“What do you mean?”
“Emma. Tell me. What do you think is going to happen if you stop moving? Why couldn’t we stay in London?”
“I thought you said you knew everything.”
“I know this isn’t going anywhere good.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’re full of shit, David? You get to say ‘everything’s going to be fine, Em, if you just calm down.’ And as far as you care it will be. You get to think about today and be infuriatingly chipper when you’re not being a sarcastic asshole. I’m the one who has to be realistic.”
“You think what you’re doing is realism? You’re not planning for the future; you’re hiding from the present. The whole reason we’re here is because you’re scared. You’re scared of what’s going to happen to me, and what’s going to happen to you.”
“The whole reason we’re here is because you’re not scared. I can’t be the only one who freaks out over this, David. It’s fucking exhausting. I don’t want to talk to you about it because I don’t know what I’m going to say, or if I’ll regret it, or if I’ll have to listen to you say that everything’s alright when it isn’t. I can’t walk through the museum of our old life while the staff turn out the lights and sweep the floors.”
Unlike the gradual slope of the high street, the alley ended in a staircase. They made their way down the slippery steps using both hands to steady themselves on the mossy rock wall. It delivered them directly to the harbor, where a circle of men and women were swearing at a boat motor. Emma and David stopped at the sea wall.
“OK, we’re here. We’ve got today, probably the next day and the one after that. You’ve got a job to do. But you don’t have to do it alone. I can help.”
“No... No, David don't get involved with this. I don't know what that woman might do.”
“You mean you don't know what I might do.”
The man with the giant beard and one good eye sat on the sea wall a few feet away and lit a pipe.
Emma looked down and tried to think of a lie. She lowered her voice so the man wouldn’t hear. “I'm just trying to protect you. What if I'm not there when something happens?” She wondered if he would complain about her later to Jessie. David probably had friends all over the island by now.
He said nothing. It was always the worst when he wouldn't yell at her, when he let her stew in it by herself. It wasn't fair. But she deserved it.
They stood by the sea wall and looked out on the water. The day wind came off the sea, blowing the fog uphill. On the horizon the water was a single plane of bluish gray. As Emma looked closer to shore it separated into lines and then individual waves. The white caps looked like soap on a greasy puddle. On the shoreline the waves smashed into the stone wall that circled the island splashing foam up and onto her shoes. It smelled like stale urine after a music festival. The ocean formed swirls and eddies in its struggle to pulverize the island, and in one of these pools of calm water a pair of eyes stared back at her. A set of whiskers flicked up and down in front of each eye. The face disappeared under the water. A flipper slapped the surface a few feet away and the face popped up again.
The fisherman watching Emma from the sea wall tapped his pipe against the stones and followed her eyes. “Ha! I see you’ve met Ned.”
“You named it Ned?”
“Well, he likes to keep an eye on things. Seemed appropriate.”
“How do you know it’s the same seal?”
“There’s only one fur seal visits this island. Never leaves either, just hangs around and watches.”
The three of them looked at the animal. It blinked twice and disappeared below the water. David wiped the grease from his fingers as best he could and put his hand on hers.
“There are ways you can be a good cop that don’t involve chasing down a suspect. Try doing one good thing and see where it goes.”
Emma kept looking to see if the seal came back.
After lunch Emma put her plan into action. She did her best power walk back to the station, where Zoe sat in Evan’s chair with her feet on the desk.
“How was lunch, Copper?”
Emma wiped mud from the desk with the corner of her coat. “I’m paying a visit to Steve today, see how he’s holding up.”
“You do that a lot.”
“This is only the second time I’ve been out to his place.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.” Zoe tapped her boots together, causing a few fresh crumbles of dried mud to scatter across the desk.
Emma resisted the urge to wipe the desk clean a second time. “It would be helpful if you came with me.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I want to get a statement from him about Evan. You knew Evan better than I did, so you might be able to help. Like a deputy of sorts.”
“Ooh, like on American TV. Love it. I’m eager to help any way that I can.”
An isolated location seemed the best place to get Zoe talking. And if Emma could catch her out in a lie, she needed to search the station before Zoe had a chance to hide the evidence.
“In fact, Constable, I know the fastest way to get there.”
During daylight hours The Culley offered a tempting shortcut around the rough terrain of the downs. It was a small, wooded fissure that ran straight through the volcanic landscape like a hatchet wound. The stunted buckthorn trees that grew in the thin soil formed a canopy so low the two women needed to duck under the branches in places. It was widely known that only children could see far enough not to get lost in The Culley, which led Emma to wonder if anyone on South Alderney had heard of crouching. The lowest branches could be dodged, but some higher up combed through her hair like dangling fingers. The air settled in the low trench of rock, bringing a whisper of the smell from the cannery.
The disorienting thing was the sound. There was hardly any of it. And when an occasional storm petrel or a seagull screamed nearby, she couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was so quiet she almost jumped when Zoe spoke.
“Where abouts are you from in America?”
“Pennsylvania. Harrisburg.”
“And you were a copper back home?”
