Pulpit Rock

by Kate Rhodes

  ‘Your face is a mess, boss. I’m taking you to the hospital.’

  ‘Not till we’ve seen Frank Rawle.’

  My old headmaster is dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown, his eyes cloudy with sleep when he opens his door. He seems bemused to hear that his wife is at the station, and I sense that Elaine’s exploits come as a shock. His wife has spent many late evenings at the museum; this time he fell asleep before she returned. When I ask about her relationship with Jeff Pendelow, he explains that she’s been having informal counselling sessions with the psychologist all year. Frank begged her to see him because she remains obsessed by their daughter’s death, despite the passage of time. He looks appalled when I explain that Elaine has been arrested as an accessory to murder. He must come to the station tomorrow morning to give a statement.

  My deputy insists on waiting in the hospital corridor while Ginny Tremayne applies an ice pack to my cheek to bring the swelling down. When my reflection appears in the mirror above the sink, I see a frowning black-haired giant, littered with bruises, but at least no bones have been broken. The medic looks relieved to hear that the killers have been caught, five days after Sabine Bertans’ body was hung from Pulpit Rock. Her face glows with pride when she learns that her daughter’s hard work helped track the killers down.

  Once my treatment is over, I walk down the corridor to Hannah Weber’s room. It’s dark inside, apart from the flashing light of a heart-rate monitor. The woman appears to be sleeping peacefully, instead of gravely ill, when I settle on a chair beside her bed.

  ‘We caught them,’ I tell her. ‘They’ll never hurt anyone again.’

  Her eyelids flutter as she shifts in her sleep. I wait another ten minutes, hoping for signs that she’s regaining consciousness, but none come, so I leave her in peace.

  Eddie offers to drive me back to the hotel, but I choose to walk. The deluge has passed, leaving the night air dry with salt as the tide loosens its grip on Hugh Town harbour. When I cross the sand towards Garrison Hill, floodlights are casting their glare on the Star Castle’s ancient walls, and I wish with every fibre in my being that Sabine Bertans had chosen a different island for her working holiday. If I could turn back time, Jade could carry on flying her plane, and Hannah Weber would be safe at home in Germany. I stand on the shoreline until waves break over my feet, telling me it’s time to leave.

  65

  Saturday 10 August

  Sunlight floods into Lily’s room when her eyes open. The pain in her side is easing, and Harry is at the end of her bed, watching her stretch.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asks.

  ‘Lunchtime. You’ve been asleep for hours.’

  She pulls herself upright. ‘Have you spoken to the police?’

  Harry nods. ‘They said I was wrong to go looking for the car I saw when Sabine was taken, but I’m a victim too. They won’t be pressing charges. That Kitto bloke wants to see me every week till I find permanent work.’

  ‘I knew you’d be okay.’

  ‘How did you keep it together, Lily?’

  ‘I thought about everything I want to do before I die.’

  He manages a smile. ‘You’re too young for a bucket list.’

  ‘I’m old enough to have ambitions.’ When Lily looks at him again, his hands are trembling. ‘You’re feeling rough, aren’t you?’

  ‘A beer would sort it, but it’s time I let that go.’

  ‘We both need to make changes. I love the islands, but we should move back to the mainland.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Some good has to come out of all this,’ she replies. ‘I want to go to university, and you’d have a better choice of work.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that yet.’ He rises to his feet. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘Have a shower then get back into bed. I’ll bring you some food.’

  When Lily eases onto her feet the pain in her back reminds her that she survived a nightmare. She could have died, like Sabine and Jade. Her body shudders as she releases a fresh wave of tears. Then she stands under the shower, her face tipped back, letting the hot water remove the last traces of another girl’s make-up from her skin.

  66

  I’ve been at the station all morning. I could have stayed at the hotel nursing my bruises and let Eddie hear Jeff Pendelow’s and Elaine Rawle’s confessions, but my curiosity wouldn’t allow it. Lawrie Deane looks exhausted when he comes to find me. He kept guard here last night, checking on our two prisoners every fifteen minutes, but I can tell that something worse than sleeplessness is bothering him.

