The Malice of Waves

by Mark Douglas-Home

  Silence, apart from the drips and the lapping tide.

  ‘In that situation, at your age, I’d have done the same as you,’ Cal tried again to keep her talking. ‘I’d have been frightened to have gone on the swing. I’d have tried to stop Max grabbing me, any way I could. I’d have panicked just like you. It must have been awful for you, an experience like that and your brother dead.’

  ‘Chloe said I shouldn’t feel guilty.’

  ‘Did Joss say that too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They must have been upset … seeing Max’s body like that.’

  Silence.

  Cal said, ‘Weren’t they?’

  ‘They didn’t like Max.’

  ‘Are you saying they weren’t upset?’

  ‘None of us minded not seeing him again.’

  ‘None of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice dropped.

  The water was now at Cal’s waist.

  ‘But Max wasn’t found the next morning?’

  ‘No. The ledge was the only place that wasn’t searched. The police didn’t know about it since they’d been brought in from other islands. The crevice running down the cliff was examined, but as it was blocked with rock, they thought it had been impassable for a while. By the next morning, people in the township were being questioned and houses searched. I heard my father and the police discuss possible suspects. Joss and Chloe said Max was bound to be discovered soon and I mustn’t forget the story no matter what anyone said. But he wasn’t, and Joss started to say the police would lose interest. In other cases of people who had gone missing, the searches lasted a week, sometimes two. Soon it would be over. But it wasn’t!’

  A note of desperation reverberated in the cave.

  ‘After the first year we realized the search for Max would never end, because my father wouldn’t let it. Last year Joss asked him to stop bringing in experts and holding a memorial service. She said it was time for Max to be laid to rest and for my father to pay attention to his other children. But he shouted at her, saying he would find Max’s killer if it was the last thing he did.

  ‘That’s why Joss went to live in the township. She thought that might make him stop hiring another investigator. But she was wrong. Staying there she realized how much damage was being done by our father’s obsession. The last time we spoke she said she thought all three of us should go to him and tell him the truth. Joss said that would stop him – having accused the township of murder for so long, how could he go to the police and hand over his three daughters for covering up Max’s death?’

  ‘What did you think of that idea?’

  ‘I didn’t support it at the time, nor did Chloe. We asked Joss for more time to think. We hadn’t been able to discuss it with her again before she was killed.’

  She fell silent and all Cal heard was the sound of rising water. It was now at his ribs. Hannah said, ‘I was wrong, wasn’t I?’

  ‘You’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘Yes. Joss was right – the only way this is going to end is if he’s told what happened to Max.’

  ‘Does Chloe agree?’

  ‘No. We had an argument last night.’

  ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did Chloe say?’

  ‘She said Joss only had herself to blame for her death and that she was asking for trouble going to live in the township. But Chloe’s Daddy’s favourite now, isn’t she? That’s why she doesn’t want him to be told.’

  ‘Hannah?’

  Silence.

  ‘Hannah, I need to move. The tide’s getting high. The water’s going to be at my neck soon.’

  28

  Crossing the sound in the police RIB, Helen wondered where Cal was. Night was closing in. Shouldn’t he have returned? He’ll be delaying until after dark. He’ll be somewhere out there. He’ll be happy because he’s alone. A sinking feeling of despondency seeped into her. For a while she had thought she might be able to share that impulse in him. The day before, for example, when she’d been overwhelmed by the beauty of the landscape, she hoped she was beginning to appreciate the pull that wild and remote places had on Cal. With more time, with more familiarity, she told herself, she would love them too and, like Cal, would feel that tug at her soul.

  Yet, on this short journey across the sound, she began to think the opposite. Instead of being entranced by the contrasts of a place where violent storms were followed by the stillest of days, she found they put her on edge. She looked around. Looming banks of cloud darkened the sky. The sea appeared oily and black. Priest’s Island, on her right, was brooding and unwelcoming – what a change in thirty-six hours. Instead of liking its variability, as Cal would, she found it disturbing, as she might a person who altered character at the drop of a hat: now smiling, now sullen, now demented with rage. Rather than regarding dusk as exhilarating, as Cal would, she found the prospect of night threatening. Given the choice, she realized, she would rather have been in a city street. She was more comfortable in an environment like that.

