as your daughter:

'Well maybe she's a young woman too, only we don't want to see it. Margaret doesn't at least. Sally's never had much confidence. She's a pretty lass, just not skinny like some of those stars they all read about. She's always been worried about putting on weight. Catherine was different though. More sure of herself. More sophisticated. Margaret didn't like it. She thought Sal was overpowered by her, that she was leading Sal astray: And what did you think?'

'I was pleased that Sally had a friend of her own age living so close. At first we both were. It can't have been easy for Sally being the teacher's daughter. It sets you apart right from the beginning. She found it hard to make friends with other children. I was worried about her, thought at one time she was being bullied. Margaret didn't think there was too much to - worry about and we let it go. We hoped it would be better when she moved to the Anderson, but she never seemed happy there either. It was worse if anything. Sally didn't seem to have any friends at all. Not until Catherine arrived. Perhaps she just tried too hard to belong and that put the other kids off:

'And Catherine made a difference?'

'Sally wasn't on her own so much. I'm not sure how close they were: Be paused again. 'Perhaps Margaret was right and Catherine was only using her. But I didn't see it that way. I thought she was unhappy. She wasn't good at making friends either. And she was a teacher's kid:

'Is there anything else you can tell us about her?'

'I don't think so. She wasn't an easy girl to know.

She was always polite. You could tell she'd been well brought up. But she was never relaxed. She wanted to make an impression. Perhaps her father could tell what she was thinking. I'm not sure anyone else could: Perez thought the girl had fascinated him. Those weren't the sort of things you'd normally say about your daughter's friend. Alex had wanted to understand her. 'Did you ever meet her on your own?'

Alex looked shocked. 'No, of course not. Why would I?'

'What were you doing the evening before Mrs Hunter found her body?'

'It was another late night. A meeting of the natural history society. Their visiting speaker had let them down so I gave a talk! He looked up. 'There were thirty people there. It wasn't a brilliant speech, but they'll remember it!

'What time did you get home?'

'I went for a drink with them after. One drink. So it was probably about ten-thirty when I got in. Perhaps a bit later!

'Was it snowing then?'

'No. There was even a gap in the clouds, a bit of moonlight. The snow came later!

'Did you see anything unusual when you drove down the hill?'

'A body in the field, do you mean? I'm sorry, I've thought about it. I didn't notice anything but that doesn't mean it wasn't there. The road was very icy. I was concentrating on getting down the bank in one piece!

'Was there a light on in Hillhead?'

He thought. 'I'm sorry, I don't remember! He paused. 'There was light in Euan's house. There's that big glass extension. The blinds weren't drawn!

'Did you see anyone inside?'

'No. No one!

'Is that all, Mr Henry? Or is there anything you think we should know?'

Alex paused again, so Perez thought this time the open question might come up with something. Occasionally it worked. But the man just shook his head slowly. 'No,' he said. 'I'm sorry I can't help! Which, Perez thought, didn't quite answer the question.

Fran had acquired a dog. One of the mothers at school had turned up with it the evening before. She'd been tentative. 'We don't want to intrude but we thought she might be a comfort. There's no harm to her, but she makes an awful lot of noise when she's disturbed.

We thought, being on your own, and so close to where the body was. . !

Fran had invited the woman in, offered her wine which she refused and tea which she accepted. Fran had intended this as a polite introduction to refusing the gift. In London she'd always hated dogs. They crapped on the pavements and whined. The woman talked about their respective children, about the school. 'Oh, she's a great teacher, Margaret Henry. She stands no nonsense!

Fran didn't offer her own opinion. Neither did she discuss the murder. But when the woman stood up to go, the dog stayed. Fran had the sudden superstitious feeling that if she rejected the offer she would be setting herself up for something dreadful to happen. An attack on the house, on her and Cassie. She imagined the parents talking about it afterwards in the playground. It was her pride, you see.

We offered her the dog to look after her and she turned it down.

So Fran had a dog called Maggie. A mongrel with a lot of collie in her. Black and white. Cassie was delighted - she had pestered often for a pet - and spent the evening tormenting the animal, who accepted the treatment with such equanimity that Fran thought it unlikely she would be much good as a guard dog.

Now it was Sunday afternoon and Cassie was at a school friend's birthday party. She'd dressed in her favourite dress, all pink frills and glitter, working herself almost into tears when her hair wouldn't stay up as she'd wanted it. What will the others think of me, looking like this? Other people's mothers have straighteners and curling tongs. By implication Fran was a terrible parent.

Fran tried to understand the tantrums. It would be Cassie's first proper sleepover. A rite of passage. She'd been given a lift to the party and Fran had stood at the door waving her off, but Cassie didn't notice. She was already giggling and gossiping with the other girls in the car. Maggie was lying asleep in front of the range.

Fran began work again on a pen and ink drawing she'd started earlier in the week. It was inspired by Raven Head, the patterns on the rock face, the shingle beach below. She'd begun with a clear vision of how she hoped the design would work, but now she found it impossible to concentrate. There was a prickly restlessness which felt like caffeine overload. She'd caught Cassie's frenetic mood. In a moment of frustration she screwed the paper into a ball and threw it on to the fire.

She felt she'd been trapped in this one room for days. If I was in London, she thought, I'd call someone.

We'd meet in a bar for a late lunch, a couple of glasses of wine. There'd be people around, noise, gossip. If I’d found a body there, I'd talk it out of my system. The image wouldn't sit in the back of my mind, contaminating every thought. It wouldn't float in front of my eyes when I was trying to draw.

She pulled on a pair of wellingtons and a coat and opened the door. The dog followed. An astonishing change in temperature had occurred outside overnight. It was as if Ravenswick had become a different place, softer, less hostile. The police were still on the road down by Hillhead, but there weren't so many of them on the hill now.

From this distance the men looked like children's stick drawings, like the drawing Cassie had made in the sand on the beach at the Haa.

She could see Euan's house too. His car still stood outside. She thought on impulse she should visit. If she was feeling stifled, how much more difficult must it be for him? She walked down the hill with the dog yap ping at her ankles. When she knocked at the door, Euan opened it immediately and glared out at her. She took a step back in surprise.

'I'm sorry' he said. 'I thought you were a reporter. The police stop them at the top of the bank, but one or two have got through. It's not the locals. The nationals must have got wind of the case now too!

'I wasn't sure if you'd want a visitor. I'm quite happy to go if you like. . !

'No. I should be looking through Catherine's things. The police have asked to see her video recorder. But I'm not sure I can face it yet. Let's have some tea, shall we?'

.

She left the dog in the garden and followed him.

When he took her into the space-age kitchen, she saw what an effort it was for him to hold it all together.

His hand shook as he held the kettle under the tap.

'I want to know about the other girl: he said, his back still towards her.

'What other girl?'

'Catriona Bruce. The other girl who lived here. The other girl who disappeared!

He turned and lifted two mugs from a shelf. 'At first it didn't matter who'd killed Catherine. Not really. It was being without her. Her absence. Very selfish, I'm sure, but that was all that mattered. Then you told me about the other girl and I realize it makes things different!

'How?'

'If Catherine's death is part of a pattern, it could have been avoided. You do see what I mean?'

Fran wasn't sure she understood at all, but she nodded slowly.

'So I have to know what happened to the girl eight years ago. It's a way of making sense of things. A way of understanding why Catherine died!

'Catriona's body was never found!

'I know that: The electric kettle had boiled but he ignored it. His tone was impatient and the anger had returned. 'Of course, I know that: He walked past Fran. 'Come here: he said. 'Come here! He seemed about to grab her arm, but stopped himself. He led her through into a small utility room, with a sink, washing machine and drier. It was a dark little room which had escaped the improvements in the rest of the house. It smelled damp. 'This must have been the old kitchen: he said. 'And this must have been the larder!

He opened a cupboard door. 'Look.' His voice had risen to a shrill squeal. 'Look.'

The inside of the larder door hadn't been painted for years. He pushed it wide open so she could see the marks in felt-tip pen drawn inside showing the height of the children who'd lived there. By each mark there was an initial and the date. He pointed to the lower mark. 'B: he said. 'That's for Brian, her younger brother. I asked the detective. He told me his name. This is Catriona.' The mark was pink. 'This is how tall she was a month before she died.'

'She was small for her age,' Fran was moved despite herself. Cassie would only be a couple of centimetres shorter.

Euan seemed to have forgotten that he'd offered her tea. He wandered back to the kitchen and sat on a stool with his head in his hands. She stood for a moment, helplessly, but realized there was nothing she could do for him. When she said she should go, he seemed not to notice.

Fran set off up the bank. She needed to walk away from the vision of the educated man crumbling in front of her, looking for an explanation in patterns and old pen marks on a wall, becoming obsessed with another child.

Was it guilt which drove him? The guilt of knowing he'd not been much of a father? The dog danced beside her then ran on. She came to an area of flat ground before the land started to rise steeply. Everything here was soggy, the ditches full of melted snow, the peat soaked and spongy. There was a pale sunshine which reflected from the standing water, the pools and puddles which had appeared overnight.

They ran together into one wide, shallow lake. She splashed through it, thinking, Cassie would love this.

I don't think I can handle this on my own, she thought. It wasn't just the big things, like Catherine and her father.

There was other stuff she'd have liked to discuss with friends. Men, for instance. She missed having a man in her life, would have liked to have admitted that, joking, weighing up the possibilities. Here, it was impossible to talk about it. People wouldn't understand.

She missed even the trivial conversations about clothes, diet, holidays, the stuff she'd despised when it was a part of her life. She'd always thought of herself as an independent woman. Strong. Now, for the first time since moving back to Shetland she longed for the company of her women friends.

Here, she'd always be an outsider. Always. Cassie might grow up with a Shetland accent, marry a local man, but people would never forget that her mother was English. It would have been different if Fran had stayed married to Duncan. There would have been acceptance of a kind then. Now she couldn't see how it would work out.

Of course there were other incomers, expat English. Hundreds of them, like Euan and her, trying to forge a life for themselves in the islands. Some of them tried so hard to be local that they made themselves ludicrous, with their spinning lessons, their music and attempts at dialect.

