by Kate Rhodes
‘I bet you’ll do fine. This place is impressive.’
‘Hotel work gives you tunnel vision.’ Her tone is gentler than before, making me warm to her for the first time. ‘I still can’t really believe Sabine’s gone.’
Emotions appear on the woman’s face and I realise she might be brittle, not hard as nails. Tears well in her china doll eyes, before she blinks them away.
‘The whole community’s in shock, and it can’t be easy working with Tom every day. I bet most husband and wife teams end up rowing.’
A frown appears on her face when she gazes down at the diamond engagement ring and thick gold band on her finger. ‘We made it through ten years, just about.’
‘Did you have a big wedding?’
‘We had all the bells and whistles, flower girls and a white Rolls Royce. I worked as a wedding planner back then, but a fairy tale ceremony is no guarantee things will work out.’
‘I can’t see the appeal of blowing your life savings on a single day.’
‘It took me years to realise.’ She still looks upset as she cradles her cup in her hands; I’m amazed she’s exposed the strife in her marriage to a stranger. ‘I remembered something about Sabine, but it may not be relevant. She was on a motorboat in Porthloo Bay, on her afternoon off last Thursday. The boat was going so fast, I stopped to watch. She was with Harry Jago.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘It slipped my mind till now. I’ve been so thrown by it all, it’s made me forgetful.’ She takes a delicate sip of coffee. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘We’ve got some strong lines of inquiry.’
‘And suspects?’
‘I can’t reveal details yet, I’m afraid.’
A delicate flush covers her cheeks. ‘Sorry, it’s just that we’re all desperate for news.’
‘You’ll have some soon, I promise. I need to take fingerprints from everyone who works here this morning. Is that okay?’
‘Including me and Tom?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll make sure everyone’s informed. You’re welcome to use the lounge upstairs.’ She rises to her feet, brushing her dress with her hands, until the fabric falls in a perfect line.
‘By the way, you haven’t seen my dog, have you?’
‘He was outside the kitchen on Monday night, but not since then.’
‘If he comes back can you call me?’
‘Of course, your number’s on our system.’ She glances at her watch, just as a waiter arrives with a huge platter of food. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’
The conversation gives me plenty to consider while I plough through my bacon, eggs and sausages. I need to speak to Harry Jago urgently, and my dog is avoiding me, for reasons unknown. Rhianna’s motives are mysterious too. It sounds like she’s falling out of love with her husband, and she was too curious about the case, but she may just be eager to know when her hotel can operate normally again.
It’s still early when I leave the hotel. I scan Hugh Town’s narrow streets again for signs of Shadow, but he’s nowhere in sight. The place will remain quiet until the shops open at 9 a.m. The few remaining holidaymakers are likely to get up late, not leaving their hotels and guesthouses until mid-morning. My brief walk ends when I arrive at the Strand. Harry Jago lives in the last house in the terrace. The building is a rental property, and even though the mat in the porch carries the word ‘welcome’, there’s little sign of it when I knock on the door. It’s unlocked, and swings open to release a gust of warm air, thick with the stench of yesterday’s food. The coffee table in his living room is littered with empty beer bottles and takeaway cartons. I’m not sure how he’s paying the rent since his mother died. He spends his days ferrying tourists around the local bays, but his income will drop dramatically in winter when casual work dwindles. I yell Harry’s name again, but an old man’s querulous voice echoes through the wall.
‘Stop that racket, will you?’
Stuart Helyer appears in the hallway a minute later. He has lived in the property next door with his wife Esme since he worked as a lobsterman, forty years ago. Helyer has been retired for my entire lifetime. He claims to be St Mary’s oldest inhabitant, but looks too robust to be so ancient. He’s still in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his watery eyes assessing me calmly, white hair standing out from his skull in thick clumps.
‘Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, Stuart.’
‘I don’t need much these days, but Esme likes her rest.’
‘Have you seen Harry lately?’
