Billy nodded, played with the coffee machine and disappeared into a small kitchen at the back, only sticking his head round briefly to ask if ham would do because they didn’t have much else left.

‘I’m starving,’ Sandy said. ‘I’d eat you in a sandwich, if there was enough mustard to go with it.’ He sat at the bar with his coffee. The room was empty apart from a couple of foreign tourists in a corner and a local man nursing a pint. ‘What are they like to work for then?’

Billy understood what the question was about. A couple of gay men taking over the place had been a topic of conversation all over the islands. Nothing too unpleasant – Shetlanders considered themselves above prejudice these days. But a lot of interest and a few unfunny jokes. He shrugged. ‘Fine enough. David’s a good cook and he does most of the work. Charlie’s the front man.’

And on cue the owner appeared at the door, a silhouette against the sunlight outside. He walked in smiling, his hand outstretched. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Charles Hillier.’ As if the name was important, as if Sandy should recognize it. And something did stir in his memory: Saturday-night television in his grandmother Mima’s house in Whalsay. He and his brother there for a sleepover because his parents were away. Some variety theatre or game show, and the three of them laughing because the humour was the sort that bairns could enjoy too. Now he felt awkward because the memory was so sketchy, but the man obviously thought he was still famous. Sandy decided it was best to stick to the business in hand. He’d look the hotelier up on Google later.

‘We’ll have a team based in Unst for a few days at least. Could you provide some rooms for us? Bedrooms and maybe a meeting room.’

If Hillier was disappointed not to be recognized he didn’t show it now, but switched into professional mode, leading Sandy into the main house and showing him into bedrooms, throwing open doors with the air of a conjuror. He was flamboyant, a showman. In his head Sandy was counting up what all this would cost and was wondering what Jimmy Perez would say. ‘Would there be a discount? As we’ll be taking so many of your rooms?’

Hillier laughed. ‘Let’s see what we can do, shall we? We’d want to do all we can to help our friends in the police.’ He took Sandy into a small lounge and brought a tray of tea, with little home-made shortbread biscuits.

‘What’s this about?’ he asked. His head bobbed forward and Sandy was reminded again of a bird, a parrot maybe. His eyes were beady and bright. ‘Are you allowed to say?’

Sandy thought that by now there’d be no point in keeping secrets. ‘A visitor to the island died,’ he said. ‘It’s a possible suspicious death.’ He was expecting more questions, but the man dipped his head again towards his tea and said nothing.