She saw them gathered in the cafes and restaurants in town, in their elaborate Fair Isle cardigans and handspun woollen sweaters. She met them at the film club and the book festival. Other incomers preferred to keep themselves apart. For them Shetland was a temporary exile and soon they'd return to civilization with tales of the cold and the isolation. Both groups mixed mostly with their own kind. She couldn't see herself fitting in with either of them. So, is this how it'll end? she thought. I'll become pathetic, lonely and middle-aged, living only through my art.

But already the exercise was lifting her mood. There was a childish pleasure in kicking out at the water as she walked through it. The last thought was self-mocking. And what was wrong, after all, with living through her art?

She began climbing the hill, following a drystone wall. She'd never been this far before. Usually on walks she had Cassie with her and the girl couldn't walk at this pace. She grizzled and whinged to return as soon as they were out of the house. Here, high on the moor, the effect of the rain and the melted snow was more dramatic. It ran in waterfalls down gullies in the rock and through the peat, picking up the soil and shale, scouring out a path down the hillside. It would take only one heavy rainstorm to cause more severe landslides.

She'd heard Alex Henry talk about it on the radio. Part of the problem was overgrazing, he'd said. There were just too many sheep, loosening the root structure of the grass, pulling away the fabric of the land. It was a good thing the system of subsidies would change and there'd no longer be a payment for every animal. She'd thought it had been a brave thing to say. It wouldn't make him friends among the farmers. He was a local and perhaps he was more isolated than she was. She'd heard the parents muttering about him in the school playground and wondered if he had any real friends at all.

The dog had run on, unaffected by the gradient. Now she stopped and was barking. Fran called to her, but she refused to return. Fran followed her across the hill, sliding occasionally where the ground was bare and muddy.

Maggie was at the top of a steep peat bank. The rain seemed to have loosened a pile of rocks and boulders exposing the black peat below. The dog was scrabbling into the debris. Fran called her again. She turned, but still she didn't move. The sun came out from behind thin cloud and shone more brightly than it had all day. It was low against the hill now and the light seemed unnatural, sulphurous. The dog and the boulders and the hillside seemed hard-edged, drawn by a heavy hand.

Breathing heavily, Fran reached the dog. She began swearing at her and told her she'd never wanted her in the first place. Then she stopped and caught hold of her collar and pulled her away. There was something under the pile of rock. A shoe. The leather was discoloured and the buckle was tarnished. It was a child's shoe. The dog was going crazy, barking and jumping, and Fran thought she would strangle herself. She was still trying to keep hold of the collar. There were a few tatters of clothing. Yellow cotton. And then the waxy outline of a small foot, pale against the black, fibrous peat.

Perez's mobile rang when he was on the landline to his mother. He'd just got in from talking to Alex Henry and decided he couldn't put it off any longer. He didn't know what he'd say to her, but she deserved a call. He poured himself a beer and dialled the number.

'Well?' she said, not asking first about the case, though she must surely know all about it, at least have heard about it on Radio Shetland. 'What about Skerry? Have you decided?' Her voice was calm. She wouldn't want to put him under pressure, but he could sense her excitement. More than anything she wanted him back at home. Perhaps she wanted that even more than grandchildren.

If she'd asked first about the case, if she'd realized how important his work was, not only to him but to the victims' families, he would have responded differently. But he felt a stab of resentment because her world was so restricted. Its limits were the edge of an island three miles long and two miles wide - the North Light and the South Light, Sheep Craig and Malcolm's Head. So when the mobile rang and he saw Fran Hunter's number come up on the display, he said, 'Look I'm sorry Mum, that call's urgent. Something to do with the Ross case. You can imagine what it's like here. Manic. I'll have to take it!

'Of course,' she said, contrite, because she could imagine it. 'I'm sorry. I know you've other things to think of!

'I'll ring you back. This evening if I can make it.' Already he regretted being so abrupt. 'We'll talk about it then!

'There's someone else interested,' she said quickly, fitting the words in, while his mobile played its ludicrous tune in the background. 'In Skerry. Willie's grandson. The one who went away to agricultural college. He wants to come home! Then she put down the phone. She took a starring role in the panto every Christmas. She knew how to do dramatic endings.

'Hello!'

Automatically he'd pressed the answer button and he could hear Fran Hunter, but his mind was elsewhere and it took a couple of seconds of her shouting Hello, hello, like a passenger on a train as it hits a tunnel, before he answered her.

'I've found the other girl,' she said, when she realized he could hear her. The words came singly. They dropped one by one into his ear, pebbles thrown from a cliff into water. I've / found / the / other / girl. By then he was sufficiently aware of how serious this must be, he could tell by the dull flat tone of her voice, so he didn't have to ask her what she meant.

Perez found her on the road outside her house, looking out for him. She'd shut the dog inside and she was jumping up at the window. It was almost dark. There was just a light grey strip above the horizon to the west.

‘I’ll take you up’ she said.’ It’ll take you ages to find it on your own’

He thought she looked like a child herself, huddled inside her jacket, the hood pulled right down over her forehead and zipped up over her chin, so all he could see were the eyes.

'I have to wait for a colleague! He'd left a message at the hotel for Roy Taylor. His phone had been engaged.

Perez knew his life wouldn't be worth living if he went on without the English detective. 'He'll not be long!

'Oh! She looked very pale.

'Shall we wait inside?' 'Are you OK?'

'What do you think? I've just found a body. The second in a week! He was surprised by the sharpness in her voice and wasn't sure what to say.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'It just seems weird. I mean, why me? Again!

'Where's Cassie?' The coincidence of the first name struck him and he was astonished that he hadn't realized it before. Another girl whose name started with C.

'At a party. Otherwise she'd have been with me! She turned to him, to make him understand what a nightmare that would have been.

He wondered if he should say something, warn her never to let the girl out of her sight, but then Taylor turned up, driving the car so hard that they could hear it long before it came into view. Perez found himself disappointed by the arrival. He liked the inside of Fran's house. He wouldn't have minded waiting there with her, by the fire in the warm.

Taylor’s first concern when he jumped from the car was for Fran. He bounded towards her, very solicitous in an eager, clumsy way, which was patently sincere. He took one of her hands in two of his. 'How dreadful,' he said.

'What a terrible shock all over again! There was no trace of suspicion. Nothing to indicate he thought finding two bodies in less than a week was more than an unfortunate coincidence.

Perez realized that he was looking at his boss almost as a rival. Perez wanted Fran to like him best, to think him most considerate. Did Taylor have a partner? He had never mentioned a wife or a regular girlfriend. But perhaps there was someone. He had been talking on the phone for a long time while Perez was trying to get through to him.

Perez thought his own response to Fran must have seemed mean and uncaring in contrast and tried now to put that right.

'Mrs Hunter has offered to show us the place on the hill,' he said. 'I don't think that's necessary, do you? We'll pull in some other. men, cover the hill ourselves!

By now it was completely dark, but the sky had cleared and there was a moon. Taylor seemed to consider the matter very seriously. He turned to Fran. 'If you really don't mind,' he said. 'It would be a tremendous help!

Even in the dark, Perez could tell she was smiling. A child was lying dead on the hill and Roy Taylor could make her feel good about herself.

'Actually, I don't mind at all. It's much better than sitting on my own and waiting!

The expedition across the hill was an experience at once bizarre and strangely companionable. Later, he would remember it as a series of scenes. Fran led the way and the men followed one after the other. He was at the rear. At one point he looked up and saw that all three of them must be silhouetted against the moonlit sky. From the road they would look like characters from a children's cartoon. Something strange produced in Eastern Europe when he was a boy, he thought. Three eccentrics in search of hidden gold. Those films always had a quest at the heart of them.

The next moment to stick in Perez's memory was when Taylor stood in the Gillie Burn. He must have seen it, milky in the moonlight, but there was no way round. He wasn't wearing wellingtons and the cold water seeped almost immediately over the top of his boots, oozing through the thick woollen socks to the skin. He didn't swear, though of course he would have done if Fran hadn't been there. Perez took a delight in his discomfort, then thought that was childish. He was no better than the boys from Foula.

Then, just as they reached the landslip which had exposed the girl's body, the moon went behind a cloud, and the hill was suddenly dark. Perez shone his torch and that was how they first saw Catriona Bruce, caught in the torchlight. Very theatrical. The star, centre stage, lit by one spot. Her clothes were in tatters, but she was perfectly preserved. Perez thought of the fairy story Sleeping Beauty. That had ice and blood in it too. If I kiss her, he thought, she'll wake up. She'll turn into a princess.

Magnus Tait knew that they would come for him as soon as he saw the cars on the Lerwick road and the pinpricks of light moving over the hill. He wouldn't have known the police were there if he hadn't gone outside. He hadn't heard any unusual noise. He'd woken suddenly from one of his nightmares, panting and sweating, and had climbed out of bed because he couldn't bear the thought of going back to sleep and living the dream again.

Then he thought there would be nobody outside his door, not at two o'clock in the morning. He could see the time on his mother's clock. The journalists would be in their beds now, surely. It would be a chance to go outside.

He needed to remember what it looked like out there. He was going mad locked up in the house. It was making him upset and the nightmares were always worse when he was upset.

He went back to the bedroom and pulled on some clothes. Then he went out. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent so long indoors. Even when he was ill with the sore throat and cough which came sometimes, he still liked to be in the open air. Then he thought it was probably the day after Catriona went missing. That was the last time. He'd been shut in all day then too. People had gathered outside the house and they'd all been angry, more angry than the folks there yesterday, because Catriona belonged, didn't she?

Kenneth was a Ravenswick man. His family had always been in the valley. It wasn't like Ross who'd only moved in six months before. That day they'd been crowded around the windows, banging on the panes, until his mother had gone out and shouted at them to leave him alone.

That was what she'd said. She'd shouted it very loud and even cowering in the bedroom, he'd heard the words.

He wondered if she'd say the same thing now.

He opened the door slowly, just a crack at first, so if there were people there, he'd be able to shut it very quickly and put the bolt across. There was a car parked on the track below his house but he took no notice of that at first. He filled a tin bucket with peats and thought how clever he was to remember that. If the people came back at daylight he'd still have fuel. He put the bucket into the porch, then stood outside, just enjoying the air, thinking how mild it was. He didn't even have a jacket on and he hardly felt the cold:

That was when he saw there was a man in the car. He was in the driver's seat. Magnus could see the shadow of his head. He must be watching me. He's been sat there all night just watching me. And despite himself that made him feel important, that a man had been kept up all night to look out for him. Were they scared of what he might do?

