Cold Earth

Chapter Thirty-Three

When Sandy got to the police station Willow and Perez were already there. He checked his watch when he saw them, just to make sure he wasn’t late. Most days Jimmy tried to drop Cassie at school, so usually Sandy was at work first. They all sat in the ops room for what Willow called morning prayers, but what he knew as a briefing. She and Jimmy seemed kind of dazed. Perhaps it was because they’d been bombarded the evening before with new revelations and revised theories; Sandy soon had a sense that the direction of the case had changed completely.

‘Had you heard any of these rumours, Sandy? About Tom Rogerson arranging girls for the men in the floatels. And for anyone else who’ll pay him.’

Sandy shook his head. ‘But folk are careful what they say in front of me. You know what it’s like, Jimmy.’ Then he thought Perez might not know what it was like to have conversations in bars suddenly stop as he was approaching. Forced laughter. Over-elaborate descriptions of the stories that were being told before he’d walked in. Perez had never been very social, even before Fran’s death. Recently he scarcely left the house in the evening unless it was for work.

‘What do you think about the Shetlanders on the list? Are they likely candidates, do you think, for Rogerson’s services?’

‘Maybe.’ Sandy thought if he hadn’t met Louisa, he might have been one of the lonely men on the list in ten years’ time. ‘I’m surprised by Kevin Hay, though. I always thought he was very happy with his wife.’

‘Perhaps the happy-family thing just wasn’t enough for him,’ Willow said. ‘Perhaps that was what Agnew was trying to tell me.’

Jimmy Perez shot her a look, but he didn’t reply directly. ‘We need to get one of these men to talk. Any idea who’d be willing to speak to us, Sandy?’

‘I can’t see even the single guys who come from the islands wanting to admit that they’ve been using a prostitute.’ He felt himself blushing just at the thought of it. He wouldn’t want to interview any of them. ‘Maybe you’re best targeting the oilies.’

‘I’ve checked,’ Willow said. ‘They don’t all stay in the floatels in Scalloway or Lerwick. A good number give their local address as the new hotel near Sullom.’

‘That might explain what Alison Teal was doing in Brae just before she died.’ Perez seemed to have woken up a bit. He leaned forward across the table. ‘She was there for work.’ He paused and it was if Sandy could see his brain working. ‘Either on her own account, to interview potential clients, or to recruit more girls for the business.’

Sandy remembered visiting the hotel and passing round an image of the dead woman the day after her death. He’d sensed some of the staff had recognized her. Perhaps she’d paid them to let her work there and to keep quiet about it. ‘So we definitely think she was working for Tom Rogerson?’

‘Well, they were certainly connected in some way. We’re pretty sure that Tom collected her from the Co-op that day, aren’t we? He must have known what she was up to.’

There was a moment of silence broken by the wind outside. There was a sudden sharp shower and the rain was blown like gravel on the window, so hard that Sandy thought the glass might smash.

‘They must have kept in touch.’ Willow’s voice was as hard and sharp as the rain. ‘Rogerson and Alison. From that first meeting years ago, when Alison went missing and turned up in the Ravenswick Hotel. It’s the only explanation. And I can’t believe there’s no evidence of that. Even if she didn’t come back to see Rogerson, he must have gone south to meet her. There’ll be hotel receipts, plane, boat and train tickets. She’ll have talked to her family and friends about him.’ She looked round the table. ‘I’ve been onto the prison where Jono, her brother, is being held. Alison’s visited a few times. They lost touch for a while when he first went into the army, but there’s obviously been contact since then. Let’s get him on the phone and find out what he knows.’ She paused for breath. ‘I’ll get on to that.’

Perez seemed about to speak, but she was still issuing her instructions. There seemed to be something different about her today too, but Sandy couldn’t quite work out what it was. Maybe she was slightly more distant with Perez. Perhaps they’d fallen out. ‘Jimmy and Sandy, you go north and visit the Sullom Hotel. Get a couple of guys on Rogerson’s list to talk to you. We know the oil and gas companies have a “one strike and you’re out” policy here in Shetland, so assure them that we’ll be discreet, as long as they come clean with us. If they tell us what was really going on, they won’t lose their jobs.’ She looked around the table. ‘Any questions?’

Perez shook his head and Sandy followed.

‘Then head up to Sullom and bring back some evidence that Alison Teal and Tom Rogerson were working together. That’ll be a start. Without that, this whole theory crumbles to pieces.’

Perez drove north towards Brae, with Sandy in the passenger seat beside him. Sandy had been looking forward to the time they’d have on their own together. It would be like old times, just the two of them, with Jimmy Perez talking through his ideas about the case and Sandy occasionally throwing in some notions of his own. But today Perez drove in silence. The rain and the wind made driving tricky, but even so, Perez still seemed in a world of his own. Sandy thought again that perhaps he and Willow had been arguing about the investigation before he’d arrived at the station that morning.

Perez showed his warrant card at reception and asked to speak to the first man on the list. He was called Stephen Barnes, he was a civil engineer and his home address was in Carlisle.

‘I’m sorry, but he checked out this morning.’ The receptionist was bland and unmoved. His English was perfect, but there was a slight accent. ‘Most of the men on your list checked out on Monday, but he was delayed. A problem at work, I believe.’

Sandy wondered if it was a coincidence that most of the men who were possible clients of Alison Teal had left the islands, once news of her death had been released. Jimmy Perez always said that he didn’t believe in coincidence.

Now Jimmy was replying to the receptionist. He was just as polite, but there was a steely tone to his voice.

‘There are no flights from Scatsta this morning,’ Perez said. Most of the oil- and gas-related flights left from the airfield at Scatsta, very close to the terminals. ‘Not in this dreadful weather. I assume that Mr Barnes is still in the hotel.’

