by Kate Rhodes
The airport’s landing strip up ahead looks more like a country lane than a runway, just long enough for small aircraft to take off before plummeting over the cliff’s edge. If any of the local pilots misjudge their timing, their aircraft would crash onto the allotment site and the rocks below. Jade Finbury’s plane is still waiting on the tarmac, pricking my conscience. I push back weeds from the path, looking for anything the killer might have dropped. Tom Polkerris is keeping his distance, his gaze scanning the ground. When he trudges closer his expression is troubled. There’s no sign now of the jeering bully who threw younger kids’ dinner money down toilets to amuse himself.
‘Rhianna sends her apologies,’ he says. ‘One of us has to stay at the hotel round the clock.’
‘It’s okay, we’ve got plenty of volunteers.’
‘We needed a break from each other anyway. The bloody Travel Awards inspection’s been a real wind-up. Sorry, I shouldn’t mention work at a time like this.’ He studies me again. ‘You’ve never liked me much, have you?’
‘A woman’s missing, Tom. The past isn’t relevant.’
‘I regret hurting people, for what it’s worth. Life was shit at home; money was tight and my parents’ tempers got frayed. I’ve tried to learn from my mistakes. I even went on an anger management course.’
‘I’ve heard that can help.’ I’m too focused on Jade to care about the guy’s apology, despite the misery in his voice.
‘Sabine’s dad called me yesterday. The hotel owners have agreed to pay for her body to be flown home, and for the funeral in Riga.’
‘Her family will appreciate that.’
‘It won’t bring her back.’ Polkerris focuses on the path ahead. ‘I still feel bad about it.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Sabine was our employee and we let her down. I’ve had nightmares ever since.’
‘She chose to leave the hotel grounds of her own accord, Tom.’ The guilt on his face finally weakens my old prejudices, but a few suspicions linger. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask why you flew over to Penzance last week.’
‘For a shareholders’ meeting. They’re held four times a year, Rhianna and I take it in turns. They expect more from us every time; we’re running just to stand still.’
‘You came back that evening, didn’t you?’
He nods rapidly. ‘I caught the 4 p.m. flight. I’d prefer to use Skype, but they love grilling me face to face.’
Polkerris’s story sounds straightforward, unlike the islanders that boarded the Scillonian to Penzance when the wedding dress was bought, whose names remain a mystery. I know Elaine Rawle flew over to visit her elderly mother in a care home, like she does once a fortnight, as regular as clockwork. The Keast brothers say that their day was spent ordering feed and farmyard equipment, and Leo Kernick was at an art gallery, but many others still haven’t been identified thanks to the IT failure. Tom Polkerris hurries ahead to join the rest of the search party, leaving me alone with my thoughts. It sounds like his marriage is struggling, but the hotel manager’s romantic problems can’t be used as evidence.
Leo Kernick is at the back of the group when the footpath winds through a landscape marked by earlier inhabitants. The huge granite formations rising from the ground were christened centuries ago: Horse Rock, the Druid’s Chair, and Giant’s Grave. Their titles are still accurate today: Horse Rock resembles a stallion rearing, its mane splayed by the wind. I slow my pace to wait for the photographer. The guy’s ageing-rock-star persona is on full display; his grey ringlets look like they haven’t been combed for weeks. He’s wearing a battle-scarred leather jacket despite the evening’s warmth, a red bandana around his neck, and skin-tight jeans. His face is so tense it looks like he’s barely holding on to his composure, the camera around his neck a safety blanket that he cradles with one hand as he walks. Before I can greet him he takes a photograph of me, his expression empty as he presses the shutter.
‘You should ask for permission first, Leo.’
‘I record everyone that crosses my path, but I’ll delete it if you want.’
‘You must have a huge collection of shots.’
‘Tens of thousands, probably. The ones in my flat are a drop in the ocean.’
‘But you don’t remember taking one of Hannah Weber near here, by Toll’s Island?’
