by Kate Rhodes
She shrugs. ‘The mind’s more interesting than the body. Emotional pain can be crippling, can’t it?’
‘So they say.’ Her words echo Jeff Pendelow’s comments about the effects of stress, and it’s easy to imagine her as a counsellor, serene and reasonable while her clients vent their fears.
‘I don’t want any bad blood between us, Ben.’
‘We’ll have that drink before you leave, if the case closes in time.’
‘I’d like that.’
When she rises to her feet, Shadow circles us, still uncertain where his loyalties lie.
‘Keep him with you tonight,’ I say. ‘He snores like a trooper, but he’s a decent guard dog. Which room are you in?’
She points at a ground-floor window, where a yellow light glows behind closed curtains, directly below my room. I’d love to follow her inside, even though the timing’s wrong. She’s only come back to lay old ghosts to rest.
Nina disappears into the building, but it takes me a while to follow suit. When I return to my room the sound of her violin drifts through the floorboards, its notes high and restless. I lie down on the bed fully clothed and stare at a stray beam of moonlight on the ceiling. The only woman I’ve ever struggled to forget is too close for comfort, but she’s not my biggest concern. I won’t forgive myself if Jade Finbury doesn’t make it home alive.
37
Lily is doing her best to calm Harry down. An hour has passed since Kitto left, but he’s pacing the floor of his room, refusing to get back into bed.
‘They’re after me, Lily, I heard what Kitto said. I should go to the mainland and start over.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘He won’t believe anything I say, with my track record, and he knows Dad’s doing time. I’ll take the boat tonight.’
‘You can’t cross forty kilometres of rough sea in a tiny speedboat.’
‘It’s my best chance.’
She leans forward to touch his arm. ‘Why are you so afraid?’
‘I didn’t deserve Sabine.’ There’s a look of shame on his face. ‘I was too drunk to protect her.’
‘Stop punishing yourself.’ She gives a frustrated sigh. ‘Tell me who hurt you.’
‘I don’t know. He put a hood over my head, then kicked me senseless. I thought I was going to die. He’d gone by the time I came round.’
‘You’re not going anywhere tonight. You need to rest.’
Harry gives in at last, finally returning to bed. Lily is so exhausted by worry, she falls into a dreamless sleep once her own head touches the pillow, but silence wakes her in the middle of the night. She can always hear her brother through the wall, shifting in his sleep, but now there’s only the distant sound of waves retreating from the shore. When she throws back her duvet, Harry’s room is empty. Instinct makes her pull on jeans and a T-shirt before going downstairs. Her brother has left the house, his blue hoodie missing from the coat stand.
She peers out of the front door at the empty street, the houses opposite in darkness. He may have gone looking for late-night drinking companions. It’s only when she retreats inside that she spots a manila envelope on the hall table, bearing Harry’s name. It’s been opened already, another Polaroid photo dropping into her hand; a woman’s terrified face stares back at her. Why has someone sent Harry a picture like the one of Sabine just before she died? Maybe he got in the killer’s way and now he’s being targeted.
Lily covers her mouth with her hand to stop herself crying out. A few words are scribbled on the back, but she can’t concentrate well enough to read them. She shoves the photo back into the envelope then puts on trainers and rushes outside. She drops the envelope into the dustbin as a car engine further down the street chugs into life. All that matters is finding her brother before it’s too late. He must have gone to his boat after all, so desperate to escape he’d risk a dangerous crossing. She sets off at a rapid pace, running to the outskirts of Hugh Town, where the streetlights end. Lily wishes she’d brought a torch, but at least the moon will guide her search.
She’s out of breath by the time she reaches Porthloo Beach. Relief overtakes her at the sight of the speedboat, beached on the sand, and fragments of starlight littered across the ocean’s surface. He can’t sail anywhere until the tide rises again. The sea whispers to her as waves greet the shore, as quiet as a lullaby. She shouldn’t have panicked. He’s probably with one of his mates, making drunken jokes about his overprotective kid sister. She’s still relaxed when a hand settles on her shoulder. The touch is gentle and familiar, her fear lifting at last.
