White Nights - Ann Cleeves [22]
‘Yes,’ she found herself saying. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’
He gave a quick nod. ‘Good. Are you in the phone book? Then I’ll give you a ring.’ He turned and walked quickly the way he’d come. Later it seemed strange to her that neither of them had mentioned the dead man who was still hanging in the hut on the jetty, the police officers and the cars. Because she was sure Wilding would have known what had happened there. He was the sort of man who would know.
Chapter Eight
Perez took Roddy outside. ‘Shall we just take a bit of a walk? I could do with the fresh air.’ He didn’t want a conversation in front of the two women. Roddy revelled in an audience. He would make things up to provide a decent story, feel an obligation to entertain them. Roddy pulled a face, as if fresh air was the last thing he needed, but followed Perez out anyway. It was in his nature to please, even if there was no immediate payback. He made a good living because he was charming.
As they left the house, Perez heard Fran tell Bella that she would leave too. He supposed she had to pick Cassie up from school, imagined her waiting at the school gate and swinging Cassie into her arms as the girl ran to her out of the yard. He loved watching the two of them together.
Roddy walked ahead of him out of the garden between the big stone gateposts. He had a long, bouncing stride and Perez had to step out to keep up. ‘What were you doing in the Herring House last night?’ he said. ‘I thought you only played fancy gigs these days.’
‘Bella asked. I was in Orkney anyway for the St Magnus Festival. It didn’t seem such a big deal to come on up.’ He paused. ‘My aunt doesn’t really take no for an answer.’
‘How long are you planning to stay?’
‘A few days. Then there’s a tour of Australia. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never done Oz before.’
‘Do you always stay with Bella while you’re in Shetland?’
‘Usually. She’s the only family I have here now.’ He didn’t need to explain. This was another myth and he would assume that Perez would know. How his dad had died when he was a boy and his mother had fallen for an American oilman, gone back to Houston with him. How Roddy had refused to leave. Aged thirteen he’d stood up to them all, said he couldn’t leave the islands. He was a Shetlander. It was the story that had appeared on CD covers and had been told to chat-show hosts. ‘I’m a Shetlander.’ And didn’t the islands love him for it! Bella had provided a home for him. Spoiled him rotten, according to Kenny Thomson. Turned him into a performer. Encouraged his ambition. Funded the first CD. Designed the cover and sent it off to all her arty friends in the south. That story didn’t appear so much in the papers. The official version had it that he was discovered by a producer who happened to be in Lerwick on holiday and heard Roddy play at the Lounge, the bar in town. In that version Roddy was an overnight success.
‘You don’t mind her wheeling you out to support her openings?’
‘Why should I? I owe her. Besides, her events are always a bit of a laugh.’ He was walking beside Perez along a path which led over Skoles land. It climbed steeply. Eventually they would end up at the top of the cliff, next to the great hole that was known as the Pit o’ Biddista. Perez planned to have the conversation finished by then. The boy stopped abruptly and turned to Perez. ‘What’s this about? They were looking so serious in there. Is it my mother? Is she ill?’
‘No,’ Perez said. ‘Nothing like that.’
There was a moment’s silence and Perez wondered if Roddy was going over in his mind other possible explanations for the police to be calling. The cannabis or cocaine which Perez was pretty sure they’d find in his room if they looked. A hotel prepared to press charges