‘I worked for a couple of hours in the garden. I find it relaxing. An escape. I suppose Charles could have gone out then. I was inside by eleven-thirty, though, and he was certainly in the house when I got in. And if he’d been to the hamefarin’ he’d have been full of it – the gossip and what everyone was wearing. He didn’t mention it.’ David looked up, startled. ‘I can’t believe that we won’t have any more of those conversations. He was such an entertaining man. He delighted in trivial domestic details, things I would never notice if he hadn’t pointed them out.’ He paused. ‘It feels as if my world’s monochrome now. The colour has all drained away.’

And Willow thought he looked as if the colour had drained from him. He was a grey man. Burnt-out like wood ash.

‘We’re looking for a woman called Monica. Does the name mean anything to you?’ Willow felt she was desperate, clutching at straws. A scribbled name in Eleanor’s notebook. What could she possibly have to do with the murder of two people in Shetland?

David paused for a while. ‘There’s an artist who works in Yell. Came up from London a while back. Monica Leaze. But I don’t suppose she could be the person you’re after.’

Willow sensed Perez’s interest. Nothing tangible, except a slight tension. She shot a glance at him, but there was no response.

‘Could you tell us what you know about Ms Leaze?’ she said.

‘She held an exhibition in the gallery in Yell. We couldn’t get to that, but I looked her up on the Internet. She paints. Interiors mostly. Interesting. She’s based in London, but spends part of the year in Yell. I’d wondered if there was something that might suit here – we like to support local artists – but I felt that her work was too quirky and gritty for us. Our visitors expect something more traditional. Besides, we couldn’t have afforded her. Then, about a month ago, we called in. The bulk of the exhibition had been moved, but there were still a couple of her pieces.’

‘Did you meet her?’ This was Perez, his voice so quiet that it was almost a whisper. ‘If she stays in Yell, perhaps she was there. Talking about her work.’

‘No, there was nothing like that. I wasn’t even expecting them to have any of her stuff. We were going to Lerwick for shopping and called in on the way home. They do a good tea in the cafe, and we wandered around afterwards to look at the art.’

‘Perhaps Charles met her on a different occasion?’ Perez again, tentative, almost apologetic. ‘If he liked her paintings . . .’

Willow wasn’t sure where Perez was going with this. She couldn’t make a connection between an artist in Yell, a hotelier in Unst and a film-maker from London.