Were they frightened of him? Were they?

He walked a little way down towards the track. Not so far that he couldn't run back into the house if he needed to. Perhaps halfway to the car where the watcher was sitting. He thought of him as the watcher, though he couldn't tell what he was up to. He walked there to see what the man would do and to stretch his legs.

Then something made him turn round. He looked up to the hill beyond the Lerwick road and saw the cars outside the Hunter wife's house, which had lights on in all the windows. And he saw the big van, which had been parked outside his house when they found Catherine, and the sparks of light from torches moving across the hill.

And he knew then that they'd found Catriona. And soon they'd be coming to get him.

When they came he was ready for them. He had a suit, which was hanging up in the painted cupboard in the bedroom. He'd worn it to chapel when he'd gone every Sunday with his mother. The last time he'd been, the last time he'd worn the suit, was the day of her funeral. Laying it out on the bed he remembered the service. That smell of damp was there and the smell of polish they used on the seats. He'd sat on his own at the front. All the relatives were dead. His uncle and his cousins. The place was full though. There were neighbours, people she'd grown up with.

He'd heard the whispers, spoken just loud enough to be sure he would hear. He was the death of her. She couldn't stand the shame. Mary was always a proud woman.

He found a white shirt. It was frayed at the cuffs but clean. He'd promised his mother he'd keep himself clean and most fine days he had washing on the line behind the house. He'd thought he had a tie, but he couldn't find one.

In the top drawer of the dresser he saw the ribbons he'd taken from Catriona's hair. Quite often he took them out. Not to remind himself of her he would never forget her - but because he could picture her better when he had the ribbons running through his fingers. The silky feel of them excited him, made him think of the pink silky petticoat she'd worn under her dress.

The shirt and the suit were too big for him. The jacket hung off his shoulders and he had to find a belt to hold up the trousers. He must have been a big man then, he thought, surprised. A big, strong man. He had nothing else to wear, so he kept them on, thinking his mother would have approved. Only decent, she would have said. A mark of respect. He put the ribbons on the table. He wasn't sure what to do with them. He'd stolen them. Perhaps Kenneth and Sandra would want them back. Then he made himself tea and sat in the chair by the fire to wait. He got up twice, once to use the toilet and once to put water out for the raven. It occurred to him that he should shave, but somehow he was too tired to make the effort.

It was still dark when the policeman came for him, but it was morning. The clock said seven thirty-eight. As on the last occasion, the man knocked and waited. He didn't attempt to come in until Magnus opened the door to him.

He looked exhausted. Magnus was reminded of men who used to go out all night for the fishing and came back with their hair stiff with salt and their hands red and cracked. When they got home all they wanted was their bed. They were too tired even to undress.

'Come in: he said, 'and warm yourself through. You'll be chilled out there on the hill all night, even though it's not freezing any more! A thought came to him. 'Did you go fishing around Fair Isle? It would be good there for fish!

'Not bad,' the policeman said. 'We had a few pots for lobsters. You can get a good price!

'Are we in a rush?' Magnus asked. 'Will I make some tea?'

The policeman smiled sadly and Magnus saw that there was no rush at all, rather he wanted to put off the time when they would have to leave. 'We just have some questions to ask: he said. 'About Catriona. And I would love some tea!

'We could put a dram in it:

'Aye, why not? Just a small one though. We don't want me driving you off the road!

'Are you on your own? Last time they sent two men!

'There's another chap waiting in the car, but we wouldn't want him driving. Safer me drunk than him sober!

Magnus saw that was some kind of joke and smiled to be polite.

'Would he want tea too?'

'No, he's asleep. We'll just leave him be, shall we?' Magnus put water into the kettle and put it on the hotplate.

Turning, he saw that the policeman had seen the ribbons.

'They belonged to Catriona: he said. 'I took them from her. I thought her hair was prettier loose. Finer that way, I thought!

'We shouldn't talk about Catriona. Not here. Not until we get to the police station!

'I don't like the police station: Magnus said.

'They won't hurt you. I'll be there and I won't let anyone hurt you!

'Do you think they'd let me keep the ribbons?'

'No! The question seemed to annoy the policeman. 'No, of course not! He changed his mind about the tea and said they should get off after all, because soon it would be light and the children would be on their way to school and the reporters would come.

'Will I be coming back?' Magnus asked, just as they were at the door.

'I don't know. Perhaps not for a while!

'Who will feed the raven?'

There was a silence. Magnus was hoping the policeman would say he'd take care of that, but he said nothing.

Magnus stood there, waiting for the police man to speak.

'If no one will care for the raven,' Magnus said at last, 'you must kill it. The best way is to hit its head against a wall. You can't let it starve in its cage. And if you release it, it will still starve. It has no way of finding food!

Still the policeman was silent.

'Will you do that?'

'Yes,' the detective from Fair Isle said. 'I'll do it! 'It eats dog food. If you can find someone to look after it, that's what it eats!

The room had been painted since he'd last been there - so recently painted that Magnus could smell it – but it was still the same colour on the wall. The colour of the top of the milk when it separated in the churn.

That made him think of Agnes with the cow again.

There was a big radiator and that was cream too. It was very hot. On his way in Magnus had heard the constables behind the desk talking about it. One of them said there must be something wrong with the controls, but the other thought nobody had bothered to turn the heating down since the freeze. He would have liked to take his jacket off. He could hang it over the back of his chair so it wouldn't crease. But he wasn't sure that would be respectful. So he left it on.

The detective from Fair Isle was there and a woman, younger, who wasn't a Shetlander. The detective introduced her but Magnus didn't remember the name. If he’d been given the first name he would probably have remembered that. He liked women's first names. Sometimes when he found it hard to sleep he repeated them in his head. The detective introduced himself with the strange foreign name which Magnus had heard before and which now stuck in his mind. And there was a lawyer, who looked as if he had a bad head from the drink, wearing a suit much smarter than the one Magnus was wearing.

It was a crush the four of them sitting round the little table. Magnus knew he should keep the grin from his face. Sometimes he missed what they said to him because he was trying so hard to keep his face straight.

'We're not charging you,' Perez said. 'Not yet. We'll just be asking you some questions!

The lawyer had told him he didn't need to answer all the questions and again Magnus remembered his mother's words tell them nothing.

'When did you get the ribbons from Catriona's hair?' Perez asked. 'Did she give them to you?'

Magnus thought for a moment. 'No: he said at last.

'I asked her if I could keep them, but she wouldn't let me.' He shut his eyes remembering the teasing voice why would you want ribbons, Magnus? You've hardly any hair.

'You took them then?'

'Aye, I took them.'

Should I have said that? He was suddenly confused.

Perhaps that was something to keep quiet about. But when he looked at the lawyer, his face was blank.

'Was Catriona alive when you took the ribbons, Magnus?'

This time he knew exactly how to answer. 'No, man. If she'd been alive I'd not have taken them from her. She'd have needed them. She was dead then. What use would she have of them?'

'Did you take anything from Catherine Ross, after you'd killed her?'

He was bewildered and for a moment he didn't know who they were talking about. Then he realized. Catherine.

His raven. 'I didn't kill her,' he said, rising in his seat to make them believe him. The idea was so shocking that he stopped thinking about his face and he could feel the grin sliding back. 'She was my friend. Why would I kill her?'

Chapter Twenty - Nine

At breakfast, Sally's mother was full of the fact that they'd taken away Magnus Tait.

'What a relief,' she said. 'My nerves have been on edge all week, knowing that he's been staying there, just up the bank.'

Sally supposed that it was a relief for her too, though of course it couldn't bring Catherine back.

'Did you see them arrest him?'

'No. Maurice saw them take him away as he drove down this morning. He said there were so many cars all over the top road he could hardly get through.' Maurice was the school caretaker and cleaner. Alex came into the kitchen. He'd just come out of the shower and his hair was wet. He had on a short-sleeved T-shirt and carried his sweater over his arm, so he could put it on before he went outside. Sally thought he looked good like that, with the jeans and white T-shirt, younger and fitter.

As young certainly as Mr Scott from school. Margaret ladled porridge into a bowl and put it at his place on the table. He poured milk on to it and started to eat. Margaret stopped talking about Magnus Tait and started complaining about one of the kids in school who wouldn't behave. Everything was so normal and ordinary that Sally thought she must have been imagining all the crazy things that had happened. When she walked up to the bus stop outside the Ross's house, Catherine would be waiting for her. Her father would look himself again, boring and middle-aged. Soon she'd wake up.

The phone rang. They let Margaret get it. Sally thought the story of Magnus's arrest would have got out and everyone in Ravenswick would be wanting the news. It wouldn't do to spoil her mother's fun. She put her plate on the draining board and began gathering together her things for school. Alex was still at the table, slowly buttering toast. When Margaret came back in her face was flushed. She stood just inside the door and waited for them to look at her.

'That was Morag,' she said. 'She thought we should know. It'll be all over the news soon anyway!

In the past, Sally thought, Alex would have asked his wife what she'd found out, but today he just sat, chewing his toast, waiting for her to come out with it. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking. Sally was curious but she didn't say anything either.

Margaret seemed driven to the verge of tears by their lack of interest. 'It's Catriona,' she said. 'They've found her body in one of those peat banks on the hill. Morag said it was perfectly preserved. You'd have thought she'd only died yesterday! She paused for a moment. 'That's why they arrested Tait. They've got the evidence now. Who else could it be?'

Alex put down his knife. 'How did they find her?'

'The rain and the melted snow must have caused a bit of a landslip. Catriona had been lying in a peat bed and the landslip shifted it. Cassie Hunter's mother was up there with that dog of the Andersons. It was she who raised the alarm!

Sally was watching her father's face. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. 'Poor woman,' he murmured. 'What a terrible coincidence to fall over a dead body twice!

Sally thought that sounded terribly funny. It conjured up a ridiculous picture in her head, Cassie Hunter's mother tripping up, falling on her arse. But she knew she couldn't laugh. 'At least Kenneth and Sandra will know what happened to the girl now,' Margaret said. 'They might even feel able to come home!

