Maria was taking an order for coffee from a party of elderly tourists sitting in old leather chairs in a corner of the lounge. She looked very smart in a black dress and black tights, shiny shoes with pointy heels. Sandy thought she’d lost weight and that the dress looked better on her now than it would have done a couple of weeks ago.

He stood at the door and watched her until she’d finished writing the order. She didn’t see him until she was making her way back to the kitchen, then she stopped in her tracks.

‘Sandy. You have some news for me?’ He could see then that the dress and the efficient taking of orders, the smile for the tourists, were all a show. Her face was pale and drawn. She walked on without waiting for a reply. Suddenly, he thought, she found the laughter from the restaurant, the noise from the bar, even the muted classical music playing in the lounge unbearable. He followed her through the swing door into the kitchen. She handed the slip of paper on which she’d written the order to one of the staff and led Sandy on, past the sinks and the fridges to a small storeroom. She leaned against the wall, next to a huge drum of vegetable oil. ‘Well?’

‘No news,’ Sandy said. ‘Not tonight. But we’re very close. Tomorrow we should have something for you.’ Even as he spoke the words he wondered if he was being rash, if his faith in Jimmy Perez was misplaced.

‘So why are you here, Sandy? What is this about?’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said, ‘but I have some questions. Important questions.’

‘Go on then, Sandy.’ Her voice was impatient. ‘What is it this time?’

For an instant his mind went blank and he had a moment of panic when he thought he would never remember what Jimmy had told him. Then it came back. ‘You cut a piece from the Shetland Times about Evie’s engagement to John Henderson. Did you tell Jerry about that?’

‘I sent him a cutting,’ she said. ‘We take a dozen copies of the paper here in the hotel for the guests. It was a kind of joke. I wrote in the margin. Something like: Look who she’s ended up with!’ Maria stared at him. ‘What could that have to do with Jerry dying?’

‘I don’t know.’ The truth. ‘Inspector Perez thought it might be important.’

‘Is there anything else, Sandy? You can see that we’re busy.’

‘Jerry’s car,’ Sandy said. ‘The Alfa. Did you buy it for him? A present for getting that job in London?’

She was so tired now that she didn’t even question why he wanted to know. ‘No. We gave him money for his first six months’ rent. He bought the car for himself.’