Shetland 05: Dead Water by Ann Cleeves Page B

services regularly when he was a boy. His father was a lay preacher and his mother’s faith had always seemed strong enough to carry her through difficult times. More recently he’d wondered if the Sunday mornings of worship – the fine singing and the thoughtful sermons – had been more about continuing the tradition, a kind of comforting habit for her, than the reality of belief. Fran had dismissed faith as a trust in fairy tales. On impulse, at the last moment, he got out of the car, walked across the sheep-cropped grass and slipped into the back of the building. After the brightness of the sunshine the place seemed dark and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The first hymn had already started and he helped himself to a hymn book and service sheet. The place was only half-full and most of the congregation were elderly. It seemed that the ritual of Sunday worship had loosened its hold on the younger generation.
    After Fran’s death he’d rejected his father’s attempts to provide any sort of spiritual comfort, but now he found the familiarity of the words and the music relaxing. He couldn’t be angry with a God who didn’t exist. The sounds washed over him and allowed him space to think and remember.
    During the notices the minister announced the forthcoming wedding of two members of the congregation. ‘We’re delighted that Evie and John will be married here on Saturday. Let’s hope for fine weather and pray that they have a long and happy life together.’
    There were fond smiles and even a smattering of applause. The happy couple were sitting at the front and gave a little wave to acknowledge their thanks. The minister continued, ‘And I understand that Evie’s hen party on Friday night raised £500 for our chosen charity of Water Aid. I wouldn’t normally be one to encourage a pub-crawl, but on this occasion I’m sure we all thank those who took part. And we’re pleased that Evie has a clear enough head to be with us this morning.’ A little polite laughter, followed by the final hymn.
    Perez left before the hymn had finished. He knew what it would be like if he stayed: folk would approach, wanting to welcome him into the fold. There’d be invitations back to houses for coffee or lunch. Questions. He’d never been sociable, but these days he found small talk impossible. Outside there was warmth in the sunshine and he stood for a moment and almost allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, before returning to his car. He wasn’t sure now whether his coming to the kirk had been such a good idea. He’d found Evie’s number in the Shetland phone directory, but when he’d called there’d been no response. This had been the nearest place of worship to her home and he’d thought he’d give it a go. Sandy had described Evie as religious, so it was worth a chance.
    At home he’d felt restless; he’d agreed with Duncan that he wouldn’t pick up Cassie until after she’d had her tea, and the empty day had stretched ahead of him. Now Perez thought it had been a mistake to come here to find Evie. He hadn’t considered that she might be with her fiancé. He could hardly discuss the woman’s dead lover in front of the new man.
    But John Henderson drove off very quickly in a white car, as if he had an appointment to keep. Perez saw him briefly – a man in middle age, very smart in his Sunday suit. Evie waited until all the other people had left, then stood chatting just outside the door of the kirk to the minister, making the final preparations for her wedding day, Perez supposed. She had a round face and dark hair, and though he couldn’t hear what she was saying, she seemed happy. Eventually the minister returned to the building and Evie walked across the grass to the road. There were no cars remaining and Perez assumed that she intended to make her way home on foot. He opened the door and climbed out.
    ‘Can I give you a lift back to your house?’
    Anywhere else such an invitation would