At school Sally was the centre of attention again, because nobody else had heard the news about Magnus 'Tait and the dead little girl. In registration she told Mr Scott that Catherine's murderer had been arrested. His reaction surprised her. It was as if she'd given him a present. He thanked her, not in that polite, dry way that he might if she was handing in a piece of work, but as if he was really grateful. 'It was good of you to let me know so quickly. I wouldn't have liked to have heard it in the staff room!

It occurred to her that Robert Isbister might not have heard the news yet either. It would be a good excuse to phone him. He'd been interested after all and it would mean she wouldn't have to wait for him to ring her. She didn't think she could stand the strain of waiting.

First lesson was French. She couldn't bear French. She told Lisa that the news had made her think all over again about Catherine, she wouldn't be able to concentrate. Would Lisa tell the teacher? It was the first time she'd skipped a lesson without a proper excuse. She went into the toilets, locked the door of a cubicle and phoned Robert.

He answered quickly. The reception wasn't much good and his voice sounded like a stranger's. She didn't have the usual physical response to hearing him.

'Magnus Tait's been arrested,' she said. 'For Catherine's murder. They've found the body of the other little girl. I thought you'd be interested! Why did she know he'd be interested? She wasn't sure why he was so fascinated. Just ghoulish, she thought. Like all the others.

'Any chance of meeting up? Can you get away?' He sounded dead eager and she thought she had him hooked.

He wanted all the details, though really she had nothing more to tell.

She ran through the day's timetable in her head. Nothing important. Lisa would tell them all she was upset.

They'd assume she'd gone home. 'Sure. Why not?'

He met her in his van on the harbour. She had to wait a quarter of an hour for him, with the gulls screeching around her head, and she was suddenly nervous. She thought he wanted more from her than chat and tea. More even than information about the murders. Was she ready for him? She'd made no effort before setting out that morning, hadn't even been in the shower because the talk about Tait had made her late. She saw herself as he would see her - a slightly scruffy schoolgirl, a bit overweight, with a bag full of books.

When she got in beside him, he put his hand on the back of her neck, pulled her gently towards him and kissed her. She sensed something different about him. Relief. Perhaps that was what all the people who'd been touched by the drama were feeling. Not just relief because a murderer had been locked up, but because it would stop the police prying into their lives. They all had secrets. Mr Scott, Robert. Perhaps even her parents. Now the policeman from Fair Isle would leave them alone.

He drove north without speaking. She stroked the fair hairs on his wrist and he played with her hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb. She wanted him to kiss her again, but was too shy to ask, and anyway there was an excitement in waiting.

'Where are we going?'

. 'I thought we'd go to Wandering Spirit. Would you be interested in seeing her?'

His boat was moored in Whalsay. That meant getting the roll-on roll-off ferry to the island. She tried to think if she knew anyone who worked on the ferry who might tell her parents, but Robert seemed so keen that she had to go along with it.

They were at the front of the queue for the ferry and sat in the van on the quay holding hands watching it approach, squat and flat-bottomed and pitching forward with each wave. There were a couple of trucks and just one other van. They sat in the lounge for the crossing. Robert bought her coffee from the machine. He knew the man in the other van, who was sitting there too, but he didn't introduce her. While the two men were chatting about fish and some party there'd been at one of the bars on Whalsay, she looked out of the window and watched the island getting closer. She couldn't remember if she'd been there before. Not for years certainly.

The boat was just as grand as everyone said it was, gleaming white and bristling with aerials and radar masts, much bigger than she'd imagined. Robert was very proud of it. You could tell how much it meant to him. It wasn't just a way of making a living. It defined him. It was who he was. When Sally thought that, she decided it was something Catherine might have said, and that made her proud too.

He took her below and showed her the room where the crew sat when they weren't working. It had leather seats and a big television. There was a fridge. He took out a couple of tins of beer and offered one to her. She took it. She could feel the movement of the boat under her. It sat low in the water and the grey sea was very close through the glass. The horizon tilted, a regular, mesmeric beat.

'Did you fancy Catherine?' she asked suddenly. 'I mean I can understand why you would. She was stunning to look at!

'No,' he said. 'Honestly? I wouldn't have wished that sort of death on her. Of course not. But I thought she was a stuck-up cow. All that stuff about films and art. All that talking!

'Will you take me to one of the parties at the Haa one day?'

'I didn't take her,' he said quickly. 'She was there.

We were chatting. That was all!

'But will you take me?'

'Aye, why not?'

She'd drunk _the lager quickly and it was stronger than she was used to. The movement of the boat disorientated her.

He fetched her another can. They talked. About his work, his family. Later she would remember him describing his mother. People don't understand her. It's all Hunter's fault. She's so soft she can't say no to him. And his father, though that wasn't like hearing about a real man.

More like some hero you'd read about in a book. But her mind wasn't engaged. She was aware of her body under her clothes, her tongue against her teeth , the skin of her feet against the undersole in her trainers. Everything held in, tied up. She bent down and unlaced the shoes. She kicked one off and prised off the other by pushing down its heel with her foot. She pulled off her socks and rolled them into a ball. There was a carpet on the floor with a rough texture, almost as hard as coconut matting. She flexed her feet against it. Robert, who had still been talking, about a gale which had blown up out of nothing when they were off Stavanger, fell silent. 'Sorry,' she said. 'It's a bit hot in here!

He bent down and took a foot in his hand, twisting her body as he did, so she was almost lying along the bench seat. He rubbed the sole of her foot with his thumb, as he had been playing with her hand in the car. She thought she might faint.

Later, she thought, Is this how it is for everyone? Is it the same for old people? She wondered about her father and mother, if they did occasionally get it together. Part of her thought it might be better for them, not so hurried and scrabbled. Her father would be more patient. Not quite so rough or demanding. But she dismissed that idea as disloyal and ridiculous. What could she expect for her first time? Robert was lying back and smoking a cigarette.

Now she would have liked him to speak, but he seemed lost somehow in his own thoughts. Perhaps all men were like that afterwards. She would have liked to ask, Was that all right? Did I do the right things? But she knew it was wiser to stay quiet.

At last she said, 'I should go back or I'll miss the bus! She had plenty of time but she was starving. Now she wasn't dreaming of sex, but Kit-Kats and crisps, maybe a bacon sandwich.

He roused himself slowly and she saw again what she'd found attractive in him. She watched his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms and his back. It hadn't been a big mistake after all. In the lounge on the ferry she found herself smiling. He sat next to her with his wide hand on her leg and when he dropped her off at the school he kissed her. They still hadn't discussed what had happened.

It was too early for school to finish and she went to the shop on the corner and bought chocolate and a magazine. She turned straight to the problem page, but none of the letters there could help her.

On the bus on the way home her phone rang. She answered it immediately, certain that it would be Robert. He would say something sweet and reassuring. He would tell her how much he'd enjoyed being with her. But it was a woman's voice, unfamiliar at first.

'Sally? Is that you? Your mother gave me your number. I'm so sorry to disturb you. This is Fran Hunter. You know, from the house by the chapel!

Duncan Hunter's ex-wife, she wanted to say. But of course she didn't. How rude that would be!

'I wondered if you'd be able to babysit. I've been asked to teach a couple of evening classes at the college. The teacher's going to be off sick for a few weeks. Maybe you'd feel awkward, because Catherine used to . . . But your mother said to ask anyway. . ! The voice tailed off.

'No; Sally said quickly. 'Really, I'd be pleased to!

She was thinking it would be one way to meet Robert without her mother knowing. Risky, but better than being out in Lerwick with him. 'Any time!

The Bruces arrived from Aberdeen on the same plane as Jane Meltham, the crime scene investigator. They looked small and bewildered as they walked across the tarmac from the plane, older than Perez had expected. He'd expected them to be the age they'd have been when Catriona died. That's how they were in his head. But of course they hadn't been preserved in the peat like her. You would never have thought they were coming home; they were more like refugees arriving in a strange country. The boy with them, Catriona's younger brother, was taller than they were. Roy Taylor took the family in one car and Perez drove Jane in another.

'Interesting stuff, peat,' she said as they passed the Sumburgh Hotel. 'What did the girl look like?'

'Undamaged,' he said. 'You'd have thought she'd been kept alive somewhere and buried only hours ago. There was a faint brownish tint to the skin and her hair had turned a kind of chestnut colour. That was all. She'd been wearing a cotton dress and that hadn't rotted at all'

It was impossible to shift the image of the girl from his mind. They'd cleared some of the mud from her face, knowing they shouldn't touch anything at the scene, but wanting to identify her, so there'd be some thing definite to tell the parents. After all these years of waiting it would be intolerable not to give them an identification. She'd been lying on her back. Her fair hair, filthy now, was arranged loosely around her face.

Had Magnus done that? Had he thought it looked prettier? Or had he wanted the ribbons for himself? Perez couldn't make sense of it. Was that the only reason he'd killed her?

The procurator fiscal had decided they had enough evidence to charge Magnus. For the murder of Catriona Bruce at least. And of course he was right. There were the ribbons. A confession of a sort, though after that first interview Magnus had stopped talking. He'd sat there with that nervous grin on his face, just shaking his head. Even in private discussion with his lawyer he'd said nothing, apparently.

They would get a conviction. Manslaughter perhaps because of diminished responsibility. There'd be medical reports to show he had a low IQ, possible brain damage, but Magnus Tait would certainly go to prison. He'd leave Shetland for the first time in his life to be locked away. That wasn't enough for Jimmy Perez. He wanted to know what had happened that day when Catriona had run up the track to visit Hillhead. He wanted to know what had prompted Magnus to stab her.

Because she had been stabbed. Even before the crime scene investigator's arrival they could tell that. The body was so well preserved that you could see the wound in the girl's chest, the fabric of the dress marked with rust-coloured stains. And more than anything, Perez wanted to know why, after eight years, Magnus had decided to kill again. Why Catherine Ross? Just because she'd wandered quite by chance into his house on New Year's Eve and he'd taken a fancy to her? Was it because of her name? If she'd been called Ruth or Rosemary, would he have left her alone? And why, this time, had he strangled?

Jane was talking about the bog bodies found by archaeologists. 'They were thousands of years old and still intact,' she said. 'It's hardly surprising you get the same result after eight years. Fascinating! He could tell she was itching to get to the scene and have a look. She hardly gave a glance at the magnificent coastal landscape passing the window.

