by Kate Rhodes
‘We still don’t know if she was dragged to Pulpit Rock or lured there,’ Liz Gannick snaps. ‘I should be searching her room now, before more evidence is lost.’
‘You can go soon, I promise.’ My voice is calm when I reply. ‘But this is going to need a coordinated approach. We know he used a car or van to transport her body, so let’s do a vehicle check today.’
‘That’ll take forever,’ Gannick replies.
I shake my head in reply. ‘There are over four hundred privately owned cars here, but only three are for hire. I’d like those checked this afternoon. Most holidaymakers use bikes or golf buggies to get around. Can you check the car Liam Trewin hired first, Liz, to see if it was used to carry Sabine’s body? We know he fancied her, but it may just have been heavy-handed flirting.’ Gannick gives a hiss of disapproval. ‘The killer could be hiding in a remote corner of the island, or right under our noses, but I think they’ll try again. We know most violent crimes are carried out by men between eighteen and forty-five, but let’s keep an open mind. I want to prioritise islanders in that group who knew Sabine first. Their names will stay on our suspect list until they’re ruled out. Our killer is organised enough to steal jewellery from the museum to leave at the crime scene a whole year later. It’s possible this is the start of a campaign.’
Gannick glowers with impatience as I allocate duties, then let the team know that the police graphologist has confirmed that it’s Sabine’s handwriting on the back of her photo. The killer was smart enough not to give us a sample of their handwriting. I want the suspect list narrowed down from over four hundred islanders with access to cars, so we can make progress.
‘Eddie and I will be searching the Star Castle this afternoon. The CPS have given us an open search warrant for garages, agricultural and industrial buildings. You only need to get permission before searching people’s homes. If the householder refuses, it’ll take hours to get a domestic warrant.’
I ask Deane to contact visitors with solid alibis, and advise them about travel home. Eddie’s most important duty after our search is to speak to the remaining islanders, to ensure they’re safe. Nina enters my mind as I issue the instruction; I never found out whether she travelled here alone or with a group during our brief conversation.
Liz Gannick is on her feet once the briefing ends. I follow her to the door, ready to escort her to the Star Castle, until Isla steps into my path.
‘Can I have a quick word in private, sir?’
The constable’s expression is so tense, I ask Eddie to escort Gannick to the hotel, then return to Madron’s office.
‘What’s wrong, Isla?’
‘There’s something I should have told you at the start.’ She seems lost for words, which surprises me. The girl’s manner is normally blunt and straightforward.
‘Take a seat then give it a try.’
She perches on a chair, hands clasped together like she’s offering up a prayer. ‘Sabine liked to party and have a few drinks on her nights off. She could be pretty wild company.’
‘And?’
‘We slept together once, after the pub. She invited me back to her room, and I left before dawn.’ Isla’s sexual preferences haven’t occurred to me until now, but she looks afraid when she speaks again, as if she’s facing the sack. ‘It was soon after she arrived, at the end of June.’
‘It never became a relationship?’
‘Her choice, not mine. She didn’t want complications.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘Hurt, at first, even though I knew she was straight. She probably just wanted to tick “sleeping with a girl” off her list of experiences. I don’t think she’d ever fancied a woman before.’ The constable’s cheeks are blushing a furious red.
‘Who knows about this?’
‘She wouldn’t have mentioned it, unless she told Lily Jago, and I don’t brag about my sex life.’
‘The pair of you still seemed close.’
‘We didn’t spend much time alone after that, but we never fell out.’ Isla’s intent gaze is trained on the lino under her feet. ‘Will I be dropped from the investigation?’
‘You know the rules on police involvement with victims. It normally means mandatory exclusion, but I might be able to get permission. Do you want to stay on the case?’
‘Of course, boss.’ Her expression combines anxiety with fervour.
‘I’ll speak to DCI Madron and the Cornish Constabulary.’ I look at her again. ‘How did you spend Saturday night?’
Isla drags her fingers through her razor-short hair. ‘At home watching telly with Mum. I’d been for a long swim, so I was too tired to go out.’