  ‘Jeff was a mate of mine. I went fishing with him loads of times,’ he mutters. ‘He hasn’t said a word since being caught.’

  ‘How about Elaine?’

  ‘The woman keeps babbling about how she wanted to keep the girls here on the islands, so they wouldn’t desert her. They had to atone for her daughter’s death.’ Deane hesitates for a moment. ‘I can understand why she lost the plot. If one of my girls died, I’d go crazy too. No parent should have to lose a child.’

  ‘Thanks for keeping watch, Lawrie. Go home and get some sleep.’

  ‘Not until you’ve interviewed that bastard,’ the sergeant replies, with a grim smile. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  ‘They’re both to blame, not just him. Is the solicitor attending both interviews?’

  ‘She won’t stop moaning,’ he replies. ‘Mary Tunstall’s acting for him, but she’ll be present at Elaine’s interview until another brief arrives from the mainland.’

  ‘Let’s get started.’

  I shuffle my documents into a pile, but Eddie’s shout goes up before I can lift them from the desk. When I reach the holding cells it looks like Jeff Pendelow may have claimed his third bride after all. Elaine Rawle’s body is on the floor, blocking the entrance to her cell, forcing me to shunt her aside. The woman has torn strips of fabric from her dress, using them as a noose. She must have acted fast. The wall chart shows that only ten minutes have elapsed since Eddie’s last safety check.

  It’s a relief when Elaine comes round, gagging for breath. The woman may have committed two murders, but enough blood has been spilled already. I want the victims’ families to see both killers sentenced. We’ll have to keep her under constant surveillance until she’s taken to the mainland. The woman’s appearance has changed when I leave her slumped in her cell. Her clothes are in tatters, grey hair hanging down in limp curls, like a broken rag doll. Lawrie Deane stations himself outside her cell, with the hatch open, to prevent another suicide bid.

  It’s early afternoon before Jeff Pendelow is brought to Madron’s office. His solicitor looks aggrieved, but he seems calm. The psychologist is just as I remember him, white hair swept back from his face as he studies me and Eddie over the rim of his glasses. Only the flatness of his gaze seems different. Maybe I never noticed it before, or he’s an accomplished actor. There’s no emotion on his face when I explain the terms of his arrest.

  ‘Your sciatica was make-believe, wasn’t it, Jeff? You wanted to seem too weak to harm anyone.’

  ‘That’s not true. I’ve been in pain for weeks.’

  I shake my head in disbelief. ‘Why not start at the beginning? Tell us why you killed Sabine Bertans and Jade Finbury, and attacked the other two victims.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Our chief forensics officer has spent the morning at your home. She’s found traces of blood in your kitchen and a trainer matching a footprint from Jade’s murder scene. We’ve already got enough evidence to put you away, but the details interest me.’

  ‘No comment.’

  Pendelow seems to relish his last opportunity to exert control. I’ll have to use my trump card to crack his defences.

  ‘Your wife will hear about your antics.’ A flicker of shock crosses his face. ‘It’ll break her heart. Even someone with memory problems would recall something that terrible forever.’

  ‘That would be
an act of monstrous cruelty.’

  ‘Worse than murdering two women and assaulting two more?’ Tunstall whispers to her client, instructing him to keep quiet, but anger has lowered his defences. ‘You’ll feel better if you get it off your chest, Jeff.’

  His gaze fixes on the window. ‘Elaine’s been mentally ill for years. She believes that Leah inherited her depressive tendencies, resulting in her death. It’s guilt that made her break down. I started listening to her outpourings a year ago, when I was caring for Val, and she helped me in return.’ His shoulders hunch as he holds back tears. ‘She showed my wife so much kindness, I fell for her. I’d have done anything she asked.’

  ‘Including murder?’

  ‘Elaine asked to borrow Val’s car, so I let her take it. I didn’t ask why, even though her behaviour had become erratic. She’d started telling Frank she was going to the museum late at night, then coming to my house, but there was nothing joyous about her visits. She was plagued by terrible dreams about Leah begging for release. She killed the first girl on August the third, the date her daughter was due to get married. Elaine believed it would free Leah’s spirit.’

