White Nights - Ann Cleeves [90]
She seemed niggly and out of sorts. Perhaps she’d been feeling sick and tired. Sarah had been like that in the early stages of pregnancy. Everyone had said it was a good sign, the hormones working properly. Then she’d lost the baby at fourteen weeks. Perez would have liked to tell Dawn that these questions weren’t personal. Everyone would be asked the same. But perhaps at a time like this her feelings weren’t so important.
‘Do you know why anyone would want to kill Roddy?’ he asked. ‘He and Martin were friends. Roddy would tell him, wouldn’t he, if anything was bothering him?’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘When he was drunk. But you’d take everything he told you with a pinch of salt. He was just a little boy showing off.’
Chapter Thirty-one
It had been Taylor’s decision to spend the afternoon in Biddista, but now he wasn’t sure what good he was doing there. They’d drunk lots of tea, that was certain. He’d be pissing every five minutes by the time he got back to his hotel. It seemed to him that the first two interviews with the women hadn’t pushed the case forward at all. Their lives were so quiet and domestic. He thought Perez was wasting his time with them.
After leaving Dawn Williamson they went on to the writer’s house. Perez paused for a moment outside before knocking. The Shetlander’s hesitancy was starting to get to Taylor. It was as if Perez never had the courage of his convictions. He needs to sharpen up, Taylor thought. He’d never survive in the real world beyond the Pentland Firth. Then it occurred to him that here, in this bizarre, bleak, treeless community, Perez’s strange methods might actually get results.
Wilding led them upstairs to his workroom. Beside the computer there was a pile of paper, a typescript covered in scribbled notes. His focus still seemed drawn to it and his offer of coffee lacked any real warmth. It seemed as if he wanted them to go so he could get on with his work.
‘I get so caught up in the detail of a book,’ he said. ‘I lose the overall picture, the story I set out to tell.’
‘We’re here to talk about Roddy Sinclair,’ Taylor said. How self-centred could you get? he thought. A young man was dead and this guy was stressing about a fairy tale. Taylor was an obsessive himself and recognized the signs.
‘How can I help?’ For the first time Wilding seemed to give them his full attention. ‘It’s such terrible news. I can’t imagine what Bella must be going through. I wondered if I should call on her. What do you think? I don’t know what the convention is here.’
‘She’d probably be glad to hear from you,’ Perez said. ‘Maybe leave it for another day.’
‘I spoke to your colleague this morning. I don’t think I can help any more.’
‘He’ll have asked, I expect, if you saw Roddy yesterday.’
‘I saw him in the morning. From the window here. He walked down the street to the post office.’
‘And then he came back?’
‘I didn’t notice that. He was probably chatting to Aggie and then I was concentrated on my writing. This problem which has been haunting me for several days.’ Again his eyes flicked to the manuscript on his desk. ‘He must have come back. There’s no other way to the Manse, but I didn’t see him.’
‘We’ve identified the man who was killed here at the jetty,’ Perez said. ‘His name was Jeremy Booth.’
Taylor thought Wilding expressed a brief moment of recognition. ‘Do you know him?’
Wilding frowned. ‘The name sounded familiar for a moment. But I had an agent called Booth once. Perhaps that was it. I had to sack him. His name was Norman. Probably no relation to the victim.’
‘This is a serious matter.’ There was an edge to Perez’s voice which surprised Taylor. ‘Are you sure you’ve never heard of the man?’
‘No,’ Wilding replied. ‘I don’t think I have. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound flippant.’
Taylor thought he didn’t sound sorry either.
‘How did you come to live in Biddista?’
‘I think I explained before that I’ve always admired Bella