‘Ginny can verify that?’
She gives a miserable nod. ‘Everyone’s going to hear about this, aren’t they?’
‘We’re looking for someone Sabine spent time with, male or female. Nothing can stay off the record.’
‘My friends know I’m gay, but not colleagues or my family.’ She dabs at her eyes, brushing away tears.
‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you did fine telling me. Maybe it won’t be that hard.’
‘I’ll speak to Lawrie now.’ Isla stumbles to her feet. ‘Thanks for listening, sir.’
‘You were right to be honest. Don’t wait so long next time.’
‘Shall I get on with tracking down who bought the wedding dress?’
I give a brisk nod. ‘Give it an hour, then I want you out on patrol for the rest of the afternoon. Reassure the islanders that we’re making progress; some of them will be panicking. Take Shadow with you, please. It’s a mistake to leave him alone indoors.’
‘Why?’
‘He destroys furniture, carpets and wallpaper.’
‘You make him sound like a criminal.’
‘My sofa’s ruined. That deserves a custodial sentence, doesn’t it?’
She manages a smile before disappearing. The station’s walls are so thin I listen to her explaining about her night with Sabine to Lawrie Deane. Most islanders adopt a live and let live attitude about people’s sexuality, but he may be an exception. I’m braced to go out there and give Deane a formal warning if he shows any sign of disdain. The sergeant’s default reaction is to criticise all new information, but on this occasion his reply is gentle. He makes a quiet joke about introducing Isla to his niece, because she’s spent years searching for the right woman.
I’m glad our new recruit told me the truth, even though the case just got more complicated. Isla would be excluded instantly in London, because of her connection to the victim, but I need all the officers I can get. I’ll have to work hard to keep her on my team, by persuading Madron and the Cornish force. I hope it’s worth the effort. The more I know about Sabine, the more complex she appears. The girl seems to have drawn admirers of all persuasions, like moths to a flame.
17
Eddie is waiting for me in the hotel’s reception area at half past two. The young sergeant looks out of place among the plush furniture and floral displays in his ill-fitting uniform, but his face brightens when I arrive. Our work together has taught me that tough challenges make his day, unlike Deane, who prefers to keep his feet warm under his desk. I catch sight of Rhianna Polkerris crossing the bar; the woman’s stare is glacial before she turns away.
‘She doesn’t look real,’ Eddie whispers.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Rhianna never smiles. She’s like a waxwork at Madame Tussaud’s.’
‘She’s probably angry about losing business. Half her rooms will stay empty until we lift the embargo on travelling.’ I brush the hotel manager’s coldness aside. ‘Did you get hold of a master key?’
He produces it from his pocket. ‘This one opens all the bedrooms. The last few guests have given permission for our search.’
‘Let’s start with Liam Trewin, he’s in the West Room.’
Lookout points in the castle’s star-shaped walls mark all four points of the compass. They would have been
manned by sentries years ago, but now they serve as plush bedrooms. Trewin’s west-facing room has an unbroken view of the Atlantic, but I can’t imagine Elizabethan soldiers in such grand surroundings. The luxuries include an embroidered silk bedspread, a chaise longue, and a state-of-the-art TV. Eddie gives a low whistle as he looks around.
‘Michelle would love all the high-end details. Maybe I should splash out and bring her here for her birthday.’
‘Forget the furniture, Eddie. We may not find the murder weapon, but there’s a chance her phone’s hidden in this room. If you find it, I’ll buy the pair of you a night in the honeymoon suite.’
Trewin has had twenty-four hours to remove telltale signs, but the American’s pestering of Sabine makes him of special interest. I can hear Eddie searching the bathroom cabinet in the en suite, while I open the wardrobe. A waft of sickly aftershave hits me as I check the pockets of his Ralph Lauren shirts and jackets. Either the guy has money to burn, or he’s obsessed by creating the right impression. I can’t find a single mark on his clothes, his leather shoes gleaming. If he killed Sabine Bertans, it wasn’t inside this pristine room. Even his choice of holiday reading seems designed to look innocent; a book about Cornish churches lies open on his bedside table.
