Red Bones (Shetland Quartet 3)

make a fool out of me.
    ‘Oh, between us I think between us we can keep her under control.’ There was an attempt at humour, but it didn’t quite work. Joseph’s words were serious and matter-of-fact.
    ‘Is anything wrong, Dad? Anything I can help with?’
    For a second Sandy thought his father would confide in him. A curlew called and in the distance he could hear the barking sound of a raven. Then Joseph screwed the cap back on the flask and stood up.
    ‘What could be wrong? We ’re all upset because of the accidents. Two deaths. Terrible bad luck. There’s nothing wrong between your mother and me.’
    Sandy remembered his last conversation with his father at Setter. Then Joseph had spoken of the deaths as more than ‘terrible bad luck’. He knew his father was lying, but he was grateful for the lie. If his parents were having problems, Sandy didn’t really want to know.
    They were on their way back to Utra, walking at a stiff pace down the hill, so Sandy could feel his breath coming in tight little bursts, when Joseph spoke again.
    ‘I was thinking maybe your mother has been right about Setter. Perhaps we should consider selling it.’
    Sandy stopped in his tracks and bent over. It was as if someone had thumped him in the stomach, winding him.
    His father didn’t seem to notice. Now he’d started talking it seemed he couldn’t stop.
    ‘We’re neither of us getting any younger. We need to think about our future. What do I need with another house? Neither you nor Michael will ever live there. I’ve taken most of the Setter land into Utra anyway. It’s only a building.’ He realized that Sandy wasn’t with him and stopped for him to catch up. ‘But I’ll not sell it to Robert,’ he went on. His voice was defiant. He shouted his words into the wind. ‘I’ll not sell it to that rich bastard so he can put his fancy daughter in there. We’ll do as your mother says. We’ll offer it to the Amenity Trust. They can make a museum out of it. Something to the memory of Mima Wilson. A house in her honour.’
    Sandy had straightened his back. He walked down the hill towards his father. His legs felt weak and he had to concentrate so he didn’t trip.
    ‘What made you change your mind? You said you didn’t want strangers walking all over it.’
    ‘It’s my house,’ Joseph said. ‘I can do what I like with it.’
    ‘I ken that fine. But something’s made you change your mind. What’s happened?’ Then came the same question and this time he hoped his father would give him the truth: ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
    As he spoke, Sandy was still further up the hill than his father and looking down at him. Joseph wasn’t an old man; he was wiry and strong. But from this perspective suddenly he seemed small.
    ‘No,’ Joseph said at last. ‘There’s nothing you can do to help.’

 
Chapter Thirty-seven
     
    Perez spent most of the day in the office, glad of the routine, the familiar paperwork. He spoke to a local historian who’d written a book on the Shetland Bus, and put in a call to the Norwegian Embassy. Later he had a meeting with the Fiscal. They drank tea in her office, discussed depression and date rape as they sipped Earl Grey and nibbled shortbread biscuits. The horrors of her work never seemed to affect her.
    ‘Well, I think we can put the girl’s death down to suicide now,’ the Fiscal said. ‘She must have been under considerable stress, working with a man who had once assaulted her. She even used his knife to kill herself. That works for me as a final communication, to him and to us. She held him responsible for her misery. And now you say she discussed the rape with her colleague just before she disappeared; that confirms our original decision.’
    Perez could see it would make life easier for Rhona Laing if they could tidy away Hattie’s death like that. Two tragedies on Whalsay, one accident, one suicide, only connected in that Mima’s death had made Hattie feel lonelier and even more depressed.
    He sat for a moment in silence. The Fiscal waited. She hadn’t been in Shetland long, but she was used to his ways and she was a patient woman when she had to be. Eventually though she’d had enough.
    ‘Well? Don’t you agree?’
    ‘I think there was more to it than that. I don’t understand why she should phone me if she intended to kill herself. There was something she wanted to tell me, something about Mima’s killing.’
    ‘You believe she was murdered?’