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his Anna. There was a history of Shetland men going out to find their wives. During his brief spell at university perhaps. Perez had married an Englishwoman. Sarah, soft and gentle, pretty and fair. But he hadn’t had it in him to be the sort of husband she’d wanted. He’d always been too easily caught up in other folks’ problems. ‘I always come at the bottom of the pile,’ she’d said. ‘After work and your parents, sorting out the neighbour’s delinquent son and the plumber’s cat. You’re drained when you do find time for me. You’ve nothing left to give.’ At the time he’d thought she was talking that way because she’d just been through a miscarriage. Now he could see there was some truth in her words. He couldn’t keep his nose out of other people’s business. He told himself it was about being a good detective, but he’d have been curious even if work weren’t involved.
    Sarah was happier now without him, married to a doctor and living in the Borders with him, her children and her dogs. And Perez had taken up with another Englishwoman, divorcee Fran Hunter. Sarah had always been needy. Fran, he thought, didn’t need him at all.
    Sandy was shuffling in his seat. Perez’s long silences always made him uneasy. ‘Shall we go in then?’
    ‘You’re not to speak,’ Perez reminded him, then told himself that Sandy had just lost his grandmother and smiled to soften the words. ‘Just introduce me, then keep your mouth shut.’
    Sandy nodded and got out of the car.
    Perez guessed that the building plot had been chosen for its view. It was on a low promontory and the sea would be visible on three sides. To the west it would be possible to see Laxo and the mainland. You’d be able to measure your days by the ferry moving backwards and forwards across the water. It was a square bungalow, low like the traditional croft houses, but made of wood so it looked Scandinavian and with windows in the roof. It was painted blue. The long extension at the side had a lower sloped roof. Perez wondered what the extra space was for. They wouldn’t keep animals there: it had a row of glazed windows. At the back of the house a small garden led down to the shore. A bed of daffodils was sheltered from the wind by a drystone wall – a patch of colour in the mist. An upturned dinghy had been pulled above the tideline. Sandy opened the front door and shouted. Perez heard a muted reply from further inside the house and followed him in.
    The couple were both sitting in the kitchen. It seemed to Perez that they hadn’t moved much since returning from Setter, after Sandy had rushed into the house to tell them Mima was dead. The shock had frozen them.
    ‘What did you do that for?’ Perez had demanded when Sandy had confessed that he’d left Mima and run to the Clouston house. For God’s sake, the man could be a suspect.
    ‘The doctor was off the island. Away on holiday. I knew it would take time to get the air ambulance here. I thought someone else would know best what to do. Their house is closest to Setter.’ Sandy had looked up, staring at Perez. I know I’m stupid, but let it go. Just today. Today I can’t face a bollocking. ‘And Anna, she’s kind of organized. Capable.’
    You wanted her to tell you what to do , Perez had thought. And you’ve always hated being on your own.
    So here the couple sat, in silence, still dressed in the jeans and jerseys they’d pulled on when Sandy had roused them from their bed. Ronald must be in his late twenties if he was close to Sandy’s age and they’d been to school together, but he looked older. Grey somehow. Perez thought realizing you’d killed someone would do that to you. Ronald looked up when the men came into the kitchen, half rose in his chair, then the effort seemed too much for him and he sat down again. The woman had dark hair, twisted into a band at the back of her head, but untidy now, starting to come down. She sat very straight despite her obvious