‘It’s too clean,’ I mutter to myself.
‘The bathroom’s spotless too,’ Eddie replies. ‘This is all I found.’
He hands over a pill bottle, with Vicodin printed on the label. My deputy searches for information about the drug on his phone.
‘It’s an opioid narcotic, very addictive. Doctors are being warned against prescribing such strong painkillers over here.’
‘When you get back to the station, check for a criminal record in the US. The guy was here last year when the locket was stolen, and he had access to a hire car the night Sabine died. Can you call Gareth Keillor too, and check her toxicology results? Vicodin in her bloodstream would give us a direct link. We’re still waiting for results from the scrapings under her nails too.’
‘You’re not in London now, boss,’ Eddie replies with an apologetic smile. ‘The lab often takes forty-eight hours for basic tests.’
We spend almost two hours searching twelve recently occupied hotel bedrooms. The cleaners have left them spotless, with nothing to implicate the guests in Sabine’s death. It’s possible that the killer is linked to the Star Castle in some way, but smart enough to conceal any signs of violence. Eddie seems elated, like a school prefect on an exotic day trip, even though Sabine’s phone is still missing. His smile only vanishes when I give him the task of checking the staff accommodation block.
‘Can I ask about something first, boss?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Isla called earlier. Don’t you think it’s weird about her and Sabine?’
‘Why?’
‘She starts her job, then there’s a murder, and the victim just happens to be someone she knew intimately.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t know her that well at school but she could be a bit intense, defensive, you know? She didn’t have many mates. If Sabine dumped her after a one night stand, she’s got reason to be angry, hasn’t she?’
‘She’s in the clear, Eddie. Ginny’s confirmed they were at home together all evening.’
‘Thank God for that, it’s been bothering me since she rang. I must be getting paranoid.’ Eddie’s smile has revived already. ‘Are we interviewing staff while we’re here? I’ve got a print-out of employees’ names.’
I scan the list before tearing it in half, splitting the workload between us, but my deputy’s question lingers as I cross the hotel grounds. Isla’s solemn manner can be unsettling. It will take time for our new constable to win acceptance from such a small team.
When I study my list of names, I decide to see Sally Carnforth first. She’s been the Star Castle’s housekeeper for so long, she’s bound to have the lowdown on every employee. Sally is in the laundry, humming tunelessly as she hauls bedsheets from an industrial drier. A big woman with bleached blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail, she runs the hotel’s domestic affairs with ruthless efficiency. She carries on working when I arrive, like nothing could break her stride. The room is sweltering, with condensation running down the windows; the housekeeper is dressed in a blue housecoat, the arduous physical work on such a hot day turning her skin florid.
‘If you’re asking about Sabine, you’re in the wrong place. I’m sad she’s dead, of course, but I don’t know why it happened.’ She leans down to ram more sheets into the drier.
‘Did anything strike you as odd about her, Sally?’
‘The foreign girls often get homesick. Plenty of them cry on my shoulder, but that one was independent, and a bit pleased with herself. I had no complaints about her work, mind you. It was her effect on the other staff that bothered me.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She was so pretty and confident, she turned a few heads. The youngsters often dream of escaping the islands and travelling the world. I think some were envious.’
‘Did Sabine fall out with anyone?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’ She turns her back to grab another armful of laundry. ‘Lily Jago should know, those two were thick as thieves.’
‘I saw her already, but another word might help. Is she on duty?’
‘It’s her afternoon off. She’s probably with that useless brother of hers.’
Sally’s statement proves that many islanders have given up on Harry Jago. I hoped that his short spell in prison would act as a warning, but he’s carried on causing trouble. Jago served a three-month sentence for theft earlier this year, after stealing booze repeatedly from the Co-op. He’s been cautioned since for drunk and disorderly behaviour; his worst brawl left a local fisherman with two black eyes. He tried to lay the blame on someone else, so no one believes a word he says. The lad is one of a tiny number of islanders with a reputation for violence. If Lily was close friends with Sabine, I’ll have to seek him out soon, to find out if she spent time in his company.
