BODY ON THE ISLAND a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 2)

by VICTORIA DOWD

  ‘Yes.’ Mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Deaths as in deceased, no longer breathing.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She gave him The Look. ‘And? That’s your only reaction?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Something about the way he was responding made me feel the need to analyse his reactions very closely.

  ‘What’s not to understand?’ Mother snapped. ‘We’re on the Isle of the Dead—’

  ‘Please stop saying that, Pandora!’ Aunt Charlotte was looking increasingly disturbed.

  ‘She’ll trademark it soon.’

  ‘Ursula, how dare you?’ Mother put her hands on her hips and turned to face me.

  ‘Please, come on, ladies.’ Spear was shaking his head. ‘Look, Brown, how did you get here?’

  Aunt Charlotte drew in a quick breath. ‘He must have a boat.’

  ‘Brilliant! Thanks for another fiendish deduction,’ Mirabelle said dismissively.

  ‘Of course I have a boat,’ Kemp said proudly. ‘Not even I can swim those waters. But, come on, what deaths are you talking about?’

  ‘And a radio?’ Spear asked.

  ‘Sure! What do you take me for?’

  ‘You don’t need me to answer that.’

  Spear and Kemp stared at each other again.

  ‘Any food?’ Aunt Charlotte asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Unbelievable. What kind of survivalists are you?’

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything about meeting Kemp here was frankly very odd. This man had been on the island with us long enough to have walked to this place and maybe even set a fire. He’d made no visible effort to look for us, even though it would only have taken two hours to walk all the way round the island at a leisurely stroll. None of it made any sense. And I knew those lights had been flickering up here ever since we’d arrived. I could see how far the candles had burned down.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for, Brown?’ Spear said. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  There was a pause, both of them waiting to see who was going to move first.

  We left the hut and began walking slowly, Kemp and Spear up ahead as we drifted along after them.

  As we walked on over the small hill towards the sea, snippets of their conversation fell behind.

  ‘This is a definite situation you got here then, Spear. There’ve been deaths? What are we talking about here? Passengers or . . .’

  ‘Listen, mate.’ Spear was suddenly very distracted. He paused a moment before adding in a less combative voice, ‘She’s missing. Nell.’

  Kemp slowed and stared at Spear. ‘What? I don’t . . . What happened?’ His voice was quiet, almost sad. ‘Is she . . .’

  ‘She just didn’t appear . . . she—’ Spear gripped his forehead — ‘I don’t know. The boat went down and I haven’t found her. I don’t know. I’ve got three dead. One of them might have been murdered. We think maybe poisoning.’

  Kemp stopped. He looked at Spear in disbelief. ‘Christ,’ he whispered. ‘Poisoning? Are you sure?’

  Spear let out a long sigh then lowered his voice. ‘He looks like he might have been . . . given something. I don’t know.’

  ‘Given something? Like what?’

  ‘I have no idea. Maybe mercury. He was a bloody mess though. Look, mate, I’m sorry about back there. I’m just not myself. The whole thing is such a disaster and I can’t find Nell.’

  ‘She’s tough. She’ll turn up. I know she will.’

  I couldn’t hear much more as Mother and Aunt Charlotte were bickering about whether eating tea was acceptable. But as Spear and Kemp rounded the next small turn of the hill, I heard the very distinct cry of ‘What the bloody hell!’

  We ran after them.

  ‘My boat!’ was the next thing we heard.

  And then we saw it, smashed on one side and tilting dangerously into the lapping waves. Water had already pooled on the small deck and it was clearly unusable. The damage was very obviously deliberate.

  A distant white flash lit the dark air above the hills.

  ‘Lightning,’ murmured Spear.

  Two large birds spread across the clouds and wheeled above us, their long calls drifting over the sea. It felt like the carrion were already circling. Spear and Kemp sprinted towards the boat.

  ‘Scuppered.’ Kemp stood open-mouthed.

  ‘The radio?’ Spear asked.

  ‘Smashed.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘This is sabotage!’ Aunt Charlotte announced.

  Spear turned and looked at Aunt Charlotte, Mother and Mirabelle arrayed on the brow of the small hill. ‘Well, thank God Charlie’s Angels turned up to clarify that.’

