by Kate Rhodes
10
Leaving the cabin takes all of Rose’s courage today, hunger finally forcing her outdoors. The winter sun feels fierce enough to singe her skin, gulls screaming out warnings, the sea’s drumbeat hammering the shore. She screws up her eyes to search for her son’s outline, but sees only the Bryher Maid crossing the sound to Tresco, a thin stream of smoke trailing from its engine.
Rose tries to steady her thoughts as she walks. She taught Sam self-sufficiency as a child. He knows where to find edible herbs and berries, even in winter. The boy watched her dress his scrapes and bruises with dock leaves, capable of identifying nature’s antiseptics in any hedgerow. But what if he’s alone somewhere, unable to move? Her panic is still simmering when she reaches Moorcroft Stores. Luckily, June is alone, tidying shelves, the shopkeeper offering her a smile of welcome, the radio playing quietly in the background.
‘Good to see you, Rose. Got time for a cuppa?’
‘Not today, I’ve got things to do.’ She puts her cardboard box on the table, filled with sachets of wild camomile and meadowsweet, jars of autumn honey.
‘This is perfect,’ June says, poking through the contents. ‘Guests from the hotel bought the last lot. One woman said your calendula oil helped her eczema.’
‘It cures most skin complaints.’
‘Sit for a while, please. I could use some company.’
June’s soft voice helps Rose relax. She listens in silence to her small talk, watches her place bread, eggs and cheese in a bag, along with pasta, coffee, tins of tomatoes. When the shopkeeper puts the bag at her feet, she feels the usual surge of embarrassment.
‘That’s too much.’
‘We owe you from last week.’ June’s calm eyes study her face. ‘Are you okay? You don’t seem yourself.’
Rose is about to explain, but June’s husband rushes in from the back room, making her fall silent. Pete Moorcroft looks out of place as usual, more like a bank manager than a shopkeeper. He has no respect for the old remedies, offering a brusque greeting before telling his wife about a late delivery. Something cold in his far-seeing eyes makes Rose shiver as she tightens her coat. She scoops up the bag of groceries and hurries away without saying goodbye, but the man follows her outside.
‘Rushing off so soon, Rose? That’s a pity. It’s time we had a chat, isn’t it?’ The man’s florid face presses too close, but his gaze never meets hers.
‘Nothing to talk about.’
‘That’s not true. I’ll drop by soon, we’ve got plenty to discuss.’
The sneer on Pete Moorcroft’s ruddy face makes Rose back away. She clutches her supply of provisions closer to her chest, before stumbling home across the shore.
11
Laura Trescothick’s parents look shocked when I show them the cannabis, both claiming that she never used drugs. Either they had no idea, or they’re putting on a convincing show. But why would a kid who was desperate for money suddenly blow hundreds on a stash that size? Someone must have given it to her, or she was involved in small-scale dealing. It’s noon when I leave their house with the laptop and tin box wrapped in evidence bags. All the girl seems to have left behind is a room lined with dreams and a distraught family. I trudge back home to look for Shadow, but there’s no sign of him, making me grit my teeth in frustration. At the community hall, Zoe is keeping Eddie company. He seems to have fallen under her spell already, cheeks reddening as she focuses on him.
‘I hope you’re not distracting my officer, Zoe.’
‘I came to offer you a flask of coffee. It’s bloody freezing in here.’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
She disappears in a flurry of long limbs and canary-yellow jeans, Shadow seizing his moment to slink through the open door.
‘You should be at home,’ I tell him.
‘He’s beautiful.’ Nickell leans down to stroke him. ‘I’ve always fancied a wolfdog.’
‘Solve the case and he’s all yours.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Cross my heart.’