He left her with the team on the hill and went back into Lerwick. He couldn't face the Incident Room, Sandy with his I-told-you-so smirk, the jubilation. They'd already be drinking probably, celebrating the arrest and the Inverness boys' imminent return to civilization. Both camps would be celebrating that. He needed. a sleep and a shower.

At home his answerphone was flashing. His mother of course. He'd not had a chance to phone her back on Sunday night. He was tempted to ring her now, without any more thought. Yes, I'm coming home. I'm fed up here.

Let the factor know I'm interested in Skerry. But he ignored it, stood mindlessly under the pathetic dribble of his shower, fell into bed and went immediately asleep.

When he woke it was late afternoon and dark outside. He didn't feel rested. He woke as he'd fallen asleep, troubled by the anxiety that was eating away at him. About Fran and Cassie. About Magnus. A fear that they'd cocked up the whole bloody case. The old man might have killed Catriona. But Catherine?

He checked the phone messages. A sort of penance or punishment. There was one from his mother but it was short and apologetic. Sorry to bother you. I know you're busy. I don't mean to nag. That didn't make him feel any better.

The next was from Duncan Hunter. I've heard the news about Magnus Tait. Good work. I don't suppose this is relevant now, but I've remembered something about that party at the Haa. Give me a ring. I'll be in the office all day.

No number. As if he assumed everyone would know the number of Hunter Associates. That you couldn't possibly manage in Shetland without it.

Perez looked it up in the directory and dialled. A young woman said Mr Hunter was in a meeting and unavailable. Could she take a message? Perez could picture her. She'd be young and skinny, long red nails and thin red lips, a tiny skirt hardly covering her bum.

'I'm returning Mr Hunter's call: he said. 'Inspector Perez. He did say it was urgent!

'Just one minute!

There was a blast of music. Not the usual bland electronic noise for Hunter Associates. This was something contemporary with the sort of beat young people bounced to in nightclubs. Duncan had probably paid for it to be composed specially. It stopped as suddenly as it had started, mid-phrase.

'Jimmy. Thanks for getting back to me. Look, maybe you're not interested any more!

'I'm interested!

'I can't talk now. Let's meet later. Monty's. I'll buy you dinner. It'll be quiet on a Monday night. Around eight!

The line went dead before Perez had a chance to reply.

Monty's was probably the best place to eat in Lerwick. It was where the tourists went every evening once they found it, along with the expat English, who raved about the local produce to their friends. It was a bit pricy for the locals if it wasn't a special occasion. The room was small and the tables were close together, but as Duncan had said, a Monday night in January, it was quiet. He was already there when Perez arrived. He'd ordered a bottle of red and was one big glass in. When he saw Perez, he stood up and held out his hand.

'Congratulations!

'It's not all over yet.'

'That's not what folks are saying!

Perez shrugged. 'What did you have for me?'

Duncan was looking better than the last time they'd met, but not a whole lot better. He was shaved and smartly dressed and he'd had a haircut, but Perez thought he wasn't getting much sleep. He'd lost the old Hunter arrogance.

'I've been thinking about that party at the Haa! 'The one Catherine Ross came to?'

'Yes! There was a pause while the waitress took their order. 'Look, I was out of it, OK?'

'But you've remembered something?'

'You were asking about Robert. He didn't come with Catherine. He'd been there earlier, talking to Celia before anyone else turned up. I'm not sure what it was about. Family stuff I suppose. Pretty intense, at least-' He broke off suddenly. 'Perhaps he was persuading her to go home with him. He never liked me and he could always twist her round his little finger!

Perez looked at him, wondering what this was really all about. It had nothing to do with helping the police with their enquiries, that was for sure. Duncan wouldn't see the point. With him, there was always a hidden agenda. He could manipulate for Shetland.

'Catherine and Robert knew each other: Duncan said. 'I mean, when she walked in, you could tell!

'How?' Perez was losing patience.

'He was talking to Celia in the kitchen. She'd been putting together some food. That was where the drinks were.

So that was where I was. Catherine came in with a group of other people and Robert saw her. It was a shock.

He wasn't expecting it. He broke off his conversation with his mother and just stared at her. Like thunderstruck. Like there was no way she should have been there!

'Was he pleased to see her?'

'I think so. Pleased but a bit nervous perhaps.

Anxious!

'How did she react to him?'

'She didn't. She gave no sign that she knew him, not then. She poured herself a drink and started chatting to me.

Flirting, I suppose. She was one of those women who make you feel special. They can make you believe you're interesting, funny. Fran could never do that. She could never be bothered to make the effort. But Catherine, oh, she was very good!

'She was only sixteen!

'But sophisticated,' Duncan said. 'Experienced! And a virgin.

'Is that all you have to tell me? Hardly worth a dinner at Monty's!

'While she was flirting with me, she had one eye on Robert. I don't know why. I mean, I can't imagine for a minute that she fancied him. But at one point they disappeared together. At least, I think so. I mean, I'm pretty sure.

It was before Celia hit me with the news that she was leaving. But you know how it is with parties. Good parties, at least. You get into an interesting conversation and everything around you fades into the background. You hear the music but you're not really listening. You know there are other people there, but you're not aware of what they're doing. They're just bodies moving, dancing'

'Throwing up?'

'Not that early in the evening.' Duncan said crossly.

He paused. 'No need to take the piss, man. I'm trying to help. Honestly. There was one point when I noticed neither of them was there. I'd enjoyed the girl's company. OK, I was looking for her. I looked all over for her. She'd got to me somehow. She had style. And when I've thought about it since, I've realized Robert wasn't there either. I told you it might not be important.'

The waitress came with their food. Perez didn't recognize her, although she was about his age and she sounded local. He was preoccupied for a moment trying to place her. Duncan started eating immediately, sulking because Perez wasn't more grateful for the information.

'Where did they go?'

'I'm not sure. I didn't search the whole place. It wasn't that important.'

'But they were in the house?'

'For fuck's sake I don't know. Maybe they went for a drive. Had wild and passionate sex in the back of Robert's van. Only I don't see it. Like I said before, she was an attractive young woman. Robert's a thug. A spoilt mummy's boy. Good looking I suppose if you like the blond Viking type, but she was too bright to be taken in by that.'

And what are you? Perez thought. You're a bully.

It wasn't such a big deal, the event which had made him see Duncan in a different light. It might have happened anywhere. Here, where the web of relationships caught you and held you and wouldn't let you go, it was the sort of thing you had to deal with every day. Duncan had been speeding. Crazy speeds down the road from the north. Sandy Wilson had stopped him. He'd realized he'd been drinking and said he'd have to test him. But Sandy Wilson's dad worked for Duncan's company. He was a joiner, who could turn his hand to anything, and he worked on the renovations of the buildings Duncan bought.

Duncan threatened to sack the father if Sandy did him for drink driving. Perez wasn't sure he would have done it; good craftsmen were hard to come by. But Sandy believed him and Duncan got away with just a spot fine for speeding. Blackmail. Perez found out about it later. Sandy got drunk one night and blurted out the whole story.

Perez kept it to himself. Sandy was a pea-brained bigot, but he didn't deserve to be dumped on. And anyway Perez owed Duncan, didn't he? He'd saved his life when they were at school, saved him from the Foula boys, at least. But the debt was paid and he felt he didn’t owe him any more. That was why he hated Duncan. Not because he was a bully but because he'd forced Perez to see him as one. Because when he was fourteen, he'd been Perez's best friend.

'How long were Robert and Catherine away?' Perez asked.

Duncan shrugged. 'An hour? No more than that. Less maybe. It wasn't that late. Before Celia said she'd had enough, at least. I was still sober enough to stand. And I remember Catherine coming back. Maybe they had been outside. She looked flushed, red-cheeked, as if she'd been in the cold. And she seemed elated. I told you. That was when she told me she wanted to go .into film. She had so many dreams, she said, so many projects in her head she wasn't sure she'd have time to work on them all . . : He broke off and for a moment Perez could believe that he was sad. For the girl. Not

just sorry for himself.

'And how was Robert Isbister?'

'I don't know. I didn't see him again. He didn't come back:

After the meal they stood together outside the restaurant, in a narrow alley at the bottom of steep steps.

'Why don't we go on somewhere,' Duncan said.

'Have a few drinks. Like the old days:

Perez was tempted. It would have been good to get very drunk with someone who didn't work for the police.

But Duncan was too eager and Perez wondered again what the evening was all about. It couldn't be, surely, that Duncan was lonely too, that at school he'd needed the shy boy from Fair Isle as much as Perez had needed him?

He watched Duncan walk away down the lane towards the market cross and his car. It was early and Perez wasn't ready to go home. Word of Tait's arrest would be all over the islands by now. The people would feel safe again, settle back into the knowledge that this had been a crazy aberration and violent crime only happened elsewhere. They'd sleep. Except for the families of the victims.

The Bruces were staying with relatives in Sandwick.

He supposed Euan Ross would be alone in the big house lose to the shore. Perez had sent a constable to inform him that Tait had been taken into custody, but thought now he should go himself. Ross had been bitter that Tait had been released after Catriona's disappearance. It seemed cowardly not to face him and answer his questions. The police owed him that much at least.

Driving past Hillhead, he remembered the raven. Should he kill it now and get it over with? The CSI must have finished with the place because the police tape had been removed and the house was in darkness. When he found the door locked he was relieved.

One of the team would have taken the key. They might even have found a home for the raven. He remembered that there was a woman in Dunrossness who cared for sick and injured birds. Maybe they'd taken it there. He'd have to check. He'd go back later.

Euan Ross was angry. His face was flushed and it showed in the violence with which he opened the door. Perez thought he had been waiting all day for someone to speak to him.

'Inspector,' he said. 'At last. I've lived here long enough to realize that there's little sense of urgency in Shetland, but I'd have thought it would have been courteous to respond to my request more quickly than this. It was your phone call which started it all off after all.'

He turned and walked away into the house, leaving Perez to shut the door behind him and follow.

They sat in the big room, with the glass wall, looking out towards Raven's Head. Euan hadn't turned on the central light. The space was lit by a couple of spots attached to the wal1. There were big areas of shadow. At some point over the winter he must have collected driftwood, because there was a chunk of pitch pine on the fire. The smell of it must be covering the last trace of Catherine's perfume.

