White Nights - Ann Cleeves [114]
Wilding answered the phone very quickly.
‘Yes?’ As if he’d been expecting a call.
‘It’s Inspector Perez. I wondered if I might come round. There are a few questions . . .’
There was a moment of silence. This obviously wasn’t the call Wilding had been expecting.
‘I’m afraid it won’t be convenient today, inspector. I’m just on my way out. I’ve bought a property in Buness. I’m on my way over there with a builder to see what needs to be done before it’s habitable.’
‘I can meet you there,’ Perez said. ‘I know the place you mean.’
‘Of course you do, inspector. I should have realized. There are no secrets on Shetland.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Very well, I’ll see you in my new house. You’ll be my first real visitor. But give me an hour or so to talk to the builder and the plumber. I don’t need the news getting out that I’m being questioned by the police.’ He waited for a response from Perez, an answering laugh perhaps, or a reassurance that of course he wasn’t a suspect, this was just a matter of routine. Perez said nothing. ‘Well,’ Wilding continued awkwardly. ‘I’ll see you there in a little while.’
As Perez replaced the phone Fran came in after dropping Cassie to school. She was flushed from walking up the hill.
‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ she said. ‘I thought you might have gone. I bumped into Magnus at Hillhead and you know how hard it is to get away from him.’
He kissed her to stop her talking and led her back to bed.
Later he made coffee and took it to her. ‘What are your plans for the day?’
‘Work,’ she said. ‘Yours?’
‘Work.’ He considered how much he should tell her. ‘I’m off to see Wilding in his new house.’
‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘He’s kind of creepy. An obsessive, I think. One of those people who’ve never quite grown up, can’t do real relationships, only teenage crushes.’
‘Did he have a crush on you?’
‘On me. On Bella. Maybe on any woman who fits in with his fantasy of the time. I was almost tempted to work on his house, though. It’s a lovely place.’
Driving down the island, Perez tried to separate his prejudice from what he knew about Wilding. He was definitely a writer. Perez had checked on Amazon. Fantasy novels, quirky, funny but with a dark edge. He’d read some of the reviews. And he’d checked other things too. Wilding had spent a short time in the psychiatric unit of his local general hospital after his girlfriend had left him. He’d made a nuisance of himself, had become obsessed with her. Never violent though. Taylor had talked with the officers who’d taken the complaints. The woman hadn’t been frightened by him, just irritated and annoyed. They’d thought him weak and ineffectual, had never believed he’d cause her harm.
Usually that sort of history would have made Perez sympathetic. In his previous job he’d been famous for being soft on nutters. But he couldn’t like Wilding. Perhaps it was the money that repelled him. It was hard to feel sorry for a man who was very rich. One of the articles he’d tracked down on the internet had named the sum paid to Wilding as an advance on his last book. He certainly wouldn’t need to resort to blackmail.
Perez turned off the main road south, crossed the cattle grid and drove along the side of the thin loch that led towards the sea. It was another lovely day. Perhaps it would continue to be a hot dry summer. His thoughts turned to the photo of the group in the Manse garden, the men in smart clothes, Bella in her slinky red dress. Behind them a perfect sky. It had been hot then too. For the first time it hit him that Bella was the only woman in the picture. Of course he’d seen that, but he’d accepted it as natural. In most gatherings, even now that she was older, Bella was surrounded by men.
A white van came down the road in the opposite direction. Perez pulled in to the verge to let it past, waved at the driver. Davy Clouston, the builder Wilding must be using to do up the house. A good choice. Clouston was a fine workman. Not cheap, but reliable. Perez wondered how Wilding had persuaded him out at such short notice.
The writer would