A wave lifts his feet off the sand and pushes him towards shore. He fights it, cutting through the water with his arms to swim out deeper.
After a couple of minutes swimming, he pauses, treads water, and looks back at the beach. He’s gone out a long way, despite the tide trying to wash him back to shore. His feet can’t touch the bottom anymore.
He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, sinking beneath the surface as he does so. He keeps his eyes closed as he sinks, letting the sensation of being pulled into the cold depths trigger a memory he has cherished for seventeen years.
As the cold envelops him completely, he lets his mind drift back through time, remembering the moment he was suspended in water so cold he felt as if it had frozen his heart into a shard of ice.
That was when he saw her.
He opens his eyes now and sees nothing but darkness. But in his mind’s eye, he remembers the woman floating before him, her blonde hair shimmering around her head like a halo, her unseeing blue eyes staring at him, the red ribbon twisting and turning in that halo of bright hair.
His lungs scream for oxygen. His chest tightens painfully. Part of him wonders if it might be better to just let the memory take him, to sink into its alluring pull forever.
But another, stronger part of him desires to make the memory flesh again. To transform this echo of a point in time into something real that he can gaze upon and love.
He struggles to the surface and gulps in air, feeling the pain in his lungs diminish to a dull ache. This isn’t his time to die. He has work to do. Another storm is coming soon and he needs to prepare.
Relaxing his body, he lets the tide wash him ashore as if he is a piece of driftwood. When he finally clambers out of the water, muscles as useless as blocks of ice, he collapses on the sand and stares up at the moon and the stars. They stare down at him like bright eyes.
He longs for storm clouds to fill the sky and hide him from their sight.
Chapter 20
The ribbon sits on the coffee table between me and Greg. It’s Sunday evening and Jordan and Kishawn have gone home, collected by Nia and Will a few hours ago. I don’t know how their weekend getaway went other than a wink Nia gave me when they arrived at the flat. I’m sure she’ll tell me more when we get a chance to talk.
We didn’t mention the ribbon incident. It’s become a sore point between me and Greg. He thinks the fact that Rob North had a red ribbon in his flat means nothing whereas I think it means everything.
The ribbon has been sitting on the coffee table for almost 24 hours now, the subject of discussions and arguments so heated that they belie the pedestrian nature of the object.
“Are we going to throw the silly thing away now?” Greg asks.
“No, we’re not. It might be evidence.”
He sighs. “Evidence of what exactly?”
I shrug. I don’t need to spell it out for him. He knows what I think.
“Kate, you’re not thinking about this rationally.”
I shoot him a look that says, Don’t even go there.
He falls quiet for a couple of seconds and when he speaks again, his tone is of someone trying to seek reason. “Rob doesn’t have the physicality for what you’re thinking. Can you really imagine him carrying dead bodies over the moors and burying them?”
“You have no clue about any of this, do you? The women were drowned and then just left where they died. He didn’t have to carry them anywhere and he certainly didn’t bury anyone.” Except possibly Caroline Shields, I add mentally to myself. He might have buried Caroline.
“So how exactly did he lure these women to remote places to kill them? He’s hardly Ryan Gosling.”
“I don’t know. But I do know that the women are always found with a red ribbon in their hair. And the first woman to go missing lived in this flat. If you can’t see the connections, Greg, then you need your eyes examining.”
“The woman who lived in this flat was never found, with or without a red ribbon. So your leap of logic doesn’t really make sense. And then making a further leap that because Rob has a red ribbon he must be a serial killer is a stretch even for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He folds his arms and turns his face towards the window. “Nothing.”
“No, come on, I want to hear what you’ve got to say. A leap of logic and a stretch of the imagination. Elaborate.”
“You know what I’m going to say.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly before speaking again. “You were wrong about Simon Coates. Look at the trouble that caused. If he’d sued us, we could have lost everything.”
“So I was wrong for trying to help a woman discover the truth about her son’s death?”
