‘Where’s the Fiscal?’ Perez knew the Fiscal would have flown in with them despite her dinner date. She was a control freak and she wouldn’t resist the chance to take charge on the ground.

‘She’s coming up with Vicki Hewitt and the gear.’ Sandy was interrupted by the roar of the plane taking off again. It climbed steeply above their heads before banking and flying north again. ‘Your mate’s van stinks of fish and she didn’t fancy it. She wanted to know where she’ll be staying tonight.’

‘There’ll be plenty of room at the North Light,’ Perez said. ‘She’ll have to feed herself though. They all will. The cook’s dead.’ For the first time he began to consider the implications of the second murder. Surely now the field centre residents would insist on leaving on the morning boat. How would he keep a hold on the investigation if half his suspects disappeared to the south on the Aberdeen flight the next day? He thought Poppy should go. She was hardly more than a child and she needed her mother. She would be at home and under supervision. He’d talk to her this evening. The rest he’d invite to stay. He could hardly hold them here against their will, but he would make them understand that their leaving might compromise the case. It would look better if they remained where they were until the investigation was over.

The Land Rover headlights shone on the heather above them and they heard it straining over the rough grass. His father was driving. He got out first and helped the women from the vehicle, handing them down with a gesture that Perez found strangely gallant. The Fiscal was wearing a warm waterproof and walking boots, but she still managed to look elegant. ‘Two women dead. What’s going on here, Jimmy? I’m assuming the same killer?’

‘Either that, or a copycat.’ He explained about the feathers.

‘Who knew about the feathers?’

‘All of them. The assistant warden found the first body and word was out before I could stop him talking.’

‘Any sign of sexual assault?’ Rhona asked. ‘That must have been your first thought.’

‘No, in both cases the women were dressed and their clothing hadn’t been disturbed.’

James was helping Sandy and Vicki carry the generator from the Land Rover. Although she was tiny, the CSI always insisted on pulling her weight. She’d strung crime scene tape from metal poles to mark a path into the Pund and now she and Sandy joined Perez and the Fiscal, leaving James to set up the lights. Vicki had made him wear a scene suit and bootees and Perez was aware of him, working in the shadow just inside the door of the ruined croft.

‘Do you want a hand to set that up?’ Sandy shouted over to James.

‘No, no, I can manage fine.’ The response sharp, as if Sandy were suggesting the task was too much for him. A couple of minutes later the Pund was lit from inside by a bright, white light.

‘I have to get to the lighthouse,’ Perez said to Rhona Laing. ‘Each of the residents is a suspect and I haven’t had the chance to talk to them yet. Do you want to come with me? We can leave Sandy here with Vicki and you can look at the scene in the morning when she’s finished.’

Usually the last thing he would have wanted was to conduct interviews with the Fiscal sitting in. She made him nervous. But now he thought he could do with a different perspective. She was an educated incomer like most of the field centre residents.

James drove them north to the lighthouse. ‘I’ve left my car there. I’ll pick it up and go straight back to Springfield. What’ll I tell Fran?’

‘That I probably won’t get back tonight and she’s not to worry.’

Chapter Twenty-three

Dougie had spent a lot of the day at Golden Water. The swan was still there. He’d already started writing his account of its discovery for British Birds and as the light had improved he’d taken more and clearer photographs. Of course there were other things at the back of his mind – anxieties about murder and the police investigation – but he’d always been able to focus completely when he was birdwatching. It was his usual means of escape.

Now the light was fading and he made his way back to the lighthouse. On the way he stopped three times to answer his mobile phone. There’d already been half a dozen missed calls when he’d been watching the swan. The north end of the island had very patchy reception. All the calls were from birdwatchers on the Shetland mainland, checking that the bird was still there, making plans for coming into the Isle to see it the following morning.

‘I’ve been watching it all day,’ he said. Jaunty, exaggerating too, of course: he hadn’t spent all day at Golden Water. ‘Mind-blowing views . . . Yeah, if you like, I can meet you at the plane and walk up with you.’ He sensed a new respect in their attitude. He’d always be remembered as the guy who found the UK’s first trumpeter swan. The storm and the wait in Lerwick would only add to the mythology.

It was quite dark when he got to the centre. He dumped his gear in the dormitory, then went to the common room and helped himself to a can of pop, putting the money in the honesty box, because nobody was running the bar. The place had a deserted feel and he realized that was because there was no sound coming from the kitchen. Jane usually had the radio on. Not music but talk and the discussion seeped through as a background hum into the common room. The quiet unnerved him and though he still felt awkward when he remembered the truth game, he was relieved when Hugh and Ben wandered through. Something about the empty lighthouse spooked him.

‘We met up on the road north,’ Hugh said. He caught Ben’s eye. Dougie wondered why Hugh had felt the need to explain the meeting. Was there something conspiratorial in the way they looked at each other?

Again he felt like the fat boy in the playground, never invited to join a gang. He wondered what they’d been chatting about, suspected that there might have been jokes at his expense. Ben reported catching a few migrants on the trap round and they discussed the possibility of another rarity on the following day.

‘I’ve done all the crofts at the south this afternoon,’ Hugh said. He stretched as if the exertion had exhausted him. ‘Nothing special but it’s looking good for tomorrow. Especially if there’s a bit of drizzle at dawn.’

It was the sort of conversation they would have had with Angela.

‘How did you get on with Perez?’ It seemed odd to Dougie that everyone was carrying on as if she hadn’t been murdered, as if there wasn’t a detective camped out in the hall conducting interviews.

‘He made me show him the swan,’ Hugh said. Dougie thought Hugh seemed almost jubilant. ‘Really, I’m not sure how bright he is. Now the weather’s cleared, surely they’ll send someone in from the mainland to take over the case.’

‘I think he’s bright enough.’ Ben was drinking beer too. ‘He pretends he’s slow, but he seems to have a pretty good idea what’s been going on here. I wouldn’t underestimate him.’

The Fowlers arrived then, showered and changed for dinner as always, as if this was some smart hotel. They always looked scrubbed clean. Everyone sat waiting for the bell to go for the meal. There was an odd tension. There was no more talk about Perez and the questions he’d asked them. They just sat, looking at each other. Only Hugh seemed relaxed, lounging in his chair, reading an old Shetland bird report.