by Kate Rhodes
‘Like falling in love?’
‘I had plenty to atone for, yet my guilt melted away. Catholics call it the divine light; it’s a pity I’ve never seen it again.’
‘Why do you stay in the priesthood?’
‘I can’t give up whenever my belief falters. We’re all being tested, aren’t we?’
‘It’s felt that way today.’
His gaze is so penetrating, he seems to be auditing the contents of my soul. ‘Want me to pray for you, Ben?’
‘I’d rather you said one to find the vicious bastard behind the attacks.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ He hesitates before lifting his glass. ‘But I heard someone was arrested today. Haven’t you caught your man?’
‘An arrest isn’t a conviction. I still need to understand why a killer would dress his victims as brides.’
‘It makes no sense.’ He stares down at his drink. ‘I’ve conducted hundreds of marriage ceremonies during my priesthood, but it’s normally the brides who fret about costumes, not the men. The grooms are so in love, their partners could walk down the aisle in jeans and they wouldn’t care.’
‘You think the killer’s female?’
‘Or a man who missed his chance.’ His voice sounds wistful. ‘He could be jealous of everyone who wears a wedding ring.’
‘Did you ever consider marrying, before the priesthood?’
‘I fell for a girl, head over heels. She was perfect as far as I could see, even though she was troubled. A music student with a passion for the islands. The only saving grace is the empathy I got from the pain of losing her, but that’s a story for another night.’
Loneliness echoes behind the priest’s words as I say goodnight. When I look back, Father Michael appears to be paying a high price for his faith, his shoulders hunched over the table as he nurses his beer.
46
It’s 11 p.m. when I walk back to the hotel, my system still revving with nervous energy. The building is lit up like a ghost ship against the dark, its corridors empty, but the eerie quiet doesn’t soothe me. I could do a few dozen press-ups or watch late-night TV to empty Jade’s death from my head, but neither option appeals. I’m about to run a bath when Shadow’s piercing howl echoes through the floor, steadily rising in volume. Nina must have left him alone for some reason. I know from bitter experience that the only remedy is immediate action, before he destroys the hotel’s furniture.
The canine screams have become blood-curdling when I get downstairs. Nina is wearing a bathrobe when I knock on the door, her expression panicked.
‘Have you been torturing him?’ I ask. ‘I wouldn’t blame you; he can be a pain in the arse.’
‘I left him alone for five minutes to take a shower.’
‘He can’t stand his own company.’ Shadow jumps up to greet me when I enter her room, then the howling continues. ‘Have you fed him lately?’
‘Half an hour ago.’
‘Then he must want fresh air.’ I pull up the sash window and Shadow leaps through the opening, without a backwards glance. ‘Only hunger or claustrophobia upset him that much.’
‘Thank God you understand him.’
Nina is keeping her distance. She’s on the far side of the room, her hair still wet from her shower. It’s her steady gaze that draws me, or the fact that so much of her bare skin is on display, crying out to be touched.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Nina.’
‘Why not?’
‘It got us into trouble before.’
‘I’ve always enjoyed looking at you. Why should I stop?’
She stands her ground as I close the gap between us. When she lays her hands on my shoulders there’s no going back; her eyes are wide open when I kiss her for the first time in nearly two years. She presses herself against me, pulling me close. The lines of her body are imprinted on my memory, but her skin is softer than I remembered, her touch more urgent. She fumbles with the buttons on my shirt, her breath warm against my throat. My job’s easier – I only have to undo her bathrobe for it to slide to the floor. There’s no need to think once she’s naked in my arms, my body on autopilot. I’d forgotten how beautiful she is, those long legs that go on for miles. I try to slow down, but it’s impossible. I watch her eyes blur, her head thrown back as she loses control, then it’s all over, much too fast. I’m still wearing most of my clothes and we’re both on our feet, her back pressed to the wall, laughing like fools. I kiss her again, then draw back to look at her. She’s still smiling, her skin flushed with pleasure.
‘That wasn’t my best performance.’
‘It worked for me,’ she replies. ‘Let’s aim for the bed next time.’
We share some wine from her minibar and talk about the past year. Nina admits that going home to Bristol was harder than she expected; her husband’s belongings filled every room, his clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. She visited her grandparents in Italy for a month, the long sunny days helping her to heal. Her stay in Rome made her decide on another career change.
‘I’ve always been fascinated by how people think,’ she says. ‘Counselling seemed like the right choice.’
‘You worked me out pretty fast.’ I’ve always been daunted by how many details her pale gold eyes pick up.
‘I can see the investigation’s weighing on you.’
‘Why would a killer set out to hurt young women, then dress them up as brides?’
‘To possess them, maybe?’ Her voice is growing drowsy.
‘That could be it.’ I watch her drifting into sleep. ‘Did you come back to find me, Nina?’
Her eyes open again, suddenly wide awake. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not a mind reader, just tell me.’
Nina’s reply is physical, not verbal. Moonlight streams through the open window, the air turning silver when she rises over me. She presses me back against the pillows, her hips rocking against mine. The second time is more satisfying than before, slower and more memorable. I fall asleep with her arms around my neck, waking just once in the middle of the night to see Shadow leaping through the window. He spots my discarded clothes on the floor, then turns in a circle three times, before using them as his mattress.
