by LJ Ross
It rang out, again.
He punched the number for Phillips and swerved to avoid a rabbit as it leaped out into the lane ahead.
“Ryan?” Phillips’ comforting voice filled the confines of the car.
“You’ve got the team together? Good. I want Group A to man the exits. Group B crowd control. Group C with me, that’s you and MacKenzie if she’s finished in interview, bring a couple of officers, I need experienced people.”
“Understood,” Phillips said simply.
Countryside passed by in a haze until the car pulled up sharply at the entrance to the causeway, sending sand flying in a misty arc across the tarmac. Over the water, lights flickered on the little island. Ryan swore, long and hard.
The tide had beaten him to it, concealing the causeway underneath a blanket of dark, choppy water.
“I didn’t make it, Frank,” he bit out, considering his options. The seas were rough, signalling the onset of a storm. It was no surprise, he thought grimly, since the weather had been grey and foggy, the winds running high for the past few days.
“Requisition a helicopter, get the team down to the RAF site and tell them to get across to the island as soon as it’s safe, but not before. I won’t risk any more lives.”
“What will you do?” Phillips asked worriedly.
“Whatever I have to do, Frank.”
* * *
Anna shared another drink with Mark, talking over old times, before he gave her a brief kiss and bade her goodnight. He had an early start in the morning, as he was planning to visit his sister’s family on the mainland for Christmas Day. The crowd in the pub had thinned slightly, those with younger families having gone home already, but a fair few remained. It was just as well, because Anna wasn’t ready to head back to a solitary house.
Outside, the wind cracked against the windows like a whip, rattling the wooden frames. The walk home would be brutal and Anna wished that she had foregone the mead in favour of bringing her car.
“Anna? How are you keeping, girl?” Bill ambled over to her, his reddish face glowing after sampling some of his own produce.
“Better than expected, Bill. And you?”
He took another slug of beer and looked across at her with slightly unfocussed eyes.
“Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Anna agreed, wondering where he was going with the conversation. It wasn’t like Bill to come over all deep and meaningful, but then it was an emotional occasion. She followed his gaze and looked across at three large picture frames which he’d fixed above the fireplace – one for each of the victims. Her eye was drawn to Megan, her beauty and vitality shining through the grainy photograph of her sitting cross-legged and relaxed on the beach.
“Where was that one taken, Bill?”
“That was last year, down on Bamburgh beach,” he thought back to a perfect summer’s day on the wide, golden sands which spread out beneath Bamburgh Castle and the jutting rock it rested upon.
“She looks happy,” Anna said, with a touch of wonder. She couldn’t remember seeing Megan truly happy.
“I think – I think she was,” Bill said uncertainly.
Anna looked at him closely.
“Bill,” she said softly, “you took the picture?”
He managed a nod.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”
“No reason you should,” he said briskly, knuckling away a stray tear which had leaked onto his cheek. “Didn’t realise myself, for a long time. She was like a butterfly, wasn’t she? A beautiful, colourful butterfly, but if you get too close to her wings, she would break. She didn’t like to be stifled.”
“That’s a good way of describing her, Bill, she would have appreciated it.”
He nodded.
“She was proud of you, Anna,” he said suddenly, deciding that there were things she should know.
Anna turned to him patiently, ready to nod and smile.
“I know you won’t believe me if I tell you that she ordered a copy of your book,” Bill was smiling now, thinking of how Megan had looked when he’d caught her opening the delivery parcel.
“She did?” Anna looked at him blankly.
“Aye, she made some excuse about it being a delivery error, then how she had a right to read about local history and all that, but the truth is that she bought it to have something of you.”
Anna forced back tears and turned to look at her sister again, fully.
“I’ve been a fool,” she said thickly.
“We’ve all been fools,” he said and polished off his beer.
* * *
As the storm began to rage in earnest, Ryan gave up trying to get through to Anna and refused to think the worst. There could be an explanation, he reasoned, she could be at the pub and unable to hear the sound of her phone above the din.
He was worried sick.
Single-mindedly, he drove through the night, along dark roads bereft of light apart from the flickering beam of the headlights of his car. Twice, he lost the route and took a wrong turn, ending up along an unmarked country lane which laughed in the face of satellite navigation. Twice, he almost cried out with frustration.
Eventually, he saw the signpost marked ‘Budle’ and swung through the lively streets, filled with local revellers toasting the night before Christmas.
He made directly for the harbour, the only place where he could get a boat across to Lindisfarne.
* * *
Anna was starting to enjoy herself. The mead was definitely doing its job, she thought with a schoolgirl giggle. Frankie Goes to Hollywood was singing across the bar speakers about the power of love and she felt abruptly tearful as she slumped in one of the leather armchairs near the fire.
What was the matter with her? She tried to shake the fuzziness from her head and thought about wandering back over to the bar to ask for a cup of coffee, or some water, but it was so warm and cosy by the fire.
Her muddled gaze swept around the room, met the eyes of old friends and neighbours. Pete smiled at her as he pulled pints behind the bar. Bill was talking with Steve Walker and some others. Alison Rigby held court amongst a group of women but, spotting Anna alone, she made her excuses and headed towards her.
