“You mean Ned? Never heard anyone call him Sergeant before. And given the circumstances, he didn’t leave much behind but the word ‘argh’.”
“That’s in terrible taste.”
Evan shifted his feet, causing the table to squeak across the floor like wet fingers on plastic. “If he were dead. But that son of a bitch will outlive us all.”
“I was led to believe that what happened to him wasn’t an accident.”
“No, quite deliberate. But I don’t think he really meant to kill himself. A month in Carlisle and he’ll be fine. The warm, sunny weather will do him good.”
Emma had never quite become fluent in sarcasm, even after all these years. She pushed on regardless. She tried to move the table flush with the wall, then gave up when she realized the wall was not straight either.
“What if, just to throw a crazy idea out there for a moment, some sort of crime were to occur?”
“Not likely. Last month we did get some excitement. That was the big lobster catch. They do this big competition every March, since the lobster fisheries are protected the rest of the year. People have a quick one, go out in a boat that's barely seaworthy, and try to coax a few furry sea monsters into a box. Every year there are a few fights over the alleged theft of said sea monsters. I remember standing on the docks while a couple of drunken idiots threw tackle at each other. Over lobster. I couldn't understand why anyone would make such a fuss. Might see the same level of disorderly conduct at the bonfire two days from now, if you’re lucky.”
“I take it it's a lucrative enterprise, then? Lobster fishing?”
“Oh, no, they eat them.”
“They don't sell them? Is it restricted?”
“Who would buy them? Sorry, I forgot you're fresh off the boat. What they call lobster isn't... real lobster. That's just what they call it.”
“Do I want to know?”
“No. If you see a pincer sticking out of a sausage roll in these parts, don't ask questions. As for proper crime, you're out of luck. Once or twice, Ned had to throw someone in the lockup, but that’s pretty rare. That’s the shed behind Steve’s place.”
“And Steve doesn’t mind?”
“Well, you can ask him when he gets back.”
“Back from where?”
“Who knows? He left a couple days ago. Be back soon, probably.”
“Left? Someone is unaccounted for on an island the size of a seagull turd, and that’s your reaction?”
“Yeah, well, he didn't swim to Amsterdam Island, did he? And Ned’s not here to make you fill out any missing persons forms, so if I were you, I’d spend the rest of your secondment at The Rock.”
“That's not how I normally approach police work. Does Steve disappear often?”
“Couldn't tell you.”
“Why the hell not? The man is practically the island’s jailer. You must know him somewhat.”
“Know him? You could live on this blasted island the rest of your life and not know these people. They don't even know who they are. You know they call kecks 'pants,' right? Like they're Australian or something.”
Emma paused to take stock of the situation while Kenny Larkin got in a fight with Henry Ramsay.
“Evan, did they not give you the option to serve somewhere more hospitable?”
“Like the South Pole, you mean? Not qualified.”
“You need a PhD to poke at penguins?”
“They evaluate you before you can overwinter. And there are no penguins at the South Pole.”
“You're not going to tell me it's polar bears, are you? Because between you and David I don't think I can handle one more iota of smarm.”
“No, there's no anything at the South Pole. It's just you and a handful of freaks in a tin can. It's enough to make a fella go mental.”
“Freaks in a tin can, eh?” Emma looked around the room.
“Yeah, yeah. This isn’t ideal, either. My mates had some lads' holiday in Tallinn last summer, while I was stuck listening to someone on the radio complain that they had too much poo at Halley Research Base and couldn't get it all out in one go. Days like that, I might as well be living on the Moon.
“But still, most days it’s a hell of a lot better than a real job. Here you've got no one to answer to. No command structure, no experiments. I was here two weeks before I realized that radio over there was turned on. Nearly scared the life out of me when someone in Kerguelen asked us if we had any propane.” Evan put his hands behind his head in the universal gesture of someone who has snatched the easy life out from under society's unsuspecting nose. “Come on, this is the good part. Get a chair.”
Emma was struck by the type of hopelessness that sets in after shouting slowly into an automated help line only to be redirected to the main menu. But despite his best effort, Evan had stumbled onto a good idea. The only place she was likely to get anything done was The Rock. There was routine work to be done first, paperwork, studying Ned’s logs. By the afternoon she was ready to do some real policing. She made a feeble excuse, brushed aside his jacket that was half-covering the door, and retraced the route back to the pub.
The way back toward the ocean put her face to face with the salt spray blasting up the street. She wondered if the chaotic twisting of the streets around narrow bottle necks and obtuse angles was less a lack of central planning and more an attempt at baffling the wind. In any case it didn’t work. To protect her eyes, she put a hand in front of her face and looked down at the cobblestones. She didn’t notice the woman calling out to her until she was nearly screaming. The chance to pretend she didn’t hear anything had passed. Down a narrow alley a woman was waving both arms in the air.
“Constable! This way, quickly!”
Instinct propelled Emma down the alley fast enough to lose her footing on a slab of volcanic rock that had been put down to replace a patch of missing road. Grace was not necessary for good police work, but falling on one’s face was generally discouraged, as it eroded the confidence on which police heavily relied. Luckily, the woman didn’t seem the least discouraged and ushered her up to the front door of the house. Emma composed herself and straightened her coat.
