Perez looked up and she thought he was about to contradict her, but he said nothing. He had Eleanor’s notes spread on the table between them and was occasionally writing in a book of his own.

‘So what did you get from the Malcolmson house, Jimmy?’ Willow finally found the silence unbearable. ‘Did you speak to Lowrie again? We still don’t know if Eleanor contacted him for more details of Peerie Lizzie before heading north.’

Perez looked up. ‘No. Lowrie and Caroline were down at Vidlin, looking at the house they’re planning to buy. I spoke to George, though.’

‘Anything?’ Don’t go all brooding and mysterious on me again, Jimmy Perez. I can’t stand it.

‘The young maid who was looking after the Geldard child was a relative of his,’ Perez said. ‘Her family had lived in Utra, that derelict croft on the way to Sletts. After the tragedy she was sent south. She married a man from Inverness and there was a child apparently, who turned up for Sarah’s funeral, surprising them all.’

‘It should be possible to trace her. We should be able to track down Sarah’s married name. Sandy, will you get on to that tomorrow?’

Sandy nodded. ‘You think it might be important?’

‘We won’t know until you speak to her!’ Immediately Willow felt guilty, because it wasn’t Sandy who had provoked her anger. ‘And, Jimmy, perhaps you can talk to Lowrie. It’s become more important now to know what contact he had with Eleanor before the party. If she spoke to Charles Hillier before she came here, she’ll have known that the nursemaid in the Peerie Lizzie story was Lowrie’s relative. She would surely have wanted to talk to Lowrie about that, either in London or here.’

Perez nodded and returned to the notebook.

A silence. Now the light was fading. Willow wondered how Perez could possibly see to read. She reached out to switch on a lamp and his face was transformed into a series of planes and shadows. She felt an irrational urge to touch his forehead, because in the artificial light it looked hard and smooth like metal. He looked up and caught her eye and she turned away. She’d been caught staring like an awkward teenager.

‘I wonder if Eleanor had already found Sarah Malcolmson’s daughter,’ he said. ‘There’s a name here on the page after she’d contacted David and Charles. Monica. No surname even. I can’t see how she might feature here, other than as a part of the Unst ghost story.’

‘Any contact details?’ Willow leaned forward, but found Eleanor’s handwriting impossible to read. Perez must have spent hours working through the book, becoming accustomed to its eccentricities.

‘No, perhaps she’d only got as far as tracing the name.’