Dead Water

Chapter Twenty-Six

Perez found the Belshaws’ home immediately. It had been built in the last ten years, one of the wooden Scandinavian kit-houses that had suddenly appeared all over Shetland. Theirs was painted pale blue, almost grey, two storeys and a wooden deck at the front facing towards Aith. It looked as if it should have a sauna at the bottom of the garden, but instead there was a swing and a climbing frame, a couple of plastic toy cars, a trampoline surrounded by a net. Behind, in the shelter of the house, he glimpsed a small vegetable patch, the rich soil newly dug.

Perez knocked at the door and Andy Belshaw answered immediately. He was wearing jogging trousers and a rugby shirt, carpet slippers on his feet. He looked pasty and tired.

‘I thought you might turn up,’ he said. ‘I heard about John on Radio Orkney. A dreadful business. Come away in.’ Perez thought he’d already picked up something of the Shetland accent.

‘You didn’t hear about it until this morning?’

‘No,’ Belshaw said. ‘We switched the phone off last night because Lucy was ill. I checked for messages when I heard the radio piece. We’d had a couple of calls, people letting us know what had happened.’

He led Perez into the kitchen. It seemed that Belshaw had been in the middle of stacking the dishwasher. There was no indication, here at least, that he’d been working. No laptop. Everywhere signs that this was a family home. Drawings on the fridge door, a pile of children’s clothes stacked on an ironing board in the corner. In a basket in the corner, knitting needles and some skeins of wool.

‘Is that why you’re at home today?’ Perez asked. ‘Because of John’s murder? I know you were close friends. I could understand if you were too upset to go in.’

‘We were very close. But no, my daughter’s still not well. Tonsillitis. It’s hard for the school to get a replacement for Jen at the last minute, and easy enough for me to work here. We’d fixed all that up last night. I’m glad, though. I wouldn’t want to be onsite this morning. I couldn’t concentrate.’ He shut the door of the dishwasher and switched on the kettle.

‘Have the press been onto you about it?’

‘No, why would they?’ A slight frown to suggest that he was puzzled by the question. Perez was unconvinced. Henderson might not have worked directly for the terminal, but he’d been employed by the Harbour Authority piloting within Sullom Voe. Belshaw must have realized that eventually the terminal would get a mention in the media and it was his role to manage that information. Surely he’d have prepared a statement. And surely, in this situation, a sick child wouldn’t keep him away from the site.

‘I was thinking it was quite a coincidence,’ Perez said. ‘Two murders, both in North Mainland. Jerry Markham was visiting the terminal the afternoon he died, and John Henderson was based with the Harbour Authority, just across the voe from you.’

There was a silence broken by the click of the kettle switching itself off. Belshaw stared out of the window.

‘And you think the press will make the connection?’ he said at last. ‘What a nightmare! The environmental campaigners will have a field day. There’s nothing they like better than a juicy conspiracy theory.’

‘I’m making the connection.’ Perez raised his voice. ‘The fact that two men are dead is more important to me than the oil terminal getting a bit of bad publicity.’

There was another silence. Perez could just make out the faint hum of a children’s song somewhere in the house. He thought the sick daughter must be watching television in her room and wondered how old she was. Absent-mindedly Belshaw spooned instant coffee into two mugs.

‘Look,’ Perez said, ‘is there anything going on at the terminal that I should know about?’ He felt his temper fraying, could feel the strands of control splitting like pieces of rope. His depression manifested itself in anger.

‘What sort of thing?’

‘You tell me! Dodgy investments, backhanders to contractors, people playing fast and loose with health and safety? Best to let me know, so we can clear this up quickly. The press will find out anyway. And if you don’t cooperate now, you could find yourself charged with obstruction.’

‘What are you saying, Inspector?’ Belshaw seemed even paler, and as he set the mug on the table in front of Perez his hand was shaking.

‘I’m saying that Markham was sniffing round Sullom Voe on the afternoon he died for a better reason than the details of the expansion of the site for gas. He could have got that from a press release and a quick phone call. So what was he doing there? Really?’

‘Really? I don’t know any more than you do.’ Belshaw was almost shouting. Righteous indignation or panic? Perez couldn’t tell. ‘You know that I work for BP and have absolutely nothing to do with the gas terminal. Besides, renewables versus fossil fuels has been covered a few times before. Of course I asked him if there was anything else he might be interested in. But, honestly, he just seemed to be going through the motions. He asked all the right questions, but it seemed to me that he didn’t really care. I thought he’d been sent there by his editor.’

Belshaw stood with his hands flat on the table, his face flushed.

A child called from upstairs. ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ She’d heard the shouting through the open door and was scared. Belshaw said nothing. He filled a tumbler with juice from the fridge and left the room. Perez heard murmured voices as Belshaw reassured the girl. Perez stood up and prowled around the kitchen, noticed that from the window there was a bird’s-eye view of the marina. If the weather had been clear on the afternoon of Markham’s death, there would have been a good view of the killer lifting the body into the yoal. Belshaw must have come back very quietly, because Perez was suddenly aware that the man was standing behind him.

‘That’s why we bought this site,’ Belshaw said. ‘For the view.’

‘I don’t suppose you saw the Fiscal’s boat leave early yesterday morning?’

If Belshaw was surprised by the sudden change of subject, he didn’t show it. ‘I didn’t see it,’ he said. Then: ‘I’m sorry that I overreacted. I was close to John Henderson. He made friends with me when I first arrived in the islands. It feels as though I’ve lost an older brother.’ He turned and sat down again at the table. Perez joined him.

‘How did you first meet him?’ Perez asked.

‘At the sports centre in Brae. I used the gym and so did he. He guessed I might be feeling a bit isolated and invited me to join the five-a-side team.’ Belshaw looked up. ‘He was godfather to our son.’