“What the problem?”
The older woman looked up and down the deserted alley and lowered her voice.
“It’s very serious. Come have a look.”
The front room was dark and dusty. Piles of old newspapers stood in the corners and on the furniture. A box of what could have been clothing or rags looked like it was melting into the table on which it sat. Through this room was the kitchen, tidier but just as dark, and covered in a crust of grime. The smell shifted from mildew on cardboard to cold grease on metal.
When the woman put her hand on the kitchen door, she looked through the narrow slit in the blinds, then over Emma’s shoulder. Emma wondered who she could be looking for. The door opened onto a small walled garden, if a few patches of tussock grass and some mud could qualify as a garden. Emma stood in the doorway. She looked back at the woman, who had a hopeful look on her face.
“Well, Constable?”
“Uh, what exactly should I be seeing here?”
“Well, Trevor, of course!”
“And is Trevor here now?”
“Don’t be daft!”
The woman shoved past Emma and stomped into a corner of the garden where the wall was chest height. Emma followed helplessly.
“Maybe I should identify myself. I’m PC Emma Cambourne. I was supposed-”
“Here! Look here!”
Emma approached the corner. There were feathers mixed in with the mud, and a dark patch that could have been blood.
“I see feathers. Are they part of the picture?”
“Those are Trevor’s. He must have put up a terrific fight, the poor lad.”
“So Trevor… is a bird.”
“A goose, obviously. And someone on this island has killed him.” She squatted over the scene of the crime and started uprooting nearby plants. “Aren’t you going to
look for evidence?”
“I’ll write a report as soon as I get back to the station. Any idea who could have stolen it?”
“He’s not an ‘it,’ Constable. Dana. Can I call you Dana? I don’t like stuffy titles. I’m Helen Ross.”
“Well, it’s Emma.”
“It’s not important.”
“And either way, I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“It was probably Darren. You know what he’s like.” She continued to comb the ground for clues. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without my Trevor. He always knew how to cheer me up.”
“As I said, it would be a great help if you could give me a little more information. Do any of your neighbors know when you’re not at home?”
“How should I know what they know?”
“Has anyone asked you about the goose lately? A name would be helpful.”
“Don’t remember most of their names. I don’t talk to the neighbors much. And besides I’m always home.”
“Always?”
“No point in going out, is there? Thieves and murderers about. Better to just stay home. I used to go to church sometimes. It’s a nice place. Makes it all a little easier to bear. Not anymore. I only went out this morning to look for Trevor. Lucky I was just locking up when I saw you coming down the high street.”
Helen kicked over a small rock and squinted at the mud underneath.
“Whatever scoundrel took my Trevor struck while I was sleeping. I came down late last night to find this.” Her voice rose as she spoke until she was shouting over the wall when she got to the word “this.” Then she glanced over her shoulder and leaned in to within an inch of Emma’s face. “I don’t suppose you’ve been here long.”
“No, actually. I’m from-”
“It’s not important. Just keep your head clear. If you give people around here half a chance, they’ll make you think you’ve gone absolutely mad.” She dropped to her hands and knees and picked feathers from the mud. Wherever she disturbed the mud small crabs popped to the surface and fled.
Emma put her hands on her hips, then crossed them over her chest. One fell to her side while the other went into a coat pocket.
“I think I have everything I need here, Miss Ross. As I say, I’ll write that report. And I will ask around in case there are any witnesses.”
“Hang on, aren’t you forgetting the most important part?”
Emma looked left and right without moving her head.
“Over here, Dana. The most important evidence.” Helen pulled a small wooden box out from under a bush and handed it to Emma. It was light, and slightly sticky.
Emma opened the box expecting to find some portentous clod of dirt, or a button popped from the scoundrel’s jacket. Inside of the box was a tangle of fresh gore and bones.
“Is this…?”
“My Trevor. I found him up the hill.”
The bones bore marks that looked as if they had been chewed.
“At first glance, Ma’am, it would seem that Trevor was mauled by an animal.”
Helen’s upper lip curled in scorn. She thrust a hand to the wrist into the carcass and pulled out pieces.
“Do you see this?” The long bones had all been cracked in half. “You think a petrel did this, do you? Or maybe a sea gull?”
Emma was hardly a forensic expert on what a bird could do to another bird. But on an island devoid of native mammals, it was a fair question what could gnaw on a bone. Staring into the woman’s unblinking eyes, Emma realized what answer she was expected to give.
“So it’s your opinion that a person is responsible?”
“What else could it be?”
“OK. Yes.” Emma took a deep breath in. It didn’t help. “OK. I’ll just ask you to hold on to this, then.” She had to lean forward to force the box into the other woman’s arms. “And I will get in touch with you as soon as there are any developments.”
She backed into the kitchen, leaving Helen to hold the box under her arm while rummaging through it with the other hand. When she got to the front room, Emma was walking as quickly as she dared, and maintained that pace down the length of the street. The sun was about to dip behind the mountain when she arrived back at The Rock.