He sighs loudly before replying. ‘Not since yesterday. That boy’s a royal pain in the arse, bringing girls home, drinking, and playing music too loud. Most people steer clear of him, but his mother was a sweetheart. I hope the landlord doesn’t chuck him out.’
‘Do you see much of him?’
‘Harry’s a decent lad when he’s sober. He tidies our garden and never charges a penny; Esme gives him the odd hot meal in return. It’s a pity the boy can’t hold his drink.’
‘There’s something else I need help with, Stuart. Have you heard this phrase before: The bride in her glory will ever be fair?’
The old man repeats the words to himself. ‘Sounds like the start of an old wedding song from when I was young, but I doubt you’ll find it written down anywhere. I wish I could remember the next line, but my memory’s gone.’
‘Don’t worry, Stuart. Tell Harry to come to the station, please. I need to see him today.’
Helyer drops my card into the pocket of his dressing gown, but suspicion clouds his features, and I doubt he’ll make use of use it. Most islanders prefer to settle disputes with no outside interference. Some see it as a personal failure if the law gets involved. I’ll have to keep returning to Harry Jago’s home to find out how well he knew Sabine.
My phone rings just as I walk out the front door. It’s the security manager at the airport, his words emerging in a rapid stream. The latest flight to the mainland has been cancelled because one of the pilots hasn’t reported for work. It’s the first time Jade Finbury has ever missed a flight during six years of employment in Scilly, and she’s not answering her mobile. I think about my brief chat with the pilot on Sunday, after she flew Liz Gannick over from Penzance. Her manner was warm and relaxed. Whatever’s happened, I need to find her fast. When my gaze catches on the sea, its colour is changing from turquoise to cobalt for the first time in days – it looks like Ray was spot-on about the change in weather. My old headmaster enters my field of vision when I look down at Town Beach. He’s taking another morning run, this time with his wife Elaine at his side, their dog trailing behind. The couple are crossing the wet sand at a pace that would put many younger joggers to shame. My own movements are much less graceful when I hurry back to the station.
29
Jade Finbury lives at Porth Minick, a few minutes’ journey from Hugh Town. Eddie joins me in the van as we drive past Old Town Beach, which looks deserted today. Jade told me once that her passion for flying made her buy the house closest to the airport, and she wasn’t kidding. The semi-detached villa has a direct view of the runway, which comes to an abrupt halt just before the cliff pitches into the sea. Jade’s red Mini is still parked on her drive. The island’s native agapanthus flowers are spilling through slats in her fence, every window gleaming with cleanliness.
There’s no answer when I press the doorbell, apart from the sound of a cat mewing to be set free. My deputy looks apprehensive when he peers through her letterbox. He must have flown with Jade to the mainland dozens of times, like me. She’s a chatty, popular figure, who seems to have no secrets to hide.
‘How long’s she been missing?’ Eddie asks.
‘For the past hour, it’s only just been reported.’ There’s no sign of trouble when I peer through the window into her lounge. The space looks homely, with an array of brightly coloured cushions piled on her sofa. ‘Let’s try round the back.’
Eddie is close behind as I follow th
e path. Jade has followed our safety advice to the letter: both doors to her property are locked, but there must be a reason why a conscientious pilot hasn’t turned up for work. If an intruder caught her returning home, no one would have heard her cries for help. The holiday cottage next door has stood empty for months, in need of renovation.
‘We need to get inside,’ I mutter.
‘She’s left an upstairs window ajar. Want me to give it a try?’
‘How, exactly?’
‘Give me a leg up, I’ll see what I can do.’
My admiration grows as he clambers across the flat roof, shins up a drainpipe, then slips through the open window. Eddie greets me at the front door moments later.
‘Spider Man’s got nothing on you.’
His choirboy face opens into a smile. ‘Gymnastics was my best subject at school.’
My worst fear is that we’ll find Jade in the same state as Sabine, but the house appears empty, her kitchen spotless. When I look out through her back window, the plane she flew over from Penzance is still parked on the runway, beside the airport building’s square outline. A couple of letters lie on her desk, ready to be posted: her handwriting is easy to read, the letters sloping forwards as if they’re racing to complete each line.