“Oh, bugger it,” Anna mumbled to herself, tried to get up with some thought of escape, but slumped back and giggled again. Her throat suddenly very dry, she took another sip of the mead.
“How are you, my dear?” Alison bustled across the room in a stiff black satin dress which was at least a size too small, bringing a strong odour of hairspray with her.
“I’m fine, thank you Mrs Rigby, just a little tired.” Anna found she had to work hard to enunciate each word.
“It’s been a terrible time, hasn’t it?” Alison clucked, urging Anna to sit back and be comfortable as she settled herself on the chair opposite.
“Mmm hmm,” Anna agreed sleepily.
“All this death, it’s reminded me so much of when my Andrew passed away,” Alison remarked, but there was no sign that she was unhappy about it. Rather, her eyes gleamed as she looked around the room. She was a woman who fed off other people’s dramas.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Anna mumbled politely, trying to remember what Andrew Rigby had looked like.
“No need, dear. In all honesty, Andrew’s passing was a blessing in disguise. He really was the limit, sometimes,” she flicked a speck of lint from her skirt and smoothed manicured hands over it. She looked at Anna closely and decided there was no harm in them having a little chit-chat. “You must have known, dear, about Andrew and your sister. Surely, you heard the rumours?”
Anna frowned, trying to piece together what Alison had said.
“My – my sister?”
“Yes, of course, your sister,” Alison said sharply, then quickly lowered her tone. “Who else? Quite the alluring little lady, Megan Taylor.”
“I – I don’t understand,” Anna said.
“It’s very simple, really
. Your sister lured my husband away from his home and family, made him forget his responsibilities.”
“She wasn’t like that,” Anna’s foggy brain managed that much.
“Well, of course you would say that,” Alison leaned across and patted Anna’s hand in a mockery of affection. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree? Megan was very like your mother in that way. She could wind men around her finger at fifty paces.”
“Who?”
Alison huffed out a laugh which shook her beehive hair.
“Your mother, dear. Sara Taylor was a fine-looking woman, I’ll give her that. Especially with all she had to put up with, living with your father. I wouldn’t have put up with it. I didn’t put up with it,” she laughed a hard laugh and Anna saw something lurking in their depths. “All’s well that ends well, though, isn’t it?”
Anna stared at the other woman with confusion and horror, tried to lever herself up but couldn’t quite manage it.
“There now, don’t fret. You just stay where you are, it’ll all be over soon enough.”
With that, Alison picked up the glass of mead sitting on the table beside Anna and urged it into her hand, brought it firmly to Anna’s lips.
“Keep drinking, there’s a good girl. You’ll feel better soon enough.”
With that, she got up, made a subtle gesture to a man standing across the room and then went back to her ladies.
* * *
Ryan had sailed before, in his childhood. He had spent several pleasant summers on the south coast at his grandmother’s house in Devon, where he could remember her teaching him and his sister the basics of sailing. The skies had always been blue, the water placid and the warm wind just strong enough to power the sails.
The reality of the present was a world away from those comfortable memories of the past. He’d argued and then threatened the harbour-master in Budle to let him rent a boat and when that had failed, he’d tried to bribe one of the fishermen to sail him across in one of their scarred-looking vessels. Even large wads of cash paired with a police warrant card couldn’t tempt the locals to brave the North Sea conditions. In other circumstances, he would applaud their good sense.
Instead, he’d unrigged one of those vessels and commandeered it.
Now, he found himself questioning his own sanity as he chugged across the rolling waters, felt his stomach heave and somersault inside his body as the boat rocked like a feather in the wind. Water seeped through his supposedly ‘all-weather’ jacket, dripped from his hair in a slick black cap as the sea sprayed over the boat. He knew a bit about the waters around Lindisfarne, knew they could be deadly and that he took the biggest risk of his life by setting out alone, in the dark. He hoped that his memory of the terrain served him well as he urged the engine onwards, fighting the power of the waves, skirting around the darker waters where sharp-toothed rocks lay hidden.
The going was painfully slow, but when he rounded the headland and hit the current from the ocean which ranged before him, he knew real fear. Teeth gritted, jaw tensed, he pulled the hood back over his head to keep the worst of the salty spray from his eyes and focussed on the dim glimmer of light which seemed to rise from the sea a little further down the coast.
Lindisfarne.
He gunned the boat’s engine and thought of Anna.
* * *
Anna felt sick and her head was pounding. Faces swam in front of her like ghosts as she fought to stay lucid. She was struggling to sit up, when a gentle hand gripped her arm.
“Can I help you, Anna?”
“Bill,” she said gratefully. “I feel – I feel unwell.”
He tutted as he noted her pallor and over-bright eyes with their contracted pupils.
“It looks like you might have had a bit too much to drink,” he said, pursing his lips and helping her to stand. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. Pete can handle the bar.”
“I – I don’t usually,” Anna took several panting breaths as she leaned against his warm bulk and let him put an arm around her. Over her head, Bill made a funny gesture about having too much to drink, for the benefit of those who watched.
