Or you can phone your dad for a lift if you like, 'if you think he'll still be awake.'

'I'll walk,' Sally said. 'I'm not sure about Dad. He had a late meeting in Scalloway, but that should have finished hours ago. And don't worry about me. We're all safe, aren't we, now they've got Magnus locked up?'

But Fran stood in the porch and watched her down the hill. She had never worried about Catherine and wondered why she was bothering now. As Sally had said, Magnus was locked up. She told herself that she had a right to be nervous. She'd discovered two bodies. Here, in Shetland, where she'd believed nothing bad could happen.

Anyone would be nervous.

It was a clear night and although the moon was thin, she could see Sally's silhouette until it was lost behind Hillhead. Then she followed the spark of the torch all the way down the bank, saw it swinging around the bend in the road in front of Euan's house and disappear into the school. She saw a light go on in the schoolhouse kitchen window and at last she turned to go back inside.

Cassie was standing in the doorway to her room.

She was white and shaking, still half asleep. Fran put her arm around her and led her back to bed. 'It's all right,' she said, over and over. 'Just a nightmare. It's all right.' She lay beside her daughter on the bed and waited until her breathing was easy and regular again.

The next morning Cassie showed no sign that the nightmare had upset her. When Fran mentioned it casually she seemed not to know what she was talking about. But some clue to its cause came on the way to school when they passed Hillhead.

'That's where the monster lived,' Cassie said. 'What do you mean?'

'The monster who likes to kill little girls.'

'Who told you about that?'

'Everyone. Everyone's talking about it at school.'

'Magnus lived there. You remember Magnus. He gave you sweeties (sometimes. The police think he killed Catherine. And a little girl called Catriona. He's an old man who's done terrible things. But he isn't a monster.'

Cassie seemed slightly confused. 'The police think Magnus killed Catherine?'

'Yes.'

'But Catherine wasn't a little girl.'

Fran was starting to feel out of her depth. 'You mustn't think about it.'

'But-'

'Really, you shouldn't worry about it. Magnus has been locked up. He can't hurt anyone any more!

In the schoolyard Fran wondered if she should have a word with Mrs Henry, explain about the nightmare, the stories which were being passed around. But she suspected that the teacher already had her down as an over-anxious and neurotic parent. It was probably best not to make a fuss, she thought. She'd be able to help Cassie deal with it herself. Besides, she was looking forward to a day of uninterrupted work. The image of the ravens in the snow was still potent, perhaps because of the tragedy with which it was now linked in her head. The fire of the rising sun, the brilliant white snow and the black ravens, had haunted her since she'd first seen it. The picture contained the elements of traditional fairy story and primitive sacrifice. She hoped she'd make it as strong on canvas as it was in her imagination.

As she turned to walk back up the hill, she saw Euan through the big glass window at the front of his house. He was standing, looking out. He was wearing his spectacles, and had a dishevelled look which gave him the air of an absent-minded professor from a children's book. She thought he was too preoccupied to notice her, but she must have penetrated his thoughts, because suddenly he waved wildly at her. She climbed the path to his door.

'Come in: he said. 'I was just taking a break. You'll have some coffee with me! His depression seemed to have lifted. Now he seemed overtaken by a sort of manic need for activity. Close to she saw his face was drawn and his eyes were red. He hadn't shaved. Perhaps he hadn't slept all night.

'Taking a break? Are you working?'

'I'm going through Catherine's things! 'Oh Euan, do you need to do that now?'

'Absolutely,' he said. 'It's vital. I've only stopped because I felt I was losing concentration. Besides, I promised Inspector Perez that I would. Come along. I'll pour you some coffee, then we'll go upstairs!

He led Fran along a corridor at the top of the house to the room where Catherine must have slept. It was square, unnaturally tidy, except for files arranged in heaps on the bed. One of the drawers of a small filing cabinet was open and empty. A plain white blind covered the window and he was working in the light of an anglepoise desk lamp. Fran felt uncomfortable there. It made her think of a room in a private hospital. A mental hospital perhaps, where the doors would be locked.

'Do you mind?' She pulled up the blind and let in the cold morning light. There was a view down to the school and beyond to the bay. She could make out Mrs Henry through the schoolroom window, but the children were out of her line of sight.

She'd expected that he'd be going through the girl's clothes. This systematic search of her papers made no sense.

What did her school work matter now?

'What are you looking for?'

'The script to Catherine's film. At least, that was what I started looking for. It soon became clear that was missing too. She would have kept it with the disk, I think. She was a very organized young woman. Perhaps that was something I was able to teach her. The need for order. So anyone stealing the film would have taken the script too.

But there might have been notes, the scrap of an idea or a theme. Something which would point us in the right direction:

'I'm sorry,' Fran said. 'I don't quite understand: 'Catherine was making a film, a sort of project for school, a documentary:

'And you've lost the film?'

'No. Not lost. Definitely not that. The film has gone missing certainly. But it has been stolen. Not mislaid: 'How can you be sure?'

He looked up. 'I explained. She was an organized young woman. She never lost things. Certainly nothing as important to her as this. And the film has been wiped from her computer:

'Is it important?'

'Of course it's important. It provides a motive for her murder. It gives some sense to her death:

'You think Magnus Tait stole it?'

'Ah,' he said. 'Now you realize how important this is. It seems unlikely doesn't it? Possible perhaps that he stole the hard copy and the script. But I really can't see a man of his age and education wiping the material from her PC: Already his eyes had strayed back to the mound of paper arranged on the bed. She could tell that he was itching to get back to it. She thought if he was left here to go through it alone, he would lose all sense of perspective. And if she abandoned him, she would think about him all morning. It would be impossible to concentrate on the painting.

'Would you like me to help?'

'Would you?' He put his mug on the window sill and looked down at the bed. 'The police have just rung. The Bruces would like to visit. I suppose they’ll hope to catch some sense of their daughter here.

Especially if they've looked at her body, they'll need to be reminded of the girl she really was. I can understand that. But I don't want to be still working on this when they arrive.

You do understand? They think they know what happened to their child. Perhaps they're right. At least it must give them some peace. I'm planning to work through the files one drawer at a time.

I'm fairly sure the script isn't here. I looked for that last night. But I thought there might be something. Her original notes perhaps, something which might give us some sort of clue!

.

'Didn't she talk to you about it?'

'Not really in any detail. Not that I remember. I don't think I was a very good listener. Not after Liz died!

There was a silence broken by gulls calling outside. 'I think I'll sort the files out here,' he said, suddenly brisk and matter of fact. 'The project was only set in the second half of last term. Any work written earlier than that won't be relevant. The rest we can take downstairs and work on in more detail. Does that seem sensible?'

'Yes, very!

So they sat together on the narrow bed and went through the essays and the lesson notes, returning the early ones to the filing cabinet. It helped that Catherine had been meticulous. Every piece of work was dated. The rest they piled into a yellow plastic box, which Euan brought from a spare room and which might once have held her toys.

They were about to take it downstairs when the bell went in the school. Fran stood at the window for a moment and watched the children run out into the yard. She could see Cassie in her pink anorak. She seemed to stand alone, looking around her, then chased up to a pair of girls who were holding hands, and began to join in their game.

The yellow box stood in the centre of the kitchen table. Euan was filling the kettle, waiting for her to join him before he began the search. She thought it would be a complete waste of time, but didn't know how to tell him. In the brief glimpse she'd seen of the essays upstairs there'd been nothing relating to a film.

'Did Catherine have a school bag?' The thought had come to her suddenly. 'I mean, kids don't have satchels any more, but there must have been some thing she'd carry all her books in. Wouldn't the stuff she'd been working on most recently be in there?'

'It must be somewhere. Just a moment. I'll look:

He disappeared. He was gone for so long that Fran wondered if she should go to find him. At last he returned with a leather bag which looked very like an old-fashioned child's satchel, but which had been painted green, with a huge yellow flower stencilled on the flap. 'I'm sorry about that. I couldn't find it. In the end I phoned Mrs Jamieson.

She'd tidied it away in one of the cloakroom cupboards: He sat for a moment looking at it. 'I remember when Catherine bought it. Before we moved. It was from one of the little secondhand shops in the Corn Exchange in Leeds. I thought it was a bit of tatty nonsense, but she spent nearly a day painting it up.'

He unbuckled the flap and began taking out the contents an item at a time. There was a plastic Simpsons pencil case, three envelope files, a shorthand pad, a box of tampons and a few scraps of paper. His breathing was very laboured. Fran looked at him, was about to ask if he was feeling ill, but she could tell from his face that he probably wouldn't even hear her. He opened the pencil case. He tipped out a fountain pen, a couple of biros and some coloured pencils. A fine pen for drawing. Then he lay the shorthand pad in front of him and lifted the cardboard front cover.

At the top of the page was written in Catherine's fine hand English Assignment: Non-fiction/documentary.

Below, in spiky letters large enough to cover the rest of the page: FIRE AND ICE.

'That was what she was going to call it,' Euan said.

'Of course.'

'Isn't it a poem?'

'From Robert Frost. Just a minute.' He disappeared from the room but this time came back much more quickly. 'The book was on the table in her room downstairs. I'd seen it there.' He riffled through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

'It's a good title,' Fran said. She thought it would be a brilliant title for a painting as well as a film, had in her head again the ravens in the snow, with the big red ball of the sun behind them. 'What else is there in it?'

She reached out to take the notebook from him, but he set it back on the table out of her reach. 'Perhaps we could go through it together later,' he said. 'The idea that there might be something important in there is an incentive.

A reward for going through the rest of her files. We can't afford to miss something. You do understand?'

She wasn't sure she did understand such control, but she nodded and lifted a pile of paper from the yellow box.

She could tell how hard he was finding it to hold himself together and didn't want to push him over the edge. She started with detailed notes and three essays on Macbeth. It would be, she supposed, a sort of education. An hour later she had read everything in front of her. Besides Macbeth, she had struggled through Catherine's history notes on the Counter Reformation and psychology essays about gender stereotyping and peer pressure.

Her Shetland film was mentioned nowhere. Only an obscure visual reference showed that she was thinking about it all the time. In the margin of a set of notes and an essay plan there was the same recurring doodle. The first time Fran had dismissed it as an attractive pattern with no representational significance. When it was repeated she looked more closely. The design was so similar to the first that it looked like a logo. It showed an eight-sided crystal superimposed on a tongue of flame. Fire and Ice.

She showed it to Euan. He scrabbled back through his own pile of papers and came up with three more examples of the same design. 'I'd missed them altogether,' he said. 'I don't have your visual imagination, obviously. I was concentrating on the words.'

'Did you find anything?'

'No: he said slowly, reluctant to admit defeat. 'Nothing.'

'Wouldn't anything she was working on recently be in her bag? In the notebook which had the title or one of the envelope files! She was starting to lose patience with him. Why didn't he just look in the more obvious places? Was he waiting for her to go, so he could look at them by himself?

'Perhaps,' he said. He looked up from the table. 'Or perhaps I'm deluding myself and we'll never find out why she died!

She stretched out and scooped up the scraps of paper which had been crumpled in the bottom of the bag. The first was a ferry ticket. She gave it to him. 'She took the roll-on roll-off to Whalsay just before Christmas. Did she have a friend there?'

'I think I remember that. There was a party. Some lad from school, she said. I can't see that it has any significance!

'Then there's this. A supermarket till receipt! She stretched it out on the table, stroked it with her thumb to flatten it.

'Safeway's in Lerwick. Dated the day before her body was found. Did she do any shopping that day?'

'Not for me! He took it from her, frowning. 'None of those items turned up in the house. She wouldn't have bought sausages or the pie. She was practically a vegetarian and certainly never ate processed meat!

He turned the paper over. Fran saw writing on the back, but from where she was sitting couldn't make out what it said. He slid it along the table to her. 'Look what's scribbled on the back. It's Catherine's writing!

Fran read: Catriona Bruce. Desire or hate? 'What does it mean?'

'It's a reference to the same poem! He picked up the anthology again and read out loud, his voice shaking as if he'd suddenly aged,

'From what I've tasted of desire/I hold with those who favor fire./But if it had to perish twice,!1 think I know enough of hate/'To say that for destruction ice/Is also great. . !

'What is Catherine saying then?' Fran had forgotten her irritation with him. She was hooked by the puzzle.

Suddenly this had little to do with the reality of two dead girls. 'That Catriona was killed because someone desired her or hated her? Those emotions must lie at the root of most violence. And what does it have to do with the film?'

'Surely there's a more fundamental question! He sat upright in his chair. His voice was clipped, almost academic. 'Why was she interested in Catriona Bruce at all? I'd never heard of the girl until Catherine died. I think I knew that a family called Bruce lived here once, but not that the daughter had gone missing. Had Catherine discovered something about the girl's disappearance? If so, that might provide a powerful motive for her murder!

Fran sat looking at him, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was saying. It seemed absurd to read so much from a scribbled note, but he was right.

'Can we look at the rest of the notebook now? The other files from her bag?' She realized, too late, that she must sound very eager. He mustn't think she was treating his daughter's death as a game. She turned to Euan, hoping she hadn't offended him, but a noise outside had caught his attention.

'A car,' he said. 'It must be the Bruce family. I Wasn't expecting them just yet! He slipped the receipt into the notebook, pushed them both into the green leather bag and went to open the door. She put Catherine's books and essays back into the plastic box and stuck it under the table.

Kenneth and Sandra Bruce had expected the house to be the same as they remembered it and it was so different that they seemed lost. They wandered into the big room, looking around them like unsophisticated visitors to an art gallery, not sure exactly what response was expected of them.

'It's very nice,' Sandra said. 'Yes, very nice.'

Fran could tell that Euan's mind wasn't really on the encounter. He was still thinking about the receipt 'from Safeway's, the unread notebook. Perhaps that was his way of feeling close to the daughter he had lost. It was as if he thought Catherine was still trying to communicate with him. But to the visitors he must have appeared aloof, rather arrogant. Fran found herself playing the part of host, offering coffee, taking coats. There was a woman with them, a police officer in plain clothes. Perhaps they'd known her when they lived in Shetland, because they called her by her first name, Morag.

'Why don't you just look around by yourselves,'

Fran said at last. 'That will be all right, Euan, won't it?'

He looked up, startled. 'Yes, yes, of course.'

The son, Brian, had followed his parents in and had answered Fran's questions about coffee or a soft drink in monosyllables. He was a tall, ungainly boy who seemed embarrassed his size, the uncertain pitch of his voice.

Now, when they went off to look upstairs, he stayed where he was, sitting by the fire, cradling his can of Coke his huge hands, looking at his feet. Euan, standing by the big window and staring down to Raven Head, seemed not to realize that he was still there. Fran couldn't bear-the silence.

'I don't suppose you remember much of this: she said. 'You must have been quite young when you left!

He looked up at her. His chin was spattered with acne.

'I remember some of it very well: he said. 'The day Cat went missing. I remember that!

She waited for him to continue but he tipped back his head and took a swig from the can.

