A dark-haired young woman stood up. ‘Angela Moore was a celebrity. Do we know if she’d received unusual attention from any individual?’

Again the Fiscal took the question. Perez had only spoken to clarify a few points of fact.

‘Are you talking a stalker? No, we have no evidence of that.’

‘Have Mrs Moore’s relatives been informed of all the circumstances surrounding the case?’ A slight man, with prominent front teeth that made him look like a rat. Perez supposed the national press were already tracking down Archie Moore. Were they camping outside the run-down bungalow Bryn Pritchard had described? Perez imagined the old man sitting in the pub, taking drinks from reporters, talking about his famous, ungrateful daughter.

This time he replied to the question before Rhona could step in: ‘We have informed Mrs Moore’s father, but we still have to trace her mother. I’d be very grateful if she could contact me through Highland and Islands police.’ He was surprised by a camera’s flashlight and felt foolish.

There were no further questions. Perez thought the media wanted to be away from the island as quickly as possible. This might be a huge story for them but they didn’t want to be stranded on a lump of rock for the night. He thought they were less concerned about there being a murderer on the loose than the fact that there was no pub here. As they waited at the airstrip for the planes to come in, the main topic of conversation was where they could get their first drink.

Rhona Laing went out with them, pushed her way past the reporters to get on to the first plane back to Tingwall. Perhaps she’d rearranged her dinner date at the Busta House Hotel and wanted to get home in time to change.

‘Keep in touch, Jimmy.’ A little regal wave. No last-minute instructions, no insistence that he wrap up the case quickly. She realized he understood the pressure. Another couple of days and the press would be demanding that someone else, someone from the city, should take over.

The second plane took off just as it was getting dark. He watched it disappear across the horizon. Now all the day visitors had gone. Apart from the North Light residents the only strangers on the island were members of the specialist search team. They would stay at least for another day. He decided to get home and speak to his father. The Shepherd would have been long unloaded and Big James would be at home, in front of the television, waiting for the football results. Perez felt a brief moment of pleasure at the thought of disrupting the sacred household ritual of Final Score.