by Kate Rhodes
‘The boy’s had a terrible year,’ he says. ‘His mother used to bring him and Lily to mass; but he’s been lost since she died.’
‘Harry won’t see a doctor. Can you help Eddie to sober him up?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
The priest doesn’t flinch when the stench of vomit and stale booze hits us in Jago’s living room. The boy is swaying wildly as he yells at Eddie to leave him alone. He only stops shouting when Father Michael enters the room. It looks like he’s about to faint, but Eddie grabs his arm in time, then lowers him onto the settee. Jago’s face is so badly swollen I couldn’t read his reaction to the priest, but at least he’s more compliant. Father Michael kneels at his feet, using the flannel and soapy water Eddie has provided to clean his wounds. My deputy looks relieved to have help with such a difficult customer; the priest murmurs words of comfort as he wipes dried blood from the boy’s jaw. Something about the situation leaves me unsettled. It could just be my own prejudices, because the boy is one of a tiny handful of islanders with a criminal conviction, but Rhianna Polkerris had no reason to lie about seeing Sabine on his boat. The kid may not be linked to the attacks in any way, but I need straight answers from him soon.
Liz Gannick has messaged me, saying that Isla has driven her from Pilot’s Retreat to Jade Finbury’s home. I decide to walk there, to clear my head, taking the direct route across open farmland, past Buzza Tower. The circular building has been converted into a camera obscura, projecting a reverse image of the surrounding scenery on the walls inside, making me wish that I could see the killer’s face in such perfect focus. The land opens into a patchwork of tiny fields, hemmed in by stone walls, full of late blooming pinks and carnations, grown for the mainland’s flower markets. Farmers will soon be baying for my blood, as well as the boatmen, if the killer isn’t found. The island depends on exporting its produce, but the embargo on travel can’t be lifted while more than forty islanders have no clear alibi for the night Sabine died.
Gannick looks irritated by my arrival at Jade Finbury’s house, her diminutive form swamped by her white overalls. I put on another sterile suit and overshoes, the extra layer of fabric making me feel like a piece of shrink-wrapped meat, rotting in the afternoon sun.
‘Not you again,’ she snaps. ‘I only just arrived.’
‘It’s urgent, Liz. A woman’s still missing.’
‘So I hear.’ She glowers at me again. ‘There was nothing at Kernick’s flat: no blood traces, potential weapons, or evidence of harm. This place is a different matter. I’ll show you the kitchen, then I’d be grateful for some time to do my job.’
Gannick clips away across the wooden floor, the tap of her crutches sounding like a scattergun. Jade’s kitchen looks unchanged, with an expensive coffee machine on one of the surfaces, the breakfast bar scrubbed clean. No incriminating evidence is visible, until Gannick shines her UV beam on the lino. A dark smear suddenly appears, over a foot long, by the back door.
‘The blood must be fresh to show up so clearly,’ the chief SOCO says.
‘How long before we know if it’s Jade’s?’
‘Get my samples to Penzance today, so the lab can tell us tomorrow morning.’
‘I’ll pay a boatman to deliver it.’
Gannick runs her torch over the bloodstain again. ‘The beam picks up trace evidence, but someone’s tried to cover their tracks. My litmus test picked up ammonia and iron oxide.’
‘The killer used bleach?’
‘And a Brillo pad, to remove the stain. The sink’s marked too. It must have been a deep cut; the droplets trail right back to the door.’
Gannick points the torch at the sink, revealing a diagonal line of teardrop-shaped marks, but when she switches the torch off, the wooden draining board looks clean and innocent. The forensics chief is so focused on her work, she soon forgets my presence, and I can only admire her as she runs her torch beam over the pilot’s possessions. Gannick must have crawled over a thousand filthy floors in her time, but the sordid side of her profession never seems to faze her; she pursues every task with the same determination, and I could use some of her confidence today. It looks like Jade Finbury was abducted from her own home, just forty-eight hours after our last conversation.
