Red Bones (Shetland Quartet 3)

traditional crafts and she came to Whalsay to talk to Evelyn about the island knitting. It has its own unique pattern, apparently, and Evelyn’s a kind of expert. We met in the Pier House Hotel one night and kept in touch. She came to visit a few times . . . Maybe she fell in love with the place and not the man.’
    Sandy had described Ronald as intelligent. For the first time Perez caught a glimpse of that. The man turned away suddenly and put his head in his hands. Perez and Sandy saw themselves out.

 
Chapter Eight
     
    Sandy felt shattered. He’d always prided himself on being able to manage without much sleep. At Up Helly Aa he’d keep going for two or three days without getting to his bed, fuelled by the drink, the dancing and the company. He supposed this tiredness was to do with the shock. He’d never much understood the response of bereaved relatives when he’d come across them at work. He’d known he should be sympathetic, but their slow blankness and dull exhausted eyes had irritated him. He’d wanted to shake them. Maybe in the future he’d be less impatient. It had been such a relief when Jimmy Perez had arrived. Sandy had watched the ferry cross from Laxo with a sort of desperation, willing it to put on a bit of speed, knowing it was pathetic to want his boss to take things over, but not being able to help himself.
    Now he was grateful that Perez had been so gentle with Ronald. Sandy had always got on well with Ronald, even though they were different. Sandy had never been one for schoolwork. He considered Ronald to be his best friend; when he finally took the plunge and decided to get married, he’d ask Ronald to be his best man. Jackie and Evelyn had never been friends. There’d always been the grit of envy and competition, and while Joseph and Andrew had been more civilized, Sandy had sensed a tension there too. Perhaps he and Ronald had become so close partly because their parents disapproved.
    Perez hadn’t said anything after they’d left the Clouston house, except that he’d wished he’d thought to bring his wellies because the grass was so wet. He could go half an hour at a time without saying a word, and that really spooked Sandy. He liked chat, even as background noise, always had the radio or the telly on if he was on his own in his flat.
    They were back standing by the car. ‘Where now?’ he asked, thinking if he didn’t move them on they could be here all day with Perez staring out towards the shore.
    ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Anywhere we could get a decent breakfast?’
    ‘There are no cafes on the island, but my mother does a good fry-up.’ As soon as he’d spoken, Sandy knew this was probably a mistake. Evelyn was an embarrassment. She’d be telling the inspector stories from his childhood, bringing out the photographs of him with the chickenpox, asking how soon Sandy could think about putting in for promotion, telling him about Michael’s new job in Edinburgh. She could talk for Shetland, mostly about her sons. But it was too late to take back the offer; Perez had already got into the car and started the engine. The inspector leaned forward and wiped the condensation from the windscreen with a dirty handkerchief.
    ‘Sounds just the thing. Which way are we going?’
    They drove down the road past Setter and along the loch where the divers would breed later in the year, then came to the field with the pig arcs and the four russet-coloured pigs. Of all the beasts on the croft Sandy liked the pigs best. His mother must have heard the car coming down the track because she had the door open and was standing there waiting for them. Utra was the biggest croft in Lindby, because it included most of the Setter land now. Sandy’s father had extended the house over the years, bullied by Evelyn, who’d wanted separate rooms for her sons, a decent-sized bathroom. Money had been tight in those days. Joseph Wilson hadn’t worked on the boats, had never made as much money as the fishermen. Evelyn had never said but Sandy thought it must have been hard for her, watching the other women with their smart clothes bought on the trips to Bergen or Aberdeen.
    ‘Come in,’ she said, as soon as they got out of the car. ‘You’ll need to get warm and you’ll be ready for something to eat. The kettle’s just boiled. What a terrible thing! I couldn’t believe it when Sandy told me. Poor Jackie. I don’t know how she’ll stand the shame of it.’
    Sandy