Cold Earth

Chapter Two

The landslide caused chaos. The main road from Lerwick to Sumburgh Airport would be closed for at least the next day, and just where the slip had been there were no roads to set up a diversion. Flights into Sumburgh had been diverted to Scatsta Airport in North Mainland, which was normally only used for oil- and gas-related traffic, but was now stretched to capacity. Business people fired off emails of complaint to the council, as if they could influence the elements, and then booked themselves onto the ferry. Power lines were down – the slide had snapped poles and dragged them from their foundations. In the south of the island, people lucky enough still to have them reverted to the little generators they had used before mains electricity, and which they kept for emergencies. Others made do with candles and paraffin lamps.

The day after the incident Jimmy Perez was busy. He was the boss, so it was mostly meetings: with the council, to work on getting the road open as soon as possible; with social services, to check that the vulnerable and elderly had food delivered to them, and that their houses were warm. Not exactly police work, but in the islands it was important to be flexible. He disliked being trapped in the police station and in endless discussions. And still it rained, so he looked out at a grey town, the horizon between the sea and the sky blurred with cloud. Today it hardly seemed to get light.

The main focus of his colleagues was to identify the woman who’d been killed in the landslide. As far as they could tell, she’d been the only casualty. There were no pockets in the silk dress and no handbag had been found. So there was nothing to identify her, no credit card or passport. The fire service said it was too dangerous yet to get into the ruined house to search for belongings. The bottom of her face, her jaw and her nose had been damaged beyond recognition and there were wounds to the back of her head; Perez thought she’d been gathered up by the moving hillside, tumbled and battered until she’d been left adrift at the stone dyke. Yet her forehead and her eyes had seemed oddly untouched. There were scratches and tears in the skin, but the structure of that part of the face had been left intact. Her dark eyes had stared out at him. Perez hoped that the first impact had killed her, knocked her out at least, so she’d had no knowledge of what was happening to her. He still felt the weird and irrational attachment that he’d experienced at the scene.

They assumed she must have been staying in the croft house that had been half-flattened and filled with black earth. On holiday perhaps. Yesterday had been the eve of St Valentine’s, and in Perez’s head she’d been trying on the red dress for her lover. Making sure that she would look good for the following evening. Perhaps she’d planned to cook him dinner. Something spicy and Mediterranean, made with peppers and tomatoes as red as the dress. Perez knew all these were fantasies, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted a name for her.

They still hadn’t tracked down the owner of the house, though they did have a name for it: Tain. Apparently it had been inherited by a woman who lived in America, from an elderly aunt. Word in the community was that she rented it out on an ad hoc basis. She had plans to do it up and didn’t want to let it out long-term. Robert Henderson, whose brother had been the last tenant, was enjoying a Caribbean cruise, and the brother himself was working in the Middle East. It was all frustrating and unsatisfactory. Perez knew there would be a logical explanation and that soon somebody would come forward to identify her, but at present the dead woman remained mysterious, fuelling his imagination and making him feel ridiculous.

Her body would be sent by ferry to Aberdeen for the post-mortem and Perez hoped they could get a name from dental records, once the pathologist James Grieve had started his work, but that could take days. And they needed some idea who she was before they could find her dentist. Perez didn’t think there was any point checking in the islands. She wasn’t local. He would have seen her in town or heard about the dark lady who lived on the edge of his community.

Now he was between meetings. He’d made coffee and stared out of his window towards the town hall. Its bulk was a shadow against the grey sky. Sandy Wilson knocked and came in.

‘I’ve spoken to most of the estate agents in Lerwick. None of them managed the Ravenswick house or rented it out.’

‘We need to track down the owner then.’ Perez continued looking out of the window at the rain. ‘The dead woman might have been their friend or relative. Do we still have no idea who it belongs to?’

Sandy shook his head. ‘The person who might have had an idea is dead.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Magnus Tait. He would have grown up with Minnie Laurenson, the old lady who used to live there. He might have been able to point us in the direction of the niece who inherited it.’