‘You gave me a scare, Harry.’
But when she swings round a figure in dark clothes stands there, his face hidden by shadows. She tries to run, but blows rain down on her ribs and back. Lily is only half conscious when her body is dragged across the sand. She sees a last glint of moonlight, before being pushed into a car boot, head first, too weak to scream when the lid slams down.
PART 3
‘Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil
And on her cheek of carvéd pearl that gleamed so pale.’
‘The Dead Bride’, Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
38
Thursday 8 August
Something rattles beside my ear at 7 a.m. It takes me a while to realise that the mechanical buzz is my phone, vibrating on the bedside table. Steve Keast gabbles in my ear, telling me to meet him at Porth Hellick Pool. He rings off before saying why, but the panic in his voice makes me haul myself out of bed. The hotel is silent now that so many guests have returned to the mainland. When I run across the grounds, there’s no one to observe the spectacle of a hefty man trying to sprint like Usain Bolt. Hugh Town looks deserted too, apart from a few lobstermen unloading their catch onto the quay. My thoughts are still spiralling when I set off in the police van, the countryside passing in a blur of elm trees and late summer flowers.
I park on Carn Friars Lane then jog down the track to Holy Vale. The kids at Five Islands School often come here for nature lessons about birds and butterflies, but there’s no time to admire the wildlife today. The lake opens in front of me, glittering with early sunlight. Steve is on the far side of the water, his hand raised in greeting; he’s dressed in running gear, his face gaunt. My friend’s constant smile is missing today, his movements jittery as he rubs sweat from his forehead.
‘What is it, Steve?’
‘Come and see for yourself.’
He leads me deeper into the woods. The area is popular for family picnics, but the atmosphere feels darker today, even though light is falling through the tangled branches, leaving a dappled pattern on the ground below. Steve comes to a halt when we reach a clearing, his face so blank with shock it looks like he’s about to pass out.
‘Rest for a minute,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll take over now.’
The place looks peaceful at first, just a circle of ground ringed with saplings. But my eyes catch on a pale outline, half hidden by branches. The white shape comes into focus as I get closer. A second bride is hanging from a high branch, her bare feet level with my eyes. The skewed angle of her neck brings nausea to my throat. I’ve missed something vital, and another victim has paid with her life. I already know it’s Jade Finbury, even though a veil obscures her face, just like Sabine. Her chestnut hair is adorned with flowers. When I touch her foot, her skin feels cool, despite the morning’s warmth.
My heart is drumming an odd tattoo when I phone Gannick and the pathologist, but anger is already sinking back into my core, where it can’t do damage. My friend is sitting on a fallen tree trunk, his head resting in his hands.
‘It’s Jade, isn’t it?’ he asks.
‘We’ll need to do a formal identification later.’
‘I know it’s her.’ Steve’s voice is rising to a shout. ‘I only saw her last week in the pub. Who the fuck’s doing this, Ben?’
‘I’m close to finding out.’
‘How many more have to die before
then?’
‘None, I hope. What made you go running so early, Steve?’
‘I need more stamina for the swimathon. That’s not a crime, is it?’ His stare is laser-sharp. ‘I can’t believe you were sniffing round our place. Do me and Paul seem like murderers to you?’
‘No, but women are being killed. I have to treat everyone the same.’
‘You’re making a mistake.’
‘There are procedures we have to follow, Steve. Surely you get that, don’t you?’
He rubs his hand across his mouth, pulling himself together. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t blame you, but this’ll knock Paul sideways. He’s spent two years hoping Jade would go back to him.’
‘I didn’t know they had a relationship.’
‘You missed plenty when you fucked off to London. Their fling was pretty intense. She hated the farm taking all his time, so they started rowing. When Paul asked her to ditch Kernick, they were both too proud to compromise.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘At home feeding the livestock, and don’t blame this on him. There’s no way he’d hurt Jade.’