* * *
My eyes blink open again when morning’s first light floods the room. Nina doesn’t stir when I drop a kiss on her shoulder, but Shadow is bolt upright, watching my every move. His eyes are a hard, judgemental blue.
‘She’s not for you, mate. You’re canine, she’s human,’ I mutter.
I scan the room again, where aspects of Nina’s complex personality are on display: a copy of Dombey and Son lies on her bedside table, her violin propped in the corner beside a psychology textbook, and a yellow bikini drying on the radiator. The woman is impossible to categorise, because she covers so many bases, her unreadable smile just part of her charm. If she travelled here for my sake, she’d never admit it. My only certainty is that the physical connection between us is even stronger than before.
Nina is still sleeping when I ease out of bed, her breathing slow and regular while I put on the clothes Shadow has covered with dog hair. He replaces me on the bed with a look of triumph, settling in the hollow of Nina’s back. I’m about to leave when I spot a small photo album by her suitcase. Curiosity makes me leaf through the pages. They’re from her wedding a decade ago. I’ve begun to hate images of brides, but Nina looks beautiful and carefree; her husband thrilled to be marrying his Italian princess. Simon Jackson is blond and slim, just a few inches taller than his new wife. Maybe she chose me for the simple reason that my hulking build is so different. Seeing her dressed as a bride makes me so uneasy I lock the window on my way out, checking twice that it’s secure.
I stand under the shower for a long time in my room. Nina’s situation won’t change, no matter how much time passes. I’m still competing with a ghost, and the odds are stacked against me, because memories grow glossier with time, compared to the present’s gritty challenges. She’ll return
home to Bristol on Sunday morning, but it’s the wrong time to think about the future. I can’t let anything distract me from the case.
47
Friday 9 August
I visit the hotel’s kitchen at 7.30 a.m. looking for Lily Jago. The staff are catching up on cleaning tasks, scrubbing the floor and cleaning fridges, while the hotel is almost empty. Just a few cooks are slicing tomatoes and grilling bacon, preparing for the small cohort of guests. The head chef looks irritable when I ask if she’s on duty.
‘Lily’s half an hour late. I’m not thrilled, believe me.’
‘Ask her to call me when she arrives, please.’
He gives a curt nod before applying all his concentration to the eggs he’s whisking, as if producing a perfect omelette was a matter of global importance. It’s possible that Lily has had a change of heart and returned home, but Harry sounded certain she’d written him off as a lost cause. I need to speak to her urgently now her brother’s run away. It’s time Lily gave up the secrets she’s hiding.
The Polkerris’s flat is in a remote part of the hotel that I missed while Eddie searched the staff’s quarters. The castle’s top floor hasn’t been renovated, with plaster crumbling from the walls, leaving the original stone exposed, the air cooler than the temperature outside. Tom Polkerris looks shocked to see me when he opens his door. He’s wearing a sweat-stained tracksuit, dark hair sticking to his scalp. The hotel manager stands squarely in the doorway, blocking my view of his apartment. His stance reminds me of the way he lorded it over the younger kids at school, often reducing them to tears, but his boyhood arrogance is missing today, his expression wary.
‘Sorry to bother you so early Tom.’ I point at his trainers. ‘Have you been running?’
‘I try to use the gym before our guests wake up. Is something wrong?’
‘Lily Jago hasn’t reported for work.’
His eyebrows rise. ‘She took leave to spend time with her brother, but she should be back by now.’
‘Can I check her room, please?’
Polkerris looks reluctant to comply, but manages a polite smile. ‘You’ll have to wait in here while I change. Our guests can’t see me like this.’
The man’s living room occupies one of the castle’s towers, its high windows giving a view over the staff accommodation block and the off-islands on the horizon. A pile of laundry has been dumped in the corner, newspapers strewn across the furniture and used coffee cups on the table. I can’t imagine Rhianna tolerating such chaos; it would clash with her flawless appearance. Tom soon returns, dressed in a sleek suit and polished brogues.
‘Is Rhianna already in the office?’
His gaze wanders to the window. ‘We’ve been working so hard, she’s having a lie-in.’ The man seems in a hurry to leave, his defensiveness raising my suspicions.
‘I need to see her, please. She may have spoken to Lily recently.’
‘I’d rather not wake her.’
‘She manages your staff, doesn’t she? It won’t take long.’
Polkerris leaves a pause before replying. ‘Rhianna’s not actually here.’
‘I thought not. Why did you lie, Tom?’ I park myself on his sofa, unwilling to move until he gives me a convincing story.
‘We’re getting a divorce. She’s using a guest suite that’s due for refurbishment; no one knows we’re splitting up.’
‘Why not?’
‘The staff might be distracted. We need to pass the inspection with flying colours or both our careers will suffer.’
‘What went wrong between you?’
He blinks at my direct question. ‘We ran out of steam soon after our wedding. Our families ploughed thousands into making it a special day, because Rhianna wanted everything perfect.’
‘Was splitting up your idea?’
