by Kate Rhodes
A narrow beam of moonlight spills from a tiny skylight window overhead, revealing white walls, a desk and filing cabinet. The sky is lightening, but it’s still dark when the moon slips behind the clouds; dawn must be an hour or two off yet. I see a woman curled up on the floor a few metres away. Naomi Vine’s vivid red hair is the last thing I register before blackness returns. The woman may have been lying on the sodden carpet for hours; I can’t even tell if she’s alive or dead. It will be impossible to help her until my body’s working again. If the killer comes back before I’m strong enough to fight, Naomi and I will burn together.
52
Jimmy waits alone in the Carlyons’ kitchen. The room is so warm that tiredness threatens to send him to sleep, so he rises to his feet. He twists the door handle but it refuses to give. His birds must feel like this, trapped in their wire enclosures until their wounds heal, but he can’t understand why Gavin has locked him inside the room. The man said that it’s for his own safety, but he has never shown any care before, looking through him like he doesn’t exist. The clock on the wall is ticking too loudly, while Naomi Vine waits to be set free.
He counts the objects on the walls to stop himself going mad. There are old pictures in wooden frames, silver teapots on a narrow shelf, beside pieces of bone china and the type of copper pans his grandmother used for making jam. Everything seems to have been borrowed from another age. Jimmy is about to give up when he spots an old-fashioned phone, like the one his parents owned. The handset rests on a cradle, above a circular dial. He calls 999, the number his father taught him, in case of emergencies. A woman’s calm voice asks which service he wants, but he can’t make a sound. He’s still clutching the receiver when Gavin returns, now fully dressed, with a blanket over his arm.
Carlyon crosses the room in a few strides, unplugging the phone from the wall with an angry gesture.
‘For God’s sake, Jimmy, why call someone when you can’t even speak? Sit down before you break something; it took me years to build up this collection. Sleep in the armchair till morning. It’s too dangerous outside until the killer’s found.’
The man’s coal-dark stare is furious, making Jimmy cower in the corner of the room. He does as he’s told until Carlyon leaves the room once more with the phone tucked under his arm.
53
The silence is so complete I can hear Naomi Vine breathing. The sound is too shallow, as if she’s running a fever, but at least she’s alive. We’re lying in a large, well-equipped office. There’s a blackout blind over the side window, the only illumination coming from the skylight overhead, whenever the moon emerges.
My head’s still pounding, but at least my vision’s clearer; the intermittent moonlight mean I can assess Vine’s injuries. It looks like she’s been used as a human punchbag: one of her cheekbones is broken and her left eye is puffed shut. She must be freezing too, only wearing a vest top and jeans, her feet bare. Her hands and ankles are bound together with rope. I can’t tell whether she’s asleep or drugged. Her slim figure looks so frail against the dark carpet, a rush of anger worsens my headache. The killer is prepared to hurt anyone from outside the island, even if they’ve done nothing wrong.
I try to call Vine’s name, but release only a gush of air. This must be how Jimmy Curwen feels: my thoughts are clear, yet my tongue feels as heavy as lead. I’m still trying to form a sentence when a tapping noise comes from outside. It sounds like footsteps, but could just be the house settling as wind gusts in from the sea. I have no choice but to wait until the killer reappears, with dawn less than an hour away. The anger inside my chest is rising to a boil, but my body feels leaden. I’ll have to accept whatever the killer deals out, until my limbs start moving again.
The gathering light reveals that Vine is waking up, moaning quietly to herself. I’d almost lost hope of finding her alive. The sight of her hands twitching on the sodden carpet fills me with relief, even though I’m powerless. I can’t guess how much the sculptor has suffered since she was taken, but she’s still fighting. There’s a spark of rebellion in her eyes when they finally open, even though the room is a tinderbox, waiting to catch fire.