A shrill noise rings out before Steve can speak again. I recognise it before he pulls his RNLI bleeper from his pocket, summoning the lifeboat crew down to the harbour.
‘Get moving, Steve, we can talk later.’
He seems eager to leave, jogging down the trail then breaking into a sprint to escape the murder scene. Despite his complaints, his brother has just become my chief suspect; Paul Keast is the only islander with links to both murder victims. He was rejected by Sabine, had a painful break-up with Jade, and he’s Harry Jago’s boss. I can’t imagine Paul applying make-up to the faces of his victims, but it’s possible he’s found an accomplice. If he’s the killer, I can’t guess where he took his victims: every building on St Mary’s has been searched, as well as the island’s coastline. Jade’s death makes me even more certain that the killer knows the landscape well enough to stay one step ahead of the investigation.
I focus my attention on the body while I wait for help. The killer’s neat workmanship is in evidence again: a heavy-gauge rope has been tied around a branch, with a professional-looking knot. He must be physically strong to haul her weight so far off the ground. When I look at the tree again, the killer has chosen a Cornish oak, which may have its own symbolism. I can’t lift the veil until Gannick arrives, in case forensic evidence is lost, but I’m certain her dress is simpler than Sabine’s, the plain muslin rippling in the breeze. Another gold wedding band has been placed on Jade’s finger, even though she shunned permanent commitments while she was alive.
I’m still absorbing details when a car pulls up on the lane, and muffled voices drift through the trees as my helpers enter Holy Vale. Gareth Keillor arrives first, followed by Liz Gannick, and deja vu hits me while photos are taken, the body lowered to the ground.
* * *
It takes several hours for the crime scene protocol to unfold, filling me with frustration. When Keillor finally lifts the veil, Jade Finbury’s carefully painted face makes a grotesque contrast with her tortured expression. There are no cuts on her exposed hands or feet to explain the blood Gannick found in her kitchen, but the wound may be concealed by her long dress.
Keillor remains silent as he scribbles details for the death certificate, only sharing a few pieces of information before he leaves. Marks on Jade’s wrists prove that she was tied up, like Sabine, and there’s no sign of rigor mortis, which means she died in the last four hours. The news that we missed finding her alive by such a narrow margin adds to my list of regrets. Eddie looks solemn as he winds yellow and black tape between the trees, creating a cordon around Jade’s body, but it’s Isla I’m worried about. The constable’s first big case has become a hunt for a serial killer. Her eyes are glassy when I catch her leaning against a tree; she looks so fragile, my fear that she could be involved finally lifts.
‘Go back to the station, Isla. There’s plenty of work there.’
‘I’m okay, boss. It just feels a bit surreal.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’d never seen a dead body before Sunday.’ She’s dry-eyed but her voice is cracking. ‘Jade was my role model all through my GCSEs and A Levels – she started working here when I was about fifteen. I even thought about training as a pilot for a while.’
‘Why not take a break, if you need one?’
‘I don’t want special privileges.’ She lifts her chin, like a fighter heading for the ring. ‘What happens now, sir?’
‘We keep whittling down our list of suspects. I want to know who had the capacity and a motive to kill Jade.’ The young PC appears calmer when I look at her again. ‘Can you call Leo Kernick for me, please? Tell him I’m on my way.’
She pulls her phone from her pocket, even though her hands are shaking, and my admiration increases. Plenty of new recruits would crumble at the sight of another corpse, but she’s coping with the worst duties policing can offer. When she addresses Kernick her voice is completely calm.
‘He’s waiting for you at his studio, boss.’