He shakes his head. ‘I never ask people’s names; I’m just documenting island life. It’s a hell of a lot more fulfilling than waiting outside shitty nightclubs in Ibiza for some D-list celebrity to stagger out, pissed on champagne.’
‘Did you earn big wages back then?’
‘I blew the lot. The lifestyle took its toll; I can’t remember much of my thirties.’
‘What does Jade think about your photos?’
His voice softens when her name is mentioned. ‘She tells me they’ll hang in museums one day.’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘You mean how did an old wreck like me get together with a fresh-faced young Catholic?’
‘I didn’t know she went to church.’
‘Jade’s parents are religious. I don’t think it’s big thing for her, she just goes to mass occasionally.’
‘Do you know much about her earlier relationships?’
‘She got hurt by her last boyfriend; he mucked her around. Jade keeps saying she doesn’t want anything serious, but we’ve been together two years. I keep hoping she’ll change her mind.’ He grinds out the butt of his cigarette with the heel of his boot so forcefully, it’s like he’s stamping on the killer’s face. ‘Bring her back safe and sound, please. She’s the only one to keep me on the straight and narrow.’
‘We’ll do our best.’
Kernick slips into a reverie, so I walk on alone, wondering if the man’s eccentric manner is just a cover. I’ve investigated enough murders to know that even mild-mannered individuals can turn violent. When I look east, the sky is turning red behind Toll’s Island, where the ancient fortress is crumbling into the sea. Pelistry Beach opens in front of us, as the path winds round the headland, revealing another hidden cove. Smugglers used the secluded inlets to bring contraband ashore for centuries, and it’s perfect territory for a murderer to conceal a victim. I know that Jade Finbury may already be dead, her body hidden in one of the Neolithic graves that riddle the island’s hills.
When Jeff Pendelow calls my name, it’s a relief to put my concerns aside. The psychologist is walking with a limp; his heavy frame still looks robust, but his skin is so pale I can tell he’s suffering.
‘How’s your back, Jeff?’
‘Not great, but I couldn’t stay at home while Jade’s missing. She dropped in a lot after Val after got ill.’ He studies me over his half-moon glasses. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘We’ve got all the pieces. I just need to assemble them in the right order.’
‘My job often felt like that, when patients didn’t respond to treatment.’ He pauses as the path dips down to the beach. ‘I studied forensic psychology years ago, but the only advice I can give you is common knowledge.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s going to be someone you trust. Killers love watching an investigation unfold. They often stay close to the police, even volunteering to help.’
Jeff delivers the statement with quiet certainty, echoing my own beliefs. Serial killers see their campaigns as a game, often prepared to risk capture for the sake of gaining the upper hand. When I turn to my father’s old friend again, his features are even more drawn, his pace slowing.
‘Take a rest, Jeff, you don’t look well.’
Ginny Tremayne is hurrying along the path towards us, her expression concerned when her friend lowers himself onto a boulder, his skin waxy.
‘I told you to stay indoors, you old fool,’ she says. ‘Why can’t you follow doctor’s orders once in a while? Come on, let’s get you home.’
‘You’re an angel, Ginny.’ The psychologist looks upset when she helps him back onto
his feet. ‘I hope you find her, Ben. Sorry to leave early.’
I watch Jeff hobble back down the path, his hand on the medic’s shoulder, with a pulse of envy. It’s been years since I could lean on anyone that hard. I even put Nina in another search group to avoid complications. The thought recedes from my mind as the search takes us past Watermill Cove. The light is fading now, but it’s still one of the most beautiful spots on St Mary’s. The sand is pure white, full of mica and crushed shells, no buildings in sight except Nina’s rented cottage, half-hidden by trees. The ocean spills across the horizon for miles, the colour of tarnished silver as the sun plummets towards the horizon.
A shout goes up as I reach the shoreline. A woman is calling my name and I see Elaine Rawle crouching by the high-tide mark. She’s dressed in jeans and walking boots, clutching something in her hands.