For a moment Perez was confused. He couldn't think what the man was talking about. 'I'm sorry. No one told me that you'd asked to see me!

'What are you doing here then?'

'I thought you might have questions after the old man's arrest. I didn't want you to hear all the details from the press. They quite often get things wrong! He was going to add that he'd considered it would be courteous to visit, but stopped himself. This was a bereaved father. He was entitled to be angry and rude.

There was a moment of silence. Euan Ross struggled to regain his composure.

'They should have passed on your message,' Perez said quietly. 'Perhaps you could explain why you wanted to see me!

'You asked me to look for Catherine's camcorder! 'I did. You've found it then?'

Euan didn't answer directly. 'Do you have proof that Tait killed my daughter?'

'Not yet. There is evidence to connect him with the death of Catriona Bruce. At this point he's just been charged with the first murder. Of course we'll do all we can to get a conviction on both counts!

'I hadn't thought it mattered,' Euan said. 'But I don't think I could bear it if I never found out what happened to her. It isn't anything to do with revenge. It's just about not knowing! He paused. 'And some thing about justice for Catherine perhaps. Doing right by her at last!

'Can I see the camcorder, Mr Ross?'

But still he seemed reluctant to come to the point.

He said he would make tea. Inspector 'Perez had time for some tea, didn't he? He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Perez looking out into the night. At last he came back with two mugs on a tray and immediately he started talking. They sat facing each other in armchairs close to the big window, but Euan didn't look at Perez. He had his face turned to the dark space outside.

'She wasn't an easy child. One of those babies who hardly seem to need sleep. Liz found it very difficult. I tried to take my turn, but I was working all the hours there were, marking, planning, out-of-school activities.

Generally making myself indispensable. I was ambitious in those days. It seems ridiculous now. Liz couldn't face having any more children. I said we'd get a placid one next time, but she wasn't willing to take the risk. It wasn't a big deal. We didn't argue about it. I adored Liz. I'd have gone along with anything she said. Now I wish we had considered it. When Catherine was a bit older perhaps. Not for me, but for Catherine. She missed out when Liz died and I went to pieces. It would have been company for her.'

Perez said nothing. He drank his tea and listened. He thought Ross had forgotten all about the/ camera.

He just needed to talk.

'_}

'Catherine was very like me,' Ross went on. 'Very driven. Perhaps because she was an only child she didn't find it easy to make friends of her own age. She was too honest, too direct. She didn't realize she might be hurting the other children's feelings. She loved projects. Even when she was very young she'd become completely absorbed in her work and rather competitive in it. It didn't always make her popular. She liked to win.' At last he turned and faced Perez. 'I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. It probably isn't relevant. I just want to talk about her. To tell the truth, as she would have done. She would have hated people to say sweet and misleading things about her, just because she's dead.'

'I'm interested. It helps.'

'When we first moved here she was very bored. She said she had nothing in common with any of the other young people. That wasn't true but she didn't make much of an effort. She came across as patronizing, full of herself.

I heard teachers talking in the staff room about her when they didn't realize I was listening.

They resented her attitude too. I was worried she'd become very lonely, a target for bullying. Of course much of it was my fault. I depended on her after Liz died. I didn't treat her as a child.'

'She became friendly with Sally, though:

'Yes, Sally was kind to her and Catherine really enjoyed her company. They were unlikely friends but they got on well: He paused. 'The friendship with Sally was important, but it wasn't that which helped her make an effort to belong here. That was something quite different. She found a new project. . : He lapsed again into silence, the mug of tea untouched on the floor by the chair. He seemed so lost in thought that Perez realized he'd forgotten for a moment that he had a guest.

'What was the project, Mr Ross?'

'Film. And that's where the camcorder comes in.

I'd given it to her for her birthday. She loved film. It was her ambition to become the first great female British director. She was a natural observer, perhaps because she found it hard to engage with people of her own age. She was delighted by the present. At first she played around with it, working out, I suppose, how to use it, just how much it would do. I have a film of her. I took it on her birthday and we saved it on her computer.

I'm so glad I did that. It'll always be there. . : He seemed to realize that he was moving from the subject again. 'Then she began to take her filming more seriously. As I say, it was a project. She hoped to submit it as part of her university entrance application. The course she'd set her heart on was very hard to get in:

'What was her film about?'

'Shetland. The place and its people! 'A documentary?'

'Of a kind, I suppose. She said she wanted to subvert the stereotype. It wouldn't be about the beautiful landscape, the harsh way of life. At least that would provide the backdrop. But she wanted to show that people are the same wherever they live. At least, I think that was it. She did talk about it. I didn't always give her my full attention!

'Did she have a chance to finish the film?'

'I think so. Almost at least. She was editing it in the weeks before Christmas. Sometimes I'd hear her talking in her room and think Sally was in there with her, but it would turn out to be her, doing the voice-over!

'So you'll have that too. Something else to remember her by!

'No! That was what I wanted to tell you. You asked me to look for the camcorder but I couldn't find it. It's , disappeared. But the Shetland disk is missing too. It's been stolen!

'Are you sure?'

'Catherine was an obsessive, Inspector. In the weeks leading up to her death this film was the most important thing in her life. She'd put hundreds of hours of work into it. Nobody was allowed into her bedroom. I explained when you were here before that privacy was very important to her. It was the one room Mrs Jamieson didn't clean, yet it was always tidy. She kept the disks in a rack by her computer. The Shetland film is definitely missing!

'Perhaps it's still on her computer! 'I've checked. It isn't on the hard drive! 'Has the house been broken into?'

'No, but the murderer wouldn't need to break in. If Catherine had her keys on her, the murderer could have taken them. Perhaps that's why they were never found!

'Have you had a sense that anyone has been in the house?'

'Oh, Inspector, I've seen ghosts wherever I've looked. But it's never occurred to me that a real person could have been here!

'Would you show me her room?

‘‘Of course!

The room had been searched the day Catherine's body was discovered, but not by Perez. It looked, he thought, more like an office than a bedroom. It had a pale laminate floor, a work station and PC, a small filing cabinet. The single bed was covered with a black cotton throw. The wardrobes were fitted and matched the computer desk. Everything was clean and uncluttered. There was one picture on the wall, a large framed print of a fifties French movie poster.

Black and white.

'She designed the room herself: Euan said. 'It was where she felt most comfortable. When she was younger she didn't really enjoy human contact. She never liked to be cuddled as most children do. We did wonder, Liz and I, if she might be slightly autistic. I don't think she can have been, or if she was, she managed it very well. But she needed to be alone for long periods before she could go out and face the world again!

'What did she keep in the filing cabinet?'

'School work mostly. Look for yourself!

Perez pulled out one drawer. The files were labelled according to subject. It was very different from his own jumbled desk at work.

'You talked about her reading a voice-over: he said.

'I wondered if there might be a script:

'Of course!' Euan was more animated than he'd been all day. 'The thief might not have thought of that. I'll look, shall I?'

'Shall I help?'

'No, Inspector. If you don't mind this is something

I'd rather take care of alone!

In the hall they stood for a moment. Perez put on his coat and prepared to go out. Euan reached out awkwardly and shook his hand 'Thank you for taking me seriously, Inspector. Since Fran Hunter found her body, I've been searching for an explanation for Catherine's death. The discovery of Catriona's body on the hill provided one of a sort. Not a very satisfactory one. A madman who enjoys inflicting violence on young girls. It's not something I can make sense of. Too random. Too arbitrary. It seems to me that the missing film could provide another explanation. If Catherine had filmed something which the murderer would rather keep hidden, that might provide a motive. But perhaps I'm deluding myself. Perhaps I'm going mad too!

He opened the door and held it wide for Perez to pass through. Walking down the path to his car, Perez remembered a conversation he'd had with Magnus early on in the investigation. Magnus had said Catherine had taken his photo on the day she'd come to tea. The day after the party at the Haa. Perhaps it wasn't a photo. Perhaps she'd wanted Magnus to be in her film.

When Jimmy Perez got to the police station the next day, he saw most of the Inverness boys had gone but Taylor was still there. Perez could hear him as he walked up the stairs. He'd taken over a desk in the Incident Room and was sitting at it, the chair tilted back, his legs outstretched, shouting into the phone. He was the only person in the room, which had an empty, leftover feel about it, like the Northlink ferry once the passengers had disembarked.

There were scraps of rubbish on the floor, used polystyrene cups on the desks. It was mid-morning and outside the sun was trying to get through. 'Two gulls perched on a nearby roof were screaming at each other.

Perez stood, waiting, until Taylor replaced the receiver.

'They want me to sign off the case and go back to Inverness. I can't. I'm not satisfied Tait killed Catherine, certainly not sure we'll get a conviction. There's nothing forensic to link him with her. They weren't even killed in the same way!

'Circumstantial though. 'Two girls murdered in the same place. . !

'I've told them I'm staying. If they push it I'll take a few days' leave! He looked up, grinned. 'I've always wanted to be here for Up Helly Aa!

'It's a show for the tourists,' Perez said. 'An excuse to get drunk:

'It's an excuse not to go south just yet:

Perez wondered again if Taylor had anyone to go home to. Maybe after a couple of beers he'd pluck up the courage to ask. 'There is something else. . : He began explaining about his visit to Euan's house, the missing film and immediately he sensed Taylor’s scepticism. 'It could be a motive,' Perez said, wondering why it mattered to him so much. 'Perhaps the girl filmed something she wasn't supposed to see:

'Is the guy sure it's not there?' Taylor rocked forward so the chair was firm on the ground. 'I mean he must be upset. It'd be easy to overlook:

Perez shrugged. 'He seemed pretty positive. The camcorder's gone too. Magnus said Catherine took a picture of him the day before her body was found. Perhaps he talked to her about Catriona. It might be worth getting her computer south to the experts. See if there's some way of retrieving the deleted material: There was a silence then Taylor looked up suddenly from his desk. 'What do you think? Do you think Tait killed them both?'

Perez wanted to say it didn't matter what he thought. All that mattered was getting a conviction. But Taylor was still looking at him. 'I don't know,' he said at last. 'Really, I don't know: He could tell he'd disappointed Taylor with his answer and went on, feeling for the right words, 'I think I understand Catherine better now. After talking to her father. She was lonely. She saw life through film. That was how she survived here. That was how she got her pleasure, her kicks:

'A female voyeur?'