Under normal circumstances two officers would inform the partner of a murder victim of the bad news, but Isla and Eddie are needed at Holy Vale and Lawrie Deane is organising another public meeting. I won’t have the luxury of company when Leo Kernick hears of Jade’s death, forcing me to gather my thoughts as I drive across the open moorland. The sunlight has intensified while I’ve been in the woods, humid air cloying in my throat. The beach is deserted when I park the van, apart from a local family playing volleyball on the sand, the kids laughing uproariously at each other’s mistakes.
The photographer is outside his studio when I arrive, smoking a cigarette. His thin face looks haggard, as if his rock-and-roll lifestyle has finally caught up with him, exhaustion painting dark circles under his eyes. He fires out questions before I’ve even crossed the car park.
‘What’s this about? Have you found Jade?’
‘Can we talk inside, Leo? It’s best if we sit down.’
Kernick’s studio still looks chaotic, but fresh images have been pegged to a line. They’re black and white pictures of his girlfriend, beaming for the camera, unaware of her fate. I try to deliver the news gently, but his shock looks real. Tears pour down his cheeks while he absorbs the truth. If he’s bluffing, the man deserves an Oscar for the hollow-eyed misery I can see on his face.
‘Last time we were together I had a meltdown. She drove off before I could apologise.’
‘She’d have forgiven you eventually.’
‘I was too stupid to say I loved her. Anger got in the way.’
‘We’ve all made mistakes, Leo, it’s not your fault. Is it okay to ask a few questions?’
‘If it finds the bastard that killed her.’
‘Where did you go after the search last night?’
He drags a crumpled hankie from his pocket. ‘I couldn’t face going home, so I went to the Mermaid.’
‘Who did you see there?’
‘Ginny Tremayne for a while, then Frank Rawle walked home with me at closing time. He’s an old friend.’
‘Really?’
‘Photography’s one of his hobbies. I let Frank develop his pictures here.’
‘Have you got any more questions, Leo?’
His face is vacant. ‘I can’t believe it. She’s only thirty-four years old.’
‘Someone can stay with you for a while. Would that help?’
‘Nothing will, I need time alone.’
Kernick looks broken when I say goodbye, but it could be an elaborate show. I’ll need to call his neighbours and find out whether they heard him going out again, late last night.
Instinct tells me to return to the crime scene and follow every lead, no matter how trivial, but DCI Madron is waiting for news. I climb back into the van to make the call and keep my gaze focused on the beach while I wait for my boss to pick up. My throat is so dry when I describe the second fatality, it feels l
ike I’ve swallowed sand. Madron normally spits out curses when he’s angry, but this time the silence at the end of the line sounds ominous, his tone flat with disappointment.
‘I’ll take over as SIO, but I’m stuck here for now. The Eurotunnel workers are on strike, and flights are packed for the next two days. Don’t do anything without consulting me.’
Madron hangs up without ceremony, but no matter how harshly he judges me, it won’t match my own regret about Jade’s death. It should be easy to safeguard the population of a small island, but my failure has cost another life. The pilot didn’t deserve her fate any more than Sabine Bertans, and Hannah Weber remains dangerously ill. I’m certain the answer is right in front of me, if only I could see it. When I focus on the beach again the family group is still there, with their picnic basket and bottles of lemonade. Some people on St Mary’s seem happy to ignore the evils we’re facing. I check my phone before setting off, but there’s just one message from Julian Power. He’s checked the museum’s records again but found no reference to the sailors’ charms, shutting down another avenue to understanding the killer’s mindset.
39
The weather is finally changing from endless sunshine to the threat of rain my uncle predicted, with clouds massing in the sky. The air is so loaded with humidity I feel stupefied when Isla finally comes back to the station by mid-morning. The young constable looks drained, so I give her the menial task of inputting report outcomes while I check our incident board. It’s covered with photos from the first two crime scenes, but nothing yet about Jade Finbury’s murder. I still can’t find anyone connected to all three attacks. Paul Keast is linked to two of the victims, but I’ve got no proof that he met Hannah Weber. The killer has thrown us a curveball by making his first two attacks coastal, then choosing an inland location for the third, taking the pilot from her own home.