  The thought worked away at her as the RIB turned to starboard along the south coast of Priest’s Island, out of sight of the Jacqueline and Chloe. So, when she saw Cal’s RIB in the bay below the shieling, she felt a jolt of resentment at his absence rather than concern for his well-being. She peered into the gathering darkness and it seemed to her like a gaping and unknowable void, one that would always separate her from Cal.

  She sighed then gave the order to put ashore.

  She told the younger of the two police constables – Fraser Carmichael – to head inland and to find a vantage point overlooking the north of the island with a view of the bonfire and the Jacqueline. He should radio back any movements. She warned him against talking too loudly. Noise travelled long distances at night when there was little wind. Handing him the night-vision binoculars, she impressed on him Beacom’s warning about stumbling and damaging them against a rock. ‘They’re the only ones we’ve got.’ The other constable, a taciturn, heavily built man by the name of Bob Stevenson, remained with Helen. They turned out to be kindred spirits. Carmichael was puppyish, enthusiastic and talkative. Helen wasn’t in that kind of mood and neither was Stevenson. They sat quietly in the RIB and waited for Carmichael’s first report in their earpieces.

  It came after twenty minutes. Chloe was standing by the fire. Carmichael had seen movement inside the Jacqueline. He presumed that was David Wheeler.

  The next report was half an hour later. Chloe had banked up the fire with driftwood and was sitting close by. Twice more Carmichael reported the same. Helen could tell he was becoming bored but she told him to stay alert. At eight thirty, Carmichael reported, ‘She’s putting more driftwood on the fire. It’s blazing.’ A few minutes later, ‘I think she’s on the move, heading this way. I won’t report in again until she’s passed by in case she hears me.’

  Twenty minutes later, in a hoarse, excited whisper, he said that Chloe was descending the hill towards the island’s south coast: ‘Heading towards the shieling. She might spot the RIBs, because she seems to be able to see in the dark; she hasn’t put a foot wrong since she started.’

  Suddenly a light shone. Helen whispered to Stevenson, ‘She’s got a torch.’ The beam jumped and flickered as she descended the hill. ‘It’s not very powerful,’ Helen said. ‘If she’s going to the shieling it’ll hardly reach us.’ She offered up some thanks that both RIBs were black.

  As a precaution Stevenson put his coat over the engine, which had a white stripe. He said under his breath to Helen, ‘Be careful it doesn’t pick up your face.’

  She squatted beside him and watched Chloe shine the light one way and another as she negotiated the steepest part of the hill. Afterwards she seemed to veer to her left. Helen wondered where she was going. ‘She’s heading for the other side of the bay, not the shieling. Why?’ The torch went out. ‘What’s she doing?’ she asked Carmichael
.

  ‘She’s still on her feet, still walking. She’s among some rocks, going closer to the shore.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘She’s crouching, looks like she’s waiting for something.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  Helen asked Carmichael to tell her what time it was. She couldn’t look at her phone in case Chloe saw the light. ‘Just past nine,’ Carmichael replied.

  Chloe was still waiting in the dark thirty minutes later when Helen whispered to Stevenson, ‘Oh my God, I didn’t expect that. I think she’s waiting for the tide to fall.’

  Cal swapped hands as he’d been doing for hours. ‘I won’t be able to hold on much longer,’ he said. As before, when he talked about moving his position, Hannah didn’t answer. When he’d first climbed the chamber wall, using the old iron handholds and footholds, he’d told Hannah he would come as close to her as he had to – to keep his head and neck above water. But now he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on even though the sea had stopped rising. His fingers ached, so did his wrists. Pain travelled from his hands up his arms. He shifted his weight from his left leg to his right and could only tell he had done so by a slight sensation of one thigh being heavier than the other. His feet, ankles and knees were numb from being submerged in the cold water. He decided he could put off the moment no longer.

