She must have realized that they wouldn’t go away because she led them into her studio. At one end there was a beaten-up sofa and a low table. She sat them down there. A glass wall showed through to the gallery.

‘This must be like working in a goldfish bowl,’ Willow said.

‘It’s part of the deal. I get to live in Shetland, and the studio comes for free.’ Catherine paused. ‘And in winter we get few visitors here.’

‘So tell us about Monica.’

‘She’s a painter from London. A good painter, and recognized. She has a . . .’ the woman paused, seeking the right word, ‘. . . turbulent relationship with her partner. A couple of years ago she decided that she couldn’t live with him full-time. He bored her.’

Perez’s thoughts were racing. He remembered his conversation with Cilla, Eleanor’s mother. Cilla had said that Ian would bore Eleanor eventually. Perhaps Eleanor and Monica knew each other from London. Perhaps they were friends. If Eleanor already had Monica’s contact details that would explain the lack of family name or phone number in the notebook. He looked up at the potter and kept his voice calm. ‘So she moved to Shetland.’

‘She rented a house in Shetland. But she doesn’t live here all the time. She has a daughter. Grandchildren. And she still maintains a relationship with her husband. So it’s a kind of semi-detached attachment that she has with the islands.’

Another complicated family, Perez thought. Like me and Cassie and Duncan. But perhaps it’s a good thing that families have changed over the years. I think my mother suffocated in her marriage. And I kind of suffocated as a result. Now we let some air and space in and give individuals a chance to breathe and grow.

‘When did you last see her?’

Catherine considered. She was a very precise woman, Perez could see. ‘A week ago. On the Friday morning.’

The day before the hamefarin’. The day before Eleanor’s murder.

‘Could you tell us about the meeting?’

‘Monica called in here. There’d been some family crisis in London, she said. One of the grandchildren was ill. She’d decided to go home. She asked if I could let the owner of the gallery know. She’d agreed to run a workshop here later in the month and she wasn’t sure that she’d be back in time.’ Catherine looked at her watch. It was clear that she felt reluctant to spend any longer with them. ‘She seemed pleased to be going back to London. Almost excited to be leaving. She claims to love Shetland, but she misses the city, I think, and her friends there.’