'It's the small details you remember, isn't it?' she said. 'Like, what you had for tea and what you were wearing!

He smiled and she saw that one day he might be good-looking. 'I was wearing a Celtic shirt. I don't know why, but I always supported Celtic!

'It was the summer holidays, wasn't it? No school! 'I hated school!

'Did you?' She would have liked to ask why, but didn't want to frighten him back into silence.

'Maybe that was down to Cat. She really hated it, put me off before I started!

'Why did she have such a bad time there?'

He shrugged. 'Mrs Henry didn't take to her. That's what my parents said. You know they talk about stuff and they think you're not listening or you're too young to understand. My Dad wanted to move her to a different school.

He said she'd never get on at Ravenswick, with Mrs Henry on her back all the time.

Mum said it would be awkward. How would they explain it to her?' He looked up at Fran. 'They weren't like friends, not really. But neighbours, you know, calling in on each other. You can see it would have been difficult, moving Cat. Like saying, We think you're a crap teacher. After, when Cat ran off, Mum blamed herself. She thought if she'd found a different school Cat would still be here. Dad said that was daft. It was the holidays. The last thing she'd be thinking of would be school!

'Why didn't Mrs Henry take to her?' And what happens if she takes against Cassie?

'Dunno. Cat was always kind of fidgety. Like she'd never sit still or do as she was told. She always wanted people to look at her!

'That must have been a bit difficult for you!

'Not really. I didn't want anyone looking at me! He paused. 'Mrs Henry thought she should see someone.

I dunno. A psychologist. Someone like that. Dad was furious. He said there was nothing wrong with Cat. She just got bored easily. Mrs Henry couldn't handle a bright child! He smiled again. 'That was something else I wasn't supposed to hear!

The Bruces had moved upstairs. Fran could hear their footsteps on the ceiling, faint voices. They must be in Euan's bedroom now, the bedroom where they had slept, had conceived their children. She thought Brian had finished speaking, but despite all the changes, the house must have triggered memories for him. 'That day she went missing she was getting under Mum's feet. It was a sunny, blowy kind of day and Mum was washing curtains. I remember her in here standing on a chair, taking the curtains down. The window was smaller then, but it was still an awkward job.

Cat was running around and knocked into the chair. Mum fell and the fabric ripped. Mum screamed at us both to go outside and play! He paused. 'She'd already put one load of washing on the line. Towels and pillow cases.

I can see them in my head, the wind sort of tugging at them. Weird isn't it how pictures stick in your head?'

'Like a film: Fran said, thinking of Catherine. 'Aye. Just like a film!

'Is that when Cat ran off?'

'No we played for a bit. Some game. Cat would have been in charge. She always was. Then she started picking flowers from the garden. There were a few growing in the shelter of the house. Mum's pride and joy. I told her she'd get into trouble. She said they were for Mary and Mum wouldn't mind. She'd told her to be kind to Mary!

'Mary was Magnus's mother? Lived at Hillhead?'

'She was really old: he said. 'I thought she must be like a hundred years old, because Magnus was old and she was his mother. But I guess he was about sixty and she would have been in her eighties. Then Cat tied one of her ribbons in a bow round the flowers and ran up the hill with them. I went down to the beach. There were some other kids there. Mum must have thought Cat was with me, because she came down to call us up for our tea! He paused.

'The rest of it is all a blur. That's all I remember clearly!

They heard Sandra and Kenneth Bruce come downstairs, their feet loud on the bare wooden steps.

"They hovered in the doorway, Morag standing behind them. Sandra was holding a handkerchief to her eyes.

'Come on, son: Kenneth said. 'We're away now!

Brian stood up, nodded to Fran and to Euan who had turned back to face the room, and followed them out. Euan didn't see them to the door. Fran walked with the family to the car and felt she had to apologize for his rudeness.

'It's been a terrible shock for Mr Ross: she said. 'I'm sure you can understand!

When she returned to the house Euan was already sitting at the kitchen table. He'd placed the green bag in front of him and had taken out the notebook. It lay, unopened on the table. He was staring at it. He waited until she'd joined him then reached out to open it. His hand was trembling. She was sitting very close to him, so she could read at the same time. Under the smell of coffee, his breath was slightly sour.

The first page they'd already seen. FIRE AND ICE, not written as much as drawn, very big, designed as if the letters had been formed from icicles. On the next page it was written again, but this time each word was linked to other words and phrases, a sort of brainstorming chart. From Fire came passion, desire, madness, midnight sun, Up Helly Aa, sacrifice. Ice was linked to hate, repression, fear, dark, cold, winter, prejudice. The lines joining the words were thick and strong.

'Her themes for the film, I suppose: Euan said. 'Perhaps she hoped to link visual images with some sort of exploration of those emotions: Fran said. 'Something to do with the extremes of landscape and light? An ambitious project!

Euan looked up from the paper, sensitive to any implied criticism. 'She was sixteen. You're allowed to be ambitious when you're sixteen!

He turned the next sheet of paper. There was nothing there. He flicked through the remaining pages. They too were empty. He threw the book away from him and smashed his hand palm down on to the table. The violence of the response scared her. 'That doesn't give us enough: he said. 'I need to know what happened to her!

Fran didn't know what to do. This was a grown man in the middle of a temper tantrum and she could hardly tell him to snap out of it and pull himself together. 'We haven't finished: she said. 'There are the envelope files from the bag. Why don't we look at those?'

He stood up and she thought he was going to walk out and leave her there alone. She'd heard the patronizing tone in her own voice and wouldn't have blamed him. Instead, he went to the sink, ran the tap, cupped cold water in his hands and threw it on to his face. Still wiping his hands on a towel, he returned to the table. 'You're right,' he said. 'Of course, you're right! He was quite calm. The outburst had shocked her, but now it was hard to believe it had happened. 'Let's look in the files!

There were three of them. One was labelled history, one psychology and one English. Fran let Euan make the choice. He flicked through the first two and discarded them quickly. They were recent lesson notes, handwritten.

The English file was very thin. She was worried that it would be empty. Then she saw on the outside of the cardboard a series of the FIRE AND ICE doodles. He opened the envelope file and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

It was A3 size, folded into two so it fitted in the file. He spread it out and stood beside her, so they could look at it together.

At first Fran could make nothing of it. She thought this must just have been a first attempt to capture random thoughts and ideas on paper. The sheet was divided up into small boxes. Each rectangle had a series of sketches in black ink. There were scribbled words. It seemed unlike Catherine's usual, organized way of working. The writing was cramped and almost unintelligible.

'What do you think?' Euan said. Then, becoming more desperate. 'This is all there is. This is all we have to work on!

'It could be a storyboard,' she said. 'Each scene drawn out visually. Not exactly that, because sometimes she uses words instead, but a plan for how she'd like the film to turn out!

'A master plan. So she'd know what scenes she needed to shoot!

'Perhaps!

She focused on one square at a time, blocking out the others around it with her hands and a blank sheet of paper torn from the back of the pad. 'How does it start? This is a sketch of the ravens. Really they're very good. So the film would start here, at home. At least I guess that's it! She moved on to the next one. 'Does this mean anything to you?'

'It says "house room". That's what they call the sixth-form common room at school. A scene there, I Suppose!

'And this?'

He shook his head. 'A couple of stick figures which could have been drawn by a child. It obviously meant something to her. A sort of shorthand perhaps. It doesn't say anything to me. But this plan gives us something to go on. It should be possible to work out what she intended.'

Fran thought it unlikely they'd ever be certain what Catherine had in mind, but didn't say so. She was pleased that Euan's mood seemed to have lifted. She moved slowly on. In one square they made out representations of sheep, in another seals. Perhaps those images were to provide a background for her voiceover. She couldn't see how they fitted with her themes of ice and fire.

There were initials scattered throughout the grid. Most meant nothing to her. Then she came across RI. She didn't expect Euan to pick up on it, but he did. 'Robert Isbister,' he said. 'That could be Robert Isbister.' 'It could be lots of other people too.'

'But Inspector Perez asked me about him. He asked if I knew him. He'd seen his van out here one night. But that was after Catherine died so I suppose it's hardly relevant.'

Unless he'd come here to steal the film and the script, Fran thought. That could have happened after the murder.

Euan didn't start looking for the film until several days after that. But she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn't want to explain how she knew Robert. What would she say? He's the grown-up son of my husband's middle-aged lover? In the same box as the initials something else had been scribbled.

'What do you think this is?' In the storyboard, Catherine's writing was much less clear. It was as if she'd wanted to get down her ideas very quickly, before she lost track of them.

Euan turned the page so he could see it more clearly. 'A date. January 3rd. It looks as if it's been added. Isn't it in different ink?' He straightened, stretched. 'We must be missing something. I can't see anything here which would lead someone to murder her.'

'Perhaps there is nothing.' It sounded brutal, but she didn't know how else to say it. 'Perhaps Magnus Tait was responsible all the time. Perhaps the film and the script aren't in the house, because she'd finished it. She took it into school at the end of last term and left it there. Perhaps we should have checked before putting you through all this.'

'No,' he said 'I can't accept that. If the film was edited and complete in the middle of December why the date, the third of January? Why the reference to Up Helly Aa in the notebook? That doesn't happen until the middle of January.' He picked up the receipt with its own message. 'Why the interest in Catriona Bruce?'

'This isn't for us to decide.' Fran thought he would go quite mad if he kept on with it, imagined him sitting up for another night, reading conspiracies and hidden messages into words which had been thrown down almost carelessly. 'You have to show this to Jimmy Perez. He'll know what to do with it.'

His reaction shocked her again. He stood up so suddenly that his chair tipped behind him. 'No: he said. 'This is my business. It has nothing to do with the police.' Then he must have realized that he'd frightened her. He picked up the chair, sat down and became again the courteous and controlled teacher. 'I'm sorry. Of course you're right. But I'll have to take a copy before I give it to them. It seems so intimate, this writing. I can't bear the thought of people going through it. It's another sort of violation!

Magnus sat in the police cell. There would be one more court appearance before he was transferred to the prison on the Scottish mainland, though he hadn't quite grasped that. He knew sometime he would be moved and every time an officer approached, the keys rattling on his belt, boots firm on the tiled floor, Magnus thought the time had come for him to leave Shetland. Sometimes he thought the future was like an enormous black wave waiting to drown him. But it was worse than that. A wave he could understand.

He couldn't swim so he would never survive, but he could understand it. This was unknowable, blank. He was so terrified about moving that when the door opened for his food to arrive, or for his lawyer to visit, he began to shake. No one could get any sense out of him and they'd given up talking to him.

Outside it was raining. He could hear the rain on the window, but it was too high for him to see outside. In his head, it was summer, and he was cutting hay, using a scythe in the old way, because they had so little land that it wasn't worth the fuss of asking a neighbour with a machine for help. He stopped to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. There was a stiff westerly, blowing the waves beyond Raven's Head into white peaks, but the effort of bending and cutting had made him hot. He could see a small child dancing up the hill.

She was carrying flowers tied with a ribbon, which streamed out behind her. He leaned the scythe carefully against the wall. He'd been working since breakfast. He'd thought he'd get the field done before he stopped, but now he decided he'd take a short break, have a cup of tea and one of those griddle scones his mother had baked the day before.

Outside in the passage there were shouts. He couldn't make out the words - he'd been lost in his daydream. Two constables calling to each other. He held his breath, grew dizzy with panic, but it must just have been a bit of fun.

There was a sudden burst of laughter and he heard them move away into the office. He began to breathe again.

He'd talked to Catherine about Catriona, that last time she'd come to visit, the day he'd gone to Safeway's and he'd seen her on the bus. He hadn't meant to. He'd just asked her in for tea. She'd wanted tea. Not a dram, it had been too early for that, she'd said. But she was dying for a cup of tea.

She'd taken his picture. First outside, with him standing by the house and looking down towards the school.

Then in the house, swinging the camera all around and stopping for a while next to the raven, pointing it very close to the bars of the cage. Since they'd locked him up, Magnus had thought every now and then about the raven and about how maybe it would have been better to kill it as soon as he'd found it injured. Maybe that would have been kinder than keeping it shut in.

Catherine had shown him the pictures she'd taken, pointing to them on a little screen. 'Look Magnus, you're on television: But his eyesight hadn't been good lately and he hadn't been able to make out the images.

They seemed to be jumping up and down in front of him, and how could photos do that? He pretended he could see, though, because he didn't want to hurt her. He'd thought she would go then, but she sat down in his mother's chair, lying back as if she was exhausted. She'd taken off her coat and thrown it on the floor beside her. She was wearing trousers, black trousers, very wide at the bottom. His mother had never worn trousers in her life, but in the warm there as the light started to go outside, it was almost like talking to his mother.

Why had he started talking about Catriona? Because the girl had been in his mind a lot since New Year when Sally and Catherine had tumbled into his house. They were older than Catriona, more like women than girls with their shiny lips and the black lines around their eyes, but they made him feel the same. It was the giggling and the fast way of talking and the way they played with their hair. Catherine's tiny feet and skinny wrists, Sally's soft plump arms, their bangles and beads.

But now Catherine sat in his mother's chair, with her legs crossed and her stockinged feet stretched towards the fire and she didn't giggle. She asked gentle questions and listened to his answers. He forgot his mother's words Tell them nothing and he described what happened that day after Catriona came to call.

Later, of course, he regretted it. Later, he knew he'd done wrong.

They sat in Jimmy Perez's house. Somehow Taylor was still in Shetland. Perez wasn't sure how he'd managed to get out of returning to Inverness. He'd avoided phone calls, talked vaguely about taking a few days leave, said his back was playing up, made excuses about details of the case. Still some loose ends to tie up. The same excuses Perez made when he tried to explain what he was doing still looking into Catherine Ross's murder. Because that was all over, wasn't it? The old man was in custody. Any day now he'd be sent south and they could forget all about it until the case came to court.

Only Perez couldn't forget it. And neither could Taylor. Which was why they were sitting here, in Perez's house, and not at the police station, where Taylor might be caught lying down the phone to his superiors in Inverness. And it was why any resentment Perez might have had about an outsider coming in and taking over the case had evaporated. Rank didn't matter any more. They were allies.

Outside the weather had changed again, brightened up a bit. The rain had stopped and the wind had eased. The forecast for January 25th was for high pressure and frost. That would be fine for Up Helly Aa, a clear night so you could see the bonfire for miles. In town that was what the talk was about - the boat, the procession and who would lead it - and already the tourists had started to arrive.

They were sitting in the wood-panelled room and a milky sun was reflected from the water. Perez had made coffee, a big cafetiere which was supposed to last them, but which was already nearly empty and anyway was cold.

The cafetiere and two mugs stood on a tray on the floor. On the low coffee table lay the notebook, the big sheet of paper with Catherine's plan for her film and the crumpled Safeway's receipt.

Euan Ross had brought them in the night before. He'd come straight from the library where he'd taken copies. I know her writing better than you do. Something might suddenly make sense to me. The paper and notebook had been in a clear plastic A4 envelope, which he'd held away from his body, gingerly, like a bomb. He'd refused to hand it over to anyone else in the police station.

