I’m not talking about revenge, Perez thought. I’m talking about justice. But he couldn’t say that. It would sound impossibly pompous. He wanted to talk to Maurice and Poppy separately, but he could tell that individual interviews would have to wait. They were clinging to each other and he realized it would be impossible to prise them apart. It seemed to Perez that it wasn’t grief that had brought father and daughter together now; the sudden absence of Angela in their lives had made the closeness possible, had somehow made them come to their senses. It was as if a spell had been broken. When he left the room, he thought they’d hardly noticed he was gone.

The centre’s common room was furnished much as the living room in Maurice and Angela’s flat, but there was a library in the corner: floor-to-ceiling shelves containing natural history books, with a pile of paperback novels relegated to a low table. Perez checked that no one was sitting in the high-backed chairs, then he called a coastguard officer friend using his mobile phone. The reception was poor, but the field centre landline had a number of extensions and he didn’t want to risk being overheard. He stood by the window and looked out at the sea.

‘I know there’s no possibility of a plane or a boat today, but I wondered about the coastguard helicopter.’

‘No chance. I mean, it’s hardly a matter of life or death, is it? I’m not prepared to risk my crew for a body.’

The next call was to Inverness.

‘I’ve got a problem.’ He’d asked to be put through to his line manager, a cheerful Englishman, who’d moved to the Highlands for the fishing and was even more cheerful now that retirement was approaching. Perez explained the position. ‘I feel that I’m too close to the case, but none of my family members is involved and there’s no chance of anyone else getting in to take it over at least for the next twenty-four hours.’

‘It’s yours then, laddie.’ Frank had taken to using strange words that he thought sounded Scottish. ‘And I’m assuming you’ll have it all wrapped up by the time the weather improves. How many suspects can there be? You’d better let the Iron Maiden know.’

The Iron Maiden. Rhona Laing the Fiscal, based in Lerwick on Shetland mainland. A woman with political ambitions and the knack of covering her back in every situation.

‘Put me through to Vicki Hewitt first.’ Perez wasn’t sure he could face Rhona Laing just yet. He needed to know exactly what he was doing before then. And that meant sorting out how he should manage the crime scene. Vicki was the Highland and Islands scene coordinator. She was a no-nonsense Yorkshirewoman with a sense of humour and experience of working with a big English force before taking up her present role. He thought she’d enjoy his dilemma: it would amuse her to think of him working without back-up.