  Mother interrupted sharply, ‘We need to think rationally and try to salvage something—’

  ‘Salvage?’ Spear left his mouth hanging open. ‘What the hell is there to salvage? We’re not going to get out of here. None of us.’

  Aunt Charlotte gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Now, Mr Spear, we need a positive mental attitude. I want you to try and remember, you’re a survivalist.’

  ‘Shut up. Just shut up all of you.’ He was shaking. ‘Just stop your bloody arguing and ceaseless prattle for one fucking second. My wife is out there! My wife! And it’s brutal and crushing and now we can’t get out there and find her. Every minute I waste here with you ridiculous clowns is another minute further away from finding her, from saving her. We have a boat and then we don’t have a boat or a radio anymore . . . I can’t . . . I just can’t . . .’ He fell slowly to his knees and bent his head as if he was in silent prayer. He let out a deep, low cry like an animal in anguish. ‘This was our chance. I can’t . . .’

  ‘What exactly is going on?’ Mirabelle murmured to Mother. ‘What does he think he’s playing at?’

  Mother squeezed her lips so tight they turned white. Her sharp eyes didn’t leave him for a minute.

  Kemp watched but didn’t speak, then looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘Well, isn’t anyone going to help him?’ I asked them all. I started to walk towards him.

  ‘Ursula! Leave him.’ Mother’s voice was so harsh, so strict that I flinched. I took a deep breath and kept walking. ‘Ursula, that man is trouble. You need to stay back here with us.’

  I could feel everyone looking at us.

  I paused and looked at Mother. ‘Because you’re not trouble? Your dreadful friends, they’re not trouble?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Mirabelle began.

  ‘Leave it, Mirabelle.’

  ‘No, Pandora, I will not stand by anymore and watch her eating away at you and eulogizing that bastard husband of yours.’

  ‘Mirabelle, stop.’

  Everything seemed to slow down. ‘Why are you calling my father a bastard? Don’t you speak about him.’

  Mother didn’t move her gaze from me, but it was Mirabelle she was speaking to. ‘We’ve discussed this, Mirabelle. That’s enough.’

  ‘I’m fed up of having to listen to the lies—’

  ‘I said no, Mirabelle!’

  ‘Lies, Mother?’

  ‘We don’t have time for this.’ Spear wiped the back of his sleeve across his eyes and nose. ‘We need to do something, anything. Standing around here with a storm rising, listening to another of your petty arguments is not happening. I’m not going to let this happen. I’m going to find her!’ He lifted his head and tears fell from his swollen eyes. ‘I need her to be OK. No matter what she did, I just need her to be safe.’

  We stood in an awkward silence, the rain beating down again.

  It was Mother who broke first. Mother doesn’t do embarrassment. ‘Mr Spear, you need to leave here, go back to the house and try to calm down.’

  ‘Come on, mate, let’s have you.’ Kemp put his arm around Spear’s shoulder.

  He immediately shook himself free. ‘Get your bloody hands off me.’ Spear staggered forward and wiped more tears from his face. ‘I can sort myself out. Don’t you come anywhere near me. The last person in the world I nee
d right now is you, Brown.’

  It wasn’t clear why the tide of animosity between these two had risen again so quickly, almost unnaturally quickly, one might say.

  I tried to keep my voice even. ‘Why don’t you all just calm down and—’

  Spear turned to me. ‘You mean be calm like you — running around screaming and fainting?’

  I stared at him.

  ‘Don’t speak to my daughter like that!’

  Spear laughed. ‘Why not? You do.’ He turned and strode away. No one tried to call him back.

  When he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear, Mirabelle spoke quickly and efficiently. ‘Just exactly how long have you had that boat here?’

  ‘I told you,’ Kemp sighed, lifting up pieces of broken equipment from the boat, ‘I only just arrived.’

  ‘And the fire, smouldering away down there in the bothy?’

  ‘I told you, it was already burning.’ It could easily have been a lie but then nothing here seemed true anymore.

  I’m sure there are low points in everyone’s survival journey. All the handbooks I’d read (one) had been at pains to point that out. But I don’t know if they’d envisaged a shipwreck on a deserted island with a defunct book club and a random killer on the loose. What was certain, however, was that no one could have foreseen what would happen next.