‘Jade’s got a bag like this,’ she says. ‘I’ve seen her carrying it.’
I don’t bother to put on sterile gloves before taking the bright red handbag; the brine will have scoured away every fingerprint. It’s festooned with seaweed, but the man-made fabric is still glossy, the zip functional. When I upend its contents onto the sand, a set of keys, a phone, and a purse land at my feet. Jade Finbury’s name is printed on the first credit card I see.
‘It’s hers, isn’t it?’ Elaine’s voice quavers, her eyes brimming.
‘You did well finding it. This could lead us to her.’
Leo Kernick lingers at the edge of the crowd, hiding from the truth, until I call his name.
‘Anyone could have chucked her bag into the sea, couldn’t they?’ His voice is almost too quiet to hear, behind the waves beating on the sand. ‘It doesn’t mean she’s been hurt.’
I can tell he’s clutching at straws, trying to pretend his girlfriend’s safe even though the returning tide has dumped her possessions at our feet.
Another shout goes up while I’m checking for more items inside the bag. Tom Polkerris jogs across the shore with a sodden jacket flapping in his hand. It’s like the one Jade wore, with the Isles of Scilly Travel Company logo on the lapel, sending a hush over the search party. The killer may be so afraid of being caught he’s abandoned the elaborate staging from his first attack, but this time even Kernick can’t deny its significance. He stumbles away, until one of the other searchers goes to comfort him. Jade Finbury may have been killed metres away from Nina’s holiday cottage, her body cast into the sea.
‘Keep moving, everyone, please. Let’s finish our search before it gets dark.’
Leo Kernick returns as the party continues its journey. He kneels on the sand, head bowed over his girlfriend’s belongings. I expect him to raise his camera to photograph the credit cards, keys and make-up strewn across the sand, just as he records everything else he witnesses. But this time he surprises me. He gazes at his girlfriend’s possessions in silence for a long time, his face a blank mask when he finally rises to his feet.
36
The search reveals nothing else, and the light has died by the time I lead my team round the headland, with Jade Finbury’s possessions gathered inside an evidence bag. Eddie’s team is waiting at Bar Point. The sergeant’s expression announces that his search was fruitless, and phone calls to Isla and Lawrie give the same disappointing result. I send everyone home, after thanking them for their hard work, making sure the women walk in groups rather than risking the journey alone.
Eddie looks upset when he sees the items we recovered from the shore. ‘Do you think she drowned, boss?’
‘It doesn’t fit the killer’s MO, but he may be trying to fool us. He took so much more care over the first murder. Either he’s got a surprise in store, or she’s persuaded him to keep her alive.’
Jade Finbury’s things are still tucked under my arm while we walk back to Hugh Town. If she can buy herself more time, we may yet find her alive. It surprises me that the killer is getting sloppy, taking the risk of throwing the pilot’s bag into the sea at ebb-tide, knowing the returning waves might deliver it into my hands.
It’s 9.30 p.m. when we reach town, and I’ve got one more visit to make. Eddie looks exhausted, so I send him back to the hotel, leaving me to check on Harry Jago alone. The boy will be sober by now, and I need the information he’s hiding more than ever. His sister answers my knock, the girl an odd mixture of confidence and timidity. Lily keeps her head up when she finally allows me inside. There are two empty pizza boxes on the dining table, but no sign of Harry.
‘I need to speak to your brother, Lily.’
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘Wake him for me, please.’
‘Harry’s too weak for any more questions tonight. I’m taking tomorrow off to look after him.’ The girl stands her ground, her manner transformed from the shy creature I saw at the hotel. ‘He’s done nothing wrong. You can’t just come after him because he’s got a record.’
‘I got him cleaned up. That’s not my idea of harassment.’
I can tell she’s scared, but she’d walk through fire to defend her brother. It’s a shame the pair have no older relatives on St Mary’s. I remember my own anger after my father died; I could easily have come off the rails without family to keep me on track.