The receptionist stared at the inspector for a moment. Perhaps he was considering the possibility of lying, but at the last moment he seemed to think better of it.

‘You’re quite right, sir. Mr Barnes has vacated his room, but he’s waiting with his colleagues in the lounge for news of his flight. The weather is forecast to clear briefly early this afternoon and there’s also the possibility of a coach to Sumburgh. Would you like me to fetch him for you?’

‘I’d like that very much.’ Perez gave a sudden smile. ‘And I’d like you to find a room for us to talk in private, and to arrange for a tray of coffee to be brought for us.’

The receptionist remained impassive, but he gave a brief nod of his head.

The room they used was a conference space with a huge oval table and twelve matching chairs. Perez sat at the end with a notebook in front of him, as if he was chairing a grand meeting. Even Sandy felt intimidated and he knew it was just a tactic, because Jimmy seldom took notes when he was interviewing; he relied on Sandy to do that.

‘Mr Barnes. Thank you for giving us your time.’ Perez had already offered coffee, which had been curtly declined.

It seemed that Mr Barnes was a senior professional who wasn’t used to being summoned by the police. He was already put out because of the delay to his flight. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary,’ he’d said when he’d arrived in the room. An explanation perhaps for his bad temper. An excuse. ‘I’d planned something rather special for my wife.’

‘We’re very grateful for the delay, although I do see that it’s inconvenient for you. You might prove to be a very useful witness.’ Perez could have been a senior manager himself. Sandy was deeply impressed. ‘We’re investigating two murders. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.’

Barnes muttered something about being too busy to watch television.

‘Your name appears, along with colleagues, on a list. You made a number of payments to a solicitor called Thomas Rogerson. We have evidence to suggest that Mr Rogerson could be charged with living off immoral earnings, were he still alive. You have committed no offence to date, although if you withhold information in such a serious investigation, you would of course be charged.’ Perez paused just long enough for Barnes to take in the implication of the words and then explained them anyway. ‘Your company operates a policy that states that an employee found guilty of any offence will be removed from the islands immediately and dismissed. You signed that contract.’ Another pause, after which the tone was more conciliatory. ‘Of course if you can help us with our enquiries, your company need know nothing about this line of investigation.’

Perez drank coffee, reached out for a mass-produced biscuit and waited.

Barnes was an intelligent man. It didn’t take him long to decide that it was in his interest to cooperate. ‘Tom Rogerson was a lying bastard,’ he said. ‘He told me that there would be no record.’

‘Why don’t we start at the beginning?’ Perez leaned forward. At the other end of the table Sandy turned the page of his notebook so that there was a clean sheet of paper in front of him and marvelled at Perez’s skill.

It seemed that Stephen Barnes had met Tom Rogerson at a social function to celebrate the completion of one stage of the new terminal’s construction. They’d met at the town hall. There’d been speeches, warm fizzy wine and oatcakes with smoked salmon. Barnes had thought Tom was a good chap and when the solicitor had suggested they go back to his house for a ‘proper’ drink, he’d agreed.

At this point in the story, Perez interrupted. ‘Was anyone else in the house? Tom’s wife, for example?’

‘Not his wife, no. I think his daughter was there when we arrived. A pretty young thing. But she soon said she had work to do and left us to it.’

Perez nodded for Barnes to continue.

‘We’d had quite a lot to drink by then, and he brought out a selection of good malts. We were talking about our families, and Tom said he’d worked away in the past and how difficult that was and how wives didn’t always understand. He had this way of persuading you to confide in him.’ For the first time Barnes seemed embarrassed rather than simply resentful. ‘By the end of the evening I’d given him a cheque.’

‘Can you be more specific, please? For the notes.’ Perez nodded briefly towards Sandy. ‘The cheque was payment for what service?’

‘It was an introduction fee. Tom Rogerson had promised to set me up with a woman.’ Barnes paused briefly. ‘The next day I told myself I’d simply been ripped off and nothing would come of it.’

‘But it did?’ There was curiosity in Perez’s voice, but no judgement.

‘Exactly a day later I received an email in my personal account, giving a time and a place for the meeting.’

‘When was this?’

‘About three months ago.’

Sandy looked up at Perez and knew exactly what he was thinking. Alison Teal hadn’t been in Shetland three months ago, unless she’d made a trip for which they had no record. But Tain had been empty then and available for Rogerson’s use.

‘The name of the woman you were to meet, please?’

‘Elena.’

‘And the place?’

‘A small house in Ravenswick.’

Sandy knew exactly what that meant. Barnes might not have known the name of the house, but they did. Tain. Once the home of an elderly spinster called Minnie Laurenson, left to an American publisher called Sandy Sechrest, and occasional residence of Craig Henderson and Alison Teal.

‘Did you keep the appointment with Elena?’ Perez asked.

There was a pause. ‘I did.’ Barnes seemed about to justify or excuse his decision but thought better of it.

‘And was the encounter satisfactory?’

Another pause. ‘It was.’

‘Could you describe Elena to me, please?’

‘She was tall and slender with very long and very straight fair hair. Small features. Is that enough?’ Barnes was starting to become resentful again and to bluster, but the description was enough for Sandy, who recognized the woman he’d seen with Tom Rogerson in the Scalloway Hotel on the evening of his Valentine’s treat with Louisa.

Perez continued to ask Barnes questions, but the civil engineer had little other useful information. He was quite clear that he’d never met Alison Teal or anyone of her description. In the end they let him go. His colleagues were already boarding a coach to Sumburgh, where, it seemed, the storm was less ferocious.