Free Raven Black by Ann Cleeves Page A

another room, so we don't disturb you?'

    Sally expected her mother to object, but something about him, the authoritative, easy tone, the assumption that he'd get his own way, must .have made her realize there was no point in putting up a fight.
    'Through here,' she said stiffly. 'I'll just put a match to the fire. Then I'll let you get on with it!

    The room was tidy, of course. Margaret couldn't abide clutter. She allowed the music stand and Sally's fiddle to stay out, either to encourage spontaneous practice or to give the impression to guests that they were a cultured family, but everything else was in its place. She never let her marking or preparation for school escape into here. Perez folded himself into a seat with his back to the window, stretched out his long legs. Margaret had already closed the curtains.
    It was a ritual. One of many. In winter, as soon as she came in from school, she shut the curtains in every room in the house.

    Morag sat beside Sally on the sofa. Sally thought this was a pre-arranged move. Perhaps she was there to offer comfort Oh my God, Sally thought. I hope she doesn't touch me. Those fat, fleshy hands. I couldn't bear it.

    Perez waited until Margaret had left the room before speaking.

    'It must be a terrible shock,' he said. 'The news about Catherine!
    'They were talking about it in the bus on the way home. But I couldn't believe it Not until I got home and my mum said what happened!

    'Tell me about Catherine,' he said. 'What was she like?'
    Sally hadn't been expecting that She thought there'd be specific questions: When did you last see Catherine? Did she mention a row with anyone? How did she seem?
    She hadn't practised the answer to this.

    He saw her confusion. 'I know,' he said. 'It probably isn't relevant. But I'd like to know. It seems the least I can do for her, treat her as an individual'
    Still, Sally didn't quite understand.

    'She came from south,' she said. 'Her mother had died. It made her. . . different from the rest of us!

    'Yes,' he said. 'I can see that it would!

    'She seemed very sophisticated. She knew about films and plays. Different bands.
    People I'd not heard of. Books.'

    Perez waited for her to continue.
    'She was very smart. At school she seemed way ahead of us.'
    'That wouldn't have made her popular. With the teachers maybe, but not with the kids.'

    'She didn't care about being popular. At least that was the impression she gave.'
    'Of course she cared: he said. 'Everyone does to some extent. We all want to be liked.'

    'I suppose so.' Sally wasn't convinced.
    'But you were friends. I've spoken to her teachers today and to her father. They all say she got on better with you than with anyone else.'

    'She lived just up the bank: Sally said. 'We got the bus into town every day. There's no one else of my age / lives here.'
    There was a silence, broken by the clatter of plates in the room next door. The inspector seemed to be giving Sally's words more significance than she thought they deserved. Morag shifted in her seat as if it was torture for her to keep quiet, as if there were questions she was dying to ask.

    'I went to the Anderson,' Perez said at last. 'I expect things are different now. Then it was all cliques. We had to stay in the hostel. I came from Fair Isle and us and the Foula kids, we couldn't even get home at weekends. Then there were the people who came in by ferry every week from Whalsay and Out Skerries. The lads from Scalloway were always fighting with the Lerwick boys. It wasn't that you didn't make friends from a different group, but you knew where you belonged.' He paused again. 'As I said, I expect things are different now.'

    'No: she said. 'Not very different.'

    'You're saying you two were thrown together then.
    You didn't hang around because you had much in common.'

    'I don't think she was close to anyone. Not to me, not to her father. Perhaps her mother. . . I had the impression the two of them were more like friends. . . Perhaps