If Jane had discovered Angela’s hideaway, that might provide a motive for the death. Perhaps there had been a diary there, a letter or a photograph, which would have pointed to the killer. Jane had been killed for it. And now the item had been taken away and probably destroyed. That was the theory that he’d been developing since the discovery of Jane’s body. Before leaving the field centre, he’d sat in the bird room with Rhona Laing and discussed it with her; now it was firmer in his mind and he ran through the implications. They would pull in a specialist team to search the North Light. While whatever had been taken from the Pund probably no longer existed, they had to make the effort to find it. He knew it would be possible to bring planes in all the next day and if the charters had been taken by the birdwatchers, they’d call in the emergency helicopter again.

When he arrived at the Pund, he found Sandy smoking outside. Perez saw the glow of the cigarette end as he approached the building and then the white halo of condensed air.

‘It’s weird,’ Sandy said. ‘I thought this would be like Whalsay, but smaller. But it isn’t, is it? It’s much more remote.’ Whalsay was the island where he’d grown up. It was only a few miles from Shetland mainland and linked to it by a regular roll-on roll-off ferry service. He rubbed out the cigarette and put the butt in a bag in his pocket, stamped his feet to keep out the cold. ‘I couldn’t take this. It would drive me crazy after a week.’

‘You’d get used to it.’ But Perez wasn’t really sure he would get used to it again if he moved home. Perhaps he’d been away for too long. ‘How’s the CSI getting on?’

‘She says she’s finished the photographs,’ Sandy said. ‘She was bagging up the evidence. I was getting in the way.’ He spoke as if he was always in the way.

Perez left Sandy where he was and stood at the Pund door. He couldn’t see Vicki, so she must be in the loft. He shouted in to her: ‘Is it OK if I have a look up there?’

‘Yeah, I’m about finished. Just put on a suit and walk between the tapes. You don’t need to bother with the bootees. I’ll need to take a print of your shoes before I leave anyway.’

Perez found a paper scene suit just inside the door, put it on and climbed the ladder. He stood halfway up and looked inside. Jane’s body remained just as he remembered it, lit up by the fierce white light. Vicki was crouched in the corner of the loft, to avoid an outstretched arm, and was running her hands under the sheepskins.