  ‘Hannah …’ He heard her move. ‘Hannah …’ As they had agreed, he turned on his torch so she could see where he was, so she would know he wasn’t using the sound of his voice to cover for moving closer to her. The light flickered and dimmed. He shook the torch and directed the light on to his waist to show her the height of the tide, how far up the wall it reached. ‘It’ll fall now,’ he said, ‘but it won’t be low enough for me to climb down for two or three hours. I need to get out of the water. I have to sit down. I can’t hold on any more.’ Once again, he waited. ‘Hannah.’ He listened to the sea splash against the chamber’s walls. ‘Hannah, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to try anything. I give you my word.’ Now he lit up his face to let her see how sincere he was.

  ‘Stay there.’ Her voice was shrill; panicked.

  Cal said, ‘I’ve got no choice. You’ll have to let me sit with you.’

  He heard a quick movement, as though she might be pulling back into the alcove, making room. ‘I’m going to start climbing now,’ he said, putting the torch into his jeans pocket. After pulling himself up to the next ring and finding the foothold, he rested. ‘Hannah, you’ve got to believe me. I can’t stay where I am. It’s not a trick.’ He heard a gasp, followed by another. He shone the torch on Hannah. She was sitting with her legs hanging over the edge of the alcove. She looked startled as if she was surprised by what she’d done. The knife was in her hand and crimson showed up against the white skin of her upturned arms. Her wrists were cut and bleeding. As the torch flickered and started to dim, she fell forwards into the water. ‘Hannah,’ Cal shouted. He watched her swim deep. The torch lit up a trail of pink staining the water before the light faded and went out.

  Cal jumped after her.

  Helen listened to the flop of the waves, the wet slap of water against rock, the rattle of pebbles and shells, and she wondered if it was just the shifting of the sea or whether Chloe was moving too. ‘What’s she doing now?’ she whispered to Carmichael.

  ‘Same as before,’ he replied.

  ‘Still crouching?’ Helen stared into the dark and tried to imagine her on the other side of the bay.

  ‘Hasn’t moved a muscle,’ Carmichael replied.

  ‘Tell me when she does, even if she scratches her nose.’ While she was talking, Helen heard an unfamiliar rippling sound. It was over so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it. She moved her head to the left, then back to the right, listening again.

  Carmichael said, ‘Something’s moving in the water below Chloe. No, there’s someone swimming.’

  Helen heard a splash. ‘Was that Chloe? What’s she doing?’

  ‘She’s jumped in,’ Carmichael said. ‘She’s helping. No. No, she’s not.’

  ‘Quick, turn on that spotlight,’ Helen ordered Stevenson.

  Cal was groping blindly at the bottom of the cave when he saw a glow. He wondered whether the torch had come back to life. But the light was different; bright white and further away. He swam in its direction and found he was at the exit. He propelled himself between vertical rock walls and looked up into a glare so bright it was as if the sun was shining. Cal was momentarily disorientated. Was it day or night? Kicking towards the surface, his lungs almost bursting, he registered the bottom of a boat above him and, close by, the silhouette of a body suspended in the sea. A silent, anguished shout filled Cal’s head. Hannah.

  In the RIB’s spotlight, there was a tangle of arms and bodies.

  ‘I’ve got her,’ Stevenson said, lifting Chloe clear of the water with one heave.

  She screamed, ‘Get off!’

  Helen grabbed Hannah and pulled her towards the RIB. She made a choking sound and Helen said, ‘Thank God.’

  Hannah gagged then coughed as Helen lifted her aboard. She tried to sit up and her head fell forward between her knees. She coughed some more and spat. Helen knelt in front of her and took her hands. ‘You’re all right now. You’re safe.’ A warm trickle ran across Helen’s fingers. Turning over Hannah’s arms, she saw the slashes. She clamped her hands tight round the girl’s wrists to stop the flow. ‘Bob, this one’s bleeding. I need some bandages from the medical box at the back of the RIB.’

  Chloe shouted, ‘Get your fucking hands off me!’ and Stevenson threw the box towards Helen.

