Vicki Hewitt was already taking photographs inside the white tent. The yoal was bigger than Willow had expected, about twenty feet long, big enough for six people to sit in pairs to row. Jerry Markham was lying on his back across the wooden seats. It looked uncomfortable. His head and feet protruded beyond the bench into space at each end, so that his head was tilted backwards. His shoes were obviously expensive. To annoy her parents, Willow had once gone out with an army officer. He’d always worn good shoes too, and something about the stiff and awkward posture of the man in the boat reminded her of him. Though not enough for her to recall the soldier’s name.

Markham’s arms were folded across his chest and again there was something formal about the pose; certainly he hadn’t fallen here after being struck. At his feet was a slim black briefcase, large enough to hold an electronic notebook perhaps, but not a conventional laptop. It occurred to Willow that, if it had contained anything useful, the killer would have taken it away. He or she was unconcerned about the remaining contents, and knew that they would provide no clue to their identity. It was even possible, given its prominence in the crime scene, that it was important to the murderer that the police should see whatever was inside. Willow stored that idea away for later.

The image of the man in the boat was sparking all sorts of references in her mind beside that of her former soldier lover. The form of a knight carved on the tomb in a medieval church: straight and stiff, arms crossed over his breast. A Viking, given a warrior’s burial at sea, sent out in his longboat, which would then be set on fire. She suddenly became aware that Sandy Wilson was staring at her. Perhaps he’d been trying to catch her attention for some time.

‘Ma’am?’ The voice tentative.

‘For God’s sake, Sandy. “Willow” will do. It’s a crap name, but it’s the one I’ve been landed with.’

She was rewarded with a grin. ‘Vicki says she’ll be here all afternoon. I wondered what you’d like to do?’

Willow considered. ‘You said that Markham’s father arranged for him to visit the oil terminal yesterday afternoon?’

‘At Sullom Voe. Yes. One of the security guys let him in, and he’d set up a meeting with the press officer.’

‘Then we’ll go there. First, though, we should have a word with your Procurator Fiscal.’

Sandy pulled a face, so Willow guessed that Rhona Laing wasn’t the most popular woman on the islands.

‘Come on, Sergeant. I’d guess she makes a decent cup of coffee. And after that we’ll have a bar lunch, on my expenses.’

He gave a wide grin and Willow saw that she already had Sandy Wilson on her side.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven