Brian was a large man, hardly fitting into the narrow kitchen. If he was pulling a baking tray from the oven he had to twist his body sideways to reach inside. He’d been thinner when Perez had first met him. Then Brian had been cooking at the Sullom work camp, an English university dropout with a drug habit to fund, and Perez had charged him with possession of heroin. Now he was clean, but he was still in the islands, still cooking. Perez hoped he was settled and happy. It was hard to tell. Brian rarely smiled and carried around him an air of gloom. A habit as entrenched as the heroin.

The cafe was separated from the kitchen by a counter. Brian was standing there, wrapped in a huge black apron, cutting slices of cake for two German tourists. Otherwise the place was empty. He nodded to Perez, but didn’t speak until he’d carried the cake and coffee to his customers.

‘What can I get for you, Jimmy?’

‘Coffee,’ Perez said. ‘Black.’ He paused. ‘I’m here about Jerry Markham, the guy whose body was found in Aith last week. He was in here the morning that he died.’

Brian was pouring coffee and turned slowly to face Perez. ‘I didn’t even know the man.’

‘I’m not accusing you of killing him.’ Perez remembered that Brian had always had a streak of paranoia, was always frightened that he was being set up. ‘But he was with a woman. Middle-aged. We’re trying to trace her.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘You would recognize Markham? You’d know him when he worked on the Shetland Times?’

‘Yes, I recognized him.’

‘And the woman? Did you know her?’

Brian shook his head. ‘I’d never seen her in here before.’

‘Was she local?’

‘I didn’t hear her speak. They shut up when I took their drinks over.’

Perez thought about this. ‘Did you have the impression that they were friendly?’

Brian seemed to have got the message that he wasn’t a suspect and became more forthcoming. ‘They weren’t having a stand-up row, but I had the feeling there was an argument. No warmth. You know. One of them might leave at any time.’

‘And the woman?’ Perez said again. ‘What can you tell me about her?’

‘She was middle-aged. Smart. It looked as if it could be a work meeting. She was dressed for work, you know. Skirt and jacket. But that’s not so unusual. People do arrange to meet here to discuss business. It’s central. I thought she might have something to do with the gas. There are lots of strange faces around now.’ Brian seemed to enjoy seeing himself on the side of law and order.

‘Would you know Rhona Laing, if you saw her?’

‘Who?’

‘The Procurator Fiscal. She comes here for coffee, I’m told.’