  CHAPTER 23: ANOTHER DEATH

  We stumbled down the hill, our bodies bending into the rising wind. The smell of rain and the coming storm drifted on the air, a sulphurous scent driven over the sea. The darkness was gathering in thick folds over the mountains and distant islands. The salt-white sand was already stippled with rain. It was as if everything was bracing itself for something.

  The house sat waiting by the edge of the beach. A dark silence seemed to shroud it. Its thickset stone stood firm as if readying itself. All the clear, sharp beauty of the landscape we’d seen fleetingly earlier had withered beneath this rising storm. There was a sense of expectation, of fear in this dark pause.

  Spear was far ahead of us now and I could only just make him out as he disappeared into the house.

  Pins of rain fell fast across our faces. We didn’t bother to wipe them away. Our walk back was slow and dejected — a penitent’s walk. My head throbbed incessantly from lack of sleep and hunger now. As we drew closer, the rain dappled the house’s windows and rolled down through the grime as the sky broke with another slash of lightning. The house had almost started to look like shelter, maybe even safety. How wrong we were again.

  A broken scream and the door was pulled back. It was Bridget, her face stark with horror.

  ‘Bottlenose is dead.’ Her voice was flat. She didn’t move. Her hands remained crossed in front of her as if in prayer. The dog bounded out towards us and, as though in confirmation of his master’s voice, held his face up to show us his bloodstained muzzle. A loose smear of blood ran through the fur, which he proceeded to wipe against Mirabelle’s leg.

  She kicked out. ‘Get your bloodhound off me!’

  ‘How could you let the bloody thing kill Bottlenose?’ Aunt Charlotte said in disbelief.

  ‘What?’ Bridget walked towards us. ‘Mr Bojingles did not kill Captain Bottlenose.’

  We took a moment to comprehend this.

  ‘Where is he?’ I was trying to calm myself, breathing steadily through each word.

  ‘Just what is going on, Bridget?’ Mother sounded more weary than concerned.

  Bridget caught sight of Kemp and frowned. ‘Where did he come from?’

  ‘Who knows. We don’t have time for this!’ I began to walk faster towards the house before breaking into a jog.

  ‘It seems he fell on Mr Spear’s knife with his back,’ Bridget called.

  * * *

  Darkness was being ushered into the hallway. Someone had lit candles along the length of the settle, but they brought nothing more than a grim light and long shadows. Jess sat in one corner, her face as pale as the moon, deep hollows carved in her cheeks. Her green eyes were bleak as though she was looking out from somewhere a long way away. She made no effort to acknowledge us. It was as if she couldn’t see me at all.

  I stood on the dark stone, damp puddles forming around my soaking wet feet. My shadow reached out towards the stairs as if pointing out the way I should go.

  ‘He’s up in the bedroom.’ Bridget was behind me, her voice solemn.

  ‘What the hell happened, Bridget?’ Mother arrived, out of breath and already angry as if she was trying to apportion blame.

  Bridget stood with the unswayable conviction of a jury foreperson. To be fair, it’s a role she’s very familiar with. She’s done jury service three times so far and been foreperson every time.

  She began her recount. ‘Mr Spear entered the house in a state of great excitement. He stormed up the stairs uttering words I’ve never heard someone use in public before.’ (She’s heard plenty, I’ve seen people shouting them at her in the street.) ‘There was then a period of stomping around before everything went silent for approximately four minutes. Mr Spear then shouted, “Christ, get up here!” I assumed he meant us, so I proceeded to run up the stairs with Mr Bojingles in pursuit and saw Jess standing on the landing looking as vacant as you see her now. Mr Spear emerged from the room I had slept in the previous night. He had a rather blank expression and blood on his hands. I looked beyond him, into the room and saw the distinctive outline of Captain Bottlenose lying face down on the floor with the large knife that belonged to Mr Spear sticking out of his back. This was the same knife that the young lady Jess had previously threatened Mr Angel with, you will recall.

