Free White Nights by Ann Cleeves Page B

elongated limbs and a snout. She held it round the middle and bounced it along the floor as if it was dancing. Martin looked at him over the counter, saw him staring at the toy and laughed.
    ‘Don’t ask what it is. Alice took a fancy to it at a sale of work and now we can’t get it off her, even to wash it.’ He grinned. ‘Twice in two days: what brings you to Biddista again so soon?’
    Perez ignored the question. ‘I thought you ran the café in the Herring House. Aren’t you there today?’
    ‘The gallery’s not open on a Tuesday. I give my mother a bit of a break by standing in here.’
    Perez walked around the shelves, pulling off chocolate bars and crisps. No salt and vinegar. Would cheese and onion do? Sandy could be picky about his food. I can’t believe that I’m really worrying about this, Perez thought, that I’m just about to start a murder investigation and I’m bothered by Sandy’s choice of a snack lunch. He landed up at the counter, took his wallet out of his back pocket. ‘That man who was at the gallery last night,’ he said. ‘You saw he was a bit upset. Did you recognize him?’
    Martin shook his head. ‘He looked like a visitor to me.’ He began to ring up Perez’s purchases on the till.
    ‘I left him in the kitchen with you. What made him run off suddenly like that?’
    Martin looked up, a packet of crisps still in his hand. ‘Hey, it was nothing to do with me. I was stillworking on the buffet. Waste of time in the end, half of it was uneaten. They didn’t get as many people as they were expecting. Bella was furious.’
    ‘So what happened? Did he just get up and walk out without a word?’
    ‘I don’t know what happened. I carried a tray of food out to set on the trestle at the back of the gallery. When I got back to the kitchen he’d gone. Maybe he just sorted himself out and went home.’
    ‘No,’ Perez said. He saw that the girl was engrossed in her game, but still lowered his voice. ‘He didn’t do that. He’s still there in Kenny Thomson’s hut. He’s dead. Hanging from one of the rafters.’
    Martin’s mouth stretched into the beginning of an embarrassed laugh.
    ‘You’re joking?’
    ‘No,’ Perez said. ‘Why would I joke about something like that? Kenny found him. He hasn’t said anything to you?’ He found it hard to believe that this was news to Martin. A place like Biddista, information escaped, seeped into general knowledge without any effort. ‘Didn’t you wonder what Sandy and the doctors were doing out there?’
    ‘I’ve been in here since the shop opened. Nursing a bit of a hangover.’
    ‘Why would you think I was joking?’ How tasteless would that be? he thought. Like claiming a death in the family had caused an art exhibition to cancel its opening.
    ‘Well, I mean, it’s a shock. Did he kill himself?’ Suddenly Martin lifted his daughter into his arms. He looked out of the doorway, down to the hut and Sandy,who was still sitting on the harbour wall. ‘Why would he go into Kenny’s hut to kill himself?’
    ‘Was Kenny the only person to use it?’
    ‘No, we just call it that because he built it. Everyone living in Biddista can leave their gear there. Kenny, me, the new chap who’s moved into the house at the end of the row, Bella, Roddy.’
    ‘Who’s the new chap?’
    ‘He’s from England. A writer. Peter Wilding. Here to finish a book, he said. Willy, who used to live in that house, moved into sheltered housing last year and Wilding moved in. I’d never heard of him but he obviously does all right at it if he can afford to take the summer out. He doesn’t seem to do much writing. Mostly he’s sitting at his upstairs window, staring out over the water. Maybe waiting for inspiration, huh?’
    The girl struggled to be released from his grip and ran back to her toys.
    ‘Does Wilding have a boat?’ Perez asked.
    ‘No. I asked him out when I was going with Kenny once, just to be friendly. But a bit of a breeze blew up and it