The constable looks like a child at Christmas, and it dawns on me again that my only helper is as excitable as a boy scout, but at least he’s keen. Eddie has been busy checking the names of the seventy-two permanent residents present on Bryher at the time of Laura’s death. Twenty-six more were absent because they leave the island each winter. Most of them take factory or labouring jobs until the tourist season starts again at Easter. Few of the people listed have any reason to harm anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old girl. The party of elderly American historians staying at the hotel have already been ruled out; the security camera above the desk would have captured them exiting the building. I’ve already given the go-ahead for them to leave when their visit is due to end in a few days’ time.
‘Have Organised Crime made many drug-related arrests in the past year?’ I ask.
Eddie shakes his head. ‘Contraband goes through the islands fast, but there was a big coup a few years back. A yacht sailed into St Mary’s harbour with five million quid’s worth of heroin on board, bold as brass. The National Crime Agency are running another big marine surveillance operation, but they keep their cards close to their chests.’
‘So where did this come from?’
Eddie’s eyes widen when he studies the piece of resin that almost covers my palm. ‘That’s enough for one hell of a party.’
‘We need to find out where Laura got it.’
‘I’ll contact the NCA.’ He scribbles another note on his pad, like a secretary taking dictation.
‘I want to see Sam Austell too. He was dating Laura last year, but she ditched him.’
‘People saw him and his mum on Sunday,’ he says. ‘I bet they’re both hiding in her cabin. She’s a recluse, isn’t she? The kids on Tresco are scared of her.’
‘Rose is an expert on the island’s plants and flowers; my mother swore by her remedies. I haven’t seen Sam for a couple of years. What do you know about him?’
‘He’s nineteen, living at home, the apple of his mum’s eye. He nearly broke into the first team at Plymouth last year, till they released him for attitude problems. He’s gone off the rails since then. I nearly arrested him last month, for drunk and disorderly.’ Eddie glances down at his notes. ‘Laura called him half a dozen times in the month before she died.’
‘I doubt he’d wait a whole year to get even for being dumped, but we need to rule him out. Have you had any luck with other calls Laura made?’ Even though her phone’s missing, her provider has issued a printout of numbers dialled and received in the past six months.
‘I’ve traced them all.’
‘That’s quick work, we can check the list later. I need to visit Danny Curnow first.’ Something about Laura’s boyfriend has been nagging at me, ever since I found him huddled on my porch.
‘Can I come along, to see your interview technique?’
‘Find the Austells first, Eddie. You can take the dog.’
I reach the Curnows’ place in just fifteen minutes. The house lies beyond the pub on the north-eastern shore, nothing like the rest of the island’s low stone cottages. It’s a sleek glass box with a metallic roof, windows shimmering with light. Jay Curnow is wearing the same expensive clothes as before, but this time he greets me with a handshake, instead of clenched fists. His reason for keeping the years at bay becomes clear when I meet his wife. Patty Curnow looks young enough to be his daughter, blonde stripes in her long chestnut hair, skin glowing from a sunbed tan, even though her smile barely rises above freezing. The Curnows’ hallway could feature in Grand Designs, with a cathedral-height ceiling and a marble staircase rising in a sinuous curve.
‘Danny’s not himself,’ Patty says. ‘He’s hardly been out since it happened.’
‘Can I speak to you both before I see him?’
She leads me into a living room designed to impress, high heels clacking on the wooden floor. A glass wall provides panoramic views over the sound to Tresco. It doesn’t require ex
pert knowledge to guess that the furniture and artworks cost serious money.
‘You’ve got a beautiful place here,’ I say.
‘So I should hope,’ Jay’s reply is deadpan as he gestures for me to sit down. ‘The construction was a nightmare. The house is anchored on a steel platform, so we could build on sand.’ He looks in my direction. ‘I’ve seen your place on Hell Bay. Ever thought of selling it?’
‘Never. It’s been in my family three generations.’
‘Let me know if you change your mind.’
Jay Curnow’s knowing smile suggests that most people can be persuaded, with the right cash offer. I glance around the room again, surprised that he’s comfortable talking about property deals so soon after Laura’s death. One of Dean Miller’s seascapes hangs over the fireplace, a riot of turquoise waves, beside several family photos taken when Danny was small. The Curnows are immaculately groomed in each shot, the child’s hair combed smooth as he beams for the camera. Even in that setting, Jay’s expression is combative, as if winning battles is his sole reason for getting out of bed each morning.