‘Has he said who hurt him yet, Lily?’
‘He fell coming home from the pub.’
‘The pavement didn’t give him that black eye.’
She keeps her mouth shut, her gaze averted. I don’t know whether she’s afraid her brother will be arrested, or hiding secrets of her own.
‘Tell me about Harry and Sabine. Were they seeing each other?’
‘He took her out on the boat, that’s all. Harry flirts with plenty of girls; it doesn’t mean anything.’ Lily rises to her feet like she’s planning to chase me from the property, but her shoulders are trembling, filling me with pity. She should be spreading her wings, not using all her energy to fight her brother’s corner.
‘I admire you for defending Harry, but he needs to be at the station bright and early tomorrow morning. If he tells me the truth he won’t be in any trouble.’
Lily gives a grudging nod, then follows me down the hallway, clearly longing to see me gone. I’m still not convinced that the boy would harm anyone seriously, despite his habit of picking drunken fights, but he spent time with Sabine and may have information we’ve missed. I’ll have to ask the right questions tomorrow to get past his defences.
My head’s still buzzing when I return to the hotel, so I take a walk to settle my thoughts. The garden is at its best at night, the blossoms releasing their scent into the dark. I collapse on a bench to check the messages on my phone: another text has arrived from the hospital, letting me know that Hannah Weber’s condition is unchanged. The island seems to be stuck in a continuous loop, like in Groundhog Day, running over the same terrain without making progress. I force my body to relax as the roses’ clean scent fills my airways, but a familiar sound disturbs me. Shadow’s bark is unmistakeable. My dog chases down the path, scattering gravel in a wild spray, before jumping onto my lap.
‘Don’t patronise me; I know she’s your favourite.’
Nina appears while the dog makes desperate efforts to lick my face. ‘He ran off before I could grab him.’
‘That’s Shadow for you. He’s got a will of his own.’
When she sits beside me on the bench, half of me wants to run for cover, while the other half wishes the dog would leave us in peace. Her hair is clipped back from her face, revealing the soft curve of her jaw. The urge to reach out and touch is getting harder to resist.
‘I’d better say goodnight. Tomorrow’s another early start.’
‘Stay, just for a minute, Ben. Did your group find any trace of the missing woman?’
‘We collected some of her things from the beach.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it? It might lead you somewhere.’ She runs her hand down Shadow’s back, smoothing his fur. ‘Everyone’s so upset. A woman was crying her eyes out on the walk back t
o town.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘She told me her name’s Elaine Rawle. I spoke to her for a while; the whole thing’s raised bad memories about losing her daughter. She’d heard I’m training to be a counsellor and asked if she could speak to me before I leave.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That I’m not qualified yet, but I’d be happy to meet for a coffee tomorrow morning. I don’t mind listening if someone’s upset. It sounds like she never managed to release her grief.’
‘The attacks have got everyone on edge.’ I turn in her direction, forcing her to meet my eye. ‘Why did you come back, Nina?’
‘I’d forgotten you don’t do small talk,’ she says, smiling. ‘Why not leave it for another night? You look exhausted.’
‘Now suits me fine.’
‘Do you want me to be honest?’
‘It’s better than a lie.’
She gazes down at her hands. ‘I was in pieces last time I came to the islands. Simon had died a few months earlier, and I hadn’t begun to accept it. The landscape helped, and the solitude, but meeting you confused everything.’
‘Why?’
‘It felt like being unfaithful; the guilt nagged at me. That’s the only way I can describe it.’ When she looks at me again she seems relieved, as if she’s shifted a burden from her shoulders to mine. ‘Do you still read all those old American novels? I remember your shelves were full of Steinbeck and Hemingway.’
‘I’ve bought plenty more since then; I bet they’re more fun than your heavy-duty textbooks. How come you switched from being a chiropractor to counselling?’