She’s dangerous, the Fiscal thought suddenly. That woman could ruin my life here. Rhona left the rest of the team and walked over the sand to Willow. Her feet were still bare and sandy from pulling the yoal out of the water, and her clothes were damp from the splashes from the oars. She felt at a disadvantage.

‘Are you here to see me, Inspector?’

‘I called at your house.’ Willow threw a scrap of bannock to a herring gull. ‘Your neighbour told me you’d be here. The first race of the season.’

‘Would it not have waited until tomorrow in the office? Or is there some development in the investigation so urgent that you think I should know at once.’ Rhona was pleased that she kept her voice professional, but not hostile.

‘This isn’t a matter for you as Fiscal.’ The detective tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Could we talk somewhere more private?’

‘Not here,’ Rhona said sharply. ‘Not like this. I’m cold and I need to shower and change. You can come back to my house later.’

‘No need for that,’ Willow said easily. ‘Let me just walk up to the cars with you and we can chat there. I’m sure it’s something that can be cleared up in a matter of minutes.’

It was impossible for Rhona to refuse, so she dusted the sand from her feet and put on her shoes, pulled on a sweater and followed Willow up to the car park. They sat in Willow’s hire car. Rhona thought it would be unbearable to have the inspector in her own vehicle. It would be like spilling milk on the floor; you’d never get rid of the taint. Down on the beach people were clearing up, collecting stray bits of rubbish in black sacks. The sun was already low and they threw long shadows.

‘This really isn’t very convenient, Inspector. I have a busy day tomorrow and I’d like to get home.’ The tone she was after was brisk and businesslike, but she suspected that there was an undernote of anxiety and that the detective would have picked up on it.

‘We’ve discovered a little more about Jerry Markham’s whereabouts on the day of his death.’ Willow stretched suddenly and her body seemed to fill the small and tinny hire car.

‘Yes?’ The Fiscal’s curiosity was genuine enough.

‘He had a meeting with the press officer in Sullom Voe in the afternoon. He claimed that he was researching a piece on new energies, on the gas that’s being brought ashore at the terminal. But also wave and wind power. Shetland as the powerhouse of the UK.’

‘I suppose that makes sense,’ Rhona said. ‘There’s been a lot of interest in the development of the technologies. The islands are full of the energy-company people. It seems almost impossible to get a hotel room at the moment.’