  ‘I examined Captain Bottlenose and he was clearly dead. Mr Spear confirmed this by stating—’ She paused to take out a small pocketbook and began reading — ‘“He’s dead, you stupid bag.” I assumed Mr Spear must be in shock. Unfortunately, while I was questioning him and examining the dead body, no one was taking proper care of Mr Bojingles and he had been allowed to enter the room. He began lapping at the blood of the deceased. However, I do not think the footprints were in any way disturbed.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said and held up my hand. ‘Footprints?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, young lady. Prints made by a foot.’

  I approached the stairs and saw Spear sitting just outside the bedroom door at the top. He looked at me with pitiful eyes, as if he just wanted me to say this hadn’t happened.

  ‘You OK?’ I walked slowly up the stairs, my eyes fixed on him as though I was scared of what he might do.

  He shook his head. ‘Not so much.’

  ‘No, I can see that.’

  ‘Before you ask, he is dead and no, I didn’t kill him.’ Spear didn’t sound as if he cared whether I believed him or not.

  As I reached the top step, there was a new, ferrous taste to the air. My breathing seemed to grow shallow in response. I could feel the surge of my pulse in the side of my head.

  I looked around the edge of the door. I saw him. Bottlenose, sprawled face down as if he’d done no more than fallen over, but the great, thick blade sticking through the back of his coat made it so much more than that. The material of his coat had bunched around the blade and been pushed down into him with some force. A thick, black wreath of blood bloomed out across the navy jacket. Without the knife, it could have been anything, just a simple mark. The blue material disguised any tell-tale red. It was just a dark brown stain. It was only the blade that made it very obviously blood. The way he lay face down on the floor, it had allowed very little to leak across the boards. It had stayed inside him, pooling and thickening, slowing. His arm was stretched out where he’d fallen, my hip flask just out of reach.

  I stepped a little closer.

  ‘Careful.’ It was Mother. ‘Don’t disturb anything. Look.’ She pointed to the bare floorboards. Next to his outstretched hand and faintly etched into the grey dust was a word. ‘It’s a name.’

  By the side of his hand, he had tried to draw out the broken letters in his
last moment. They were shaky but still distinct.

  ‘It makes no sense.’ Mother looked up at me, frowning. ‘Mardiv?’

  ‘What’s . . . ? What’s . . . ?’ Aunt Charlotte stood at the door, ‘Oh God!’ She held her hand over her mouth. No matter how many times you see a murdered body, it’s still shocking. As they all looked towards her, I took the opportunity to draw my hip flask back towards me with my foot and slip it in my pocket.

  ‘He’s written a name in the dust,’ I said in a whisper. A church-like quiet had descended on the room.

  ‘Macdiv?’ Aunt Charlotte read.

  ‘How are you getting “Macdiv”?’ Mother tilted her head to the side.

  ‘They’re Scottish, aren’t they?’

  Mother sighed.

  ‘We should photograph the body.’ Bridget entered in a flurry of efficiency.

  ‘Keep your bloodthirsty dog out,’ Mother snapped.

  ‘If you want to be helpful, look at this. He’s written a name in the dust.’ Aunt Charlotte pointed towards the lettering.

  Bridget picked up the dog, ‘Do you hear that, Mr Bojingles, the victim wrote the killer’s name with his dying act! It’s just too marvellous.’ She looked genuinely excited standing over the impaled body of the old man.

  ‘Have a little respect, Bridget.’ Mirabelle stood frowning at the door. Her eyes flitted to the corners as if the killer could still be there. That hadn’t occurred to me before and I started scanning the small bedroom. There was a heap of old blankets near the door where I’d seen Bridget and Mr Bojingles sleeping the night before and the dirty animal fur that had fallen from the wall was in a heap under the window where Bottlenose had slept. There was nothing else in the room. There was nowhere to hide.

  ‘He’s dead.’ Bridget stared intently at the corpse. ‘He can’t hear me now. You showed him no respect when he was alive and could hear you. So, I fear that you are the greater sinner.’ She smiled piously. ‘Now, does anyone have a phone that isn’t waterlogged?’

  ‘Mine’s good. No signal though.’ It was Kemp at the door, his face nervous, his fingers picking at one another. His hand visibly shaking, he unlocked the phone and held it out.