'An observer, a commentator! Perez paused, remembering what Duncan had said of her. 'A director!

'Doesn't a director make things happen? That's being more than an observer, surely!

'Perhaps she tried to make things happen. Perhaps that's why she was killed!

Celia Isbister lived in the house her husband Michael had built once he started making money. It was on the edge of Lerwick, with a view of the town and down to the sea. At the time of the wedding, gossip had it that he was a lucky man. He was marrying money. Certainly she'd carried with her an air of affluence. She'd been sent south to an expensive school. There was a big house on Unst. But the school had been paid for by a rich aunt and when their parents died, the big house went to her elder brother. There was nothing else to share out but debt.

If Michael had been disappointed by his new wife's poverty he hadn't blamed her for it. He'd carried through his life an astonishment that she'd ever agreed to marry him and took on the task of making himself worthy of her. He developed a transport and haulage business. When the oil came, his lorries carried cement and pipes and beer to the terminal at Sullom Voe and his taxis collected executives from Sumburgh Airport. If he knew of Celia's affair with Duncan - and surely he must have known - he never challenged her about it. She always stood at his side at civic functions. When he introduced her to visitors, to the ministers and civil servants who came occasionally from London and Edinburgh, he glowed with pride.

Celia had let Michael have his own way with the house. Perhaps it was a penance. Certainly, it couldn't have been to her taste. It was a sprawling ranch-style bungalow with an open-plan lounge. She only drew the line at gold taps for the ensuite bathrooms. Jimmy Perez wondered again what Robert had made of his parents' marriage. He moved in both their worlds. He was the youngest man on the Up Helly Aa committee and he went to the parties at the Haa. He must know that Celia's affair with Duncan was public knowledge. In Shetland information about other people's lives was assimilated subconsciously, a form of osmosis. For as long as Perez could remember people had been expecting Celia to leave Michael and to move into the Haa with Duncan Hunter.

But she still lived in the bungalow with her husband and Robert. Running these facts in his head, Perez thought he was stupid to believe that Catherine had been killed because she'd filmed some secret. So little in Shetland was secret. It was simply unacknowledged. There was something Victorian in this need to put on a good show.

He'd phoned beforehand to check that Celia would be in. She'd said she would be, all day. She didn't ask what he wanted from her. Perhaps she assumed he was there to speak on Duncan's behalf.

Celia was on her own in the bungalow.

'Michael not about?' Perez asked. He'd have liked to talk to Michael too.

She shook her head. 'He's in Brussels. Some European conference on fringe communities. Followed by a meeting in Barcelona on endangered dialect. He went on the third and won't be back until just before Up Helly Aa!

"She led Perez into the kitchen and started making coffee without asking first if he wanted any. He thought she seemed pale, distracted. She was a handsome woman, approaching fifty, with fine cheekbones, a generous mouth.

He understood what Duncan found attractive about her, caught himself watching her as she stretched to reach mugs from a high shelf.

' I don't suppose this is a social call: she said.

'But it can't be about the dead girl. That's all over, isn't it?'

'Still a few loose ends to tie up. Is Robert around?'

She looked at him carefully, then shook her head.

'He's out on Wandering Spirit. A long trip beyond Faroe. I'm not sure when he'll be back!

Was that too much information? 'He was friendly with Catherine Ross, wasn't he?'

Celia bent to take milk from the fridge. She was wearing jeans, a black sweater. 'He never mentioned her!

'He was with her the night before she was killed. At Duncan's party!

'Was he? I didn't notice. I had other things on my mind!

'Does Robert have a girlfriend at the moment?'

She laughed briefly. 'Robert always has a girlfriend.

At least one. He can't stand being on his own. And he's a good-looking man!

'So who's he hanging around with at the moment?'

'How would I know? He never brings his women home!

Perez pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, sat down. 'What had Duncan done that night to upset you?'

The question shocked her. She considered it bad manners. But she decided to answer it anyway. Perhaps she felt the need to explain. She wanted him to understand.

'It wasn't anything specific. I realized that if! didn't leave then I'd never go. At this age I can just about carry it off. The relationship, I mean. Being the older woman. But when I'm sixty? It would be ridiculous. And I can't bear the idea of looking ridiculous! She stopped for a moment then continued, 'I've left him before, but I've always gone back to him. I'm an addict. It must be the same for alcoholics, trying to give up drinking. You think you've got it cracked, one glass won't hurt, then you're hooked again. This time it has to be for ever! She gave a little laugh.

'Sorry to sound melodramatic. He's just been on the phone. The third time today. It's very hard not to give in!

'He's upset!

'He'll get over it. He'll find someone young and pretty to console him!

She turned away, so he couldn't tell how she wanted him to respond to that. She poured coffee then faced him again. 'I would leave Shetland: she said, but I don't think I could bear that either. It wouldn't be fair to Michael. And it would kill me! Perez sipped coffee and waited. Eventually she continued. 'I married too early. I thought I loved Michael. My family considered him unsuitable, which made him more appealing of course. He's a very kind man and there wasn't much kindness in our family. In the end kindness isn't enough, but it was my mistake. I have to live with it! Perez said nothing.

'I would never have made the decision to break things off with Duncan if it hadn't been for the girl,' she said abruptly.

'The girl?' said Perez, though he knew exactly who she meant.

'The dead girl. Catherine!

'What could she possibly have said to make you leave Duncan?'

'She didn't say anything. But I saw myself suddenly through her eyes. A middle-aged woman giving up her life for a younger man who took her for granted. A fool!

'How did she do that?' The question came out as polite interest. He gave the impression he was sustaining the conversation. Nothing more.

'She was filming us. It was very discreet. She didn't hide the fact that she was doing it, but after a while everyone stopped noticing. You know those fly-on-the-wall documentaries on television? You look at people making idiots of themselves and you think, What are they doing? They must know the camera's running. But I could understand how that happens!

'Duncan mentioned the camera!

'Did he? He certainly featured in the film. He made an absolute fool of himself. Perhaps as the evening went on he forgot what she was doing. Or was too drunk to care what a spectacle he was making. I was aware of her all the time because I kept imagining how I would look in her film. Ridiculous. In the end I couldn't stand it. I told Duncan that it was over and walked out!

'Was that the only reason?' Perez's voice was tentative, apologetic. 'I thought you had a text message!

'Did I?' She was stalling for time.

'According to Duncan. He said you received a message on your mobile, read it and left immediately after!

'I'm sorry. I don't remember that.'

'Who else was Catherine filming?'

'She was filming the party. All the folk who were there!

'Robert then?'

Celia frowned. 'I suppose so. Along with everyone else!

'But they disappeared together for a while.

Catherine and Robert!

She set down her mug. 'Who told you that?'

'Does it matter?' She held his gaze and finally he conceded. 'Duncan. He said they went off together. She came back looking flushed and excited. Robert never returned. Soon after you had a text message and left!

'Well,' she said. 'Duncan's just making mischief.

You shouldn't believe what he says. He can't stand Robert. Never has been able to!

'Why not?'

'Who knows what goes on in Duncan's head? The boy was a nuisance to him when he was younger, because he was my responsibility. I put him first. Duncan sulked about that. It'll be interesting to see how he copes when Cassie's old enough to make demands on him. He adores her now that she's no trouble!

'And now that Robert's older, more independent?' She flashed a smile at him. 'Now he just reminds him of the age gap between us. He's much closer in age to Robert than he is to me!

'Does he have any other reason for disliking Robert?'

He saw then that he'd pushed her too far. She stood up, formidable and articulate in her anger. 'What is all this prying for, Jimmy? I've always thought it was an unpleasant way to make a living, setting yourself in judgement over your friends. Are you still jealous of Duncan? Is that what this is about?'

Perez had no answer for her. He felt shy and awkward, the boy from Fair Isle facing the Lerwick sophisticates in the Janet Courtney hostel at Anderson High.

She put him out of his misery. 'You'd better go,' she said, dismissing him. 'I won't answer any more questions without a lawyer!

When he walked back to his car he sensed her looking after him.

Sally had a free period and sat in the house room. A group of boys had pulled benches at an angle around a low table and were playing cards. There was music she didn't recognize coming out of the CD player. At one time she'd hated coming in here. She'd preferred to spend her free time in the library. Now it was hard to remember what it was that had so scared her about the place, why the stares and scowls of the insiders could cause such panic. She'd tried to explain to / Catherine. They hate me. 'Of course they don't hate you,' Catherine had said. 'They need you.

They wouldn't feel superior without someone to despise. They're inadequate!

Catherine hadn't cared. She'd walked over the posse's bags, taken their favourite seats, put her own music on the CD. She'd walked right up to them protected by her camcorder, pushing it into their faces, enjoying their hostility, catching it on film. Then she'd turned to Sally as if to say, See. The world hasn't ended. What can they do to you? And it had helped. Sally had been able to face them too. But it had never been easy.

Now Sally felt almost at home in the sixth-year house room.

She looked with pity at the outsiders who lingered in the corridor without finding the nerve to come in. She bitched to Lisa about them. Lisa was an easier friend than Catherine. She told Sally what she wanted to hear. Sally was tempted to tell her about Robert. They were sitting on their own in the corner of the house room, Lisa big and comfortable and sympathetic, lying back in the battered armchair.

She'd been out the night before and was moaning about her hangover. It was on the tip of Sally's tongue. Guess who I'm going out with? She knew Lisa would be dead impressed, longed to see her face when she heard. But whatever Lisa was, she wasn't discreet. It'd be all over the school in minutes. Sally couldn't risk it. She'd tell her parents in her own time, when she was ready.

Instead, she rooted in her bag and switched on her phone. There was a text message. Robert was back from the fishing and wanted to meet. She turned away from Lisa and hit the buttons. Babysitting for Fran Hunter 2nite. See me there? She felt a sudden thrill. It made it even more exciting, agreeing to meet Robert at Fran's house.

'Anything interesting?' Lisa asked. She had her eyes shut to show how rough she was feeling.

'No. Just about babysitting tonight!

She supposed she should feel guilty about arranging to meet Robert like that. Her mother would be horrified.

