Red Bones (Shetland Quartet 3)

Berglund as an aggressive man. The academic was wearing jeans and a Gore-Tex jacket, heavy trainers. He carried a small rucksack, in one of its pockets was a small archaeologists’ trowel and in the other a big knife in a sheath. Perez supposed they were tools of the trade. He wondered what excuse he could give for being here to meet Berglund. It seemed a disproportionate gesture.
    ‘Mr Berglund.’ As soon as he spoke he realized he’d got the title wrong. Berglund was a professor. But Berglund stopped and turned slowly, curious but not offended. At first he didn’t recognize Perez and seemed confused. Not far away a family was welcoming back a young man, a student, and there was a lot of noise. Everyone was there – both parents and a couple of children. The returning teenager seemed embarrassed by the attention, the hugs and the shrieking voices.
    ‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ Perez said. ‘I wonder if I could have a few words. It won’t take long. It’ll save me a trip to Whalsay.’
    Now Berglund did recognize him. ‘Of course: you’re the detective.’ A pause and a frown. ‘What’s happened now?’
    It seemed a strange question. Perez wanted to ask, What were you expecting to happen? ‘I just need to complete my report for the Fiscal. Routine. I’m sure you understand. She’s satisfied Mrs Wilson’s death was an accident, but as you were on the island when it happened . . .’ It sounded an unconvincing explanation to Perez, but Berglund shrugged and nodded his agreement.
    They had breakfast together in a small and steamy cafe by the harbour. Bacon rolls and tea in thick china mugs. There was nobody to overhear them. Berglund shrugged off his heavy coat and Perez saw he was wearing a hand-knitted sweater in a pattern he didn’t recognize.
    ‘That’s not Shetland, is it?’ Small-talk because he wasn’t quite sure how to begin.
    If the archaeologist was surprised by the question it didn’t show. ‘No, my grandmother’s a great knitter.’
    The pattern of the sweater and the name made Perez think Berglund’s family must be Scandinavian.
    At first he seemed nervous, almost jumpy. Perhaps it was just a natural reaction to being questioned by the police. He talked too much about the dig at Lindby and the find of coins the girls had made. ‘Hattie will be pleased. It’s her commitment that set the project going. She’s a strange young woman. Obsessive. There are times when I worry about her. I hope this will take the pressure off a bit. She doesn’t need to justify herself now.’
    It was warm in the cafe. The condensation on the window meant there was no view outside.
    ‘Have you known Hattie long?’ It had come into his mind. Of course it had no relevance to the inquiry, but perhaps he could form a proper question while Berglund answered.
    Berglund considered for a moment. ‘I’ve been supervising her since the beginning of her project.’
    Was that a real answer? But Perez thought he couldn’t justify following it up. Berglund’s personal life was none of his business.
    ‘How did you get on with Jemima Wilson? I take it you knew her?’
    ‘She was a joy,’ Berglund said. ‘So many landowners can be a real pain. They don’t want the hassle or the disruption of a dig. Or they expect compensation. Mima loved having the girls at her place. I think she was glad of the company.’
    ‘Even though she had her family close by?’
    ‘They’re all men.’ Berglund was beginning to relax. He’d eaten half his bacon roll, almost finished the tea. ‘She had a son and two grandsons. Not quite the same. She told me once that she’d always wanted daughters.’
    ‘It seems an odd kind of thing to say to a stranger.’
    ‘I called round one evening with a bottle of Scotch to thank her for her help. We had a few drinks and we started chatting. We got on surprisingly well. I had the feeling that if I’d been thirty years older she’d have seduced me. She must have been wicked when she was young.’
    ‘She has a daughter-in-law,’ Perez said.
    ‘Ah, that’s not at all the same, apparently. I have the impression that Mima had never really taken to Evelyn. Perhaps that’s always the way with mothers and sons. I’m an only child and sometimes I think my mother was always faintly disappointed that I felt the need of a wife at all. She should have been enough for me.’
    My mother wants me to find a wife , Perez thought. She wants a grandson to carry on the family name. What will