When Taylor picked up the receipt Perez wanted to take it from him. The Englishman's hands were so big that Perez was afraid he might damage it and already the print from the till was faint. Taylor looked at the note in Catherine's writing. Catriona Bruce. Desire or hate? Then he turned it over.

'It's dated January 4th and timed ten fifty-seven,' Perez said, trying to keep his voice calm, hoping Taylor would replace the scrap of paper. 'The purchases are listed: oatcakes, milk, tea, biscuits, economy pork sausages, a steak pie for one, two tins of peas, two tins of beans, a white sliced loaf, a ginger cake and a bottle of Famous Grouse. I've been to Magnus's house. . : Not for the first time. He'd been there the day after the old man's arrest, carried out the raven in its creaky old cage and taken it to the woman in Dunrossness to care for.

He hadn't told his colleagues about that. They thought him daft enough as it was. But he couldn't just leave it there to starve and he couldn't hit it on the head either. He returned his attention to the receipt. 'There were two sausages of the same brand in his fridge along with the pie, one tin of beans is in his pantry, the other, empty, is in his rubbish bin-'

'OK,' Taylor interrupted. 'So the receipt belonged to Magnus: Finally he replaced the paper on the table. Perez felt himself relax.

He continued, 'The date, of course, is most significant. January 4th. The day before Catherine's body was found.

The day they met up on the bus. Catherine scribbled a note on the receipt when she was in Magnus's house.

Something she wanted to remember. We'll come back to that. She took it with her, must have done because Euan found it in her room. That means she must have been alive when she left Hillhead:

'It doesn't mean Magnus didn't kill her,' Taylor said. 'He could have followed her to the Ross house. Or arranged to meet her outside. We always thought it most likely she was killed where she was found. Almost certain, the pathologist said:

'Aye,' Perez said. 'Maybe. But why would he follow her? Why kill her?'

'Because he'd talked to her about Catriona Bruce. He must be a lonely man. Living all on his own in that house since his mother died. Suddenly he had company, someone sympathetic, wanting him to talk, listening to him.

Perhaps she had her own reasons for encouraging him to speak. She wanted his stories for her film. Perhaps she was just a nice kid who felt sorry for him. And the temptation was too much for him. perhaps he'd had a whisky or two and that loosened his tongue. Whatever:

'I can see that,' Perez said. 'I can even see him killing her afterwards to keep the whole thing quiet.

But I can't see him going into the Ross house, searching her room and finding the disk, finding the script and wiping all trace of it from the PC. I don't get that:

They sat looking at each other for a moment in silence. Taylor stretched, shuffled in his chair. He'd told Perez he had a bad back, disc trouble, that was why he couldn't sit still, but Perez wasn't convinced. It was the man's mind that didn't know how to rest, not his body.

'So what do we do about it?' Taylor said. 'Time's running out for me. I've promised I'll be back at the end of the week. Any longer than that and they'll start talking about a disciplinary:

'I'm going to take another trip to the Anderson,' Perez said. 'Check she didn't hand the film in early, give it to a friend to look at. If the film is safe we have to let the whole thing go. Like you said, the note on the back of the receipt incriminates Magnus. It shows he talked to her about Catriona. Euan says there's no other way she could have known about the girl:

'Taylor stood up, lifting the plan with both hands on his way. He carried it to the window, where the light was better. 'This is crazy,' he said. 'I mean, submit this as evidence and they'll think she was psychotic. What does it mean? Some sort of secret code? It's like that writing the Egyptians used. Hieroglyphs:

'Euan thinks it was a way of planning the laying out the scenes in the right order!

'Can you make anything of it?'

'They think she was using the Robert Frost poem 'Fire and Ice' as a framework for the film!

'They?' Taylor frowned.

'Mrs Hunter was with Euan when he went through it!

'For Christ's sake! She found both bodies! If the case was more open she'd be a fucking suspect: He prowled away from the window. Perez knew he was right to be disturbed, but couldn't see Fran killing anyone. He thought of her sometimes, late at night, when the wind blew rain against his window. He imagined her curled up by the fire, Cassie on her knee, reading stories.

.

Perez got to his feet and went to the bookshelf. There was a collection of verse he'd had since school.

'It was stolen, still had the Anderson High stamp inside. He hadn't meant to steal it, he just hadn't got round to taking it back when he left. It had been packed into boxes with all his other books when he left home. Would it get packed again and sit on a shelf in Skerry, in the room with the big window looking south over Fair Isle?

He looked at the index and found 'Fire and Ice', handed it to Taylor. 'Well, what do you think?'

Taylor was unusually still for several minutes. He stood by the window, hunched over the book, ferocious in his concentration on the poem. At last he straightened. 'I don't know which is most destructive,' he said. 'But ice is worse!

'What do you mean?'

'I can understand violence coming out of fire. lack of control. I'm not saying I condone it. But it makes sense to me.

Someone suddenly losing their temper. That blind rage. But violence which is cold and calculating, planned in advance. Icy. That must be worse, mustn't it?'

Perez was going to say that the result for the victim would be much the same, but Taylor was still gripped in some thought or memory, and he realized he'd be wasting his words.

When Perez got to the high school, the bell had just gone for afternoon lessons. He stood at the main entrance until the crowds had cleared and the corridors were empty. At the office he asked if Mr Scott was teaching. He didn't have to identify himself. The secretary had worked there since he was a boy. She looked at him over the glasses with blue plastic rims which she'd always worn, then checked a timetable pinned to the wall. 'No. Free period. You should find him in the staff room! She'd never been friendly.

Scott was sitting at a desk with his back to the room marking exercise books. When Perez had knocked at the door a woman had shouted angrily, 'Yes, what is it?' She'd expected a child to be standing there and seeing Perez she was embarrassed. She said something about talking to the head and left Perez and Scott alone. Scott put down his red pen and half stood.

'Inspector,' he said. 'What can I do for you?' He seemed more at ease than when Perez had last been in the school. Perhaps he'd had time to get over his grief at Catherine's death or perhaps he thought Magnus's arrest meant that there would be no more awkward questions about his relationship with the girl.

'Just a few loose ends!

'Of course. 'Tea?'

Perez nodded and sat on one of the low orange chairs. Again, he had the sensation of being an impostor. He shouldn't be here. He should be waiting outside, a piece of late work in his hand.

'It's about Catherine's film!

'Last term's project. I'd set the group a piece of documentary writing. They had to capture the spirit of contemporary Shetland. She asked if she could make a film instead. She said she would produce the script to go with it, so I agreed!

'Last term's project. She handed it in before Christmas, then, did she?'

Scott handed Jimmy a mug of tea. It looked very pale. Perez knew before trying that it would have no taste.

'Not exactly!

Perez thought he had preferred the English teacher when he was nervous. This new pompous confidence was more irritating. He waited and eventually Scott continued.

'She asked for an extension. Usually she was good about meeting deadlines and she'd obviously been enthusiastic about the film, so I was surprised:

'Did she make the request before your romantic encounter or afterwards?'

Scott looked suddenly furious, which was what Perez had intended, but the teacher kept control. When he spoke his voice made it clear he thought Perez's comment unworthy of a response.

'It was just before she came to my flat. I'd already agreed to give her more time. There was no possibility that she was putting pressure on me to fall in with her request!

'What reason did she give for needing an extension?'

'She wanted to include a piece about Up Helly Aa.

'To outsiders the Viking fire festival is emblematic. I could see that it would be an interesting addition to the film. I did insist though that she let me have a synopsis before the end of term. There was already some petty jealousy around Catherine. I didn't want more accusations of favouritism!

'And did she give you the synopsis?'

'Not in person, no. I've already explained that I didn't see her during the last few days of term. She must have come into the staff room when it was empty, or given it to another member of staff. I found it in my pigeon hole in here:

'Could I see it please?'

He thought for a moment the teacher would refuse, but Scott only sighed deeply at the interruption, and asked Perez to follow him to the English department. His classroom was in the old part of the building. It seemed colder in there despite the pale sunshine coming through the dusty skylight. Perez followed him downstairs and into an empty room. Scott opened a cupboard and pulled out a thick box file. 'I've been collecting together all Catherine's work. I thought Euan might like to have it! He set the file on a table at the front of the room and looked at it for a moment before opening it.

For some reason Perez had been expecting the synopsis to be in the same cramped handwriting as the editing plan, but it had been typed on a computer. There was the same title, Fire and Ice, in bold at the top. He read it slowly, aware that Scott was watching him.

This film uses the stereotypical images of Shetland landscape and history and subverts them to comment on contemporary life on the islands. There is no narrative line; rather the pictures and real conversations are cut to allow the viewer to come to his or her own conclusion about the values which shape this unique community. The story is told by real Shetlanders, native and incomers, in their own words. My voice-over sets the scene and. the tone. It makes no moral judgement.

'Is this all there is?' Perez said. 'Not much of a synopsis is it? I mean there's not much detail.'

'Quite,' Scott said. 'A point I intended to make to Catherine when I saw her. Unfortunately I didn't have 'that opportunity.'

Walking out of the main gate, Perez caught a glimpse of Jonathan Gale, the lad who'd given Catherine and Sally a lift on New Year's Eve. He increased his pace and caught him up.

'Hi. How are things?'

The boy shrugged. 'I'll be glad to leave. University next year. I've got a place at Bristol. I can't wait.'

'You're bound to be upset about Catherine. Losing someone you cared about.'

'I don't know why. She just set out to make a fool of me.'

Perez thought suddenly he knew what Jonathan meant. 'New Year's Eve. Was Catherine with Robert Isbister?'

He thought she'd been flaunting herself with Robert to make a point.

Jonathan gave a bitter laugh. 'No. It was nothing like that. Robert was all over Sally in the car, not Catherine. It was horrible actually. I didn't know where to look.'

So then Perez wondered if it had been Robert who'd been making the point. Some attempt to make Catherine jealous perhaps? Surely he hadn't been so obsessed by the girl that he'd been driven to kill her.

Cassie wanted to spend January 25th with her father. He always celebrated Up Helly Aa on the same day as the festival in Lerwick. There was a big bonfire on the beach then everyone went back to the Haa. It wasn't like the big show for the tourists in Lerwick. It was a community gathering. Fran rejected the plan out of hand. Up Helly Aa at Duncan's place was a piss-up. The party to end all parties. How could Duncan take responsibility for a child, especially without Celia to keep him on the straight and narrow?

It was Sunday afternoon and Duncan had taken Cassie to Unst to visit an elderly uncle. Now they stood on Fran's doorstep arguing but trying to keep their voices civilized because Cassie was inside watching television.

'Come on: he said. 'She'll love it. It'll take her mind off everything that's been going on here.'

'You must be joking.' Fran had a nightmare vision of Duncan's Up Helly Aa from a small child's perspective.

She imagined Cassie abandoned on the beach looking up at the towering strangers around her while Duncan was playing with his mates. The flames would throw odd shadows on to their faces. Cassie already dreamt enough about monsters. 'She'd be terrified. And you'd be too drunk to look after her properly.'

His face paled and he blinked violently as if he'd been slapped. She stepped away, expecting an angry outburst, but when he spoke it was almost in a whisper. 'Do you really think that badly of me?'

Then he turned and walked away without a word, not even calling in to Cassie to say goodbye. Fran watched him go with a stab of guilt. Perhaps she'd misjudged him. Should she call him back and tell him Cassie could go with him if he promised to take care of her? But then he'd always found ways to manipulate her. Perhaps guilt was just the response he'd been working for.

He must already have promised Cassie she'd be spending Up Helly Aa with him, because back in the house that was all she could talk about. He'd have talked it up. He had a knack of conjuring magic with his words. When Fran made it clear the trip wasn't going to happen Cassie had a major tantrum. She threw herself on to her bed, sobbing, gasping for breath, scaring Fran into thinking she was having some sort of seizure. There were words too, tangled, pushed out hysterically between the sobs. [I’ll never be able to go to school again. Everyone else is going to Up Helly Aa. We painted the galley. Jamie's uncle is in the Guizer Jarl's squad. What shall I tell them? What will they think?

The hair around her face was matted with tears. Fran stroked it from her cheeks and her forehead. 'We'll go into Lerwick,' she said. 'We'll look at the procession and see the boat being burned. That's the real Up Helly Aa. More exciting than a bonfire on the beach at the Haa!

The crying stopped abruptly. There were a couple of dramatic shudders. Fran found herself wondering if a skill to manipulate was carried in the genes, transferred of course through the paternal line.

It seemed Euan Ross had been thinking about Up Helly Aa too. The next day Fran called in on him after she had dropped Cassie at school. He made her coffee and took her into the living room with its huge pointed window looking over the bay.

'According to the police Catherine hadn't finished her film. She'd asked for an extension so she could include the fire festival. It would fit with the theme, wouldn't it?'

Fran saw that he had thought of nothing else since he'd found the notebook and the storyboard. Ideas about his daughter's death were fizzing in his brain, stopping him sleeping or eating, driving him slowly crazy. He'd stuck the plan on the kitchen wall and while he was making the coffee he couldn't take his eyes off it. She was about to ask if he'd seen a doctor, but he started talking again.

'I knew Catherine had been to the library to research the history of Up Helly Aa. She was very scathing about it.

All men, of course, in the squads, which must have seemed impossible today to an independent young woman. The festival started off, it seems, as some sort of game. In the eighteenth century they rolled burning barrels of tar through the streets of Lerwick to celebrate midwinter. It sounds remarkably dangerous. Catherine would have been there tomorrow. We discussed it, though I didn't realize it had anything to do with her film.

She would have been more interested, I suspect, in the ridiculous incidents surrounding the event than in the spectacle itself: He seemed caught up again in his own thoughts, then turned from the window to look at Fran. 'I'll probably go into Lerwick tomorrow night. I told Catherine I'd be there. It was one of the last conversations we had.

It must sound foolish but I feel as if I made some sort of commitment. It wouldn't have mattered to her either way, but I said that I'd be there so I think I should!

'You're welcome to come with us. I've promised Cassie I'll take her. The other kids at school are so excited about it she'd feel left out if she wasn't there!

'No,' he said slowly. 'That's very kind but I don't think I'd be good company!

There was an awkward silence. She thought he was in a mood when he'd prefer to be alone, but she didn't think it would be good for him to be left with his obsession. Besides, she still had half a mug of coffee left and wasn't sure how she could leave without embarrassing them both.

'What are your plans?' she asked at last. 'For the future I mean. Will you stay here? Or will you sell up and move south?'

'I can't think that far ahead! His attention seemed caught by a small boat crossing the bay and she saw he couldn't think of anything else at the moment. He could only focus on prising meanings from his daughter's writings which might explain her death.

'Do you think Inspector Perez is an intelligent man?' he asked suddenly.

She considered for a moment. 'I think I'd trust him to get things right. He seems to have an open mind at least!