‘How’s Danny been?’ I ask.
‘Beside himself, as you can imagine.’
‘It must be hard for you all.’
‘The kid seems haunted.’ Curnow’s gaze shifts to the view outside, lingering there until his wife’s staccato footsteps break the silence. She deposits a coffee tray on a glass table. Up close, her eyelashes are soot black, patches of dark pink make-up glittering on her cheeks, her perfume too sweet for my taste. She’s studying me closely now, like I’m an unpleasant substance on the sole of her shoe.
‘Did you spend much time with Laura, Mrs Curnow?’
She hands me a cup and saucer. ‘We hardly saw her. Danny took her to Tresco some evenings, but it was awkward, because of the cottage.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I own several properties on Bryher,’ Jay replies, ‘including Tide Cottage.’
I stare at him. ‘But Jenna grew up there. It belonged to her parents.’
‘The Trescothicks rent it off me now. They’re not great tenants.’
The reason for Matt’s contempt suddenly crystallises. ‘Why did you stop your son seeing Laura?’
‘She was holding him back. Until she came along he was planning to do business studies at uni, then suddenly he’s starry-eyed about some drama course. I put my foot down, obviously. Right now he thinks we’re the bad guys, but he was chucking his life away.’
‘We wanted Danny to stay at school to finish his A-levels,’ Patty agrees. ‘Studying acting at college would never get him a job.’
‘So he wasn’t allowed to see Laura?’
‘He can do as he likes,’ she snaps. ‘We’re not monsters. We let him go wherever he wants, but she wasn’t welcome here.’
‘Did you know that they were planning to live together, in Falmouth this autumn? They’d paid a deposit on a flat.’
Patty gawps at me, her husband releasing a hiss of disbelief. ‘There’s no way he’d go behind our backs.’
‘We’ve gone through Laura’s bank records, and the landlord confirmed it yesterday. What was Danny doing the morning Laura went missing?’
‘He tried to get to Tresco, but the ferry was cancelled, so he came home till it started running again. I was here the whole time.’ Words spill from Patty’s mouth, but Jay remains silent, eyes trained on Dean Miller’s painting, like he’s measuring every wave.
‘Did either of you notice what time your son left in the morning?’
Jay’s gaze slips to the floor. ‘I was having a lie-in, after working late the night before.’
‘I made breakfast for him, around eight,’ Patty says. ‘Then he rushed straight out. He didn’t talk much, to be honest, but he seemed fine.’
‘That’s helpful, thanks. Can I speak to Danny now, please?’
The couple’s actions baffle me. Surely anyone with two brain cells would know that separating teenagers is the surest way to unite them? They’re slow to comply with my request to see their son, but silence works in my favour. After a long waiting game, Patty leads me up the lavish staircase, with its glass and chrome balustrades. The interior is too ostentatious for my taste, but the outlook is dazzling. The tide is so far out, the beach appears to be coated by a thin silver glaze.
Danny’s room smells of fetid air and the sharp tang of hair gel. The kid is hunched on his bed, in jeans and a crumpled sweatshirt, a rime of stubble covering his jaw. There’s a hunted look in his eyes, making me wonder again if his panic at the murder scene came from fear of discovery, instead of shock.
‘How are you, Danny?’
‘How do you think?’ he snaps back.
‘I need to ask some questions. Is that okay?’ He gives a rapid nod, arms braced round his knees. ‘Can you tell me about the last time you saw Laura?’
‘Sunday afternoon, we went for a walk.’
‘Where did you go?’
His gaze slips from mine. ‘Just round the island, I’d been waiting to see her all week.’
‘Did you argue?’
He shakes his head blankly. ‘We were making plans. She was excited about us leaving this autumn.’
