‘No.’ Sandy’s brain scrambled to understand the implication of the words. Of course Jerry would have brought a car to the island. They’d have to trace it. He should already have started a search – Perez would have done that. ‘No,’ he said again. ‘There wasn’t a car accident.’

‘What then?’

Sandy looked at Maria. Tears were running down her cheeks, but still she didn’t move and she made no noise.

‘We think he was murdered,’ Sandy said. ‘His body was found at Aith Marina and there was a head-wound. We’ll know more tomorrow, when a team comes up from Inverness.’

There was an explosion of sound then. Maria was shouting and crying. Sandy wasn’t given to fancies, but he thought there was the pain of labour in it. It was as if she were giving birth to her son again, screaming her way through the agony. Markham stood in front of her and held her tight until she was quiet.

‘Jerry was our only one,’ he said, looking over his wife’s head at Sandy. ‘After him Maria could have no more children.’

Sandy wanted to get out of there, to give them some time to grieve alone. He hated sitting in the big clean space, watching the woman he remembered as strong and full of laughter falling apart. But in the morning the new inspector from North Uist would fly in on the plane and she’d want to know what he’d found out. This was the only chance he’d have to ask his questions before she took over the investigation.

‘What car did Jerry drive?’ he asked.

‘An Alfa Romeo.’ Markham was still holding his wife to his chest, rocking slightly as if he were comforting a fretful baby. ‘One of the small, sporty ones. Red, of course. A ridiculous thing. Old now. He bought it when he first moved to London.’

‘Maria said Jerry was here to work.’ Sandy couldn’t imagine what a fancy reporter from a London paper was doing in Shetland. How could what was happening here be of interest there?

‘Jerry said there was a story.’ Markham spoke quietly. Maria was so still now that Sandy wondered if she’d passed out, if she’d worn herself out with her sobbing. Markham stroked her hair. ‘He’d persuaded his boss it was worth following up and that he’d be the best person to do it, because of his local connections. So he’d get a few days home, all expenses paid, and the chance of a scoop too.’

‘What was the story about?’ Outside there was a sudden burst of laughter. Local diners were making their way to their cars and home.