‘What should I tell the folk in the house?’

‘Tell Eleanor’s man that she’s dead. He deserves that. He can decide whether or not to tell the rest of them. If Mary Lomax is back on the island, get her to sit in with them.’ Mary was the North Isles community police officer, middle-aged, motherly and perfect for the job. She’d grown up in Glasgow, but had taken to island life immediately. Apart from the accent, you’d have her down as a native Shetlander.

Sandy phoned Mary. She said she was back in Unst and that she’d be at Sletts in half an hour. Then he turned his mobile to silent and hesitated, rehearsing in his mind the words that he would use to tell the Englishman with his square face and his hard eyes that his wife was dead. When he walked through the door they all stared at him and his mouth went dry.

‘Could I have a word outside, please, Mr Longstaff?’ Speaking slowly so the man would understand his accent. Knapping.

He expected questions, a refusal to comply, but Longstaff stood up and followed him onto the deck. As they left the house the other couple continued to stare at him in silence.

‘They’ve found her.’ It wasn’t a question. Sandy nodded. ‘Is she dead?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

Sandy was about to offer his condolences, say those words that always sounded false to him, even though he meant them, but Longstaff interrupted. ‘I knew she must be. She wouldn’t have gone like that. Not all night without a word. She’d know that I’d be worried. It’s been a difficult time, but we loved each other. In a way that other people can’t understand.’ He looked up. ‘Can I see her?’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ Sandy said. ‘But maybe just not yet.’

There was a sound of a car coming down the track. Mary Lomax climbed out. She hadn’t taken time to change into her uniform, was wearing tracksuit bottoms and an elderly fleece that smelled of her collie. She’d taken on a small croft to work in her spare time. Sandy waved at her, felt the kind of relief that had always marked the end of the school term for him.

‘I’m sure that you’ve urgent things to be doing, Sandy. I can look after things here now.’ She put her arm around Ian Longstaff’s shoulder. Sandy expected him to push her away, but he curved his head towards her and clung onto her as she led him inside.

Perez was waiting on the hill, a good distance from the body with his back to it. He’d sent everyone else away and was looking south. The land sloped down towards Springfield, the old laird’s house that had been turned into a hotel. Sandy knew better than to approach the crime scene and stayed where he was, by the fence. He thought this must be hard for his boss. Another dead woman, much the same age as Fran had been. He never knew what to say to Jimmy Perez these days, or whether he could say anything to make him feel better.