  ‘Sorry, this one’s trouble.’

  Cal surfaced, gasping for breath. Helen called out to him. ‘Cal, are you OK?’

  ‘Have you got Hannah?’ He was dazzled by the light.

  ‘She’s here.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘No, she’s hurt. I need your help.’

  After clambering aboard, Cal bound a bandage tight round one of Hannah’s wrists while Helen attended to the other. ‘She cut herself,’ Cal said. ‘She tried to kill herself.’

  ‘She’s not the only one. Her sister attempted to drown her.’ Helen looked at Hannah. ‘Why would she do that? Why would Chloe want you dead?’

  Hannah said nothing. She was looking at Chloe struggling with the policeman.

  Cal touched her on the arm. ‘Shall I tell her?’

  There was a slight nod.

  ‘Chloe was frightened of what Hannah might say,’ Cal said. ‘Hannah killed Max. It was an accident. Joss and Chloe knew and covered it up. Joss was going to tell their father just before she was killed. Hannah has changed her mind too – she wants their father to know. I think that’s why Chloe tried to drown her, to stop her.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Helen looked from Cal to Hannah before talking into her radio. ‘Carmichael, see what you can do to put out that fire. And be careful, there might be some important evidence in it.’

  Then she looked at Chloe, who had fallen silent. ‘Is this the first time you’ve wanted one of your sisters dead?’

  29

  Bella looked at the clock. Ten past eight in the morning. Less than two hours to opening time. Normally, she would be resting and having a cup of tea. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of baking. There would be bread and brownies cooling. Yet, this morning, she hadn’t even managed to turn on the oven. She had been standing at the table since six. She’d done nothing. Nor had she been aware of the time passing. What was the matter with her?

  ‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ Isobel said when she rang. ‘That’s not the Bella MacLeod I know, busy, busy.’

  This Bella Macleod was a stranger to Bella too.

  ‘No,’ she replied uncertainly, ‘I’m worn out.’

  ‘There’s so much going on it’s hard to sleep,’ Isobel said. ‘But the main thing is that it’s over. You must be relieved about that. I know I am.’

  ‘Yes,
I suppose so.’ Again her reply was hesitant, as though it was simpler to agree, as though she thought something else.

  ‘You don’t sound relieved.’

  ‘No,’ Bella said. ‘It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about that family. Did we do that to them? Was it our fault?’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just do. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since Alistair phoned last night to say the township would never have stood up to Wheeler if it hadn’t been for me. He said he wanted me to know how appreciative everyone was. Without me, the township wouldn’t have won. We wouldn’t have been able to get back our good name and now we can; we will.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d have used those words,’ Isobel said. ‘It doesn’t feel like winning after what we’ve been through, being called murderers when we always said Max had died in an accident. If only Wheeler had listened. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t told often enough. No, it wasn’t our fault.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Bella hurried off the phone, saying she’d better start baking if the tea room was ever to open. But the goading voice that worked on the old Bella seemed to have no effect on the new one. She continued to stand at the kitchen table, her hands clenched and her knuckles pressing so hard against the wooden top that they started to hurt. She thought of David Wheeler and of a remark Isobel had made. I know I shouldn’t think this, but doesn’t it serve him right?

  ‘No,’ Bella said, making up for being silent before. ‘No one deserves that.’

  The vague feeling of being to blame was so strong it felt like a weight pressing on her head and her shoulders. With sudden clarity, she saw herself as similar to Wheeler, as implacable, as possessed. With mounting dismay, she recalled her reaction when she heard about Priest’s Island being sold and the grazing lease being cancelled. She’d been so upset on behalf of Donald Grant and Ewan that she’d put up a notice outside the Deep Blue barring the Wheelers from entering. She hadn’t even spoken to David Wheeler. She hadn’t met him or his family. If only she’d been less impulsive. Instead of encouraging Ewan’s resentment, she should have urged him to be sensible, to look to the future, to go to college. She should have made him realize how lucky he was to have the prospect of Grant’s Croft when he was older.