I want to ask more probing questions, but the boy’s rigid body language shows he’s not ready to open up. ‘What time did you leave here on Monday morning?’
‘Early, but there were no crossings, so I came home.’ His story echoes his mother’s a little too perfectly. ‘I reached Tresco by midday. My boss was pissed off, but it wasn’t my fault.’
‘Can you prove you stayed here till then?’
Danny stares at me, round-eyed. ‘You think I hurt her?’
‘Everyone has to account for themselves at the time Laura died.’
‘Mum saw me leave, both times.’
‘Not your dad?’
‘I don’t care what you think.’ Suddenly his face contorts with anger. ‘I loved her more than anyone. I’ll find the bastard that killed her, whatever happens.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Danny.’ I study him again. ‘How do you get on with Laura’s family?’
‘I hardly know them. She was all that mattered.’
The boy retreats into silence, refusing to look up. His cavernous room is full of creature comforts: a sound system in the corner, bench press and free weights, shoe rack loaded with designer trainers. Everything is shiny and new, but the only personal items are the photos on his wall. They all seem to be of Laura: outside a café in a patch of sunlight, or lying on the beach, giving the camera a dreamy smile. His focus on her seems obsessive, adding to my concern.
‘You really cared about her, didn’t you?’
‘We’d have got married.’ A muscle ticks in his jaw. ‘All I wanted was a fresh start, away from here. We’d have told our parents after it was too late for them to interfere.’
I’m sure plenty of teenagers would love to trade places with a pampered only child, getting his parents’ undivided attention, yet the lad seems to view his luxuries as a trap. It feels cruel to bait him when he’s at rock bottom, but it’s my job to check his reactions.
‘Laura was two-timing you, Danny. Did you know?’
‘What?’ His head jerks back.
‘She kept photos of Sam Austell in her room.’
‘That ended a year ago. He treated her like crap.’
‘She called his number plenty of times. Laura still cared about him.’
He scrambles to his feet, face reddening. ‘That’s bollocks.’ Danny grabs a wad of dog-eared envelopes from his chest of drawers, then brandishes them at me. ‘She sent me these. It began before we started seeing each other. I’d get home from school and find a message in my pocket. The last one came the day she was found; she posted it from the mainland on her day off.’
‘Why did she send letters instead of emails?’
‘She thought it was more romantic.’
Laura Trescothick’s handwriting is round and childlike, hearts and
flowers drawn on the envelopes. There’s no sign of the budding sophisticate, just an infatuated girl, pouring out her emotions. The package must contain fifty envelopes.
‘Can I borrow them?’
‘No way. They’re private, between us.’
‘They could explain why she died, Danny.’
He hugs the letters to his chest before finally handing them over. ‘She sent texts every day too. I hate not getting them anymore.’
‘We think she climbed Gweal Hill, the morning she died. Why would she do that?’
‘To be alone probably, we had no privacy.’
‘There were drugs in her room, Danny. Did you give them to her?’
‘Of course not. She hardly even drank; I never saw her take anything.’
The boy’s anger hangs over him like a cloud as I repeat the question, then his head bows and it’s clear he’s too drained to continue.
I mull over his answers when I leave the Curnows’ house, with Laura’s letters wrapped in an evidence bag. If Danny is telling the truth then the girl made all the running; she could have been texting him the morning she died. But it’s equally possible that they’d argued, and he followed her there in a jealous rage. The more I discover, the more they seem like star-crossed lovers, the future constrained by circumstances. Laura’s family were forced to sell their home, only to rent it back from the Curnows, but the teenagers ignored their parents’ conflict. Back at the cottage I leave the letters on the table to read later. When I emerge again, Shadow is sitting in the porch, tongue lolling in expectation.
‘Will you never leave me alone?’
His glacial eyes are impossible to read. I dump food in his bowl and grudgingly accept that I must copy his behaviour. To find Laura’s killer I’ll have to pursue the islanders hard, until one of them cracks.