‘James Grieve will fly in on the last flight from Aberdeen.’ The words shouted because he was still a distance away. And that seemed to work, because Perez gave him a smile and walked towards him.

‘I’m hoping to get the Chief Inspector in this evening too.’

‘Who have you asked?’

‘Willow Reeves.’

Sandy gave a little smile at the name. ‘Would you like me to stay here to keep the walkers and gawpers away?’ He didn’t mind dead people. He couldn’t offend them.

‘Nah, I’ll do it – I’ve called in reinforcements from Lerwick.’ Sandy thought Perez liked the idea of a silent vigil. He had turned in the other direction now and was staring out over the water. Maybe he needed the time on his own. ‘Find us some accommodation, would you, Sandy? We can’t be traipsing back to Lerwick every night. See if you can find somewhere big enough for us all. Didn’t I read that Springfield House has new owners? It might be worth trying there.’

So Sandy was back in his car driving away from Meoness and the few miles to the big house further south. Springfield had been empty for years until an English couple had turned up to renovate it. The house had a special place in Shetland mythology because it was where Peerie Lizzie had been living when she drowned.

When Sandy arrived one of the owners was showing a family into his car. He was still standing at the door, the keys in his hand. ‘Can I help you?’ He was in late middle age and a shock of grey hair stuck up at the front, like the crest of a bird, giving him a comical, cartoonish appearance.

Sandy explained who he was and that he needed as many rooms as the hotel could provide.

‘I’m just about to drop these people at the ferry. Is that OK? Call into the bar and ask Billy to make you a coffee or a sandwich and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can. My partner’s out for the afternoon.’ His voice was deep and somehow familiar.

The bar was reached from a courtyard at the back of the house. Once it had been a stable or a garage. Sandy had seen pictures in the museum of the house in Peerie Lizzie’s day – grand men and women in fancy clothes, arrived from the south for a week of fishing and shooting. Perhaps this was where they kept the rods and the guns. Inside the bar Billy Jamieson was polishing glasses. Sandy had done him for drunk driving about a year before, but the man didn’t seem to bear a grudge. ‘Sandy, what can I do for you? Is this work or pleasure?’

‘Work.’ No details, though news would get out soon enough. Had probably got out already and Billy was just fishing for more information. ‘I’m here to book some accommodation, but your boss is away to the ferry with some guests. He said to give me a coffee and a sandwich while I wait.’