'I showed him all the information we discovered about Catherine's film. The receipt and the jotter. The plan. He has everything. I only have copies!

She saw how hard it must have been for him to relinquish the scraps of paper.

'Fire and Ice,' he went on. 'I hope the detective picked up its full significance. I tried to explain. . !

She didn't know what to say. How could she speak for Perez? Anyway she wasn't sure she understood entirely what Catherine had wanted to achieve with the film. It probably had no significance at all. Ross was constructing an elaborate theory from a poem and a piece of homework.

He continued, almost to himself. 'There was ice the night Catherine was killed of course. Ice. Cold hatred.

Destructive. And tomorrow night is the fire festival. Fire for passion. . ! She waited for him to go on, but he seemed to realize he was rambling. 'Probably nothing: he said. 'Nothing sinister at all. An excuse for men to dress up in silly costumes and show off. And then drink too much!

When she said she would show herself out, she wasn’t sure whether or not he had heard her.

It was Monday morning and Sally woke up in the dark, switched on the bedside light, felt for her alarm clock and looked at the time. From the kitchen she heard her mother, the shutting of a cupboard door, the rattle of a spoon in a mug. Her mother seemed to get up earlier every morning, though there was nothing more for her to do.

Preparation for school was completed every night before bedtime - the pile of orange exercise books marked and neatly arranged. Why couldn't she chill occasionally? Sometimes Sally even felt sorry for her. She had no friends after all. Only the parents who were frightened of her.

In the bathroom Sally looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. Smiled. The zit on the side of her nose had gone. Monday morning and she felt OK. The stomach cramps, the migraine, the panic of the old days had gone.

Now she almost looked forward to going to school and meeting everyone. She stood in the shower and tilted back her head so she could wash her hair.

Over breakfast her mother seemed distracted. She'd allowed the porridge to stick to the pan and there was no bread left in the freezer for toast. Sally poured muesli into a bowl, added milk, dreamed of Up Helly Aa. It would be a great night for Robert, supporting his father as the Guizer Jarl, following him in the procession through the streets of Lerwick and around the community halls. She should be with him.

Of course she'd be in town for the procession and the burning of the galley. That wasn't a problem. Her parents had taken her into Lerwick to see the spectacle since she was a baby. But as soon as the fire died down they would want her to leave town and go home with them. 'Tomorrow night there was no way she'd be back in Ravenswick, tucked up in bed in the school house by ten o'clock. No way.

'I'm babysitting for Mrs Hunter again tonight!

'Oh?' Margaret was at the sink, scrubbing the burnt pan. Her bare elbows looked red and bony like uncooked chicken thighs. Sally wasn't even sure her mother had taken in the words. Radio Shetland was on in the background.

An excited voice, male but high-pitched, was giving the weather forecast for the following night.

'She asked if I could stop in straight from school, give Cassie her tea while she gets ready to go out. She'll leave me something to eat. Is that OK with you?' 'I don't see why not!

It was unexpectedly easy. There were no questions, no sarcastic comments about Fran's parenting skills. It crossed Sally's mind that there might be something wrong with her mother. The menopause maybe. When did that happen? Was her mother the right age? She didn't dwell on the possibility for long. She had other things to think about. Although it was early for the bus she left the house before her mother could change her mind.

First lesson was English with Mr Scott. They were still doing Macbeth, reading it out loud in class, everyone taking a different character. Since Catherine's death, Sally had found lessons easier too. Teachers had been more patient, more ready to explain. They'd noticed her. She talked less, thought more carefully about what she had to say. That was because she wasn't so nervous.

They'd had to write an essay for Mr Scott about Lady Macbeth and her relationship with her husband.

Last term she'd have been a wreck waiting for it to be handed back, gabbing away about nothing to whoever would listen to her, just so she wouldn't think about what he would say. Now there was just a sort of curiosity about what the teacher had made of it. It wasn't as if he'd lay into her about it even if it was crap. Scott wasn't so bad, she thought. Not sexy like Robert, but gentle, sensitive. Catherine had been hard on him.

Now he sat on her table, just as he'd used to sit on Catherine's. His hand, rested flat on the wood supporting himself, was very close to hers. He was wearing the old man's jacket and she could smell the wool. 'An excellent piece of writing, Sally. Some very interesting points. You really seem to have found your voice this term. Perhaps I can recommend some extra reading!

Beside her she knew that Lisa was smirking.

They'd all take the piss at break in the house room, but she couldn't help being flattered.

'Thank you, Mr Scott

That'd be great!

All day the school felt different, like they were small kids again in the build-up to Christmas. That slightly manic air. Everyone with too much energy and not being able to concentrate. It was all about Up Helly Aa. The sixth years mocked the whole thing, but even in their house room there was a suppressed excitement, a collective silliness. At lunchtime they had a go at her as she'd expected. 'Scottie really fancies you,' Lisa said. 'You can tell!

Then someone said. 'You want to watch it. He really fancied Catherine and look what happened to her! And the room went quiet for a moment until James Sinclair threw the remains of his sandwich at Simon Fletcher and chaos broke out again.

Sally didn't have a lesson last thing and walked into town, to the hall where they were putting the final touches to the galley. Robert was already there. He looked as if he'd been there all day. He had splashes of varnish in his hair. Although they had arranged to meet, he seemed briefly shocked to see her and she wondered what was the matter with the people she knew at the moment - her mother, Robert, even her father. They all seemed wrapped up in their own dreams or preoccupations so the demands of everyday life seemed to come as a surprise.

She thought the galley looked stunning. It was enormous and the dragon's head at the prow reared up over her, its flared painted nostrils and fiery eyes somehow hypnotic, pulling her attention. Robert grinned. He took a horned helmet from a shelf beside him and put it on, then held the shield across his breast.

'Well? What do you think? My dad gets back later. I want everything perfect for him!

She thought he was like a little boy showing off. A picture of Mr Scott reading Shakespeare to them came into her head and she wondered in a fleeting, disloyal moment if perhaps Robert wasn't the right person for her after all.

Then she saw how magnificent he looked, with his blond beard and blond hair. How could Scott compete with that?

He held the shield high above his head and she thought how strong he was. He'd be able to lift her aloft just as easily, snap her wrist with one of his hands.

'I'm babysitting again tonight. Will you be able to make it? I told you. Remember?'

She saw from the moment of confusion on his face that he'd forgotten all about it.

'I'm not sure: he said, keeping his voice low.

'There's a last-minute meeting of the squad. The official photograph. My dad will need me. He trusted me to look after things while he was away. But we can be together tomorrow. I've got you a ticket for one of the halls. But tonight? You know how it is. I have to be there!

No, she thought. I don't know how it is.

'Please! She reached up and touched his face, then kissed him quickly on the mouth, pushing the point of her tongue between his lips. She saw him look over her shoulder at the two men working on the galley. They were crouched in the hull fitting the base of the mast into its casing and didn't see. What does it matter to him? she thought. I have my parents to worry about, but he's an adult, free. Why does he want to keep this secret?

'I'll try to get there later,' he said. She couldn't tell if he'd really try or if he would have promised anything then to get rid of her.

In the end she was back at school in time to get the bus home, and she didn't need the cover she'd made up that morning to explain her absence. But she couldn't face her mother, who would be even more bad-tempered after a day of hyperactive children. Sally could remember what it was like in the primary school just before Up Helly Aa -

all the kids going wild, beating each other up with cardboard swords. Her mother would be in a foul mood. She got off the bus on the main road and went to Fran's anyway.

'I thought I could give Cassie her tea and you'd have the chance to get ready in peace,' she said, standing on the doorstep, a model babysitter, eager to please. 'If you'd like me to. I haven't much homework tonight! This was the story she'd given her mother. Sally was a good liar, knew the importance of sticking to the same untruth. And of getting corroboration whenever possible. 'But I can come back later if you want.'

'No,' Fran opened the door to let her in. 'That'd be great. Cassie's as high as a kite. I've promised to take her into Lerwick tomorrow for Up Helly Aa. Her first time. Will you be there?'

'Oh, I'll be there! She was going to say, boasting, My boyfriend's in the Guizer Jarl's squad, but something stopped her. Standing just inside the door, an idea came to her. A story which would keep her mother off her back, give her the chance of a proper night out. Mrs Hunter has asked me to go with her tomorrow. Help her keep an eye on Cassie. She says, can I sleep over so she can go to a party in the hall? That's OK, isn't it? Of course Margaret would find out about Robert sooner or later. But Sally wanted time to get her story right, to decide exactly what to say.

Cassie was still awake, fractious and difficult when Fran went out. Sally thought she'd never met a child so full of questions and imaginings. How could you keep your patience and answer all that? As' soon as her mother had gone Cassie was up, restless and fidgety, wanting water and a book to read, talking all the time, wearing Sally down.

Sally found it hard to keep her temper, understood for the first time why her mother was so sharp to the kids in school.

Robert could turn up at any time and she wanted Cassie asleep by then.

At last she got the child to bed and watched until she fell into a light and fitful sleep.

When Robert arrived Cassie must have been woken by his knocking or by the strange man's voice because she appeared again at the bedroom door, her hair tousled, her pyjamas untucked. Sally thought the interruption would make him angry, but he'd drunk just enough to make him mellow, and he sat in the big chair by the fire and took the little girl on to his knee. She resisted for a moment then gave in. Sally couldn't tell if the big stranger in her house had frightened her into silence or if she was enjoying it. Cassie stayed on his knee until she fell asleep. He carried her to her room and laid her gently on the bed. In his arms she looked as floppy and lifeless as a doll.

When Fran came home, Sally thought she should tell her that Robert had been there. It wouldn't do for it to come from Cassie.

'I hope you don't mind. A friend called in. He didn't stay long!

Sally was waiting for questions. She had her story prepared. But Fran too seemed preoccupied and lost in her own thoughts. 'Right,' she said. 'OK. No problem!

Fran hadn't thought there could be this many people in Shetland. All of them, every person from the country and from the north isles and from Bressay, Foula and Whalsay, must be crammed into town tonight. It wasn't just Shetlanders filling the streets either. There were tourists from all over the world. The hotels, guest houses and B&Bs must be full. In the crowd she heard American voices. and Australians and languages she couldn't understand.

Only now the pipe band leading the procession was coming closer and she couldn't hear much except the music and the cheering, and all the voices seemed to swell together to make one overwhelming sound.

Cassie stood beside her, fidgeting because she couldn't see. Some of the children had squeezed through to the front of the crowd, but Fran was afraid that if Cassie let go her hand, they would never find each other again. Cassie had been in a strange mood all day, full of some secret she'd been told at school. She'd been in turns silent and mysterious, not answering her mother's questions, then suddenly excitable, letting out a stream of words which hardly made sense. Now she was restless, watching for the distant torches.

The Guizer Jarl appeared, magnificent in his costume, the shield and the horned helmet gleaming, followed by his squad of Vikings. Fran lifted Cassie on to her shoulders so she could see him, but something about the spectacle - the Vikings, so fierce and warlike, or the following squads of guizers dressed in carnival costumes or the fire - seemed to scare her, because soon she squirmed to be let down. Fran could see that there was a nightmare element to the scene. A dozen Bart Simpsons followed a dozen James Bonds, followed by a dozen cartoon donkeys with enormous flashing teeth. All the men were rowdy, those faces not covered by carnival masks were flushed by the torches and by drink.

The procession took longer to pass than she'd expected. It had to file through the narrow street, trapped on each side by tall grey houses.

'Have you seen enough now?' She bent to yell into Cassie's ear. 'Should we go home?'

Cassie didn't answer immediately. Fran thought she was ready to leave, but knew that the next day she'd have to face the children at school, boasting about how late they'd stayed up, teasing her for having missed the climax of the evening.

'We have to see the galley being burned,' she said at last, stubbornly, expecting a fight. But Fran knew how cruel children could be.

So they stayed, and they were swept along by the crowd towards the King George V playing field, where the galley would be set alight. And again Fran thought the whole of Shetland must be here because everywhere she looked there were people she knew. Sometimes she just glimpsed people in the distance, at others she travelled along with them for a little way until they were separated by the pressing mass.

She saw Euan Ross standing in a doorway. He was at the top of a small flight of steps, observing events without being a part of them. Just like Catherine, Fran thought. Just as Catherine would have acted if she'd been here. She pulled Cassie with her out of the stream and approached him. It was quieter here. The band had moved on.

She could talk without shouting.

'What do you make of it?'

.

He didn't answer immediately. He joined them on the pavement, crouched to say hello to Cassie, knotted her scarf more snugly around her neck. Watching him, Fran thought, He's remembering Catherine at that age. When he had a wife and a child.

'It's rather fun, isn't it?' he said, straightening. 'One knows it's a Victorian invention, but so much time and effort have gone into making it a success that it would be churlish to criticize. It brings people together after all. I hope Catherine would have recognized that in her film!

'Will you come to watch the galley being burned?' 'Of course: he said. 'I'll have to see it through now. But don't wait for me. I'll get there in my own time!

Singing had started. Loud, boisterous men's singing. Like a rugby song or a football chant. Fran left Euan standing there in his doorway, but when she turned back, he'd already gone. Cassie hurried her away, worried that they'd get left behind and they'd miss the action on the field, but back on the street the procession continued, a stream of grotesque grinning faces. There they met Jan Ellis, the Ravenswick woman who'd given them the dog, and her daughter Shona.

Jan seemed pleased to see them, began to ask about Maggie, but Fran didn't get a chance to answer because Jan's husband marched past, dressed like the rest of his squad as a baby in a romper suit and nappy, a pink knitted bonnet on his head. The crowd laughed and cheered.

'It drove me crazy knitting that outfit: Jan yelled.

'What is it with men and dressing up?'

And then she was gone too, pulled along by Shona, who wanted another glimpse of her father looking ridiculous.

Fran stood still for a moment. The noise made her feel giddy and a bit sick. She worried that she might faint and she bent her head and breathed in deeply. As she straightened, she thought she saw Duncan on the other side of the road, in intense conversation with a large woman in a red anorak. She knew it couldn't be Duncan. He would already be at the Haa with his drinking cronies, preparing to light his bonfire on the beach. She wondered if she was secretly hoping to see him. Tonight in her imagination anything was possible. The whole evening was like an elaborate sleight of hand. A Victorian invention dressed up as a Norse midwinter festival, a boat which would never sail, men as babies. This was fantasy masquerading as reality, a conjuror's dream. It made her head spin.

Up Helly Aa at Duncan's house before Cassie's birth had been very different. It had been carried off with a certain style. Duncan had always been a good showman. He had made the festival romantic. She almost wished that she was there, away from the crowd, standing on the frosty beach. The flames from the bonfire would be reflected in the sea. She stared back at the man she'd mistaken for Duncan, but now there was no sign of him or the woman in red amongst the crowd on the opposite pavement. I'm going mad. Is this how it is for Magnus Tait? Has he lost touch with reality too?

That was when she realized Cassie was missing.