I’m about to check on Liz Gannick’s progress in Sabine’s room, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Lawrie Deane’s voice sounds anxious when I pick up.
‘A woman’s in trouble, boss. She called emergency services from the beach by Halangy Down.’
‘Is she injured?’
‘She wasn’t making sense, but I think she’s been attacked. I’ve called the hospital, but the ambulance won’t make it down the track to the beach.’
‘Tell her help’s coming. I’ll take the bike.’
I head back to the station at a rapid jog, passing two elderly guests sunbathing in the garden. If they’re concerned by seeing a dishevelled giant race through the hotel grounds, they’re too polite to comment. It only takes me a few minutes to get back to the station and grab a crash helmet. One of the perks of my job is riding a motorbike round the island, but it’s never reliable. I have to kick the ancient Yamaha’s starter pedal three times before it splutters into life. I take the back road, bypassing town, to avoid getting flagged down by islanders asking for news.
The lane winds through the Lower Moors, where poppies are blooming in the cracks between drystone walls. I have to slow down to let a party of twitchers cross as they follow the nature trail to an old bird hide. When I steer the bike onto Telegraph Road, late afternoon sun is burning through my shirt. There’s no sign of the ambulance yet, and Lawrie was right: no four-wheeled vehicle could handle the track down to the beach. The stretch of rock and gravel twists in hairpin bends down to Halangy Porth. It takes all my patience to travel at ten miles an hour while an attack victim lies at the bottom.
The area looks deserted as I scan the trees that run down to the beach. I can see Samson’s hazy outline on the horizon, and the tide coming in fast, breakers hammering boulders that lie strewn across the beach. I hear the woman moaning before catching sight of her lying near the tideline, the waves splashing her hiking boot
s, her phone still clutched in her hand. She’s in her thirties, with a petite build. Blood is seeping through her short blonde hair, staining her T-shirt. She looks terrified, as if I might be another attacker.
‘I’m Ben Kitto, Island Police.’ I flash my ID card before dropping down at her side. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Hannah. I thought no one would find me.’ She’s got a soft German accent. Her skin is unnaturally pale, but she’s managing to keep her blue eyes open.
‘You’re safe, don’t worry. What happened just now?’
‘Someone hit me from behind.’
‘A man or a woman?’
‘I don’t know, the sun was too bright to see.’
‘Can you stand up, Hannah? We need to get you to a doctor.’
When I put my arm round her waist, she sways on her feet. I can’t let her ride pillion, in case she loses consciousness again.
‘I’ll carry you to the ambulance, okay?’
I was wrong to imagine there would be no time for workouts while the case continues. Carrying a nine-stone victim up a steep hill with the sun beating down provides enough cardiovascular exercise to last me all week. I try to keep her talking during the journey, to stop her fainting again, but she replies in monosyllables. All I’ve learned is that she’s travelling solo and has been staying at Juliet’s Garden – a cluster of holiday cottages a little way south of here. The woman’s eyelids flutter as she struggles to keep them open, shock and exhaustion defeating her. I’ll have to wait until she’s rested before getting more details about her attacker. The relief on her face when she spots the ambulance by the roadside is a just reward for so much physical labour.
Once the ambulance speeds back towards Hugh Town, I catch my breath. It’s after five, but the afternoon’s searing heat shows no sign of cooling down. I’m tempted to jump into a cattle trough by the side of the road, but settle for dousing my face and hair instead. I try to rinse the woman’s blood from my sleeve, but a dark shadow remains on the fabric when I walk back down to the beach. There’s still no sign of the killer, who may have trekked north from Juliet’s Garden, keeping Hannah in sight, using the trees as cover. My frustration increases when I see how well the attacker’s presence has been erased, by dragging driftwood across the sand, then escaping into the woods. But what piece of luck allowed Hannah to survive, while Sabine lost her battle? Maybe a boat passed close to the shore, or the sound of a car on the road above spooked him, or her, into abandoning their plans.