33
A wall of sticky heat engulfs me as I leave Jade Finbury’s house, and another drone passes overhead. Its camera clicks wildly as it buzzes along, making me grit my teeth. The press must be furious at being barred from the island. The death of a beautiful young Eastern European in a remote corner of the British Isles is bound to raise interest, so they’ll keep on sending mechanical spies on reconnaissance flights until they get the pictures they crave.
‘Blood-sucking vampires,’ I hiss to myself.
The media’s focus on the case is the least of my worries as I march back to Hugh Town, looking for Shadow in the fields, but finding no sign. The sea is an innocent pastel blue when I reach the coast road; a gaggle of kids are being taught how to capsize their canoes, laughing as they spill into the water and resurface again. The intense heat tempts me to wade in too, but there will be no time for swimming until the killer’s found.
Lawrie is sifting through witness reports when I get back, and Isla has returned from her foot patrol. Maybe I should have barred her from the case after she confessed to a one-night stand with Sabine, to save us both discomfort: I don’t want to question her again, but I’ve got no choice. When I ask for her orthodontist’s phone number she forwards it from her phone without batting an eye. She’s still on the list of suspects I’m carrying around in my head, which doesn’t quite match the printed sheet on the incident board, of three dozen islanders with no solid alibis.
The team listen in silence when I talk about Harry Jago’s reluctance to name whoever injured him. The boy remains a person of interest, but only because Rhianna Polkerris has reported seeing Sabine in his company shortly before she died. Plenty of islanders seem to think he’s a dangerous character, but I’ve got no concrete proof that he’s involved.
‘Harry’s life is so chaotic, I doubt he could deliver such complex attacks.’
Deane shakes his head. ‘I took him in for fighting back in May; he was still pissed when I released him from the holding cell the next morning.’
‘What are you saying, Lawrie?’
‘He’s out of control. I bet he’s violent enough to kill someone.’
Isla looks uncertain. ‘Where would he get the money for a fancy wedding dress?’
‘He’s stolen before,’ says Deane. ‘Maybe he nicked it. The boy’s so messed up, he’d lash out for no good reason.’
‘We don’t have any clear proof against him.’ My thoughts suddenly shift into focus. ‘But you’re right about Jago being our only convicted thief. Maybe the killer paid him to steal the jewellery from the museum.’
Someone like Julian Power might be so keen to increase his collection he’d pay for stolen goods, but why would such a fastidious man attack Jade Finbury, spilling her blood across her kitchen floor? I’ll need to visit Power’s property again soon, to lay the idea to rest. I ask Isla to finish gathering volunteers to search the coastline at 6 p.m., then carry on checking that every lone female on the island has a safe place to stay.
‘There are just two names left, sir.’
My heart sinks when she gives me a piece of paper. One name belongs to an elderly widow who’s lived alone since her husband died, and the second is Nina Jackson, just as I expected.
Lawrie and Isla are busy organising the search party when I climb into the police van, with a growing sense of irritation. I’m still scowling as I drive north through the well-kept fields of Trewince, with sheep fleeing from the noise of a passing vehicle. The old lady lives at the island’s highest point, opposite Telegraph Tower. The building fascinated me as a kid, its round walls rising from the ground like an inland lighthouse. A hundred years ago it was the only place where telegram signals could be received, but today it houses the local radio
station, where the DJs manage to dredge up enough local news to broadcast all week to Scilly’s two thousand inhabitants.
It’s late afternoon when I arrive at the widow’s house. She comes to the door wearing a puzzled expression – her hearing aid has broken, which explains why she hasn’t answered her phone. Before long she’s agreed to pack an overnight bag and take a taxi to the Star Castle. Tom and Rhianna are giving islanders a night’s free accommodation, and the old lady looks thrilled when the taxi arrives, as if staying in a deluxe hotel is a dream come true.
I’m unlikely to get such a positive response from Nina. She’s nowhere in sight when I reach Watermill Cove, but a familiar sound greets me. Part of my tension drops away when I recognise Shadow’s growl. He’s standing by the back door of her cottage, barking at full volume. He bounds across the grass, paws landing on my chest, like we’ve been apart all year.
‘Why run away if you’re that glad to see me, you hellhound?’