She didn't think Fran would mind though. Or her father. It came to her suddenly that perhaps he had a secret lover, that he arranged meetings like this of his own. She smiled at herself for being ludicrous. Even if he had the nerve for an affair someone would know about it. Word would have got' out. As it would about her and Robert eventually.

At lunchtime the weather seemed to lift and she thought she'd go out into the street to get something to eat.

Perez was standing in reception. He saw her coming down the corridor and waved at her.

'They've just sent someone to find you: he said. 'I was hoping for a chat!

'Why? I thought it was all over!

'Just a few more questions!

'I was on my way to lunch!

'I'll take you: he said. 'Let's go into town. My treat! He bought her fish and chips and they sat on a bench looking out over the harbour eating them. When he suggested it, she thought it wasn't much of a treat, but the fish tasted good and it wasn't so bad, being there, talking to him. Better than being in the house room, at least. The new Sally didn't get shy with strangers any more. She thought she'd been transformed, like the frog kissed by a princess in the fairy story. Though Robert made a pretty weird princess.

'You must miss her: Perez said. 'Catherine, I mean!

It was what her father had said too. She didn't like everyone thinking she'd been dependent on Catherine. She tried to choose her words carefully and to be as honest as possible. 'I'm not sure how much longer we'd have been close friends. I felt a bit overshadowed by her. She was too intense for me!

'In what way intense?'

'She questioned everything people said or did, dug around for the meaning behind it! She shrugged. At first I was impressed by that. After a bit it gets tedious. You just want to get on with your life!

'Is that what the film was about? Digging around?' 'Yeah, I suppose!

'Why didn't you mention the film she was making?'

'It was just a school project. No big deal! 'Important to her though?'

'You could say that. It mattered to her more than anything!

"Tell me about it!

'Why? I thought you'd arrested Magnus Tait:

'We have!

She waited for him to go into more detail, but he said nothing. He screwed up the chip paper into a ball and threw it into the bin.

'The film was like her comment on us. On Shetland!

'A documentary? I mean not a story. Factual!

'Her view of the facts! Sally knew she shouldn't sound so critical of a dead friend, but she couldn't help it. 'I mean, hardly objective!

'What was in it? Did she show you?'

'Bits!

'It wasn't finished then?'

'Just about!

'But you didn't see it all?'

'No. Like I said, just bits as she was making it. Shots she was specially proud of:

'Such as?'

'There was one scene filmed in the house room ,that's like the common room at school!

'I know: he said. 'I went there, don't forget!

'There are these two lads talking. They can't have realized she was filming them. People got used to her wandering around with the camera. Sometimes it was switched on. Usually it wasn't. We stopped taking any notice of her after a bit. These lads were talking about foreigners. You know sometimes in the summer we get visitors. . .

Not white people. . : She could tell she was flushing, felt as awkward as when Catherine had played the film to her. '.

. . And they were talking about how they hated foreigners and how Shetland's no place for them and what they'd like to do to them.

It wasn't so much what they were saying as how Catherine made them look on the film. I mean they looked really violent and mad: Sally paused. 'She said something like, I’ll have to get this to Duncan Hunter, won't I? Get him to include it in the latest tourist campaign. Show what a welcoming lot you Shetlanders are. She thought we were all like that. Ignorant, prejudiced, stupid. That was what the film would have showed:

'Did you see anything else?'

I think there might have been a piece about Mr Scott in it. I think she might have filmed that secretly. She talked about how she might do it. She'd put the camera into a bag with a gap in the seam. Then she said what a laugh it would be when she played it back in class. I'm not sure she would have done that though. You could never tell with Catherine. Sometimes she spoke in that really cruel way, but she didn't mean it. It was a weird kind of humour.

I don't think she deliberately set out to hurt people: Sally shook her chip paper and they were surrounded for a moment by gulls.

'Did she tell you what the scene with Mr Scott contained?'

'No. She said she didn't want to spoil the surprise:

Perez stood up to show that the meeting was almost at an end. Sally wondered what the conversation had really been about. At the car he paused. 'We can't find the camera or the disk. Do you know where it might be?'

Sally thought back to the last time she'd been in the big house in Ravenswick. 'She always kept the disk in a metal pencil box in her bedroom. She said if the house caught fire, it would have a chance of surviving. If it's not there, I don't know what she would have done with it:

When Sally got off the bus that evening, her mother was still in the school. She saw Sally walking across the yard and waved her to come in. Inside, there was the familiar smell of plasticine, floor polish and powder paint.

Sally hadn't enjoyed her time in the little school.

From the moment she started a couple of the older lads had made fun of her. They'd made her cry and she'd gone to her mother, who'd told her not to be a baby, but had shouted at the boys all the same. After that, every time her mother made an unpopular decision, somehow it was her fault. Snitcher Sally they'd called her. Her work got trashed when she wasn't looking and they tripped her up in the playground. She'd been a round dumpling of a girl in those days and that hadn't helped. Now, though, even Anderson High didn't seem so bad. She felt more in control than she had since starting there.

The children had been working on some painting to tie in with Up HeIly Aa. A Viking longboat in corrugated cardboard lay across several desks. They did the same display every year - Sally remembered it from her time in primary seven. Margaret Henry didn't have much imagination when it came to art.

'I need to get it up on the wall. Give me a hand will you?'

'You should get them to make torches to go with it. Collage. Anything red, orange or yellow they can cut out of magazines. Or something more shiny. Cellophane, wrapping paper.'

'Aye. Maybe I should.' Margaret stepped back to check that the boat was straight. Sally could tell she wouldn't get the kids to do anything different.

'Will Dad be home on time tonight?' 'No. A meeting in Scalloway.'

'I'm babysitting for Mrs Hunter.'

'I'd not forgotten.' Margaret wiped her hands on a paper towel. 'Let's hope the child doesn't play you up. She a handful, that Cassie Hunter. Full of herself.' Her attention was still on the longboat and she was talking almost to herself. 'There's something about her that reminds me of Catriona Bruce.'

Sally arrived at Fran's house carrying a bag with some books in and some make-up. This time she'd make a bit of an effort for Robert. Cassie was already in bed.

'She's knackered,' Fran said. 'Sometimes she gets a bit restless at night, but that's usually later. You shouldn't have any bother.'

Although Fran was only wearing jeans, you could tell she'd made an effort of her own before going out. She'd put on lipstick and Sally could smell perfume. She was wearing a silky top, close fitting, low cut. Sally would never have been able to get away with it, the size of her belly.

'It was good of you to come,' Fran said. 'I don't feel so bad asking now they've made an arrest, but it must make you think of Catherine.'

'I've been thinking about her all day. The inspector came to school at lunchtime to talk to me about her.'

. 'Oh?' Fran had been brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She stopped, the hand holding the brush poised over her head. Sally could tell she was dying to ask what he'd wanted, but didn't want to appear too nosy.

'Something about the film she was making.

Apparently it's gone missing,' Sally said.

Fran pushed the brush into a drawer and straightened her collar. 'She talked about the film. A project wasn't it?

A shame it's lost. It would be something to remember her by.'

'Aye.'

'There's a bottle of wine open in the fridge; Fran said at the door. She appeared suddenly reluctant to go. 'Help yourself. And to something to eat.' Then she seemed to convince herself that it would be safe to leave her child, grabbed hold of her bag and was gone. The house was quiet.

Sally was seldom alone in her own home at night.

Margaret didn't have any real social life and if she was out, it was usually at a meeting in the school, so close that Sally could hear the raised voices or polite clapping through the walls. The school seemed to insinuate itself into everything they did. She had spent tune in Catherine's house, but had never imagined herself living there. It was too big. Too grand. This place was different. She prowled around the room looking at the photographs and the sketches, checking out the music, imagining what it must be like to have your own place. Imagining what it would be like to live here with Robert.

In the fridge there was fancy French cheese, a plastic tub of black olives, a bag of salad. She poured herself a glass of white from the bottle in the door. If her mother noticed drink on her breath, she'd say Fran had insisted.

She drank it very quickly and the glass was almost empty when there was a gentle rap on the window. She turned in her chair and she saw him, his face squashed up to the glass, pulling a ridiculous face so he looked like a cartoon monster. She opened the door. He stood, filling the space between the door frame, holding the plastic tie round four beer cans.

'Where have you parked?'

'Don't worry. Round the back. There's a pull-in between the hill and the house. No one will see!

She liked the fact that he understood her need for secrecy, that he didn't mock her for it. 'Come in, come in,' she said. Much as the old man had done, when he'd invited her and Catherine into Hillhead at New Year.

Fran thought, when she arrived home, that Sally had had a man in the house. There was an unfamiliar smell. Nothing unpleasant. Certainly he hadn't been smoking, she wouldn't have allowed that. Perhaps it was aftershave. Did young men wear aftershave these days? She didn't mind that Sally had invited a boy in it must be a nightmare to be young here, no privacy, everyone knowing your business - but she wished the girl had had the nerve to ask. She was quite entertained by the notion that she might act as a sort of fairy godmother. And she hoped they'd been discreet. It wouldn't do for Cassie to wander in when they were having full-blown sex on the sofa.

Fran wouldn't-have minded an early night with a large glass of whisky - she had a lot to think about but Sally didn't seem eager to go.

'Cassie was fine: she said. 'Not a peep. I stuck my head round the door once just to check she was OK. She's a lovely girl. You must be very proud!

. And just because of that, Fran found herself opening another bottle of wine and offering a glass to Sally and settling down to chat. Catherine had never said anything flattering about Cassie.

'Did you have a good evening?' Sally asked.

Her eyes were very bright as she looked over the rim of her glass, and Fran remembered suddenly and quite vividly what it had been like to be sixteen. The irrational mood swings between elation and despair, the sense that no one older could possibly understand the intensity, the passion, the terror. She realized that Sally was staring at her, waiting for an answer.

'Very good, thank you.' And then, because obviously more was required, 'Because I went to art school, they thought I'd be able to fill in for the teacher. It was OK. Some of the students were very good.'

'Oh yeah, right. Well, anytime. . .'

'Next week, same day.' Now Fran had had enough.

She fumbled in her purse for a ten-pound note. 'Will you be OK walking down the hill by yourself? I'd drive you back, but I can't leave Cassie. I'll lend you a torch and watch you down from here. Make sure you get in safely.