‘She’d never just bunk off work, would she?’ Panic flickers across Eddie’s face.
‘If she was caught here, the MO is changing. The other two attacks were at remote locations, not right on the victim’s doorstep, in sight of other houses.’
‘Maybe the killer’s gaining confidence.’
‘We need to see if she’s with Leo Kernick.’
Jade’s boyfriend is the island’s only professional photographer. Kernick was born on St Mary’s, but spent years travelling with the paparazzi, photographing celebrities sunning themselves on faraway beaches, before returning home. I’ve often seen him with Jade over the past year, but the couple keep separate homes. It’s still only 9 a.m. when we pull up outside Kernick’s studio by Porth Mellon. The building is just a glorified shed, with a corrugated iron roof, its shutters firmly closed.
When I knock on the door a terse male voice instructs us to stay outside. The photographer appears soon after, releasing a stink of chemicals and a haze of red light. His appearance reminds me why people gossip about his relationship. He’s twenty years older than Jade and looks like an aging rock star, with a mane of greying ringlets, tight jeans and a shirt that’s spattered with liquid, as if he’s doused himself in champagne. A smudge of black eyeliner would make him a dead-ringer for Jack Sparrow in the Pirates of the Caribbean films that keep being repeated on TV, long after their sell-by date.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, I was developing yesterday’s shots.’ The man’s smile of greeting barely arrives, his voice roughened by a lifetime’s cigarettes.
‘Can we come in, Leo?’
He’s still blocking the doorway. ‘If this is about my car tax, you don’t need to arrest me. I can renew it today.’
‘You’re not in trouble, we just need some information.’
The photographer flicks the light switch, turning the atmosphere inside his darkroom from red to white. Dozens of monochrome photos are hanging from a line to dry. They show local fishing boats in Hugh Town harbour, and close-ups of fishermen unloading their creels. The men look so relaxed they seem unaware that their images are being recorded.
Kernick sees me glancing at them. ‘I’ve been taking the lobstermen’s portraits all year.’
‘How come?’ I ask.
‘It’s the end of an era. Most of them are fourth or fifth generation fishermen, but their knowledge of the sea is dying. Their kids have moved away because they can’t afford homes here. I could have shot the portraits digitally, but film feels more authentic for something so fragile.’
‘You’ve caught them perfectly,’ I reply, taking a step closer. ‘When’s the last time you saw Jade, Leo?’
‘Last night.’ He clears a pile of photographic paper from a bench, so we can sit down. ‘We had dinner together at mine, then she went home.’
The man’s body language seems relaxed. I can’t tell yet if it’s shyness or anxiety that makes him reluctant to meet my eye.
‘Have you spoken to her today?’
‘We had a minor disagreement last night; I’m letting her cool off.’
‘Jade didn’t turn up for work. Can you call her for us, please?’
Kernick picks up his phone without hesitation. His face is blank when he ends the call. ‘She’s not answering. Is that why you’re here?’
‘We’re concerned she might be in danger.’
‘Where’s her car?’
‘On her drive. What time did she leave yours?’
‘Tennish, I think. Maybe she’s ill; I should go to her place.’ His body language is unchanged, but there’s a tremor of panic in his voice.
‘She’s not there. Did you ask her to stay over last night?’
‘That’s why we argued. I want us to live together, but she likes her own space. I stayed at my flat after we finished exchanging insults.’ He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then drops it on the table, which fills me with relief. The air is so loaded with chemicals, a single spark might send the place up in flames.
‘Who can verify that?’
‘My neighbours would have heard her leave, as well as our shouting match.’
‘Do you two often argue?’
‘Hardly ever. Most of the time we get on fine.’
‘Has Jade ever had trouble from anyone on St Mary’s?’
‘She’s never mentioned it. There must be a simple explanation.’
‘Do you own a Polaroid camera, Leo?’
‘Not since I was a kid,’ he says, looking bemused. ‘My cheapest camera’s a vintage Nikon.’
‘Did you ever meet Sabine Bertans, at the Star Castle?’