“London's my home. What about you, do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Home, Ms. Hall.”
“I am home.”
“You know what I mean. You’re not from around here, really.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Emma. This is my island. My own little forgotten corner of the world. Like a yacht for me and my closest friends.”
Emma rolled her eyes but said nothing while Zoe prattled on.
“When you think about it, islands are a lot like boats. Ideally, they need to stay at least slightly above the water line, and they should ensure that their passengers are not lost at sea. But there’s something insidious about an island. If a boat is adrift with no way to get you where you need to go, people call that a bad boat. Give them an island and they never even notice that they’re lost. It took a lot of time to get this place just right. Do you like it?”
“Do you always talk this much?” Emma pulled a tangle of dark green leaves away from her face and walked a little faster. Zoe matched her pace perfectly. So perfectly that Emma could only hear one set of footsteps as they tramped through the fallen leaves.
On the ground in front of her something was wedged into the loop of an exposed tree root. On closer inspection it turned out to be an old boot.
“A clue, Inspector?”
“Constable, and no. This is years old. Maybe Steve's. Maybe somebody else's.”
“It's like watching Sherlock Holmes at work.”
“We're here on a courtesy visit, not a rescue mission. For once there aren't any missing people to round up.”
“Then our little wave of not-crime is over?”
Emma kept walking. “I didn't say that.”
The Culley removed all distraction. In the distance birds squawked their usual ear-splitting chorus. But as soon as the two approac
hed, any birds that were near them fell silent and watched. The smell from the cannery and the shifting sea aroma of salt, seaweed, and generations of muck were replaced with a steady smell of fresh leaves on the trees and old leaves slowly grinding to mud under their feet. The ground was wet, and the sucking sounds of their shoes made a subtle rhythm. This was a place where it was impossible not to think.
Zoe’s voice came soft and pleasant.
“You're not tired?”
“I don't need much sleep.”
“That's not what I asked. You've been busy for someone who's only been on the island a couple of days.”
“And how long have you been here, then?”
“Some time. I've been busier than you.”
“That's not what I asked. But I'll bite. Is it meth? Heroin? Do you and Evan sell heroin to these people?”
“Explains a lot, doesn't it? I mean, they're not the brightest lot around here.”
“You're in no position to talk back to me. Answer the question.” Emma shot a look over her shoulder and saw Zoe glaring back at her. “What’s the matter, Miss Hall? Don’t want to put your cards on the table? Face it. You're a petty criminal on an island in the middle of nowhere. And worse you're a liar. Whatever you’ve been up to on South Alderney is over.”
Zoe returned her look of triumph. “Who is this lecturing me?”
“PC Emma Cambourne. I know exactly who you are, and when I find out the details of what you’re doing here I will arrest you and send you to be dealt with by the courts in England.”
Emma tried to scramble over the rocks and roots of The Culley floor as quickly as she could. She turned around when she realized she didn't hear anything behind her. Zoe stood perfectly still under the low canopy.
“Oh, please, tell me who I am. I'd love to hear your first guess.”
“You're a predator with a taste for miserable people.”
A ledge of gravel slid off the side of The Culley and onto the path, obscuring a few small roots. Emma only had a second to wonder about it before Zoe brought her back with her warm, pressing voice.
“Shockingly close, but no. Don’t give up guessing, I like this new angle. Suddenly you're the noble police officer, rescuing the downtrodden. Hilarious. Miserable people, preyed upon by the rapacious outsider? You don't care what happens to these people, or anyone else.”
Emma’s composure flickered, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You think you’re so well hidden, but nobody hides from me. I watched you pretend not to see people on the street so you wouldn't have to make eye contact. I saw how uncomfortable you were when your husband showed up at the station, like a crippled child who escaped from the attic.”
Emma fought the desire to punch her in the face. Zoe crept closer.
“How else do we explain, Constable, why you’re wasting your time in the woods trying to intimidate a, what did you call me, petty criminal? You don’t know who will be the next person to die, because you haven’t even been looking. Might cut into your time playing Stuck in the Mud with baddies.”
Emma’s anger rose and faded. Then it was gone. Zoe intensified the onslaught by sweetening her voice.
“Forgive me, I haven’t asked you how you are feeling in your own words. I’m just excited to finally meet you. New people always bring fresh horrors. How has my island been treating you? Have you been feeling alright? Have you seen anything that isn’t there? Forgotten any details about people and places? There are one or two places that are particularly difficult to remember properly.”
“You can’t convince me I’m crazy, you gaslighting piece of shit.”
“No, I can’t. But then again, I don’t have to, do I?”
Emma smoothed the expression on her face. “What is it you want?”
“I told you already. I want to help you. I want you to see the truth that’s in front of your eyes, and act accordingly.”
“Oh yes? How is that, Zoe?” Emma raised her eyebrows and attempted a cavalier smile. Zoe’s face did not move.
“Don't act stupid. You must have figured something out by now. Do you think you’re strolling through the woods having a conversation with the mousy scientist? How do you think I know so much about you, Constable? Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t call you that, should I? Not since you were sacked.”