The weak, slanting afternoon sun made the dark interior of The Rock even stuffier. The heat was oppressive after being outside. And it was quiet. Emma was used to a certain amount of white noise in a pub. A clattering of glasses, an occasional rendition of an Oasis song in C-flat. There was none of that here. The two men from that morning hadn't moved. For a moment she almost felt a twinge of déjà vu . Was that haggard and pock-marked dart board really there this morning, or did she remember it from every broken-down pub she had ever seen?
Two regulars, bent over a low table, turned and looked at her this time. The spell was broken. This was the part of her job she dreaded the most, like the feeling before reaching into a bucket of slime. She wished she could talk to strangers as easily as David did. That charming son of a bitch even seemed to enjoy it. She walked over, nudging a precarious glass back from the edge of the bar on her way.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. My name’s Red. This is Darren.” He jerked his head toward a man who had already gone back to his beer. “You're Ned's new second, Cambourne?” He tapped his thumb in a slow rhythm.
“Yes.” Emma sat across from him and tried not to touch the table.
“The old Governor General, he had an American assistant. Clare Han?” Red took a drink while looking at her expectantly.
“Oh. Uh, no I can’t say the name rings a bell. Did you know the Sergeant... Ned, well?”
“What do you mean, Ned who lived here on the island?”
“Sorry, I guess that was a stupid question.”
“No, it's alright. We were mates. Went fishing just a few days before it happened. You haven't seen the sea here when it's calm. It's a thing of beauty.”
“Is that usual, the two of you going fishing together?”
“Yeah, we went from time to time. It makes you feel like you’re the only people in the world when you’re out there. I used to like that a lot. But it's mostly him and Greg that go. They've been tight since they were lads.”
“And where is he now?”
“Greg? At home. I saw him this morning.”
“You spoke to him this morning? Did he say anything about Ned?”
“No. He said he might drop by the station later and have a drink with Evan, but I don't believe he'll be out of the house today. Bit shaken up about what happened, you know. It's one thing when a mate falls off his perch. But it's been a long time since we had something like this happen around here.”
“When you last saw Ned, did he say anything to you that might suggest he was unhappy?”
“Never. Can't imagine what pushed him to do it.”
Darren shook his head. “Terrible business. Terrible.”
“I'm sorry to pry. Police instinct, I guess. I actually came to talk to you about Steve.”
“Steve White, you mean?”
“Is there another Steve?”
“No.”
“That’s him, then. Do you know hi- Do you know where he might have disappeared to?”
“Oh yeah, I heard he was missing when he was supposed to bring Jessie’s truck back with a new starter, and he never showed.”
Darren leaned in. “Any idea where he might be, Constable?”
“No, Mr...”
“Darren.”
“Right. No, Darren, I was hoping you two might be able to help me in that department. When was the last time either of you saw Steve?”
Red sat up strait and took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I know my girl Sarah saw him at church two weeks ago. At the parsonage, I mean. But he wasn't there this last Sunday. It was a horrible, wet day. Probably just stayed in. I can’t say I blame him.”
Emma looked out the window at the gray sky. “What constitutes bad weather in this part of th
e world?”
“Listen, Steve's on the other side of the downs and The Culley. Let's see you stomp through that in a rainstorm.”
“Of course. Does your daughter know Steve well, then?”
“Not really. He's got his work during the day, and she's got the cannery.”
Emma forced herself to take a long look into the man's eyes. It was an effort she could only sustain for a second, but that was enough to make his own eyes flicker and look away.
“So she would have been working when Ned was last seen in good health?”
“Yes, I believe she told me she was at work when she heard the bad news.”
“Then she works the night shift as well as the day shift?”
“Well, sometimes.”
He was lying to her face. That was an amateur mistake. Talented liars only told the truth.
“Sir. You don't know me very well, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I'm not inclined to look the other way when people lie to me, especially when there is a missing person case in progress. So why don't we start over and you tell me exactly what the relationship is between Sarah and Steve.”
Emma hoped the smile she felt wasn't visible. People came in good and bad varieties, but they could always be relied upon to behave the same way under pressure. It was just a matter of knowing where to press.
“They don't know each other well. Never have.” Red's eyes showed sincerity.
“But you were hiding something from me just now.”
Emma stopped herself from lunging forward in her chair. It was easy to get caught up in the pursuit, like a hound after a rabbit. She could smell the truth hiding in the bushes. But humans were flighty, and if they felt pursued that was the end of the chase. The danger of repeating the past held her on the slow and steady path.
DI Acharya had told her not to visit the suspect in a recent robbery. There was nothing to be gained by haste, he said. But the temptation had been too great. She wasn’t about to let command and procedure get in the way of catching the bad guy. There were rules, after all.
She cringed when she thought of her awkward attempts to catch him out, and the slow realization on his face. When he put the pieces together it became obvious to them both how flimsy the case against him was. That paralyzing smirk had hung between them for an eternity.
No Stone Tells Where I Lie Page 2