  ‘Tell me what happened, the night she borrowed the car.’

  He leans forward, his face bowed over his knees. ‘She’d been tracking the girl for weeks. Elaine followed her from the hotel out to Pulpit Rock. She used a rock to beat her unconscious, then dragged her into the car. It descended into madness after that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Her psychosis fascinated me. She could be perfectly lucid one minute, then deranged and incoherent the next.’

  ‘She’s not one of your patients, Jeff. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Elaine used to talk about longing to keep young girls here, wedded to the islands forever, but I thought she was fantasising until I saw Sabine’s body in the boot of Val’s car that night. Elaine was terrified because Harry Jago had appeared out of nowhere. She was convinced he’d seen her.’ He rubs his hand across his face, like he’s wiping words from a blackboard. ‘She had everything ready in the vault under the museum. A mirror, rope and a chair. She wanted each girl to look just like Leah. She took Polaroid photos, before strangling them, even though her victims pleaded for their life.’

  ‘You must have helped her hang Sabine’s body from Pulpit Rock. She couldn’t have done it alone.’

  ‘She threatened to tell everyone it was my idea if I refused.’

  ‘You could have stopped it at any stage. Instead you helped her hang Sabine’s body from a cliff. You might have got away with it if you’d quit there, but you helped her attack three more women.’

  ‘Maybe my own mind fractured when Val grew ill; it was easy for Elaine’s ideas to slip through the cracks.’

  ‘Come on, Jeff. You’re the sanest man I know. You got something from it, or you wouldn’t have killed again. What made you choose Hannah and Jade?’

  ‘Elaine selected them, not me. Leah wanted to stay here forever until illness stole her dream of getting married, teaching music and raising a family. Elaine hated the young women that fly away so casually, too independent to settle on the islands.’

  ‘So you deny responsibility, apart from helping her display the bodies?’

  He looks exasperated, like I’m missing his superior logic. ‘Val was beautiful when we got married, but I watched her fade, like a flower in the hedgerow. Once she’d gone, right and wrong grew blurred. Religion, politics, morality – none of it mattered anymore.’

  ‘Those women paid a high price for your loss of faith.’

  The interview lasts another twenty minutes, but he reveals nothing about his own motives. He claims it was Elaine’s idea to add a line from one of the island’s old wedding songs to each victim’s photo, to honour her daughter’s memory. Leah Rawle loved ancient folk songs; she had been collecting lyrics and melodies from St Mary’s oldest inhabitants when she died.

  I’m still processing the information when I leave the interview at five o’clock, to find DCI Madron in the corridor outside. My boss looks as dapper as ever, his pepper and salt hair combed into place, tie knotted tight around his throat. I’ve been so busy with the case, I’d forgotten he was due home. His expression is solemn when he asks me to step inside his office. He casts his gaze over the papers heaped on his table and the incident board plastered with photos, my jacket slung over his chair.

  ‘I see you’ve commandeered the place, Kitto.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. We needed the biggest room for briefings.’

  He bats my apology away with a wave of his hand. ‘Eddie and Isla have given me the details already, but I want it from the horse’s mouth.’

  It takes me half an hour to share the full story. My boss listens in silence, hands clutching the arms of his chair like he’s riding a runaway train.

  ‘It’s not quite the disaster I feared,’ he says. ‘No one could have guessed it was Jeff and Elaine. They seemed like decent, upstanding citizens.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘It wasn’t a compliment.’

  ‘It sounds like one.’

  ‘If you hadn’t pursued the evidence, Lily Jago would be dead too.’ His smile lasts for a nanosecond. ‘I’ll review the case file before writing my overview report for the Cornish Constabulary.’

  ‘The team worked like troopers. If you don’t give them a commendation, I’ll resign.’

