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Chapters (53)
  1. Title page
  2. Dedication page
  3. Contents
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. Chapter Nine
  14. Chapter Ten
  15. Chapter Eleven
  16. Chapter Twelve
  17. Chapter Thirteen
  18. Chapter Fourteen
  19. Chapter Fifteen
  20. Chapter Sixteen
  21. Chapter Seventeen
  22. Chapter Eighteen
  23. Chapter Nineteen
  24. Chapter Twenty
  25. Chapter Twenty-One
  26. Chapter Twenty-Two
  27. Chapter Twenty-Three
  28. Chapter Twenty-Four
  29. Chapter Twenty-Five
  30. Chapter Twenty-Six
  31. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  32. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  33. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  34. Chapter Thirty
  35. Chapter Thirty-One
  36. Chapter Thirty-Two
  37. Chapter Thirty-Three
  38. Chapter Thirty-Four
  39. Chapter Thirty-Five
  40. Chapter Thirty-Six
  41. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  42. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  43. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  44. Chapter Forty
  45. Chapter Forty-One
  46. Chapter Forty-Two
  47. Chapter Forty-Three
  48. Chapter Forty-Four
  49. Chapter Forty-Five
  50. Chapter Forty-Six
  51. Chapter Forty-Seven
  52. By Ann Cleeves
  53. Copyright page

‘I went to the opening of the exhibition with Fran,’ he said. ‘It was held last summer, a few months before she died. The artist was a Londoner, who’d moved north for a while. There were a number of reasons, I think. A recent divorce, a sense that she wanted her work to move in a new direction and that Shetland might inspire her. Perhaps she was friends with one of the guys at Shetland Arts. We met her and talked for a bit. If I’d known her name I’d already forgotten it. Fran dragged me along to a lot of those occasions . . .’

He paused. Willow could see that he was remembering Fran Hunter, the love of his life. She had the uncharitable thought that no woman would ever compete with Fran in Perez’s life. Fran would remain saintly and beautiful in his mind. She’d died before the couple had fallen into a boring rhythm of domestic chores and petty irritation, while the relationship was still fresh and exciting. Before Fran had developed wrinkles or middle-age spread.

‘So tell me, Jimmy,’ Willow said, pulling his attention back. ‘Why do you think this Monica is the one mentioned in Eleanor’s notebook?’

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Perez tried to re-create the evening of Monica Leaze’s exhibition in his head. He hadn’t particularly wanted to be there; the discussion about the trip to the Yell gallery was the nearest he and Fran had come to a real row. He’d faced up to her in the small house in Ravenswick: ‘I never know what to say to that arty lot, and I’m working an early shift tomorrow. You don’t need me there.’ He often felt awkward with her friends – shadowy, not a person in his own right. Sometimes they patronized him. But in the end he’d agreed to go with her. In the end he always did what he knew would make her happy.

‘I’ll drive,’ she’d said. ‘Then you can have a few glasses of wine, and anyway there’ll probably be somebody there that you know.’ And she’d run her finger down his neck, the promise of future compensations.

The gallery was new and seemed to rise organically from the pebble beach. One side was tucked into the hill, the other had a big window that enclosed the exhibition space and let in the clear northern light. The building had won an architectural award for its eco-design. They’d seen the artist outside on the way in. She’d been nervous and sneaking a quick cigarette before the public arrived. Fifty-something with wiry dark hair and button-eyes. Her nervousness had endeared her to Perez.