It took her a few moments to believe it. She looked around her, expecting Cassie to appear with the same ease with which the Duncan lookalike had vanished. Then she forced herself to think clearly and logically. Cassie had dropped her hand when they'd bumped into Jan and Shona. Only babies held hands with their mothers. Fran had understood that, hadn't insisted. Now she peered frantically through the crowd trying to catch a glimpse of Cassie's blue hat. Nothing. She tried to remember if she'd seen Cassie once Jan and Shona had moved on. Her attention had been distracted by the image of Duncan. She'd assumed her daughter had been by her side.

She told herself Cassie must have followed Shona. They were probably all together making their way to the field to watch the burning galley. Jan would keep an eye on her. This panic was ridiculous. It was just as well Margaret Henry couldn't see her now. She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket then looked at it helplessly. She didn't know Jan's number. The crowd in the street was thinning. A group of lads stood, tins of McEwan's in their hands, shouting a bawdy version of the galley song. She pushed past them following the direction of the procession.

At the park the different squads with their torches circled the galley. There was no other light. The street lamps had been turned off at seven-thirty. It was very cold. There was a smell of smoke and crushed grass. She pushed through the laughing people, the families and the gangs of teenage kids, looking for Jan. Everyone was having a good time. They all wore anoraks, scarves and hats, and were as difficult to tell apart as the guizers in their masks.

In the flickering light they looked shadowy, exactly the same. Occasionally she would convince herself that she could see Cassie in the distance, but when she approached she saw it was a different child. Someone else's daughter.

The moment of burning had arrived. They did this to witches. Strange women who had visions. Someone was counting down from ten. Still searching she thought she saw Celia, a tall straight figure in a long black coat, her head tilted to one side. Of course she'd be there to support her husband. I thought you were a witch. Celia might have seen Cassie. She would at least be a familiar figure, if Cassie was wandering around, afraid and lost, someone else to look out for the girl.

Fran started making her way through the crowd towards the woman. But then the Guizer Jarl held his torch aloft and threw it on to the galley. All the others followed. There was an explosion of light and in the moment before it faded she saw Jan, standing on the edge of the crowd. Fran walked towards her, pushing past the stewards, too close to the fire. She could taste the burning paint and varnish at the back of her throat. Jan was engrossed in conversation with another mother.

'Have you seen Cassie?'

The panic in her voice made them stop immediately and turn towards her.

'I've lost Cassie. Is she with Shona?'

'No,' Jan said. 'I've not seen her since we were together earlier:

The galley collapsed in on itself. The long planks bowed and cracked and were engulfed in flame. All that remained was the dragon's head, held by its rib cage of charred timber, rearing high above the crowd.

'Another girl missing:

They were out on the street, walking away from the market cross towards the pier, where it was a bit quieter. On the water the ferry was on its way south to Aberdeen, a moving frame of light. They'd watched the procession like ordinary tourists until the call came through on Jimmy Perez's mobile. It should have been Taylor's last night and they'd had a few beers. Not celebrating. Neither had felt like doing that. But needing to mark the occasion in some way.

Now they could speak without shouting and looked down on the black oily water.

'Another girl whose first name begins with C:

They'd both been thinking it. Perez put it into words.

'Could be a coincidence. She could just have wandered away from her mother. A night like this, how many missing kids do you get reported?' Taylor's Liverpool accent seemed stronger, more edgy. Who's he trying to convince? Perez thought.

He tried to keep his voice even. 'Fran Hunter's hysterical of course. She found both bodies. Hard enough to take. Now this. . : Perez thought he was close to losing it himself. He could feel the fear like liquid in his stomach, imagined it rising in his throat until it was drowning him. It was foolish to think about Fran, put himself in her skin.

He'd only panic like her, then he'd be no good to anyone. He had to hold himself together, think rationally. 'The crowd's clearing a bit now as everyone moves on to the halls and community centres for dancing. If the kid's wandered off and is out on the street, she'll be found in the next hour. I've got people looking. After that we can assume she's been taken. But I don't think we can wait that long. I don't think we can afford to:

'What about the rest of the team? What do they say?'

'They think I'm overreacting and that the mother's panicking over nothing. After all, the murderer is in custody, isn't he? How can he be back on the street, abducting another child?'

'We can be certain now that Mrs Hunter had nothing to do with Catherine's murder,' Taylor said.

'I never thought she was involved:

'Where is she now?'

'With Euan Ross. He's taken her back to her house.

That was where she wanted to be. In case a neighbour from Ravenswick has picked up the child and brings her home. Morag's there too:

'What was Ross doing in Lerwick? I'd hardly think he'd be in the mood for a party: He was looking for the ghost of his daughter, Perez thought. A slim, dark figure bent over a camcorder on a tripod. What would she be filming now, if she was here? And what can that have to do with Cassie's disappearance?

Fire and Ice. We got caught up with the father's obsession with a puzzle. We must have missed something more obvious. 'Fran thought she saw her ex-husband on the street, just before the girl went missing,' he said, leaving Taylor's question hanging, unanswered.

That's where she is then. That explains it. She'd not wander off with a stranger, would she? Not without a fuss.

Maybe you are overreacting lad. You've tried to contact the father?'

'Of course. Landline and mobile. Nothing:

'That doesn't mean he hasn't got her. Maybe there was some mix up with arrangements. A breakdown in communication. . :

'Not according to the mother. Duncan had wanted Cassie at his place for Up Helly Aa. Fran refused. Made it quite clear it wasn't going to happen. There was a bit of a row about it:

'So he took her out of spite?'

Surely, Perez thought, not even Duncan would be that cruel. But he couldn't rule it out as a possibility.

'Do you want me to go out to the kiddie's dad's then?' Taylor was getting impatient. He couldn't understand what Perez was about, standing here, daydreaming.

'No. I know the way and I'll be quicker. You stay here and coordinate the search on the ground: The traffic was heavy coming out of town, nose to tail past the power station, then it cleared suddenly and he could put his foot down. Speeding. probably just on the limit if they checked for drink. He slowed up a bit through Brae, then he was on his way down the hill and he could see the bonfire already lit on the beach and the black figures silhouetted against the flames. If Duncan was out there, he wouldn't answer his phone. That part of the coast was a black hole for mobiles. There was no reception at all.

There seemed to be lights in all the downstairs windows of the house. He was reminded of the old days before Duncan was married, when everyone young and bright wanted to be here for Up Helly Aa, leaving Lerwick to the tourists and the old folk. Perez had been glad enough of an invitation then. He'd brought Sarah with him from Aberdeen, her first visit to Shetland and she'd been impressed. Duncan had flirted with her of course and she'd responded in a polite, friendly way. Flattered but not taken in by him. She had always been a woman of sound judgement. She'd divorced Jimmy Perez, hadn't she? That showed some sense.

He drove into the walled courtyard and parked the car. Despite all the lights there was no sound from the house.

He could see into the kitchen from the courtyard, the stack of cans and bottles on the table, but the room was empty.

Everyone must be on the beach.

Perez tried to rehearse what he'd say to Duncan if Cassie was here. If Duncan had taken her from a busy street to make a point. To suggest that Fran wasn't a vigilant mother. Or as Taylor had said, just out of spite because Fran hadn't wanted him to have the girl at the Haa. Perez knew it would be important to keep his temper. He was involved with the family, but he couldn't let it show. He might even have to let Cassie stay here. He'd just call Fran and let her know the girl was safe. Leave it up to her to decide what to do next. But even while he was running through the scenarios in his head, he couldn't allow himself to believe that Cassie was really here, safe and well.

That would be tempting providence. He wanted it so much, he couldn't let himself believe it was true.

The first person he saw on the beach was Celia. What was she doing there? The addiction to Duncan must have been too much in the end. She was standing apart from the others, drinking beer straight from the bottle. Her head was tipped back and she emptied the last quarter in one go, then threw the bottle on to the fire. It smashed into pieces on the big smooth pebbles containing the embers. Perez didn't want to get into a discussion about whether she and Duncan were back together. She heard his footsteps on the shingle behind her and turned suddenly. When she saw who it was, she seemed disappointed. Nobody else, amid the drinking and laughing, noticed his presence.

'Where's Duncan?'

'God knows,' she said. 'I've only just arrived.

Perhaps he's hiding from me. He might be in bed with one of the pretty young things he always invites to these dos, but it's a bit early for that even for him. He usually stays dressed long enough to welcome his guests!

'Have you seen Cassie?'

'No. Is she here?' She took another bottle from the crate which stood at her feet, pulled an opener from her coat pocket and flipped off the top. 'Perhaps that's where he is, then, playing happy families. Cocoa and a story before bedtime, a reformed character!

He was surprised at the bitterness in her voice. 'Haven't you seen him?'

'No,' she said. 'I was in town watching Michael in his moment of glory as Guizer Jarl. Robert following him in the squad, counting the years till he's old enough to do it himself. He's wanted it since he was a boy. He used to act it out, parading through the house with a saucepan on his head.' She was talking to herself, the drink making her reflective, sentimental. 'I'm not sure why it means so much to him. Perhaps sometimes you need someone to tell you that you belong.'

'Was Duncan in Lerwick?'

'No,' she said. 'Why would he be? He never goes to Lerwick' for Up Helly Aa. He's above all that. He couldn't bear dancing with the middle-aged housewives in Isleburgh or the high school. He doesn't realize that he's almost middle-aged himself.'

'Cassie's missing: Jimmy said.

But Celia drank more beer and stared bleakly into the fire. She seemed not to have heard him.

Perez walked over to the crowd by the fire but he could see at once that Duncan wasn't among them. A young man in a long grey coat was sitting on an upended beer crate and playing the guitar very badly. The others gathered round pretending to listen, posing. When he asked about Duncan and Cassie they shrugged. He couldn't tell if they were stoned or drunk or they just didn't care.

He went into the house and started searching, frantic now. Someone had tidied up since his last visit. Duncan had a team of women in Brae he called in to clean for him, in return for a handful of notes and his lost little boy's smile. When the guests had arrived they must have gone straight from the kitchen to the beach, because the long drawing room was quiet and ordered, still smelling of wood smoke and beeswax. The fire was low and automatically he took a piece of driftwood from the bucket and threw it on. It must still have been damp because there was a hiss of steam before it caught.

He continued looking, because he didn't know what else to do and he couldn't go back to town with the job half done. He didn't expect to find anything. He went into rooms he'd never seen before, not even on the weekends when he and Duncan had escaped from Anderson High and had the run of the place. Right at the top of the house there was a whole floor which seemed to be unused. It was cold there, unheated. The floor was bare and many rooms were unfurnished, unsettling in the harsh light of the single bulbs, illuminated briefly as he switched on the light for a flash before moving on. Some were completely empty, some piled with junk. Then he heard a sound and he stood still. There were voices in conversation, a little laugh. The noise came from the last door on the landing.

'Duncan!' His voIce was cracked and breathless.

The voices fell silent, so he wondered if he had imagined them, mistaken the breeze which had picked up outside for human whispers. But the door didn't fit properly and light spilled under it. He walked quietly up to it and threw it open. Inside was an attic with a ceiling vaulted like the roof of a cathedral. A long window was covered by a piece of muslin so flimsy that it moved in the draught from the ill-fitting glass.

There was a bed as wide as it was long with carved wooden posts at each corner and heaped with faded quilts and rugs. And in the bed sprawled two young people, a man and a woman, not cold, apparently, although they Were only half dressed and not covered wholly by a quilt. They were sharing a post-coital cigarette. They were very young - sixteen? Seventeen? His entrance had shocked them but they looked out at him with a smug warmth which made him envy them. He gave a wave of apology, then shut the door behind him. He ran down the three flights of stairs and outside.

At the bonfire, the scene had changed. The guests were making their way back to the house, walking along the tideline. At their head strode Duncan. He wore his coat slung over his shoulders, caught with a single button so it fell behind him like a cloak.

Perez rushed up to him, blocking his process. 'Have you seen Cassie?'

'She's with Fran. The witch wouldn't let me have her tonight. Why?'

'She's missing, she got separated from Fran on the street in Lerwick!

Perez knew he should stay and explain in more detail. Duncan was her father and had a right to know. 'But he was aware of time slipping from him. Ignoring Duncan's shouted questions, he left them to their ridiculous ritual and slithered over the shingle to the house and his car. He slammed it into gear and drove too fast back to the town.

Sally went out of the community hall to get some air. The door swung shut behind her and the music grew fainter. Above her the sky was flecked with stars. The drink had gone to her head and she bent over, not thinking she was going to be sick exactly but wanting to stop that whirring sensation, the feeling that the earth was shifting and she had to concentrate to keep her balance, otherwise she'd tip over. She wasn't wearing a coat. She'd only be out for a minute and anyway it was roasting inside the hall with the heating full on and all those bodies, everyone dancing.

She hadn't seen her parents all night. Not to speak to at least. She'd caught a glimpse of Alex while she was watching the procession, and she'd wondered what he could be up to because there'd been no sign of her mother. Her parents had believed her story that she'd spend the evening with Fran Hunter and Cassie. When she'd told them, they'd seemed almost relieved at the prospect of a night to themselves.

If they'd been around to watch the burning galley, she hadn't seen them on the playing field. She supposed they'd be home by now. Margaret would be making a nice cup of Cocoa before bed, filling their hot water bottles.

Sally stood up and tilted back her head to look at the sky. It made her dizzy again, then the cold started getting to her and she went back inside.

In the hall it was like the first time she'd got together with Robert. A bit rowdier maybe. Some of the girls from school were there, making fools of themselves and she could tell they were dead jealous that she was with Robert.

All thoughts of secrecy were over now. In this mood she wanted the world to know. She was feeling good. Not so self-conscious. She'd lost a bit of weight since Catherine had died and that helped. Maybe she could sell the idea to the teenage magazines - The best friend's murder diet.

She knew it wasn't funny but she couldn't help smiling to herself. She went up to Robert. Her friends were all around him, but he wasn't taking any notice of them. Not flirting anyway, even after she'd left the hall. He hadn't seen her come back in and she'd watched him for a moment to check. Lisa was desperate to get his attention, but he just ignored her. He was still wearing part of the costume but had dumped the helmet and the shield somewhere. The dagger was in its sheath on his belt. When they'd danced that slow dance earlier, she'd been aware of it against her thigh. It had made her feel sexy. She'd never felt quite like that before.

She stroked his neck. He must have had a bit to drink too, but you wouldn't have been able to tell. He'd taken the whole Up Helly Aa thing seriously. She liked that about him. He wasn't like the lads at school who saw everything as an opportunity to take the piss. Now, with the music in the background, she felt she was floating above the scene in the hall, looking down at it from a distance. All the dreadful things that happened, with Catherine and the hassle with parents and the stuff that had gone on at school, all that was over.

At last she could believe that anything was possible. The music stopped for the band to have a drink. Robert bent down to talk in her ear.

'I was thinking of going back to Brae. There's a party at the Haa. Do you want to come?'

'Why not?'

'I think I've done my bit in town, don't you?'

'Sure! She was thinking she had nothing to lose.

