Cold Earth

Chapter Thirty-One

Willow sat in the car below Perez’s house in Ravenswick. There was a moon, and shreds of cirrus cloud floated in front of it, so the light was milky and opaque. She knew that he was back from talking to Kevin Hay because his car was there and there was a glow behind the curtained window, but she was a little early and didn’t want to disturb him before he was ready for her. Eventually she walked up the bank and tapped at the door.

The fire had been lit, but there were no candles this time. She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or disappointed. Perez was sitting at the table writing notes under an angle-poise lamp. There were still shadows in the corners of the room.

‘What have you got for us, Jimmy?’ She wanted him to know that she had no expectations of this meeting, that she could be entirely professional.

‘Kevin Hay would tell me nothing.’ Perez hesitated and then stood up. ‘I was thinking it was time for some supper and I might open a bottle of wine. Will you join me in a glass?’

‘Why not?’ One glass over a whole evening wouldn’t cloud her judgement.

He didn’t ask what she would prefer, but pulled the cork from a bottle of red. He had cheese arranged already on a plate on the counter, bread on a board, ready to cut. He set the food with plates and two glasses on a low table in front of the fire.

‘So how did Kevin explain the payments to Rogerson?’

Perez poured wine. ‘Rogerson was his solicitor and they undertook business for him from time to time.’

‘But what sort of business?’ The wine was light and sharp.

‘I rather think that I’ve got to the bottom of that too.’ He reached out and offered her the cheese. She thought how easy it would be to reach to take his hand. Confide in me, Jimmy. Let me rescue you from your dreams and your ghosts.

‘And?’

He smiled. ‘First of all, let me tell you a story. Several years ago, just when it was decided to bring natural gas ashore in Shetland because the oil supplies were dwindling, there was an advert in The Shetland Times. A woman from Aberdeen, who ran an escort agency in the city, was thinking of setting up a branch in Lerwick. I can’t remember the name now. Something flowery and fancy, but it was a name that made it quite clear what the business was about. There was a mobile number, and interested parties should contact her. She intimated that contractors and men working in the oil and gas industries would be especially welcome. There was an outcry and the Times was berated for running the ad. The council made it clear that such a venture would definitely not be allowed in Shetland.’

Willow sipped her wine. ‘You think Tom Rogerson stole the idea?’

‘I think it would explain the random payments from islanders and from incomers. I checked into the background of some of the islanders on the list. Many of them are lonely single men.’

‘Do you have any evidence for the theory?’ She was thinking this would be hard to prove. Tom Rogerson’s clients would be too embarrassed to talk, especially the men like Kevin Hay who were married, and the working girls would have their own reasons for keeping quiet. She imagined many of them would be Eastern European. Perhaps they’d come to Shetland to work as chambermaids or in the fish-processing factory and Rogerson had recruited them with the promise of easy cash.

‘None at all. And it wasn’t even my theory. I went to see Craig Henderson and he told me there were rumours among the contractors that Rogerson could put them in touch with the women.’

‘But Rogerson can’t have paid the women,’ she said, ‘because there’s no trace of regular sums leaving his account. He must have charged an introduction or arrangement fee, and the women would have been paid direct. So there was no evidential link between him and the girls. He was very careful.’ She was thinking through the details. ‘That was a lot of cash to pay just for an introduction.’

‘The islanders would have had no idea of the going rate,’ Perez said, ‘and the incomers wouldn’t have been short of cash. Besides, perhaps Rogerson didn’t just make the introduction and sort out the logistics. Perhaps he provided somewhere discreet for the parties to meet.’

‘The house at Tain?’

Perez nodded. ‘Over the winter at least. Before that, who knows?’

‘How did Alison Teal fit into the scheme?’ Willow thought Alison must have been a part of the business. It would make sense of the unexplained affluence and the expensive clothes. Her presence in Tain. ‘There was no record that Rogerson shared his profit with her. Was she just another of his working girls? A high-class whore imported from the south to serve Rogerson’s more discerning customers.’

Perez didn’t answer directly. ‘I’ve been sitting here going over and over the possibilities.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘It’s been driving me a little bit mad.’

‘Well, we’re all a bit mad.’

‘Maybe I’ve been madder than most, brooding about the past. I’ve not been great to be with, over the past couple of years.’

‘I can understand that,’ Willow said. She expected some response, but none came. Perhaps it was too soon for him after all, too raw. Perhaps he just didn’t fancy her. ‘Look, would you rather be on your own? Would you like me to go?’ She was already on her feet.

‘No,’ Perez said. He didn’t move from his seat and his face was in shadow, so it was still hard to tell what he was thinking.

She’d already pulled on her coat and had her bag over her shoulder.

‘Please stay. Have another glass of wine, something else to eat. I’d like to talk to you. Just for the pleasure of your company. If you don’t mind.’

She let her bag drop down her arm. Now he got to his feet and he helped her out of her jacket. He stroked her hair away from her face and pulled her to him.