But Magnus had died after a stroke at the age of eighty-five and Perez suddenly realized that he still needed to grieve for the man. Magnus had been a part of his life for the past few years. The landslide cutting short the funeral had disturbed the natural process of mourning. At least Magnus had been laid to rest with some dignity, lowered into the ground before the cemetery had been inundated with mud.

Perez had first met Fran, his fiancée, because she’d been Magnus’s neighbour, and the crofter had arrived at Perez’s door soon after Fran’s funeral. Looking as awkward as a shy child. Clutching in his hand a bag of the sweets he knew Cassie loved. For the bairn. Yon wife was a good woman. Then he’d turned and walked down the bank to his croft, making no other demands, not expecting Perez to chat or to invite him in.

‘The woman in the red dress couldn’t have been the owner?’ After all, why not? Perez thought. He’d imagined the dead woman as exotic and Spanish, but perhaps an American woman would wear red silk too.

Sandy shrugged. He didn’t like to speculate in case he got things wrong.

‘And you’re sure that nobody has been reported missing?’ Perez thought the woman couldn’t have been staying in the house alone. Or if she was there alone, she had known people in the islands. February wasn’t the time for a walking holiday or sightseeing. And if she was that sort of tourist, she wouldn’t be dressed the way they’d found her. She’d be wearing jeans and a sweater, woollen socks – even indoors. ‘When will they go in?’

‘Soon,’ Sandy said. ‘Before it gets dark. They’ve got a generator set up, but they’d rather start during daylight.’

Perez nodded. ‘You be there, Sandy. But before you go, talk to Radio Shetland about putting out a request for information on this evening’s show. A phone number for the owner, or a contact. She’d have somebody to clean the place between visitors and to hold the keys. And a description of our mysterious woman.’

‘We weren’t in time to get the dead woman onto yesterday evening’s ferry,’ Sandy said, as if he’d just remembered and this was something Perez should know. ‘She’ll be going south to Aberdeen tonight. James Grieve is ready for her.’

‘It would be good to have a name before James starts the post-mortem,’ Perez said. ‘I’d like to tell the relatives what’s happening, before he begins his work.’ His phone rang. He was expecting a summons to another meeting, but it was Kathryn Rogerson, the young woman who’d recently taken over as the teacher at Ravenswick school.

‘I’m afraid we’re closing the school today, Mr Perez. The engineers’ department wants to survey the hill all the way along to Gailsgarth. It might need shoring up from the road. If there was another landslide there, the school would be right in its path, and we’ve been advised we have to get all the children away.’ She still sounded like a child herself, rather earnest and desperate to do the right thing. Perez knew her father, who was a lawyer with an office just off Commercial Street. ‘I know Maggie Thomson sometimes cares for Cassie when you’re at work, but she’s away at her sister’s and her flight’s been cancelled.’

So now he’d have to start ringing round to sort out childcare. The last thing he needed. Duncan Hunter, Cassie’s natural father, was in Spain, apparently making out a deal with a company supplying holiday villas for the rental market. In practice, avoiding the most miserable of Shetland’s weather. This was the time of year for islanders who could afford it to take their holidays.

‘I wondered if you’d like me to bring Cassie back to Lerwick and she can spend the afternoon with me.’ The teacher sounded hesitant, as if the offer might be considered impertinent. ‘She’d be no bother, and at least you’d know she’d be safe in town. We’re nowhere near the danger zone.’

‘Are you sure? It sounds above and beyond the call of duty to act as childminder to your pupils when the school’s closed.’

‘Not at all!’ Perez could picture the teacher in the little office in the school. She was small and tidy and had a pleasant manner with the bairns, but she stood no nonsense. Cassie adored her. ‘We’ll probably be shut at least until after the weekend, so if you need me to have Cassie on any other day, just let me know.’

‘That’s very kind. I’ll try to sort out something else for later in the week, though.’ Perez felt uncomfortable. Partly because he thought he couldn’t take advantage of the woman’s good nature. Partly because he hated being in emotional debt. He’d never been very good at accepting help. ‘I’m not sure what time I’ll be able to pick Cassie up this evening.’

‘Have supper with us,’ Kathryn said. ‘My mother always cooks enough for an army.’

Perez was still trying to think of an excuse that didn’t sound rude when the teacher ended the call.