‘I never go there; it’s outside my price range.’
‘Can I have your keys, please? I’m afraid you can’t go back to your flat until it’s been searched.’
He pulls his key fob from his pocket with a show of reluctance. ‘Jade and I have been together two years. Why in God’s name would I hurt her?’
‘We’ll be in contact later. Thanks for your help.’
Eddie looks perplexed when we get back to the van. Leo Kernick’s subdued manner makes him seem an unlikely killer, but the guy admitted to rowing with Jade last night. His flat will need to be checked carefully before we can establish whether his laid-back behaviour is just an act.
30
My team’s faces are grave when I explain that Jade Finbury is missing, then tell them about being followed across the beach last night. I warn them to stay safe while out on patrol; the killer could target any of us for getting in their way, despite an apparent preference for young women. I mention that Stuart Helyer thought the phrase written on the back of Sabine’s photo came from an old folk song, but my main priority is to find the missing pilot, and the morning is slipping away. I want to search St Mary’s coastline tonight, when the killer appears at his most active.
Liz Gannick nods in agreement when I ask her to switch from searching cars to assessing Leo Kernick’s flat, before doing a forensic check on Jade’s property. I’m almost certain the pilot has been abducted, but it’s possible she’s lying ill somewhere. Lawrie and Isla will collect fingerprints at the Star Castle, then make house-to-house inquiries for recent sightings of Jade.
‘If she’s been taken, we don’t have long. Sabine was killed the night she went missing.’ I point at her photo, pinned to the board. ‘This time the killer knows we’re watching, which could explain why Jade was abducted from her home. He’s thrown us off track by making it different from the first two attacks.’
‘Do you think we’ll get another photo?’ Eddie asks.
‘I think so,’ I reply. ‘Part of the killer’s buzz comes from feeling in control. We need to find the common link between the victims.’
&nb
sp; ‘They’re the same type of women,’ says Isla.
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’re all super-independent. Sabine and Hannah never planned to stay here, and were travelling alone; Jade’s succeeding in a man’s world. She flew all over the world before getting her job on St Mary’s.’
‘What are you saying, Isla?’
‘Maybe the killer doesn’t want them to leave.’
‘The answer might be even simpler. Leo Kernick wants Jade to live with him, but she keeps refusing. That could have soured his view of women in general.’
‘Leo can’t be involved,’ Lawrie Deane says, shaking his head vehemently. ‘My wife got him to take photos at our anniversary bash last year. He’s the gentle type – there’s no way he’d hurt a woman, especially Jade. He’s mad about her.’
‘Forget personal loyalties, Lawrie. All of us have friends on the suspect list, until we can rule them out. For all we know, Jade ended their relationship last night and he flew off the handle. We need to look for connections between the attacks; try to find witnesses while you’re doing house-to-house. Has anyone got anything else to add?’
Isla raises her hand. ‘I’ve traced the dress Sabine was wearing. The last owner bought it in Penzance, two years ago. She hung on to it, then gave it to Oxfam last month.’
‘Did the shop have the buyer’s details?’
She looks frustrated. ‘Only the date it was bought – in cash. The killer paid for it last Wednesday, four days before Sabine died. The volunteer running the shop is elderly and it was busy that day. She couldn’t remember if it went to a man or a woman, and their CCTV was on the blink.’
‘At least we know the killer was in Penzance last Wednesday. I’ll check with Julian Power to see who travelled there and back in time to carry out the attack, before we search Kernick’s flat.’ I can feel the team’s energy reviving now there’s solid lead to pursue. ‘If any of you suspect someone’s involved, you’re authorised to check their property unless you get a refusal. If that happens, call the CPS straight away for a warrant. Remember I don’t want you working alone, Isla.’ A flash of irritation crosses the young constable’s face at being singled out, which comes as no surprise. If someone tried chaperoning me, I’d be scowling too. ‘I’m changing my policy on protecting lone females. I want them all moved to hotels or guest houses in Hugh Town before nightfall. How many women are in properties by themselves?’