“What?”
“Sacked. Made redundant. Fired, you people say. That’s why you’re hiding out here, isn’t it? Nice work on the forged paperwork. I doubt anyone even noticed. If they did notice, nobody cared.”
Emma swallowed hard and tried to speak at the same time.
“How the hell do you know about that? Have you been talking to David? I swear to God if you hurt him…”
“David doesn’t know any more than what you tell him, what little you do tell him. He still believes you, by the way. He believes that he simply “forgot” that you were assigned to a secondment on the other side of the world. Clever detail, that. Positively devious. I couldn’t have done it better myself, but something tells me you’re not too proud of it. And anyway, I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Can we skip this part? I know everything about you. That’s all you need to know about me.”
“This is bullshit. You’re just trying to scare me.”
“Is it working?”
“If you’re not Zoe, then who are you?”
“It’s not important.”
“Why are you doing all this? Why can’t you leave people alone?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
“Have I ever lied to you? I don’t bother trying to explain it. A need just is what it is. I can’t stop. I can’t slow down. That should sound familiar, eh? I don’t know why I am the way I am any more than you do.” Her tone never wavered from the smooth, agreeable voice of a public announcement.
Emma fixed her eyes on the ground at Zoe’s feet. Zoe stepped closer, into her field of vision.
“Were you expecting something more satisfying? Sorry if our little encounter isn’t the pistols at ten paces you were hoping for. I know it’s harder this way. Like being trapped in a room with no doors. You know how that feels, too, don’t you?”
Emma didn’t look at her.
“That was a rhetorical question anyway. Oh, look at you. Not so sure of yourself now. That’s too bad.” Zoe paused. “There’s only one way out of this mess you’ve made, you know.”
“What did you say?”
“There is always a way off this island, a way to absolve yourself of all the guilt you carry around. A way to never feel lonely again.”
“I'm not lonely.”
“Please don’t play that game. I know what you know, remember?”
The steady rustle of leaves in the wind stopped, leaving Emma with the sound of blood pulsing through her ears.
She tried to think. “Did you kill Evan? And try to kill Ned?”
“I never touched them. They decided it was time to leave. Just like you will, sooner or later. And when you do, I will move on.”
“Through me... to someone close to me. Like you did with Ned’s friend and now Zoe.”
“She gets it!”
“Like some sick game.”
“Nothing of the sort. It’s easier to snuggle into people who are in a certain state of mind, that’s all.”
“What happens to Zoe?”
“She’ll be fine. Stop torturing yourself with all this worry. Everything will be alright once it’s done. The details don’t matter. I don't want to see you go on in such pain. You hate yourself so much you have to pretend to hate other people more. You're not good enough, and everybody knows it. Why go round and round in circles about it? I know exactly where you're going, but you still deny it. You keep your eyes on the path in front of you. Maybe you don't look up because you'll see something you don't want to see?”
“Fuck you.”
“Quality intimidation tactics! Nothing else to say? Are we going to try the put
-upon police officer routine again? You do go to a lot of trouble pretending, for someone who brought this all on herself.”
“It's not my fault.”
“What's not? You think you're doing a good job, then? Or maybe you're having an off year. You'll do better once you put the husband in a home, is that it?”
Emma opened her mouth. A second passed, then another. Zoe turned around and walked back the way they had come.
“I'll be seeing you, Copper. Soon, I hope.”
Emma made no attempt to follow her. She stared into the impenetrable tangle of branches and twigs at eye level, looking at nothing, listening to nothing. Besides the slight rattling of branches there was no sound to hear, and no sign of anyone nearby. She could have been the only human being on the island.
She sat down on the exposed and braided roots, as if she were being pressed into the ground by a weight too heavy to bear, and did not notice the passage of time until the angle of the sun cast deep shadows across The Culley, and the sky over the ocean turned deep red.
The chance to talk to Steve had passed. He would be fine. The walk back to the station was difficult enough with the light failing. Emma moved by muscle memory until she found herself back on the hill next to the humming generator. There was no light on inside. Inside the building there were more humming sounds from ancient equipment and the whistle of wind on corrugated metal. A streak of mud still covered a corner of the table. She brushed at it absentmindedly, only to spread it further.
More time must have passed, because it was fully dark when she noticed the light in the window.
A faint glow in the fog came through the sole window cut into the station wall. It was too late to be the last light of sunset. It was faint, visible in wisps when a thick patch of the ever-present fog rolled past the window.
Moving closer to see through the window at an angle, Emma could see the light was coming from the wrong direction. It pointed inland, not west to the village and the sea. She pressed her face against the wall to see as far up the slope as possible. In the distance there was a flicker of yellow light. The bonfire.
Emma mumbled to herself. “Lets you focus on what you ought to do next.” She didn’t want to imagine what horrors stalked her in a dark room alone. After the resistance in her tired bones was overcome, she was out in the open air. She took a direct route toward the fire, crossing the fence that marked the boundary of a paddock. The smell of the fire reached her, carried by the freezing night wind.
No Stone Tells Where I Lie Page 9