Palmer-Jones 03 - Murder in Paradise by Ann Cleeves Page A

museum,” she said, repeating the phrase yet again. “I’m not at all sure that you’re right about Mary’s death, but just because someone’s been born on Kinness or is married to someone who was born here, they’re not above the law. Surely the same moral code applies here as anywhere else.”
    She knew that she sounded pompous, and realized in a moment of insight that she was trying to convince herself. She had wanted Kinness to be like a museum, dramatically different from anywhere else. That had been the attraction. Now she was here, she had to think again. She did not want to be a church-going, submissive, housewifely museum exhibit. She felt very confused.
    “If you believe that Mary was murdered,” she persisted, “you must do something about it.”
    “But what? I did try to explain my doubts to the police, but they were as sceptical as you are.”
    “What would you do if you were on the mainland?”
    “I’d talk to everyone, ask a lot of questions, understand what had happened myself, until I had sufficient evidence to take to the police.”
    “You seem used to this sort of thing.”
    “Yes. Before I retired I worked for the Home Office. I worked very closely with the police.”
    “You must do the same thing thing here,” she said. “Ask your questions. Get to the bottom of it.”
    They were both silent for a moment. The sun had nearly disappeared. The island seemed very calm and very beautiful, caught in the orange light.
    “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I shall have to think it through for myself, be certain in my own mind first. I know that I’ve not convinced you, but if I decide to go ahead, will you help me?”
    “I have to, don’t I?” she said. “I can’t give that sort of advice if I’m not prepared to follow it myself.”
    “Do you know of anyone who would benefit from Mary’s death?”
    “No.”
    “I’ve been thinking about opportunity. Who could have left the hall without being noticed? It wouldn’t have taken very long to follow her up to Ellie’s Head, push her off, and run back.”
    “To fit in with your facts the murderer must have arranged to meet her there. He or she must have given her a good reason for leaving the party.”
    “Yes.”
    She shook her head.
    “It could have been anyone,” she said. “ Especially in the interval when the band stopped playing. People were coming and going all the time. I came out for a breath of fresh air and no one seemed to notice that I’d gone missing.”
    She stopped suddenly.
    “I heard footsteps while I was outside,” she said. “Running footsteps.”
    “Did you? You don’t know what time that was?”
    “No.”
    She put her hands in her jacket pockets. “It’s getting cold,” she said. “I’d better go back to Sandwick, find Jim.”
    The church bell began to ring for the evening service.
    George Palmer-Jones walked with her and stopped at the gate by Sandwick.
    “Don’t put yourself in an awkward position with the family,” he said. “There’d have to be a compromise anyway, whoever you married and wherever you lived. This is a special place and I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
    “You won’t,” she said. Despite her Sunday-best dress she climbed the gate and ran through the mud to the house. She seemed almost excited.
    Sylvia and Jonathan were still in the same positions by the fire. George felt brisk and energetic coming in from the cold, and he had an urge to rouse them from their lethargy. He had told Sarah that he would find out what had happened to the child by asking questions. He could start now.
    “Did you have a pleasant walk?” Sylvia asked lazily. She stretched and George thought that she looked like a big, voluptuous chestnut cat.
    “Yes thank you.”
    “I’ll go and make some tea.”
    “No,” he said. “ Not yet if you don’t mind.”
    She seemed surprised but curled back into her chair.
    “When did you give the green scarf to Mary?”
    “On Friday afternoon. School