Her parents weren't expecting her back until the morning and anyway it might be safer away from Lerwick. She didn't want her parents turning up and making a scene if anyone had told them what was going on. 'Are you OK to drive?' Maybe he would teach her, she thought. That would make her useful to him. She could stay off the drink and drive him home after parties. He wouldn't dump her then.

'No problem: he said, though when they went out to the van, he forgot that he hadn't locked it and dropped his keys and started swearing. She wondered why he was so edgy. The whole evening had gone well and she knew he'd been looking forward to it. He hadn't admitted it of course, but he was like one of the kids in her mother's school, taking the starring role in the Christmas show. Perhaps now it was over it was an anticlimax. For the first time she thought she was the strong one in the relationship. When it came down to it, she'd be the one to look after him.

Driving north, he didn't say much. He was driving very fast and on one of the bends nearly lost control. The gritting lorries had been out earlier in the day, but now the roads were slippery. She was tempted to tell him to slow down, but the last thing she wanted was to end up like her mother, always nagging and carping. And anyway there was something exhilarating about driving so fast in the dark along an empty road. He'd pushed a CD into the player and really loud rock music was playing. It gave her the same sensation as staring up at the sky. She wasn't timid Sally any more. Everything had changed. She reached out and put her hand on his knee, rubbed her thumb along the inside of his thigh.

In Brae there were still lights in some of the houses but the place was quiet. Sally had heard about the Haa.

Catherine had told her about a party there, though Sally had never understood how she'd managed to get herself an invitation. She was thinking about that, trying not to drag up the old resentments, when Robert braked sharply to turn off the main road. The van skidded and spun. Sally had her eyes shut, imagined it sliding off the road or crashing into the wall in the corner, the boot smashed in, one or both of them dead. But somehow Robert managed to keep it upright. It was just facing in the wrong direction.

'Shit,' he said, 'that would be all I'd need. The cops sniffing round, taking breath tests! He gave a nervous little giggle which made her realize he'd been a bit frightened himself. Again, she thought she was probably stronger than he was. He reversed slowly until he was facing the right way and took the hill down towards the beach more slowly.

As they approached the house, they could see the bonfire on the beach was still smouldering.

He introduced Sally to his mother. Perhaps that was why he'd brought her. He'd known Celia would be here and he'd wanted them to meet. Sally hoped that was how it was. It made her feel like a real girlfriend, Robert wanting her to get to know his family. Now though, she wasn't sure it was going to work. She didn't think she'd get on with Celia. It was like she was in some sort of fancy dress, with the long black dress and the slash of lipstick on her white face. She'd been the first person they'd seen when they'd got to the Haa and Sally had been shocked. She'd heard of Celia Isbister, but never met her before. She'd expected her to look more like a real mother.

She couldn't let Robert know what she was thinking though. She could tell he'd been keen to see Celia. It was as if he was caught somewhere between his mother and his father, desperate to please them both. That was why he'd driven out here like a madman. It seemed a weird relationship to her. Not like mother and son at all. More like they were lovers or something. He seemed so pleased to see the woman when they went into the house and she appeared at the doorway as if she owned the place. He put his arm around Celia and pulled her to him. Sally never had that sort of physical contact with her parents. She wouldn't have wanted it. She didn't think it was healthy.

Before she followed him inside, she waited for a moment in the courtyard. Everything was quiet outside, though she imagined she could hear waves breaking on the beach. The tide would have turned. Looking up she saw a man's face at an upstairs window, staring down at her. He must have heard the van. She recognized him as Duncan Hunter.

Everyone was inside now. The bonfire was still alight because someone had put a huge bit of driftwood on it but even that was nearly burnt away, so there was nothing much left but embers and ash. Celia took them through to a long living room which was almost empty, to show the fire to them through French doors. Everyone else was in the kitchen. A baking tray with blackened sausages stood on the top of the stove, with some baked potatoes, cold now, their skins wrinkled, brown like a tortoise's neck. Nobody was eating. It wasn't like a party. They were still there, still drinking, but the music was turned very low and there was a quiet, subdued air.

'Duncan's daughter's missing,' Celia said. 'The police came earlier. We haven't got any details. Duncan phoned Fran, but she couldn't tell him much. It's probably nothing. She's that sort of kid. The kind to wander off. But with all that's happened lately, you can imagine what Duncan's going through. He's waiting upstairs by the phone!

'Cassie?' Sally said. 'I babysit for her sometimes! She thought it was quite exciting to be on the edge of the drama.

'It'll kill him if anything happens to her: Celia said.

'Should we be here, then?' Sally didn't want to imagine what it would be like to lose a child, but she didn't think you'd want a load of strangers in your house.

'God yes, we daren't go. Duncan hates being by himself! Celia had a way of talking which made you feel a bit stupid. Sally couldn't take to her at all, though of course she'd try for Robert's sake. It probably wasn't fair to judge.

Celia had obviously been drinking very heavily. Besides the lipstick, she was wearing black eyeliner which had become smudged and close to she looked a bit of a mess. There was something sticky and disgusting on the sleeve of her cardigan.

Margaret might not be a brilliant mother, but at least she maintained a bit of dignity. She knew how to behave in company. Sally would have liked to escape. Instead she started drinking again. She knew it was a mistake and she should keep a clear head, but when she saw Robert and Celia whispering to each other, standing so close that their heads were touching, she couldn't help herself.

Magnus was nearly asleep when he heard voices outside his cell. It sounded like an argument. He thought, It's Up Helly Aa. Someone with too much drink inside him. His uncle had taken him to watch the procession when he'd been a boy and there'd been a lot of drinking even then. One year, Agnes had been there too. She'd have been very young. He could remember how her eyes shone with the excitement of being allowed out so late, and the bag of sweeties his uncle had carried in his pocket.

Then the metal flap in the thick door clicked open and Magnus could see the face of a policeman, backlit from the strip lights in the corridor. Magnus was lying on the narrow bed and wriggled back on his buttocks, so his head was higher and his back was leaning against the wall. He wondered what they could be wanting now. Were they going to send him away? Surely not. The ferry had long gone and there'd be no more planes at this time. Unless they'd chartered one. That happened sometimes. If people got so ill that they needed to go to the hospital in Aberdeen where they had all the fancy machines, they flew them out in a special plane. Despite his panic, he felt a small thrill at the idea that they hired an aeroplane specially for him. He swung his legs round so he was sitting on the bed.

There was the sound of keys rattling together and then he heard the key move in the lock and the door was opened. The policeman in uniform stood aside to let someone in.

'You've got a visitor,' the policeman said. He sounded bad-tempered. Magnus couldn't think what he'd done to annoy him. When the man had come in earlier to collect his tea tray he'd been all right, almost friendly. They'd chatted about the parade. 'You don't have to see him if you don't want to! Behind the policeman in his uniform Magnus could see the detective from Fair Isle. He was still dressed for outdoors in a big padded jacket and he had his hands in his pockets.

Magnus thought then that the policeman was cross with the Fair Isle man and not with him.

'I'll see him,' he said, anxious to please. 'Oh yes. Why not?'

'You don't want your lawyer here?'

Magnus was quite certain about that. He didn't like the lawyer at all.

Jimmy Perez sat opposite him on a plastic chair. Magnus didn't hear the footsteps of the policeman moving away. He must be standing there, just outside the door. Because he was thinking about that, about why the policeman was still standing in the corridor instead of going back to his office where it would surely be more comfortable, he missed the detective's first question. There was a pause and Magnus knew he was supposed to answer. He looked around him, embarrassed and confused.

'Did you hear what I said, Magnus?' There was an impatience in the man's voice which Magnus hadn't heard before, except maybe when he'd shown the detective Catriona's ribbons at Hillhead. 'Cassie's missing. You know Cassie? Mrs Hunter's daughter?'

Magnus smiled despite himself. That smile that always got him into trouble. He remembered the girl being pulled past his house on a sledge, that snowy day when the ravens were out over the headland. 'She's a bonny little thing.'

'Do you know where she could be, Magnus? Do you have any ideas?'

Magnus shook his head.

'But you would like to help me find her?'

'Would they let me out?' he said uncertainly. 'I'd come if they would, but there'll be a lot of men to help in a search and I'm not as young as I was.' He thought of when the other girl went missing and the line of men stretched over the hill that time. He'd helped too until the two policeman had come from Lerwick to take him away.

'I don't need that kind of help. I need you to tell me about Catriona. What happened to Catriona, Magnus?'

Magnus opened his mouth, but no words came out.

'Did you kill her, Magnus? If you did and you tell me that would help us find Cassie. And if you didn't, but you know who did it, that would help too.'

Magnus slid from the bed so he was standing. He felt he couldn't breathe. 'I promised,' he said.

He could sense the detective's impatience again and backed away from him. Was the policeman still waiting outside the door?

'Who did you make the promise to?'

'My mother.'

Tell them nothing.

'She's dead, Magnus. She'll never know. Besides, she loved children, didn't she? She'd want you to help Cassie.'

'She loved Agnes,' he said and added, though he knew he shouldn't, because you shouldn't speak against your mother, 'I'm not sure she loved me.'

'Tell me what happened that day. When Catriona ran up the hill. It was the school holidays, wasn't it? One of those blustery, sunny days?'

'I was working in the field,' Magnus said. 'Cutting hay. I had nearly finished and then I was going to do some gardening. We had a garden in those days at the side of the house where there was a bit of shelter. I don't bother so much now. I only keep up with a few tatties and neeps. Then I had greens in the spring, cabbage later, carrots and onions.' He paused, sensed that the man from Fair Isle was getting impatient, though nothing about his face had changed. 'I saw the girl running up the hill. She had a bunch of flowers in her hand. I always liked it when she came to visit and I thought I'd take a break. Have a cup of coffee in the house.' He looked up defensively. 'There was nothing wrong with that, was there? To take a break and talk tothe girl.'

'Of course not if that was all you did.' He said nothing.

'Will you tell me?' Jimmy Perez said. His voice was very quiet, so quiet Magnus had to strain to hear it and his hearing was very good. Not like some old folks. Not like his mother who'd gone deaf in the end. Thoughts were racing round in his head. Pictures of Catriona and of Agnes when she was ill and his mother braced in her chair by the fire, the knitting pin trapped under one arm, clicking away in that sad, unforgiving way she had. And of sitting in Sunday school as a boy, the rough wooden chair full of splinters that rubbed in the back of your knees, looking up at the dust caught in the light coming from the long window.

Listening to the things they were taught by the minister. That the only way to find happiness was through the forgiveness of God. Not really understanding the words, not all the words, but glimpsing the meaning of it occasionally like shapes in the fog. And later not believing any of it.

He decided not to tell the detective, but when he opened his mouth, it all came out.

'She danced up the bank with the flowers in her hand and I knew she was coming to see us. She would never have thought that she might not be welcome/

She had her hair tied up with two ribbons. . ! He held his hands at the top of his head to show what he meant. '. . .

Like horns, maybe. I was in the kitchen by then, my hands washed, ready for some coffee. She came right in. She never bothered to knock. And you could tell that she was full of mischief that day. Could it be the wind? When it's windy you see the children rushing round the playground and so noisy sometimes you can hear them from my house. My mother was knitting. I could tell she didn't want Catriona there. Some nights she didn't sleep so well. I think she just wanted to be left alone that day. She'd had a bad night and she wanted to sit and knit in peace!

'But you wanted to see the child?'

'I liked to see her,' he said. 'I gave her a glass of milk and a biscuit. But she said she didn't want milk; she wanted juice. We had no juice in the house. She wouldn't settle. Some days when she visited she would sit and draw a picture, or when mother was in the mood they would bake together. That day she was all over the place, opening drawers and looking into cupboards. I suppose she was bored. She said she was bored! He spoke in a puzzled voice.

Boredom was an idea he found hard to understand. Here in the police station he hated being locked in, and he worried about what was going on with his land at Hillhead, but he wasn't bored.

'So she left?' Perez said. 'Is that what you're telling me? She was bored so she left. Where did she go? Who did she see?'

There was a silence. 'Magnus?'

'She didn't leave,' he said. 'She went into my room and starting looking in there for things to play with! He remembered the girl pushing open the door, bouncing on his bed, her head thrown back, laughing, the horns of hair flying. His confusion as he watched her, watching the small brown body, glimpsing her knickers as her skirt rode up.

'She shouldn't have done that. Not without asking first!

'No,' the detective agreed. Magnus expected him to ask another question then, but he didn't. He sat looking at Magnus, just waiting for him to go on with the story.

'I'd kept some things which had belonged to Agnes,' Magnus said. 'You remember, I told you about Agnes. She was my sister. She died when she Was still a girl. She caught the whooping cough. My mother had asked me to get rid of them. She didn't want them in the house. But I couldn't bear to.

They were in a box, which I kept under my bed! Except when mother did the spring cleaning. Then I had to move them. He didn't tell the detective those details. He didn't think he'd understand what it was to have just one secret, one thing only for yourself. 'Catriona found them. There wasn't much. A soft toy. A rabbit. And a doll with long hair. That was all Agnes had. It wasn't like these days when the children have so many toys! 'You didn't want her to play with them,'

Perez said.’ Because they'd belonged to Agnes!

'No!' Magnus wasn't sure how he'd make the policeman see how it had been. 'I liked to see her playing with them. I was afraid she'd laugh at them, because they weren't like the toys she was used to. But she didn't. She took the doll in her arms and held it. She rocked it as if it was a baby. Agnes used to do that.

She used. to rock the baby and sing to it. Catriona didn't sing, but she was gentle with it. She asked if she could brush its hair. She wasn't a bad girl. No, not bad. She just had too much spirit. They didn't know what to do with her!

'What happened next?' the detective asked.

Magnus shut his eyes, not to recapture the scene, but in an attempt to block it out. But he couldn't block it out.

There it was playing in front of him, and when he opened his eyes again he could still see it. His mother appearing suddenly at the door, the horsehair belt holding the knitting needle still round her waist. Give that to me. Reaching out and grabbing for the doll. The girl, defiant, enjoying the scene she was making, the fuss all around her, doing a kind of teasing jig, with the doll held above her head. Not understanding, because how could she? Agnes was never mentioned in the house after her death.

Mother must have held on to the memory in her fierce, unforgiving way, but Magnus was never allowed to speak of her. So Catriona would never even have known of her existence. It's my dolly now. Magnus gave her to me.

The icy hatred in his mother's eyes when she turned and looked at him. Then the girl trying to dance her way out of the house, skipping and laughing.

But she never made it to the door. Because his mother had reached for the scissors. They were the scissors she used to snip the wool when she was knitting, and cut the cloth when she was sewing. Not big scissors, but narrow-bladed and very sharp. And then the girl was still and dead, looking almost like a doll herself, lying on the rag rug in front of the fire. His mother had raised the scissors above her head and using both hands thrust them down to kill Catriona.