The dog whines loudly, like he’s trying to explain, until Nina appears. There’s a smile on her face as she watches him fawning at my feet, rolling over to let me rub his chest.
‘Shadow got here last night,’ she says. ‘He was behaving oddly, snarling at me if I went near the front door. He wouldn’t let me go outside until this morning.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I left my phone in the car. He barked his head off every time I tried opening the back door.’
‘Sounds like he’s been on guard duty.’
Now that he’s greeted me, the dog returns to Nina’s side. She was his favourite during our brief relationship, but how did he track her down? The creature would make an excellent sniffer dog if his wayward streak could be controlled. I brace myself for a row when I tell Nina to stay in town until the killer’s found. Her looks distract me while I talk: the pale-green sundress she’s wearing highlights her tan, the sun glinting in her hair. There’s a long pause while she considers my request.
‘I’ll need to pack my walking boots so I can join the search tonight.’
‘You’re not going to argue?’
‘Why would I? You just told me another woman’s been attacked, while she was home alone. I like my own company, but I’m not crazy. Give me five minutes to grab my stuff.’
Nina vanishes indoors with Shadow at her side. It dawns on me that they have a lot in common: both live by their own rules. The dog still seems reluctant to let her out of his sight. I wait for them on the front steps, and Shadow emerges first, checking the environment for safety. He circles the cottage before returning to the front garden, keeping his body low to the ground. His ears are pricked, but there’s no one on the footpath that cuts between elm trees and tamarisk bushes down to the sea. I can see why Nina loves the solitude of the place, but Shadow isn’t so keen. Something must have spooked him badly last night, even though the threat has vanished. The dog leaps into the van before Nina, sitting between us, like a canine chaperone. She’s carrying a rucksack and the violin her husband gave her just months before he died. Silence presses against the windows as we rattle down the unmade road.
‘Is being in my company really so hard, Ben?’ she asks.
‘I came to fetch you, didn’t I?’
‘Only because it’s your duty.’
‘There’s no point in raking up the past.’
‘I only need to say one thing. It was wrong of me to leave without having a proper conversation; that was a cowardly thing to do.’
‘Your reason made perfect sense. It was too soon after losing Simon.’
‘But I hoped we’d stay friends. I’d hate to stop visiting the islands.’
‘You don’t need my blessing to come here.’ My words sound harsher than I intended, but it’s too late to retract them.
‘At least have a drink with me before I leave on Sunday. I’d like to hear how you’ve spent the last year.’ Nina’s direct stare undoes me all over again; her eyes are the colour of the amber I spent my childhood holidays hunting for on the beach, like buried treasure.
‘You won’t be able to avoid me, don’t worry. We’re staying at the same hotel.’
She remains silent until I park outside the Star Castle. Shadow jumps out of the van immediately, like they’re joined by an invisible thread. He stays beside her even when I call his name.
‘You’re stuck with him for now,’ I say. ‘He’s your new bodyguard.’
Something shifts inside my chest while Nina walks away, her straight-backed posture like a dancer’s, with my dog trailing behind like a lovesick suitor.
‘Good luck figuring her out, mate. She’s all yours,’ I mutter, then swing the van into reverse and head back to the station.
The place is empty when I arrive, giving me time to switch on my computer. I should tackle the backlog of emails from islanders, all asking when travel restrictions will be lifted, but my mind shifts to the killer’s calling cards. If I can find out why they matter, I’ll be one step closer to understanding his mindset.
When I run an internet search, it’s soon clear that sailors’ charms are a rarity. Apart from the local museum, only the Pitt Rivers in Oxford has a collection of Cornish amulets, mostly made in Scilly, ranging from gold lockets to tiny sailing vessels for charm bracelets. I stare at the screen until my eyes ache, but can only see pretty gold trinkets that newly married sailors hoped would carry them home to their wives, through wild storms. It’s hard to accept that the same person who throttled Sabine would be drawn to such delicate, sentimental objects, unless two different people are carrying out the attacks.
Liz Gannick is the first person to arrive back at the station. I can tell from her expression that she’s disappointed by finding little more evidence at Jade Finbury’s house, but her discovery of the bloodstain in the kitchen makes me certain the pilot’s been taken. Somehow Gannick has found time in her day to look for matches with the four sets of fingerprints in Sabine’s room.
