Thin Air

Chapter Sixteen

Sandy wasn’t sleeping. It wasn’t the light night. He’d grown up in the islands and was used to the simmer dim. He was kept awake by laughter and talking just outside. His room was at the back of the house, small, the only one without its own bathroom. When he’d shown him round Charles had been apologetic. ‘It’s the only single in the house and there’s usually a child in here. There’s a door through to the adjoining room; it’s a kind of family suite.’ Sandy had taken it anyway and had given the better rooms to Willow and Jimmy. But it looked out on the courtyard and towards the bar, and tonight the noise seemed to go on well past normal closing time, the smokers all gathering in the yard chatting.

In the end he got up and dressed. He fancied winding down a bit, a couple of pints with people who spoke the same language as him. Jimmy Perez was a Shetlander, but since Fran’s death he’d been distant and no fun at all. Sandy made his way through the quiet house. There was still a light in the hotel office. He saw it under the door. But there was no sound from inside. Outside the air was still, but cold. He let himself into the courtyard and could hear rowdy laughter, someone singing the end of a song.

When he walked into the bar there was a moment of silence. Even those who didn’t recognize him would know now who he was and what he was doing there. Only three people were making the noise: a group of men in their late twenties who were kind of familiar. He ordered a pint. Draught Belhaven, not the island’s bottled beer. Billy nodded, but didn’t speak. Now Sandy recognized the drinkers as boys from the ferry. The most sober held up his hands.

‘Did we wake you? It’s Frankie’s birthday and we were just having a few drinks. To celebrate, you know how it is. Sorry, pal.’ He held out his hand. ‘Davy Stout.’

‘Will you be fit to take out the ferry early tomorrow? My boss’ll be out on the first boat.’ Sandy grinned to take the sting out of the words. No point coming in and throwing his weight around.

‘We’re all on the late shift and we’ll be fine by then.’ But Sandy’s presence seemed to have made the group more subdued. Billy came out from the bar to collect the last glasses and wipe the tables. He looked at his watch. He expected them to be leaving once they’d finished their drinks.

‘You’re here investigating that holidaymaker’s death,’ Stout said.

‘Eleanor Longstaff. She was up for Lowrie Malcolmson’s hamefarin’.’

‘I was there. It was a fine do. You think someone killed her?’

Sandy shrugged. ‘Did you see her at the party? One of the bridesmaids. Dark hair. English.’

‘You wouldn’t miss her.’

‘Anyone showing any special interest?’

This time the ferryman shrugged. ‘She wanted people to look at her. You know the sort. Never happy without an audience. Most of the men in the room obliged.’

‘Nobody gave her any hassle?’ Sandy drained his glass and raised it to Billy to show that he wanted another. The barman seemed disappointed.

‘Nah. It wasn’t that sort of party. You’ve been to the hamefarin’s. It was for families. Elderly relatives and bairns.’

‘Did you know all the people there?’ Sandy asked.

‘Apart from the English folk.’

‘I’m interested in a peerie lassie. Aged around ten. She was out on the beach, and her parents could have been in the hall. Do you mind who that might have been?’

The man considered and seemed to be running through possibilities in his head. ‘Sorry, I can’t think of anyone like that at all. But I didn’t know everyone. Besides the couple’s English friends, there were other relatives from the south.’

‘Any lasses of that age live in Meoness?’

This time he answered more quickly. ‘Nah. Some of us have bairns, but they’re all boys.’

The drinkers drifted away then and Sandy was left to finish his beer alone. When he returned to his room the light in the office had been switched off.