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They had the sheep gathered up in a circle of drystone with a rough wooden gate held across the gap and let them out one at a time for clipping. The old men sat with an animal each, turned on its back, the front legs held firm, and hand-clipped with sure firm bites until the fleece was free. Then the poor bald beast was let loose to run away. The men’s hands were brown and soiled and calloused. Ke
At midday she brought out flasks of tea and thick sandwiches made with cheese and a ham which she’d cooked herself. They ate, although their hands were still greasy with lanolin, just rubbing them on the cropped grass to get rid of the worst of the muck. Peter Wilding sat with them, but didn’t join in much. He tried to clip one but held it away from him as if he was scared of it. Edith took it from him and finished it in the end. Ke
Then the gate was opened and another animal released. When Edith had finished doing a dainty black ewe, she held the fleece up to show Ke
They finished late in the afternoon. From where they’d been working there had been no view of the Pit o’ Biddista and the climbers. Walking back to the house, Ke
Again he decided to pretend that none of this was happening and continued on his way towards the house. The old men took his lead and though they shot glances at the group by the cliff and whispered among themselves they didn’t talk about it to him.
Wilding, though, was too curious just to walk past. He stared at the group of police officers and finally sauntered up to them, all arrogant as if he had as much right to be there as they did.
The rest of them were halfway down the track, too far away to hear the exchange, but they stopped to watch what was happening. In the end Ke
The English detective moved away from the rest of the group and stopped the writer before he could get anywhere close to the edge of the hole. There was a brief conversation, then Wilding was sent away. With a flea in his ear, Ke
‘Well?’ Martin asked. ‘What are they all doing up there? Is it the giant’s lassie they’re after?’
Wilding obviously hadn’t heard the story, because he just looked at Martin as if he were soft in the head. The old men chuckled.
‘They won’t tell me anything,’ Wilding said. ‘It’s a crime scene and everyone should keep out. That’s all the man would say. Actually, he was rather rude.’
Usually after a day on the hill Ke
At night at this time of the year storm petrels and Manx shearwaters flew into the cliffs to the nests they made in the old rabbit burrows. When he was a boy, Willy had taken him to show him. Ke
Chapter Thirty-four
Perez had watched Ke
At one time Perez had thought Fair Isle was where his future lay. He’d take a croft there and when his father retired he’d become skipper of the mail boat, The Good Shepherd. His children would grow up on the isle and know it as well as he had done. Then earlier in the year the opportunity had arisen for him to move back. A croft had become available and he’d have had a good chance of getting it. His mother had been desperate to get him back, but he hadn’t put in the application. Lethargy perhaps. A reluctance to leave his little house by the water. But more than that. He wasn’t ready yet to give up his work. Policing was a challenge, even in Shetland, he’d realized. And although he’d only just met her, he’d dreamed even then he might get together with Fran. He didn’t have any regrets.
The offer to help Ke
The climbers were a married couple called Sophie and Roger Moore. They’d come to Shetland first as students, liked it and stayed. Sophie was an accountant with Shetland Islands Council; Perez wasn’t sure how Roger made a living. He watched them slide over the edge in turn. They moved slowly, stopping to pass a hand across the ledges where thrift or the mess of a bird’s nest could be hiding the phone they were looking for. When they’d first arrived at the site they’d said it was easy enough, good practice, though Perez had convinced himself that it would be a waste of time for them. He was going through the motions to satisfy Taylor. He couldn’t see that anything would be found. It was a sort of superstition for him, not to be too hopeful at times like this. He was glad Taylor had decided to have a day at his desk, pulling together all the information that had already come in. The wait would drive the Englishman frantic. Perez imagined him standing at the top, shouting ridiculous, meaningless instructions to the climbers below.