‘I’ve got three positives.’ She runs her gaze over her list. ‘Lily Jago and the hotel’s two managers.’
‘Tom and Rhianna?’
She nods in reply. ‘Their prints are on her door, bedside table and chair.’
‘How about the fourth set?’
‘It’s not a staff member. I’ll run it through the national database, but the result could take hours to arrive.’
Gannick has been working flat out, yet she’s delivered more frustration. It’s no surprise that Lily Jago spent time with her close friend, and the two hotel managers have legitimate reasons to visit Sabine’s room; they probably inspect the staff accommodation regularly to make sure it’s being kept clean. I walk into Madron’s office and shut the door, before releasing silent curses into the air.
34
Lily walks to her old home at her fastest pace. Harry hasn’t answered her texts and she knows something’s wrong when she enters the hallway. It smells of sickness and the sharp tang of antiseptic. A male voice drifts from the lounge; she can’t hear the exact words, but the speaker’s anger resonates through the wall. When she bursts into the living room, her brother is cowering on the settee, and Father Michael stands over him with fists clenched. The priest’s expression softens when he faces her, but Lily is staring at Harry’s injuries.
‘What are you doing here, Father?’
‘Your brother’s been in another fight; the police found him in a dreadful state.’
The priest visited often during her mother’s last illness, arriving in time to administer last rites, yet Lily has never liked him. Her mother died young, despite all his prayers, and there’s something weird about his manner. When she studies Harry’s face again, she knows her brother’s afraid.
‘What were you telling Harry just now, Father?’
‘That it’s time to face his demons. Why don’t we pray together, to help him turn over a new leaf?’
‘Mum believed in God, but we don’t. You’re wasting your time here.’
Father Trevellyan li
ngers until she pulls the door wide and waits for him to go. There’s something frightening about the man’s desire to remain at Harry’s side. He murmurs a few holy words, conferring a blessing she never requested, then lays his hand on her forearm. His touch is so clammy, she’s desperate for him to leave.
‘Your brother needs God’s love more than ever, Lily. Don’t try and stop him from coming to church. I’ll pray for you both tonight.’
He issues the statement in a mild tone, but there’s anger behind it. The priest’s words sound more like a curse than a blessing.
35
I launch the island-wide search for Jade Finbury at 6 p.m. The search party has been split into four groups; each will cover separate parts of St Mary’s coastline, the killer’s favoured location for his attacks, apart from Jade Finbury’s abduction. Lawrie and Isla’s groups will cover the south, while Eddie and I scour the northern coastline. Splitting up will ensure that every beach and cave is checked for signs of the killer’s presence, while Jade still has a chance.
The community has turned out in force, with over three hundred people keen to look for the pilot, which comes as no surprise. The islanders always unite in a crisis, sharing resources to keep everyone safe. Some people have chosen not to volunteer, including Julian Power and Rhianna Polkerris, but we have more than enough helpers to sweep the island. My own group are waiting for me by Old Town Bay, equipped with torches and lanterns in case the light fails. I forgot how dramatic dusk could be in the Scillies when I lived in London. Night arrives here like sudden blindness, with no streetlights to guide you past the islands’ settlements.
I explain that the shoreline must be searched thoroughly, with half the party spreading inland from the coastal path. We will need two hours to reach Bar Point at St Mary’s northern tip. The group spans a wide age range, and several pillars of the community have reported for duty, including Frank and Elaine Rawle. My old headmaster’s face is grave as we pass Church Point; he stands on the path while younger group members scramble down a slope to the shoreline. I can tell the couple are glad to be involved, and their approach is vigilant, using fallen branches to peer under thickets of ground elder, and examining every inch of ground. Our walk would be enjoyable under normal circumstances, the route providing long views across Crow Sound to the Eastern Isles. Scilly’s native poppies, gorse and yarrow are blooming beside the path, reminding me that the killer used similar flowers in his first attack; if we don’t act fast, the same wild blossoms will be woven through Jade’s hair.