54
Jimmy pulls a bundle of feathers from his pocket and strokes it against his cheek, the softness settling his thoughts. There’s no key in Carlyon’s back door, but one may be hidden somewhere, if he searches hard enough. He pulls open a drawer tentatively, finding it packed with tarnished silver cutlery. The house is so full of antiques it feels like he’s being dragged into the past, but Naomi needs him to stay in the present. All he finds is a hoard of old-fashioned crockery, until he searches the highest shelf of a cabinet by the stove.
His fingers close around some fragments of stone. They look like grey pebbles collected from the shore, until he studies them more closely. Letters have been scratched across their surfaces. Jimmy only understands a few of the Cornish words his grandfather taught him when he was young.
Mor, sans tan. Sea and holy fire.
None of the rest makes sense, until Jimmy remembers the carvings on Burnt Island. The stones slip from the Birdman’s fingers as his panic rises. There was so much anger in Carlyon’s face when he locked him in this airless room. He must be the one keeping Naomi Vine trapped inside the holiday cottage.
Jimmy jumps down from the stool, his movements faster and more desperate. If he can find a way out, he can still free her, then return to his birds.
55
My mouth feels like it’s packed with cotton wool, my skin tingling as sensation returns. I try to speak, and the words spill out in a dry whisper.
‘Are you okay, Naomi?’
She whispers through the growing light. ‘I’ve been better.’
‘Injured?’
‘My face hurts like hell and my hands are numb.’ She scrapes her wrists over the carpet, trying to loosen the rope that binds them.
‘Who’s doing this?’
‘I don’t know. His voice sounded familiar, but I can’t be sure.’ She takes a long, sobbing breath. ‘Someone put a hood over my head at my studio; he drugged me. When I came round, I’d been tied up . . .’
My sympathy builds as her words ebb into silence. The woman has endured harsh punishments just for being an outsider. ‘Try to remember, Naomi. Details will give him away.’
‘He wants to kill me. I know from the way he laughed; he loved hearing me scream. He was babbling away in Cornish.’ Her voice is flat with exhaustion.
‘Go through it, step by step. Could it have been Jimmy Curwen?’
‘No way. It was the Birdman who tried to set me free.’
‘Curwen helped you?’
‘I was tied to a chair; he couldn’t undo the chain so I sent him to get help. Then the man came back and blindfolded me again. I can’t remember much except waking up in a tunnel somewhere.’ Her voice quakes as she remembers. ‘I thought I’d die down there, but he dragged me out.’
‘It’s over now. We’ll get out soon, don’t worry.’
She gives a hollow laugh. ‘How, exactly? I’m tied up and you’re paralysed.’
‘People are searching for us.’
‘You’re just humouring me; we’ll die here. Where the fuck are we anyway?’ Panic resonates in her voice.
‘A cottage on Gugh. He carried you across the Bar.’
‘He must be insane.’
‘You said his voice sounded familiar. Who did you think it was?’
‘It was muffled, like he didn’t want me to guess. I thought it was Martin.’
‘Martin Tolman?’
‘His tone sounded the same, but I could be wrong.’
She seems too exhausted to say more, her voice fading, but my thoughts are working over-time. Jealousy could have driven Tolman to harm Naomi, and he tried to conceal his past with her, but why would he kill Alex Rogan?
‘I can’t take much more of this,’ Naomi whispers.
‘We can’t give up. Michelle Nickell’s baby’s been taken too.’
&nbs
p; A loud sigh hisses from her mouth. ‘Why would Martin do that? What kind of monster would take a new-born child?
The air fills with the sound of Vine’s sobbing, and I can see her body trembling as the light increases. I can’t even comfort her, and my mind strays back to the missing baby. I try to roll onto my side, my legs jerking forward a couple of inches before the paralysis returns. My strength is slowly returning, but we may have minutes, not hours, before the killer comes back.
56
Jimmy is running out of options when he opens the pantry door. The cupboard is lined with jam jars, packets of flour and biscuit tins, but a small window lies directly ahead. After a few attempts he manages to wrench it open. It takes effort to force his body through the opening then drop to the ground. He lands heavily on his side, but he’s so elated the discomfort barely registers. A kittiwake squeals, high overhead, welcoming him back.