‘I suppose so.’ His words falter. ‘Something was missing; I had no choice.’
The man looks crestfallen as we set off to find Lily Jago, but his manner changes once we reach the ground floor. He produces an upbeat greeting for every staff member we pass. Polkerris’s distress about the end of his ten-year relationship is so well-hidden, he’s like an actor rehearsing a new role. He seems to be skilled at concealment. It dawns on me that he could easily have used the fire exit to follow Sabine Bertans on the night she died. The man’s a free agent now he’s living alone.
‘Shall I try Lily’s phone again?’ he asks.
‘Do it while I search her room, please.’
Most of the girl’s worldly possessions appear to be crammed into the confined space. A dozen photos are tacked to the wall above her bed, from the days before her family fell apart. There’s a braided rug on the floor and a menagerie of toy animals strewn across her bed, as if she’s yearning for the simplicity of childhood.
‘She’s not answering,’ Polkerris says. ‘Lily’s never missed a shift before.’
I don’t know whether the panic on the hotel manager’s face is real or fake, after watching him camouflage his emotions so effectively. An object on the girl’s bedside table gives me a jolt when I scan the room again; it’s a bright pink phone with floral stickers on its case. I know immediately that it’s Sabine’s. But why is it in Lily’s room, unless she’s been hiding the truth? When I try to switch it on, the battery’s dead. I’m searching for a charger when the hotel porter appears in the corridor.
‘I’ve been looking for you, sir,’ he says, before passing me a manila envelope. ‘This was hand-delivered for you during the night.’
I can tell already that it’s from the killer. Tom Polkerris is watching me, so I keep my expression neutral when I draw the Polaroid photo of Lily Jago from the envelope. The image is different this time. It’s been taken from a distance, showing Lily by a window, gazing out from the hotel’s restaurant. The killer must have stood in the grounds, taking the snap unseen. He’s not in a rush with his new victim. He hasn’t even begun turning her into a perfect bride, but someone has written a few words on the back of the photo: with the bride in her glory, be she ever so fair.
‘Take me to Rhianna, Tom.’
Polkerris fumbles for his phone. ‘Let me call her first.’
I seize the mobile from his hand. ‘Now, or I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.’
My threat has the desired effect; Polkerris sets off to find his ex at a rapid march.
48
Lily can tell that a new day has begun because grey light is filtering between cracks in the boarded-up window. Her mind feels groggy, but her senses are more acute. She can smell varnish on the shed’s rough walls and hear seagulls bawling, but she’s never felt more alone. Even the sea has deserted her. She can no longer hear waves shifting across the beach. It must be low tide, hours passing while she’s drifted in and out of consciousness.
Lily strains her wrists, but her movements only tighten her constraints. She looks for a way to free herself, but can only rub her hands against the table’s splintered edge, to loosen the binding. The rope chafes her skin yet she keeps on trying.
‘I have to go home,’ she mutters.
She doesn’t want to die like Sabine, before her life’s even begun. When her gaze catches on the mirror, she stares at the bridal costume again. She used to dream of walking down the aisle like a fairy-tale princess, but her mother warned her that white weddings don’t always bring happiness. Thoughts flit through her mind as her pain increases. She can only hold onto an idea for moments before it slips out of range. She recalls her mother’s kindness, Harry walking her home from school, and the conflict on Tom Polkerris’s face when he touched her cheek.
Lily’s mind is still racing when footsteps crunch across gravel, then the lock clicks open and misty light floods inside. She’s too afraid to breathe. Instinct makes her fight her restraints, trying to yank her hands free.
‘Who are you?’ The words emerge as a hoarse whisper, but there’s no reply before a blindfold covers her eyes.
He’s standing so close she can hear h
im singing to himself, under his breath. The words are unclear, apart from the chorus about a fair bride. His voice is high and reedy, almost feminine. When his singing ends Lily knows she’s being examined, panic threatening to make her scream, but she swallows hard to silence it.
‘Let me go, please. I’m so scared.’
A hand settles on her shoulder, the touch lighter than before, then a bottle of water is held to her lips. She gulps it down, thirsty after being denied liquid for hours. Someone is keeping her head upright so she can drink without choking. The gesture is so gentle, Lily can’t believe it’s the killer.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she asks. ‘Is someone forcing you?’
The hand withdraws, making her hold her breath, waiting for a blow that never comes. She can hear someone weeping, the sound low and mournful.
‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ Lily says, keeping her voice steady. ‘Maybe I can help you.’
There’s no reply, but the hands are still tender when they skim her collarbone. Lily flinches as a piece of cold metal slithers around her neck; the killer takes his time fastening the clasp, the tears ending as rapidly as they began. His footsteps sound heavy on the wooden floor as he crosses the shed. When the killer touches her again, her heart thuds against her ribcage: he’s gagging her with a wad of cotton, making it hard to breathe. Her hands are bound together even more tightly, before she’s dragged outside.
Lily is shoved into a confined space, her knees pressed against her chest, unable to call for help. It’s only when a car engine starts, its vibrations making her body shudder, that she realises she’s being driven to a new location. Exhaustion is taking its toll, her thoughts cancelled out by fear.
49