White Nights - Ann Cleeves [50]
As soon as he saw the face he knew it wasn’t Lawrence. There was no likeness. He wondered how he could ever have doubted his first impression. He should never have listened to Aggie Williamson. He should never have got caught up in her panic. Lawrence had a full, deep forehead and a mouth which was wide, even when he wasn’t laughing. This man had delicate features, thin lips. It could have been a woman’s face, if it hadn’t been for the slight stubble on the chin, the hairy eyebrows. Kenny had a terrible desire to giggle. He pictured the corpse suddenly as one of those drag queens who appeared sometimes on the television, with a false bosom and a blond wig. He supposed it was the release of tension, the relief.
He realized he should say something.
‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not Lawrence. Definitely not.’
‘We’ll just look for the birthmark, shall we? Just to make sure. You know how the mind plays tricks.’ And Perez folded the sheet back again, very neatly, like a nurse or a soldier preparing a bed for inspection. Now the shoulders and the top of the body were exposed. They must have taken off his clothes. The man’s chest was covered in fine grey hair. Kenny thought he’d been a self-conscious man. He’d shaved his head when his hair turned grey. Lawrence could be vain, right enough, but there was no birthmark on the shoulder. This wasn’t him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve not seen this man before in my life.’
‘Are you sure?’ Perez was poised, holding the sheet in both his hands. He was leaning across the body. ‘This couldn’t have been the man you saw running away from the Herring House the night of the party?’
Kenny thought about that. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It could have been. If he was dressed in black. He seems the right sort of height and build. But I couldn’t swear to it. He was a long way off.’
Then Perez replaced the sheet and they returned to the small room with the dusty silk flowers. Kenny had thought the meeting would be over now. It would be all right to go. He imagined Edith waiting for him at home. He’d wasted most of the afternoon, driving here and then sitting in this room, waiting.
But it seemed the Englishman had other ideas. ‘You don’t mind if I just follow up a couple of points?’ Kenny wasn’t sure if he was asking Jimmy Perez or him.
‘Will it take long?’
‘Not long at all.’
‘Could we go out then?’ He wanted to escape that strange, sweet smell. He needed some fresh air.
‘Of course we can go out. Let’s get you a drink somewhere. I expect you could do with one. I could use one myself. You’d think you’d get used to dead bodies in this business, but I never have.’
So Kenny found himself in the Lerwick Hotel, tucked in a corner in the bar. A couple of men were sitting at a table in the restaurant, drinking coffee after a late lunch. Businessmen of some kind, Kenny thought. Something to do with oil or tourism. They weren’t local. Otherwise the place was deserted.
Taylor came back from the bar with three whiskies and a jug of water. Kenny couldn’t remember ordering a drink, but perhaps he had. He was more shaken than he’d realized. Probably it was good not to go back to Edith straight away in this state. Taylor waited until his glass was nearly empty before he put his question.
‘Someone killed that man,’ he said. ‘They strangled him and then stuck a noose round his neck and hoisted him up on to the rafter. Do you know anyone who would have been capable of that?’
‘It wouldn’t have taken such a deal of strength.’ Kenny thought for the first time of the practicalities. ‘He was a slight man. Not a lot of weight to him. The rope to make the noose was there in the hut. Anyone could have done it.’
Taylor smiled. His head was like a