The Birdman presses himself against the wall of the house, in case Carlyon sees him, but the place is in darkness. It’s only when he draws a deep breath that pain threatens to drag him under. Jimmy’s shoulder is burning, his left arm hanging down at an odd angle. The stabbing sensation is so deep, he can’t move, even though he should be fetching help. Keith Pendennis’s cottage lies at the foot of the hill, but his vision is blurring. Jimmy leans against the wall, trying to breathe steadily, waiting for the pain to subside.
57
I can see the objects around me better now that dawn’s pink light is sifting through the window overhead. The owners of the cottage keep their winter fuel here, a wood-box packed with logs in the neatly equipped office. The carpet glistens with moisture, the stench convincing me that the killer has upended several cans of paraffin, in case he needs to act fast. He would only have to drop a match through the window for the room to become an inferno.
The light reveals Naomi Vine’s injuries more clearly, too. The woman has ugly bruises running from her hairline to her jaw, as if the killer has beaten her head against the concrete floor, but at least she’s stopped crying. The keening sound has been replaced by silence. I can still barely raise my arms, even though pins and needles jabbing under my skin prove that my system’s recovering.
‘Tell me about Martin, Naomi.’
Her good eye suddenly blinks open, the other still swollen shut. ‘I could be wrong about his voice. Why would he hurt me like this?’
‘He told me about your relationship, but I think he lied.’
She turns her face away. ‘He was too controlling right from the start, I had to end it, even though I cared for him. I never should have started seeing him again. I thought he’d grown up, but his jealousy was even worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He hated me going out, even with girlfriends. I begged him to get counselling but he didn’t listen. I hated walking away, when he’d given up so much.’ Her voice is low and mournful.
‘What happened when you moved to St Agnes?’
‘It was a shock to see him. Martin still had feelings, but I told him we could only be friends. I managed to avoid him until recently.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He saw Alex Rogan leaving my house. Martin was furious; he accused me of having an affair.’
The picture comes into focus suddenly. Jealousy could have driven Martin Tolman to kill the astronomer, then abduct Naomi for throwing his orderly life into turmoil. Her voice sounds distraught when she speaks again.
‘I made him leave, but the row got to me. I’d never seen him so angry. I moved here to work, not to dredge up the past.’ There’s a fresh glint of anxiety in her eye when she studies me again. ‘Is my house okay? I hope it’s not damaged.’
‘Don’t worry about that now.’
Her face crumples as she reads my expression. ‘What happened?’
‘There was a fire, I’m afraid some of your work’s damaged.’ There’s no point in telling her the place is in ruins.
The woman flinches, then her face suddenly calms, as if one more loss is immaterial. Her explanation has added to my concern: Tolman could return soon, to finish what he started. When I glance down, the ropes around her wrists look looser than before, from where she’s been dragging them across the floor.
‘Can you free your hands yet, Naomi?’
‘It hurts like hell. The skin on my wrists is raw.’
I’m about to make another suggestion when a new sound whispers through the air. It’s so faint, I can hardly hear it, but when it comes again Naomi’s gaze meets mine.
‘What’s that?’ she asks. ‘It sounds like a cat mewing.’
The noise is stronger now. The thin wail of an infant, flooding my system with relief.
‘Lottie must be hidden somewhere near.’
Naomi reacts instantly. Pain makes her cry out as she forces her damaged wrists to flex, but she works with renewed energy, and soon the rope drops to the ground. She scrabbles at the fastenings around her ankles, clearly desperate to find the baby, something falling from the pocket of her jeans as she toils. The pain in my temple worsens as feeling returns, my skin twitching as the drug leaves my system. I can flex my muscles, but still lack enough strength to sit up. I feel a pang of envy as she rises onto all fours.
‘Jesus,’ she mutters. ‘I’ve been on the ground so long, my head’s spinning.’