Catriona had made a little sound, hardly a cry at all, taken a small step and fallen on to the rug. Magnus had remembered his mother making that rug, cutting up the scraps of old clothing and pulling the material strips through a piece of sacking with a crochet hook. He'd knelt down on it to look at Catriona, turned to his mother, looking for guidance. What should they do? They had no telephone but he could run to the Bruce house. His mother had spoken in her quiet firm voice. She shouldn't have played with Agnes's toys. Then she sat back in the chair and continued her knitting.

It was Magnus who was left to deal with it. He rolled Catriona up in the rug and took her into his room. There was blood but not so much of it. He put the doll and the rabbit back in the box under his bed. When people came looking for Catriona he was out in the garden, slicing up the weeds with his long handled hoe. No, she's not been here. And when they came back later and asked his mother she told them the same thing. No one noticed the missing rug. Why would they? They seldom came into the house.

When it was dark, he unwrapped the rug so Catriona was lying on her back in the middle of it, he untied her ribbons and spread out her hair. Then he carried her up the hill. It was a cloudy night. No moon. Raven black. The men still searching for her were on the headland and along the cliff tops. He could see the flashes of their torches but nobody saw him. They were at the coast and he went inland. Then he left the girl there on the heather, her face turned to the rain and went back to the house for a spade, a good sharp spade. He went up the hill again and he buried her in the peat bank and covered the spot with loose rocks.

It was dawn when he'd finished and 'was on his way home. It was summer then and the nights were still short.

But still nobody saw him. In the house, he cut up the rug with his mother's scissors and threw it on the fire a piece at a time. His mother stayed in her room until it was all done, and then she came out and made the porridge for his breakfast as she always did. They never spoke of it. Only when the policemen came for him and she said, 'Tell them nothing.

'That was how it was,' he said, when at last the words had stopped and the scene had faded in front of his eyes.

'That was what happened.'

He could see that the detective was disappointed. It wasn't what he'd been hoping to hear.

.'That was how it was,' he said again. 'I'm sorry.' Then because he'd got into the habit somehow of speaking - after having such a long time of having no one to speak with, he was starting to get used to it - he opened his mouth again and he started telling the detective from Fair Isle about the last time he'd seen Catherine Ross.

Somehow he didn't care any more about his mother's instruction to tell them nothing.

All that evening Fran was aware of the time passing. With each minute it became less plausible that Cassie had wandered away and was safely caught up with a family who was looking after her. Now it was nearly midnight and in Lerwick the community halls' Up Helly Aa celebrations were in full swing. In every part of the town, people were dancing and laughing and listening to music. The men were rowdy with drink. This wasn't a time for children. All the children would be long in bed. She'd concentrated on making the minutes move slowly. She'd never wanted to reach this point. She watched the clock, the two hands coming together, couldn't bear to see them meet and turned away.

Outside it was freezing. The sort of cold which penetrates clothing and goes straight to the bones. Sitting in the house at Ravenswick, Fran was aware of the cold, even though her fire kept the room hot. She had the curtains open to watch for headlights coming down the road. Every now and then she cleared the condensation from the glass and saw the frost, thick and white on each blade of grass. She thought of Cassie, hoped that she was still wearing her scarf and her gloves, preferred to think of her outside in the open than shut up somewhere.

Cassie hated the dark and always had a lamp on when she was in bed. Fran thought of the nightmares which had troubled her daughter, remembered Cassie, still half asleep, blindly reaching out to her. for reassurance. Fran blinked, an involuntary response to the image, felt the tears on her cheeks. but couldn't find the energy to wipe them away.

Euan Ross was sitting with her. The fat policewoman was at the table, awkward, silent. Euan had poured Fran whisky, just as she had poured some for him after his daughter had died. She sipped it to be polite. Even now, when she was going crazy, panic frozen so she couldn't think straight, she still didn't want to offend him. He knew his daughter was dead.

There was still hope that hers was alive. She wondered that she could have considered herself upset when she found the bodies of the other girls.

She'd shut the dog in the bedroom. It reminded her too fiercely of Cassie. She didn't want to see her, the smell of her at her feet made her want to retch.

The telephone rang. She sprang to her feet, reached it before the second ring, felt the adrenaline hit her brain, making her suddenly clear headed. It was Duncan.

'Any news?'

'I would have phoned you: she said. After Perez had visited the Haa looking for Cassie, Duncan had called her, demanding an explanation. She couldn't tell how he was feeling. She'd expected him to blame her for losing their daughter. In a similar situation she would have torn his eyes out. Instead he seemed distant, icy. At first she'd thought he was very drunk and trying not to show it. That intense effort to seem sober. Now she thought there was more to it. He had called every hour since. She couldn't be angry with him. It was her fault, not his. If she'd allowed Cassie to go with him to the Haa, the girl would be safe.

'I'm sorry,' she said. She said that every time he phoned too.

There was a moment of silence. 'No,' he said. 'There was nothing you could do. You can't blame yourself.

Should I come over?'

'No. Stay there. There should be someone in both houses. Just in case. . : He was about to speak again but she interrupted him. 'Please, I'm going to hang up now. The police might be trying to get through. As soon as I hear anything I'll call you. I promise: As she hung up, she saw herself reflected in the window. A dark shadowy figure, unrecognizable, middle-aged.

A wave of self-pity took her by surprise. She'd moved here to keep Cassie safe. It had been all she'd wanted. A better life for them both. It was as if she was the object of some twisted prank. To find the bodies had been hard enough. She couldn't be expected to deal with this too. She realized she was sobbing. Not for Cassie this time, but for herself.

Euan came up behind her and offered her a handkerchief. It was clean, white, ironed. She took it from him. The feel of the smooth cloth against her face was a small comfort.

'How can you think of ironing? At a time like this?'

It was the first thought that came into her head.

It took him a moment to realize what she meant.

He gave a little smile. 'Not me,' he said. 'I have help in the house. Someone to keep things going. Left to myself I'd have fallen apart. You saw that:

Now, it seemed to her that he was entirely composed.

'Did you find anything in that writing of Catherine's?' she demanded suddenly. 'Anything which might help them find out who's doing this?'

Before he could answer there was a noise outside. Her image in the window broke up, as headlights caught it from behind. She held her breath as the car coming down the road slowed and then pulled to a stop. It was Jimmy Perez and she could tell at once that he was alone. She waited, still hoping despite herself, that he would move round the car to help a child from the back seat, but he walked straight to the house. He's come to tell me that Cassie's dead. If it had been good news he'd have phoned. He wouldn't have wasted time driving here. Maggie heard him approaching and started barking and jumping up at the bedroom door.

The first thing he said, as soon as the door was open, was, 'I haven't got anything to tell you. We haven't found her. Not yet: Because she'd convinced herself that Cassie was dead in the moment of his walking from the car to the house, she felt relieved. She could have kissed him.

'I have some questions: he said.

'Of course. Anything:

He looked over her shoulder at Euan Ross. 'I'm sorry. We'd like to talk to Mrs Hunter alone. You understand?'

'I'll go home: Euan said. 'Give me a ring if you'd like me to come back. Or stay with me, Fran, if you'd prefer. Don't worry about the time. I'll be up!

Fran wasn't aware of his leaving. She knew she should thank him, see him out, offer coffee and food to the detective, but she sat impatiently waiting for the questions. She thought Perez had an idea, ideas. There was hope.

As she waited she saw the lights of another car coming from the direction of Lerwick, but it didn't stop.

He pulled out a hard dining chair and sat on that, facing her, his long legs twisted under the seat. The policewoman eased her chair back into a corner. Fran sensed an urgency. He was desperate for her to answer quickly. When she paused for a moment he didn't tell her to hurry, but she knew that was what he wanted. The questions made no sense to her. They seemed entirely random.

He asked about Cassie and how she was doing at school, about Fran's social life and the friends she'd made away from Ravenswick. She didn't demand to know what the questions were about. She could do nothing more to find her daughter. She was in his hands. And if he wasted time explaining his ideas to her, it might be too late.

It didn't take long. After a quarter of an hour he stood up again. 'You shouldn't be on your own here,' he said.

'Euan said he'd come back!

'No. Not Mr Ross. He's too close to all this. There must be someone else!

Fran thought of Jan Ellis who'd been so kind about the dog, whose husband didn't mind making a fool of himself by dressing up as a baby. She heard Perez phone her, standing outside, using his mobile. As soon as Jan's car pulled up outside, he disappeared. He didn't say anything to her before he left and she didn't watch him go. She understood he didn't want to tell her that everything would be OK, to make promises he wouldn't be able to keep.

Jimmy Perez pulled away from Fran Hunter's house and turned down 'the bank towards Hillhead. He stopped outside the old man's place and wiped the condensation from the windscreen. At the bottom of the hill there were still lights on in the schoolhouse and at Euan's, but no sign of the activity going on inside. Roy Taylor understood the need for discretion. The cars had been parked out of sight from the road.

It was tempting to drive down and join them. There would be something reassuring in the detail of a search.

It would help him forget the panic. He could concentrate on sifting through objects and belongings, proving a theory which had already convinced him.

But it wouldn't bring Cassie back. He was certain she. wasn't in Ravenswick.

Perez forced himself to breathe slowly, to think rationally about what he should do next. His thoughts chased one after the other and he struggled to bring an order to them. They were strange thoughts which had little to do with the matter in hand, distractions.

The ravens. Every time he'd been here in daylight they'd been flying over these fields. Where would they go in the dark? Looking out over the frozen headland, he found it hard to imagine them sheltering on ledges of the cliff, but where else was there for them to go? Did they roost close together to keep out the cold? He didn't know how they could survive a winter like this.

Magnus's raven was already dead. Perez had taken it to the woman who cared for injured birds and animals and she'd fed it as Magnus had instructed, but something about the change of home had disturbed it. It had died the first night for no apparent reason. Sometimes it happened like that, the woman said.

Then he thought about Duncan. Who had once been a friend and had become an enemy. How would Perez talk to him if his daughter was dead? And that brought him to the murderer. He knew what he should do. He started the engine and backed into the gateway opposite Magnus's house to turn round. He drove north again.

In Lerwick he made a phone call to Taylor.

'Anything?'

'You were right. We found them. Well hidden though. Easy to miss!

But you didn't miss them, Perez thought. He could hear the triumph in Taylor's voice, subdued because he'd feel guilty for feeling that way, but there just the same. Magnus Tait hadn't killed Catherine. An Englishman had proved them all wrong. An Englishman and a Fair Islander.

'Go out to Quendale. Talk to the boy there.

There was something I missed! He shouldn't be the one to be giving orders, but he didn't care.

Perez hung up and contacted the rest of the team who were already searching the halls.

By this time the dances were breaking up, people were drifting home. Those with more stamina had moved on to private parties.

'Any sign of him?'

'No one's seen him for a while.'

'You've checked the house?'

'All quiet. The door was open and we had a look round. No one's there.'

He drove slowly around the streets, stopping occasionally to talk to groups of revellers on their way home. No one had seen Robert. Not for hours. On the phone again, he said, 'Talk to taxis. And rouse the folks working on the Whalsay ferry. He could have gone to the boat.' He thought that would be an efficient way to dispose of a small child. Tip her overboard. This temperature she'd only survive for seconds, even if she could swim.

For some reason the image of the raven flashed into his head for a moment. It wouldn't take any depth, he thought. Depending on the state of the tide, there was a chance her body would never be found, even if she was thrown over where the boat was moored.

Perez was thinking of friends who had boats and lived close to Vidlin. Someone he could persuade to take him across to Whalsay. Then he had another idea. Celia was at the Haa, had been at least when he'd tried there earlier. It was worth looking there first. For the second time that night, Perez drove north, across the bare wastes of heather moorland.

At the Brae junction he saw skid marks on the road and he changed gear to go down the bank to the house.

There were two figures on the beach, silhouetted in the embers of the fire, but he couldn't make out who they were.

He hadn't known what to expect in the house. He couldn't tell how Duncan would react to his daughter's disappearance. He wouldn't have been surprised by a riotous party in full swing, Duncan the exhibitionist pissed, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. But it was very quiet there. Even when he switched off his engine, he couldn't hear music. The faint breeze that had come with the change of the tide had dropped again. The smoke rose in a straight line from the tall chimney. He could see it in the moonlight and he could smell the wood in it.

He opened the door without knocking. In the kitchen someone he didn't know was asleep in the Orkney chair. It was a young woman, with her legs curled under her. 'Two men sat at the table eating toast. They were dressed in suits and ties, could have been having a breakfast meeting in the city. They looked up when they heard him, took him for one of Duncan's friends.

'Hi: one said, not surprised that a guest should be turning up at two in the morning. 'He's upstairs. Not really in a party mood.' He had an English accent and Perez put them down as business acquaintances.

He didn't answer and went on to the drawing room. The young couple he'd found in bed were there, on one of the sofas, arms entwined, not asleep quite, but in a glazed, self-absorbed stupor. Celia was sitting on the floor, staring at the fire, prodding it with a wrought-iron poker, making the sparks fly. He thought she'd been crying.

'Is Robert here?'.

She looked up at him. 'He was,' she said. 'I don't know now. Is his van still here?' She didn't ask why he wanted to know or if there was news of Cassie. He felt the urge to scream very loudly. Anything to rouse them. What right did they all have to laze about half conscious while the girl was missing?

He said nothing and walked quickly outside. He should have thought of the van when he'd first arrived. He saw it immediately. Before approaching it, he moved his own car so the van was blocked in. He didn't want the embarrassment of Robert driving away.

He tried the driver's door. It was locked. He peered through the window, shone his torch inside. There was salt on the glass and the light was reflected so it was hard to make out anything inside. He stooped so he was closer.

There was a pink glove on the passenger's seat, but it was too big to be Cassie's. He couldn't see to the back. The business end was separated from the seats by a sheet-metal casing. He tried the handle on the back doors. The handle moved, released a rod and bolt and when he pulled the door opened.

There was a soft bundle lying inside. He wouldn't let himself think what it might be. He shone his torch and caught a pair of eyes, wide and panicky. They blinked, hurt by the light. Alive. Cassie couldn't move. Her hands had been tied by twine, expertly knotted. A gag made of a strip of oily rag was in her mouth. Perez took his penknife from his pocket. He cut the ropes and pulled the gag from her mouth, then he carried her out and held her in his arms as if she was a baby. She began to shiver. He ran with her into the house, shouting for Duncan as soon as he was inside. The man loped down the stairs towards them.

Sally found herself on the beach. She couldn't remember getting there. It was cold, but now the cold seemed a long way away. Robert had taken off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. The fire was still giving off some heat. She thought suddenly that she'd had enough and it would be quite good to be at home. Her parents would be asleep and she could let herself in very quietly, make herself tea. She was tired and she could lie in the single bed she'd slept in since she'd grown out of her cot. The duvet would be warm and she'd sleep. More than anything now, she wanted to sleep. But sleep, it seemed, was impossible. Robert wanted to talk.

'Did Catherine tell you what happened the last time we were here?'

'I don't want to hear,' she said.

'What was it with her?'

'Look: she said. 'I don't care. Not now.'