“There, now, one foot in front of the other,” his soothing voice urged her onwards.
“Will you call Ryan, please?” she asked.
“Now, now, you don’t need Ryan,” he said affectionately, holding her hard against him as they headed out into the night.
Anna felt the cold air like a slap in the face and for a moment it was sobering.
“I – I think I need to lie down.”
“Good idea,” Bill agreed, giving her arm a friendly rub. “Probably best if we don’t walk after all. Let’s just use my car.”
“OK,” she nodded weakly, feeling like she was floating now. Distantly, she let him strap her into the passenger seat and rested her heavy head against the cold window.
“Nearly there,” Bill said as they drove along the long road which led from the village eastward towards the fort.
Anna lifted herself enough to notice the surroundings.
“No, Bill, I should have said. I’m not staying at my cottage anymore; I’m on the other side of the island, staying with Ryan.”
“I know that, Anna,” he said quietly.
“But – but you’re going the wrong way,” she said logically and heard him sigh deeply.
“This hurts me, Anna, it really does. I’ve always cared about you, same as I cared about Megan.”
Anna could make no sense of it.
“Shall we have some music on?” he said, suddenly cheerful again. He turned on the radio and fiddled with it until Bing Crosby’s rich voice sang out, dreaming about a white Christmas.
“You probably don’t understand any of this,” he assured her. “But the High Priest will explain it to you, so that you can appreciate how important you are to our circle. Without you, there would be no offering.”
Anna put her head between her legs and vomited.
* * *
Ryan could sense he was getting closer, although every metre across the sea was hard won. The problem was negotiating the harbour, once he got there. He thought he could find his way to the little inlet, around to the east just before the fortress which overlooked the vast expanse of ocean, but before then he had to avoid the rocks which lay like land mines guarding the entrance. He was going to need help.
He reached for the radio he had switched off, fired it to life again. Appearances could be deceptive. Here, on the tin bucket boat, her owner had installed a state-of-the-art radio system complete with digital selective calling.
After another hideous moment where Ryan couldn’t immediately recall the marine identity number for the Lindisfarne Coastguard, he realised the number had been pre-programmed like a speed-dial and marked helpfully on the dashboard.
He pushed ‘16’ and waited for anyone to answer.
There was a crackle across the line which was music to his ears.
“HM Coastguard Lindisfarne, receiving. Please identify. Out.”
Ryan recognised the voice.
“Alex, this is Ryan. I’m in a fishing vessel, approaching the south-eastern edge of Lindisfarne from the direction of Budle. Require assistance to negotiate harbour entry. Out.”
“Ryan, you crazy fuck. Conditions too severe for harbour entry. Turn your boat around. Repeat. Turn your boat around. Out.”
“Negative. Maintaining present course. Out.”
There was a momentary crackle on the line. At his desk in the coastguard hut, Alex rubbed a sweaty hand across his face and looked out at the storm which raged beyond his window. Then, back at the sonar which beeped to indicate Ryan’s position. He was bobbing precariously between two long stretches of rock which had lain boats and their skippers to waste for hundreds of years.
“Drop anchor. Coastguard will meet you. Confirm. Out.”
“Negative. Not enough time and too risky for you. Guide me in. Out.”
Alex swore. Stubborn bastar
d!
“Have it your way. Adjust fifteen degrees starboard, then maintain course.”
CHAPTER 29
Anna was dimly aware of being in Bill’s car as it struggled up the steep, curving road which led up to the island fortress atop its mount. She knew it to be a spectacular spot; on a clear day, you could see out across the sea for miles if you climbed the stone tower, the tallest structure on the island.
Eventually, his car reached the pinnacle and wound through the curved stone entrance which was flanked with lanterns which had been freshly lit in welcome. Bill pulled up in front of the wide doors, which stood open.
“Here we are,” he said in the same maddening voice, as he hauled her up and out of the car. Anna’s legs buckled beneath her and her head still swam, so he lifted her easily and carried her like a baby through the doorway.
Inside, the fortress was surprisingly warm in comparison with the howling gales outside. Fires were laid in every grate to provide heat and light. Bill seemed to know where he was going, because he didn’t pause in the long entrance hall, but rather carried on up the stone stairwell, his boots thumping with the effort.
“Bill,” Anna plucked at his sleeve desperately, but couldn’t seem to grasp the material. “Please.”
“Hush,” he said quietly. His course was already decided and he was unwilling to alter it.
At the top of the stairs, he took a left along the passageway until he came to a large hexagonal room at the end. The circle stood ready, dressed in long black robes, anonymous beneath their animal masks. Windows afforded a panoramic view of the sea and land beneath and a fire warmed the wood and stone interior, cast shadows over the old framed paintings of men and women long dead.
In the centre stood a man. He wore a long fur pelt which draped over his shoulders and down his back to brush the floor. He moved around a low wooden table which had been draped in red cloth.
“Our brother and Anna. Welcome.”
Bill dipped his head briefly in a mark of respect and then moved to deposit Anna on the table.
Tears leaked from her eyes as Anna struggled to move. Black spots swam in front of them as she tried to focus, to move her limbs.