  DCI Madron’s frown returns. ‘Those types of threats are unacceptable, Kitto. You always want things your own way.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  The air between us hums with frustration. ‘At least Hannah Weber’s recovering.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘She said a few words this morning. Apparently that’s a good sign with head injuries. Her boyfriend’s on his way from Heidelberg, then she’ll be airlifted to Penzance hospital. They’ve got a good neurology department, so let’s keep our fingers crossed.’

  ‘That’s a relief, sir,’ I say, rising to my feet. ‘I need to interview Elaine Rawle.’

  He fixes me with a stern gaze. ‘You’re not calling the shots any longer, Kitto. I’ll take over now, and don’t come back until your face heals. You look like you’ve lost a boxing match with Tyson Fury.’

  67

  I don’t follow my boss’s instructions to the letter; there are tasks I need to finish before sailing home to Bryher. I buy a dozen of Shadow’s favourite snacks from the Co-op, then collect my wetsuit from the hotel and walk down to Porthcressa Beach. Now that the Atlantic squall is over, summer has returned, the sun still hot enough to burn. Islanders pass by on the pavement but don’t bother me with questions, and I can guess why. News travels fast here. Everyone will know already about two senior community members being arrested for murder. People stare at me from across the street, assessing my injuries from a safe distance, before continuing their journeys. I’ll be the main topic of conversation in the pubs tonight: DI Benesek Kitto and his team caught the murderers in the end, but he took one hell of a pasting along the way.

  I drop my towel on the sand then wade into the sea, letting the brine lift me off my feet. The ocean’s chill works like an anaesthetic when I ease into a steady crawl. My injuries don’t hurt while the waves sing in my ears, their saline taste filling my mouth. I need to start training again tomorrow. The swimathon is only a week away, and I’m determined to win, in memory of Sabine.

  It doesn’t take me long to reach Pulpit Rock, but no one could climb the cliff face now. The tide is roaring home too fast; I’d be battered against the rocks if I swam any closer. When I stare up at the rock formation, the huge stone preacher is still addressing his watery congregation. I remember the bizarre sight of a bride with veil billowing from the cliff, and think about all the mistakes I made. Tomorrow I’ll have to apologise to everyone I wrongly accused. Father Michael only wanted to comfort a sick woman and support a damaged young boy. The case has cost me at least two friendships. The Keast brothers will never fo
rgive my betrayal: I’d feel the same, if someone accused me of cold-blooded murder.

  The sun is weakening when the current washes me south again to Porthcressa. The beach is emptier now, just a few couples heading to Dibble and Grub for an early glass of wine, and a dark-haired woman in a yellow bikini paddling at the water’s edge. Nina raises her hand when she sees me wading ashore, but I don’t like farewells. She’ll fly back to Bristol tomorrow, forcing me to forget her all over again.

  ‘What happened to your face, Ben?’

  ‘Just a slight disagreement with a flight of stairs.’

  ‘The concrete won.’ When she touches my jaw part of me wants to drag her back to the hotel, while the rest wants to avoid any more damage. ‘Congratulations. I hear the killers are behind bars.’

  ‘I should have caught them sooner, but they were well camouflaged.’

  My eyes fix on the horizon, the light fading over the off-islands, but I can see Nina from the corner of my eye, wearing the smile I’ve never really understood. She knows how to pull me close and push me away at the same time. The tide’s in full spate now, the waves racing further up the shore.

  ‘We can have that farewell drink now, if you like,’ I tell her. ‘But there’s something I have to do first. Shadow had an operation earlier, I want to check he’s okay.’

  She rises to her feet, slipping on her sandals. ‘I’d like to see him too. Then I need to ring the owners of Watermill Cottage.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘They’re letting me stay another six weeks.’

  ‘What about your exam?’

  ‘I can fly back for a few days to take it.’

  Nina keeps step as we cross the beach. Her amber-coloured gaze is assessing my reactions; there’s no escaping her direct stare.

  ‘I thought you only came back to say a proper goodbye.’

  ‘You should pay more attention,’ she says, laughing at me. ‘I had to find out why you stuck in my head.’

  ‘Shadow’s the real draw, isn’t he?’