She leant back against him and felt her eyes begin to close. The knife on his belt was in the small of her back. Not uncomfortable and she was too tired to move. Was it just the drink? Was that what drink did to you, made you want to sleep and forget?

‘Mam was right about her all along: he said. The words seemed to bounce off her skull. What was he trying to say?

She saw she couldn't sleep. She had to listen.

'What do you mean?'

'She said she was a strange girl. No good:

'She was my friend,' Sally said, though it seemed strange to be standing up for Catherine to Robert. Especially to Robert.

'She tried to make a fool of me. I couldn't let her get away with that:

'You didn't have to. She died:

'I liked her,' he said. 'Fancied her. That was what she intended. Mam said that was what she was up to. She was just mucking around with me, she said, trying to get a reaction:

For God's sake, leave your mother out of this. She saw how it would be if they got together permanently. The first sign of trouble and he'd be off to Celia, looking for a shoulder to cry on, depending on her to put everything right. Perhaps it was healthier to hate your mother. Perhaps she should be grateful that Margaret had treated her like shit. Away from the fire there was frost on the shore now. The waves when they retreated left streamers of ice, pale reflections in the moonlight. Dh God, she thought. What a mess.

'She filmed me,' he said.

'She filmed everyone:

'She filmed me hitting her. That night. She got me so wound up that I ended up hitting her, slapped her across the face so there was a red mark. It was what she wanted. It made good film. That's what she said. She had her camera set up on a tripod and provoked me so I forgot it was there. Like I was some performing seal: Sally didn't answer.

'Did you hear me?' he demanded.

Sally tried to pull away from him, but he held on to her shoulders.

'Are you going to hit me?' The words seemed to come from someone else's mouth, not hers. She shouldn't taunt him about Catherine. It wasn't his fault. She knew what Catherine was like. And it wouldn't do to make him angry.

'No,' he said. She thought he sounded like a little boy. He could be one of the kids in her mother's school. 'No, of course not:

'Walk away from her: These words though were spoken by a grown-up. They'd been facing the fire and beyond it the water, so they hadn't heard Jimmy Perez coming up behind them. Sally thought he must have moved very quietly over the shingle. He was a quiet man. Even the words, when he repeated them, weren't spoken loudly. They turned together to look at him.

'Your mother wants to speak to you, Robert. Come along:

Robert began to move and she thought, That's it then. Celia has won. Every time Celia shouts for him, he goes running. And she knew she'd probably never see him again. She watched Robert scramble away until he disappeared into the darkness. Further up the beach there were voices, something of a scuffle. She couldn't work out what that was about. She thought Robert wasn't a very elegant mover. He had rather short legs. His bum was too near to the ground. She wondered how she could have thought him worth bothering about. He'd left her his coat, but she shivered and turned back to the fire, feeling it hot and fierce on that side of her face. There'd be a red mark like a slap, she thought. In her hand she held the knife she'd taken from Robert's belt when he'd tried to hold on to her.

'Would you have killed him too?' the policeman asked.

She didn't answer. She angled the knife, so the blade reflected the embers. The blade looked scarlet in the strange red light, as if it was covered in blood already.

'We found Cassie: he said. 'She's all right!

'It was nothing to do with Robert: she said. 'He'd left the back of the van open. Cassie had wandered away from her Mam. I said I'd help her find Mrs Hunter. There was rope in the van. I was in the Girls’ Brigade. I'm good at knots! She paused. When they'd skidded at the Brae junction, she'd heard Cassie bounce around in the back. Robert hadn't noticed.

'Why did you take her?' the detective said. 'You don't have to answer. I shouldn't be talking to you at all without a lawyer, but I wondered. A kid like that. What could she have done to hurt you?'

'She saw me that night with Catherine. She'd woken up. Some nightmare. Saw me through her bedroom window in the moonlight. I convinced her it must have been a dream. Then, when I found her this evening in Lerwick, lost, all upset, I thought I couldn't take a chance. Stupid! But it wasn't only that. It was the girl. You could tell she'd turn out just like Catherine. Confident, full of herself She wouldn't be the sort of child to be bullied, to feel sick every morning before setting off for school. She'd be the one making the clever comments which would turn some other poor kid's stomach. Cocky. Her mother had been right about that.

'Why didn't you kill her straight away?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'I had to wait until it was quiet, didn't I?' Quiet, like the night I killed Catherine. A night like this.

'Was that what the knife was for?'

She shrugged again.

'You've no use for it now: he said. 'Best to give it to me!

She didn't answer. She sat down on the sand and held the knife on her knee. In the distance she heard the sound of cars driving away from the Haa.

The party was over. Robert would go home with Celia.

They deserved each other.

'Sally, give the knife to me!

She thought she might reach him with it before he could stop her. Weighed up the possibility in her head. The thrill of doing it: Would there be the same buzz as when she'd killed Catherine? Perhaps it would be more exciting. She imagined bone shattering and blood, the power of standing and watching his life seeping into the icy sand. There'd be no chance of getting away now, of course.

She'd never thought she would get away with killing Catherine. Not even when they locked up the old man. This was Shetland, where you couldn't fart without the whole place knowing. Anyway, she'd have been disappointed if it had stayed a secret for ever. Imagine her friends at school, their faces when they found out. She'd give anything to be in the house room when the news broke, when her face was on the front of the papers and on the television. She'd be a celebrity.

'Sally. Give it to me.'

She held the bone handle of the knife in her hand, ready to strike out at him, then was overcome by tiredness again.

She stood up, and with the last of her energy, she threw it away from her towards the sea. It twisted in the air, and landed in the shallow water. She didn't see the splash because of the dark, but she heard it.

He walked right up to her, held her hand and pulled her to her feet. It wasn't a rough or unkind gesture. It was as if he was trying to help her. He put his arm round her shoulder and walked with her up the beach. From a distance, they'd look like lovers.

Perez dropped Roy Taylor off at the airport the next morning. Now he was satisfied they had the right person for the Catherine Ross murder, the Englishman didn't want to stay. The restlessness which he'd just about managed to hold in check while the investigation kept his interest was moving him on. Already he was thinking about the next case. He shook Perez's hand warmly before leaving the lounge, but didn't look back as he walked over the tarmac to the Aberdeen plane. Perez waited until the plane took off and almost wished he was on it. He still hadn't made up his mind about the move to the Isle. His mother had given up asking him about it. She'd probably resigned herself to the fact that he wouldn't be coming home.

On the way back to Lerwick he stopped at Fran Hunter's house. He told himself as he drew up that he was stopping on impulse, but really it had been at the back of his mind since leaving the airport; even before that, he'd considered it as an option when he'd set out from home. She was pulling sheets from the washing machine into a plastic basket, didn't stop when she called for him to come in.

'I wanted to know how Cassie was feeling; he said. 'She's still asleep. By the time we got in this morning it was almost light. The doctor looked her over. Just a few bruises he said from being banged around in the back of the van!

He didn't know what to say. They both knew it wasn't the physical effects which would last.

She'd straightened up now. 'I don't suppose I can ask you questions about what happened. I don't suppose that's allowed!

'Ask me whatever you like,' he said. 'You're not the sort to go to the press. And if anyone has a right to know, it's you!

'Did you ever think I was involved?'

'No,' he said without hesitation. 'Never!

Without asking if he wanted a drink she moved the kettle on to the hotplate, rinsed out the cafetiere which stood on the draining board and spooned in coffee.

'Why did she do it? I've been trying to think. I mean, I fell out with people when I was a teenager. You do, don't you, at that age. One minute you think you're soul mates. The next you wonder how they can be so cruel. But I never pulled a scarf round their necks and strangled them!

'It wasn't just a matter of friends falling out,' he said.

She poured his coffee, remembered that he took it black.

'She'd had a hard time at school. Since she'd been in primary. I was bullied a bit too, know what it's like. And it can't have been easy, I suppose, to have your mother as teacher!

'God, no. Especially someone like Margaret Henry.

That would be a nightmare!

'It got worse when she moved to the high school.

A sort of routine bullying. Never physical. Not really. People knocking into her in a way which could have been accidental, tripping her up. But a sort of cold indifference. She was never included. Never wanted. Everyone made it clear she wasn't worth bothering with. Maybe it turned into a sort of paranoia. Wherever she went at school she thought people were whispering about her!

'But Catherine bothered with her!

'Catherine didn't care what the other kids thought.

She had her own agenda. Sally was jealous of that! 'How do you know all this?'

'Sally told us. She wants us to know everything. It's as if she's enjoying the attention!

Fran was sitting next to the fire, with her back against the hearth. 'Did they both fancy him? Is that what they fought over? I don't really see him as Catherine's type!

He couldn't help smiling. 'He wasn't. No, not that. Sally was besotted with him. You can see that she might be, can't you? Big, handsome, in charge of that monster of a boat. A reputation which her parents would hate. And her first boyfriend. Catherine's interest was more. . ! He paused. '. . . more academic!

'What do you mean?'

'She had this project at school. A film! 'Of course,' Fran said. 'Fire and Ice!

'As I understand it, it was a sort of anthropological study of the islands. Almost a critique. But she didn't just record what she saw. She was a director. She made things happen. A teacher at school, who invited her into his home and came on to her. She pretended to be shocked but it was what she wanted. She filmed him in secret.

A young lad at Quendale who poured out his heart to her. She set him up for rejection, for humiliation and caught that on film too. He was the boy who drove the girls home on New Year's Eve. Sally claimed not to recognize him, but of course she must have done. She just wanted to create more of a mystery around Catherine! He paused again, drank the coffee, which was very good. After all, there was no hurry now, and he could think of nowhere he'd rather be than in this small warm house with this woman. 'Catherine knew Robert's father was Guizer Jarl, knew Robert was desperate to take a leading role in Up Helly Aa.

Knew he was sensitive about his father's reputation. Robert was always one for the young girls. probably felt safer with them. He'd never really grown up. I'm not saying she set him up. Not quite. But she gave him the opportunity to behave badly, and he jumped at it! He felt suddenly embarrassed. He didn't want to talk about Catherine provoking Robert, his reaction when she laughed at him. He didn't want to imply that Catherine had asked for the violence. How would that sound? Fran was a liberated young woman from the south. What would she think of him? But in fact Catherine had got just what she'd wanted.

She'd been triumphant about it. He felt himself stumbling over the words. 'Catherine captured Robert on film. It showed him in a bad light. She was going to show it in school. You know how things get around here. By that evening everyone would be talking about it. He might even have been charged and taken to court. His father had been through enough embarrassment over Celia's affair. Imagine the publicity of a court case!

'Robert had a motive for killing Catherine,' Fran said. 'But Sally didn't. Did she? Am I missing something?'

She frowned, but in a way which was curious, not anxious. He felt a rush of relief that it had ended well for her. He knew the response was completely selfish. He wouldn't have been able to face her if Cassie had been harmed.

'I told you that Sally was besotted with Robert. I don't think he had any plans at that stage for a permanent relationship. He'd been drunk at the market cross on New Year's Eve and they'd ended up together. That was all. But Sally was full of romantic notions. To hear her talk you'd think she'd been designing her wedding dress. Almost.

That afternoon, the day she died, Catherine spent some time with Magnus Tait. He ;1 talked to her about Catriona Bruce. He didn't give away his mother's secret. Not quite. But he talked about the girl and Catherine filmed him. Later that evening she met up with Sally!

He set down his mug and tried to picture.,.the scene in his head. 'They were in Catherine's house. Her father was out. Catherine knew he'd be going out for a meal with colleagues after the meeting at school. Sally's mother thought she was in her room finishing homework. Margaret didn't like her out in the evening, even when it was only to go up the road to Catherine's and it wouldn't be the first time Sally'd slipped out without her realizing. Catherine was full of her film, of the great material she'd got. Robert Isbister behaving like an animal and Magnus Tait talking about the disappearance of a young girl and about how the whole community had shunned him for years. Not the sort of picture the Shetland tourist board would want to portray. She showed the film to Sally. They'd been drinking. Not a lot - they'd shared a bottle of wine. But it would be enough for them to talk more freely. Catherine would say what she really thought of Robert. You can imagine the taunting. How can you bear to go out with someone like that? I couldn't stand to have him touch me. It would be like the bullying all over again.

'Somehow they ended up outside. A notion of Catherine's probably. She liked the dramatic. Another scene for her film. It hadn't started to snow again yet. There was a full moon. Everything very icy. Cassie woke up and looked down the hill from her bedroom window. She saw the girls together, silhouetted against the white field. Catherine couldn't let the matter of Robert Isbister go. Perhaps she had Sally's best interests at heart and knew he'd only hurt her later. More likely, I think, that she hoped to provoke another outburst to catch on the camcorder.

She certainly did that. Sally lost it. When we took a statement this morning, she said she just wanted to stop Catherine's taunting. She pulled her scarf tight around her neck. At last there was silence. She left her there in the snow. Cassie saw her walk alone back to the Ross house. She was half asleep, didn't realize then the importance of what she'd seen. It was only when Sally came to babysit for you, turned up wearing the same coat she'd been wearing that night, that it triggered a memory. Cassie still wouldn't have thought it significant, but it troubled her.

She must have said something to Sally!

'I left her alone with Cassie in the house,' Fran said. "Twrice! She thought of the drawing Cassie had made on the beach at the Haa. She'd known then that Catherine was dead. 'I should have realized'.

'You couldn't have known. None of us had any idea then! He wanted to reach out and stroke the nape of her neck, where some hair had become unfastened from its clip, to tell her that everything was all right, but knew this time he couldn't let emotion run away with him.

He twisted his fingers together to trap them and make it easier to resist the temptation. 'Magnus saw it too.

Some of it. The girls going down the track together. Only one of them coming back. The next morning he went out early and found Catherine was dead. He swept the snow off her face!

'Why didn't he say something?'

Perez paused. 'He'd had a bad experience with the police when the other girl disappeared. He didn't think anyone would believe him. He told me in time to get Cassie back safely. I asked Taylor to search the school house.

He found Catherine's keys in Sally's room.

She'd been in Euan's house to get the film!

'So Sally killed Catherine to protect a man who didn't even care about her!

'It seems she was quite calm afterwards,' Perez said. He thought Fran had a right to the whole story. 'She took the camcorder with her. She was wearing gloves, of course, had put them on before going out because of the cold.

She went into Catherine's room, found the script and the disk and deleted Fire and Ice from the computer. Then she went home. Her parents were asleep by then and heard nothing. They never knew she'd been out. She even made herself a cup of tea before she went to bed!

There was a moment of silence. He knew he should go. There was all the work which followed an arrest and he couldn't trust Sandy to get it right. At last, reluctantly, he got to his feet. She stood up too.

'Thank you,' she said.

He was going to say it was nothing, he was only doing his job, but before he could speak, she came up to him and kissed him on the cheek. A light dry kiss. Of gratitude.

'Thank you,' she said again as she shut the door behind him.

He drove back to Lerwick. Before going to his office he called at his house and phoned his mother.