Hugh was lying on his stomach in the grass with his telescope focused on it. He heard them approaching but he didn’t turn round. ‘Did you see it was ringed? It walked out onto that patch of sand and I could see the ring then.’

‘Did you get any details on it?’ Dougie held his breath.

Before Hugh could answer Ben interrupted. ‘Doesn’t that mean it was a captive bird and escaped from a collection?’ Escapes couldn’t be ticked. They all knew that. Dougie wanted to tell him not to be a prat and to let Hugh finish. How did someone as stupid as Ben Catchpole get to be assistant warden on Fair Isle? Because he had a degree, Dougie thought. Because he talked nicely and would be polite to the visitors.

Now Hugh did turn round and his grin lit up his face.

‘This was no captive bird. That’s a USGS band. You can read the unique number through the scope. The swan was ringed in the wild in the States and we’ll find out the date and the exact location of its ringing. There’s no doubt about this one, Dougie. Congratulations, you jammy bastard.’

Later, as he bounced along the track to the North Light in the back of the Land Rover, Dougie found himself resenting Angela. He would never have thought it possible: she’d been important to him for so long. But this was the biggest find of his life and he wasn’t going to be able to celebrate. They could hardly have a party the day after a woman had died and a find like this deserved a party. He just hoped they’d already taken her body away.

Chapter Eleven

Perez’s call, asking to borrow her camera, came as a relief to Fran. Mary was great. Good company. She could see that they might become friends. But by lunchtime Fran was starting to get so bored that she wanted to scream. What must it have been like for island women before electricity and flights to the mainland? Fran thought she could have coped in the summer. Then there’d have been shared work in the fields, light nights, music. But at this time of year when the stormy weather kept folk indoors, you’d go slightly mad by the end of it. There’d be nothing to do but gossip and knit. She imagined knitting all day in poor light in a room filled with stir-crazy children and thought that at the end of it she’d feel like committing murder.

Could I live here now? If I had my own work and my own house, could I make my home here? She didn’t come up with an answer.

‘I’ll bring the camera up to you,’ she said as soon as Perez had explained what he wanted. ‘I’m sure you’re busy there.’

‘I don’t know . . .’ He was thinking rules, she could tell. Procedures. He was a great one for going by the book.

‘Please, Jimmy.’

He must have heard the desperation in her voice.