‘Did you know his wife?’

‘Yes, she loved company and we’d call to see her, even when she was very ill. It was never a sad house. John was great with her – natural. You could tell they had a special relationship.’ Belshaw looked up over his coffee cup. ‘I don’t know how he could be so patient, so calm about her dying. I’d have been angry at the world.’

Oh yes, Perez thought. I know how that feels.

‘Then you ran the children’s football team together?’

‘Neil, my son, is a sports fanatic. I set up the team at Brae and asked John to come along to help. At first it was a kindness. I thought it might distract him from Agnes’s death. But he was great with the kids. Better than I’d ever be.’ He looked up again. ‘Oh God, the boys on the team will be devastated. I should phone their parents.’ But he made no move to leave his seat.

‘What did you make of John’s marriage to Evie?’

‘I was delighted, and so was Jen. Evie’s a lovely girl and we thought he deserved to be happy, maybe start a family. He was a lot older than her of course, but there was no reason why that shouldn’t work. It was a whirlwind romance. I think they only started dating six months ago, but John said he had no time to waste. Most people were never given a second chance of happiness. He said he didn’t deserve her, but he was going to grab his chance with both hands.’ Belshaw looked at Perez. ‘How is Evie taking this?’

‘She seems calm enough. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.’

‘Jen was going to visit her as soon as she left work. There’s quite an age gap, but they’re good friends.’

‘I think Evie’s parents were going to take her back to Fetlar,’ Perez said. He was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Did you talk to John about the Markham murder? Had you seen him since the body was discovered in the yoal?’

Belshaw gave a little nod. ‘John wasn’t at football practice on Friday night,’ he said. ‘He was working a late shift. Sometimes that happened and I worked with the boys on my own.’

‘But you saw him after that? Once the news of Markham’s murder was out?’ Perez felt impatient and wanted to shift the conversation along.

‘He came here for a late lunch on Sunday. Jen’s idea. She thought Evie would be busy. “Your last lunch with us as a single man.” That was what she said. It was mid-afternoon by the time we ate, because she had to take a shift at the crofting museum.’

Perez remembered Henderson’s car speeding away from the kirk. He’d have been off home to change out of his formal clothes before the meal with his friends. ‘Did you talk about Markham’s death?’

‘Of course! By then the news was all over the island. There was no escaping the gossip. Jen warned me that John might not want to discuss it, but he was like an old woman, wanting all the details.’

‘How did he seem when he talked about Markham?’ Perez asked.

Belshaw hesitated for a moment. ‘It was always hard to tell what John was thinking. He’d seemed preoccupied all lunchtime, but that might have been work. He took his work very seriously. And of course there was the wedding. It occurred to me that he’d be remembering Agnes and wondering if he was doing the right thing. Not last-minute second thoughts, because he loved Evie, but just thinking about the last time he was married. Kind of honouring Agnes’s memory, before moving on.’ He paused. ‘I did think it was odd that he wanted to talk about Markham and the murder. He was never one for gossip, for getting excited about another man’s misfortune.’

‘And that was how he seemed?’ Perez leaned back in his chair. ‘Excited?’

Belshaw seemed to consider. ‘Maybe that’s not the right word,’ he said at last. ‘But John kept coming back to the subject. He wouldn’t let it go. Not while we were eating because the children were there then, but later, when we sent them out to play.’

‘Did he have any theories about Markham’s death? Did he speculate about the motive or the killer?’

‘No.’ Belshaw leaned forward across the table. ‘Nothing like that. He seemed upset, disturbed. “Things like that shouldn’t happen here.” That was what he said.’

‘You hadn’t talked to John about Markham’s murder before then? You don’t know how he came to hear about it?’

‘No. I was working on Saturday. I do the occasional day at the weekend. That was when you came to see me.’ Belshaw drained his mug. ‘I’m glad Jen invited John to lunch on Sunday. She rows in the Aith vets’ rowing team and she should have been at the regatta at St Ninian’s, but there were plenty of volunteers, so she was able to get out of it. It gave us a chance to spend some time together. That was the last time I saw him.’

Perez looked up. ‘Is your wife friendly with Rhona Laing?’

Belshaw shrugged. ‘They row in the same team. They both love being on the water. I don’t think that makes them best mates.’

He got to his feet as his phone rang. It was obviously work-related. Perez couldn’t think of a reason to prolong the interview and waved to indicate that he would see himself out. He pinned his card on the notice board in the kitchen before leaving, mouthing, ‘Give me a ring if you think of anything.’ Belshaw nodded and went back to his call.

Perez stood on the decking out of sight of Belshaw and looked down at Aith. A yacht was leaving the marina. It was white and rather grand and belonged, he guessed, to the Fiscal. So here was another connection. Jen Belshaw rowed with Rhona Laing and might have been the person to find Markham’s body, if circumstances had been different. Perez wondered what Willow Reeves would make of that.

He looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock, probably the busiest time in a school kitchen. He imagined pots boiling on a hob, steam and chaos, assistants to overhear. There was no point in trying to chat to the woman now. But now would be a good time to visit Joe Sinclair, harbour master at Sullom Voe and John Henderson’s boss. He’d be happy enough to make Perez coffee and to chat.

As soon as Perez climbed into his car his mobile rang. Willow Reeves.

‘Jimmy.’ The reception was bad and her voice crackled. ‘How’s it going?’

‘I’ve spoken to the Fiscal,’ he said. He thought that would be the interview that interested her most. ‘And I’ve just finished talking to Andy Belshaw.’

‘Good.’ But she seemed distracted. ‘Can you get back here, Jimmy? As soon as you can. There’s been a development.’