For a moment Perez was tempted, but he’d broken enough rules already in the Angela Moore murder. If he’d been in a position to follow procedures perhaps the killer would already be caught.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I have to stay here. But thanks.’ It was the first time his father had wanted to participate in his work.

Perez’s next call was to Rhona Laing, the Fiscal. She was still in her office. ‘You’ve just caught me, Jimmy. I was on my way out. Dinner at the Busta House Hotel with a group of lawyers.’ Her voice was posh Edinburgh, the tone as ever faintly accusatory.

‘I’ve arranged for an emergency flight into Fair Isle this evening. I thought you might want to be on it. There’s been another murder.’

‘That sounds expensive, Jimmy. Have you cleared it with Inverness?’ Thinking of the politics before even asking the identity of the victim.

‘I thought I’d leave it until the plane was on its way. Then they couldn’t object.’

She gave a little laugh. ‘My, my, Jimmy. You’re learning. I’m a great teacher, am I not?’

Still he sat. It was quite dark outside now. He would have liked to go back to the loft, to look again at Jane Latimer, lying on her bed of sheepskins. Although the image was printed in his brain, perhaps there was a detail he’d missed. Something that would point immediately to the killer. The thought tantalized him. He was a patient man but it was driving him slightly crazy to be sitting here, in the strange cold light, inactive, nothing to do but wait. If he were to climb the ladder he might contaminate the scene again with his fingerprints, the fibres of his jersey, his breath. This time things would be properly done.

He got up and stood at the door of the Pund and looked out across the hill. He couldn’t see the airstrip from here. Earlier he’d thought he’d heard vehicles along the road past Setter, heading north. He imagined the island men working, building fires, lighting hurricane lamps, all under his father’s supervision. The volunteer fire crew would be there; someone was always on duty when a plane came in and that would be even more important in these special circumstances. Dave Wheeler would be in charge of them. This was what Fair Islanders did best, pulling together in times of emergency.

The sky was quite clear and there was a half-moon, a scattering of stars. He realized how cold he felt and he stamped his feet to bring back the life to them. But not as cold as Jane Latimer, he thought. And he pictured her again, like the Snow Queen, resplendent on her sleigh, resting on the sheepskins, covered with a dusting of feathers that looked like crystals of ice.