‘Take it easy, Naomi.’
She ignores my suggestion, weaving unsteadily as she crawls over to some cupboards. Paper and envelopes spill out as she searches, until she opens a large drawer. Vine’s expression is startled as she faces me again, with the baby in her arms. The child is wrapped in a stained white blanket, her face pink and furious as she bawls at top volume.
‘She must have been asleep.’ Vine gazes at Lottie, as if she’s witnessing a miracle. ‘What the hell can we do? There’s nothing to feed her.’
‘At least she’s alive.’ My thoughts flick to Eddie and Michelle waiting at home, desperate for news. ‘My phone’s screwed, but the microchip will still be working. They’ll be able to track it here soon.’
Vine pays me no attention. She’s hunched against the wall, focused on comforting the baby. There’s no sign of fear anymore, which increases my concern. The child has lowered Naomi’s defences, making her forget the dangers we’re facing.
58
Jimmy is half-blinded by the pain from his fall. It’s still coursing through his muscles, but he can’t wait any longer. If he stays near the Carlyons’ property, Gavin will catch him and lock him up again. He stares down the hill at Keith Pendennis’s house. The man’s fierce reputation scares him, but there’s nowhere else to turn.
He runs towards the property, with every jolt triggering a fresh burst of pain. Jimmy uses his right hand to pound on the door until Pendennis appears. The man is bare-chested, thick ropes of muscle stretched across his torso, yet Jimmy holds his ground. He points to the top of the hill, eyes pleading with Pendennis to follow. At least the man is paying attention; there’s no sign of the sneer Carlyon wore.
‘What’s wrong, Jimmy?’ he asks. ‘Are you hurt?’
Pendennis leads him inside the house and makes him sit on a kitchen stool, then runs his hand over Jimmy’s arm, making him cry out.
‘Your shoulder’s dislocated. Look out of the window for me, see if you can spot any birds.’
Jimmy’s vision blurs while Pendennis grips his wrist. There’s a wild surge of pain, then he can move freely again, but his panic intensifies. Morning light is flooding across the ocean and time is running out.
59
‘What the hell can we do? The door and window are both locked.’ Naomi stares at me, clearly desperate for answers. It feels like I’ve been on a three-day bender, even though my mouth tastes of paraffin instead of booze. My main focus is on the baby. Lottie is still lying in Naomi’s arms, her cries weaker than before.
‘Don’t give up, Naomi. You have to stay strong.’
‘I need an escape plan, not a pep talk.’ She gives me a dea
d-eyed stare. ‘I’m the toughest person you’ll meet, believe me. This beats lying underground with rats crawling over my skin.’
There’s anger in her voice, but her face is tender when she comforts the baby, all of her movements gentle. Naomi’s terror appears to have vanished. Her experiences must have numbed her senses.
‘Did anything else happen, around the time of Rogan’s murder?’ I ask.
‘A piece of stone arrived in the post, with old Cornish words scratched on it. I never found out who sent it.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’
She winces as she rubs the raw skin on her wrists. ‘I didn’t know it was important; I threw it away.’
‘Even though you knew Martin was learning the language?’
‘Don’t blame this on me. It’s not my fault.’
Her voice is rising to a shout and something about her reactions fuels my concern.
When my gaze drops to the floor, I see that the small object that dropped from her pocket is a key. My thoughts shift suddenly, like the wind changing direction. I have to catch my breath before speaking again.
‘I did some research into your background, Naomi. It sounds like your childhood was pretty rough.’
She clutches the baby closer to her chest. ‘People have had worse. I spent years in a kids’ home full of monsters and paedophiles, but I survived.’
‘You must have longed for a proper home.’
‘Of course.’ Her voice is strident with anger. ‘I thought I’d get one here, but it didn’t work out.’
Blood is pumping through my system, my head slowly clearing, yet I don’t move a muscle. ‘Martin’s got nothing to do with this. No one’s coming for us, are they?’