‘I’m trying to persuade a university research team to contribute to the project to develop Shetland as an experimental site for tidal energy. There’s a place in North Mainland that would be perfect. The council could help with transport and accommodation costs, but the scientists seem to think Shetland is at the end of the known world. I’ve organized for the team leader to come and see the place for himself. I was onsite in Hvidahus this morning with a working party of interested islanders, talking through our plans. So that’s the rest of my week taken up. That and writing the place settings for the wedding, and doing a pile of baking for the party in the evening.’ She got to her feet and Willow thanked her and let her go. At the door Evie stopped and turned back. ‘You should come along to the party, if you’re still around,’ she said. ‘You’d be very welcome. A traditional Shetland wedding is something special.’

For the first time since she’d arrived, Willow found herself driving along the road north on her own. It was early afternoon and the road was quiet. Gusts of wind caught at the car and forced her to concentrate on the driving. But all the time she was running through the events and the people surrounding Jerry Markham’s death in her head. Andy Belshaw, who worked at Sullom Voe, managing the news and spinning the image of the place. Evie Watt, who lived close to the terminal. John Henderson, who was based just across the water from there and piloted the huge tankers in and out of Sullom Voe terminal. Mark Walsh, who was Henderson’s neighbour and opposed to tidal energy. Willow had marked them all on a map on the operations-room whiteboard in the police station in Lerwick. And the lay-by where Markham was killed, and the marina at Aith where his body had been found by Rhona Laing.

By now Willow had arrived at the lay-by. Vicki Hewitt, the CSI, and Sandy Wilson were both wearing scene-suits. The blue-and-white tape twisted and pulled at the fastenings in the wind. Willow stood outside the cordon and shouted in to them.

‘So, Vicki, is this our crime scene, do you think?’

The woman looked up and grinned. ‘Hey! Give me a chance. I don’t work miracles in my spare time.’

Willow knew she should be patient, but in her head time passed, ticking like a metronome. Soon her boss would decide that she’d had long enough and would fly in himself to take on the case, like a lone sheriff to save the day. She yelled that she’d see them back in Lerwick for the evening briefing and got into her car. She tried Perez’s phone again and this time it rang out. Perez answered, but the signal was weak and she could hardly hear him.