“That isn’t what you were doing and you know it. You’ve lived your whole life unable to face the fact that sometimes people die for no good reason. There isn’t always a killer lurking in the shadows. You can’t face the fact that Max died accidentally so when Stella Coates came to you saying she suspected her husband, you jumped on the chance to help her. You saw yourself in Stella, didn’t you? Well, you’re both alike, I’ll give you that; neither of you can face reality.”
Hot, stinging tears blur my vision. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Part of it is anger but a larger part of it is the feeling of betrayal. I thought Greg was on my side. I thought he knew that I was only trying to help Stella. She was so distraught, so lost, so alone.
I can’t be here, in this flat, right now. I need to get out, to get some air. Snatching up my car keys, I head for the door.
“Kate, where are you going?”
“Out. I need some time to think.”
He gets up, comes over to me, puts a hand on my shoulder. “No, come on, there’s no need for this. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t touch me, Greg.” Shrugging his hand away, I march out into the hallway and down the stairs. When I get outside, the cold evening air dries my tears, makes me shiver. I should have brought my coat but I’m not going back for it now.
I blast the heat up in the Mini and drive out onto the road, unsure of which direction to take. The road that leads north across the moors looks uninviting so I instead turn south towards town.
As I begin my journey, a couple of flakes of snow appear in the headlights. The entire country is supposed to be getting snow and high winds this coming week so these few innocent-looking flakes might herald something much worse.
I turn on the wipers and listen to their intermittent whirr as I drive.
When I reach Whitby, I follow the signs for the West Cliff and park by one of the covered parking meters. Despite the fact that I don’t have my coat, I get out of the car and wander to the edge the cliff, careful not to get too close.
The lights of fishing boats shine in the distance, looking like lone stars that have broken away from the constellation of lights that shine from the houses and streets. High up on the East Cliff, across the river from where I stand, the abbey is a dark shadow against the night sky, a battle-worn sentinel watching over the town.
The waves below the cliff wash over the sand in an unceasing advance as the tide comes in and a full moon hangs behind the snow-filled clouds, brightening their edges with a crisp, silver luminescence.
Wet flakes of snow drift down onto my face and melt into tiny pools of icy water that run down my cheeks, leaving a trail of cold sharpness on my skin.
I experience a clarity of thought, as if I’ve been dragged into wakefulness from a long, deep dream. No one is going to help me prove what I believe to be true: that Rob North is involved in Caroline Shields’ disappearance and might also be connected to the murders of the women on the moors. Not Greg. Not the police. Not anyone.
Because of the mistake I made in the past, I’m what’s known as an unreliable witness. No one will take what I say on face value, not even my own husband. Before anyone is going to listen to me, I need irr
efutable proof.
A plan formulates in my mind and by the time I return to the Mini, I’m cold and wet but I have direction.
I’m going to find the truth, no matter what.
Chapter 21
When Ivy opens her door on Monday morning, she looks weary until she sees my face and smiles. “Hello, dear. Come for a cuppa?”
“That would be nice.” I follow her into the kitchen but instead of taking my usual seat at the table, I hover near the drawers. “Why don’t I help you?”
“Oh, there’s no need for that, dear. I’ve been making tea since before you were born.”
“Still, it’s nice to have a hand every now and then.” I open the cutlery drawer and take out a spoon, pulling the drawer out more than necessary and leaning down slightly so I can see if what I want is hiding behind the plastic cutlery organiser. Yes, there’s a bunch of keys sitting there.
I close the drawer and give Ivy the spoon.
“Thank you, dear.” She’s arranging the cups and saucers while she waits for the kettle to boil.
“Where’s Winston today?” I ask, looking around the flat for the cat. He’d be rubbing around my legs by now if he were here.
“Oh, he’s gone out. I told him it was going to snow again today but he cried and cried at the door so I told him to do his business and then come straight home.” She looks at a clock on the wall and a tinge of worry enters her voice. “But that was over an hour ago.”
“Do you want me to go and look for him?”
“Would you, dear? That would be very kind. I’ll have the tea waiting for you when you get back.”
“All right.” I go outside and call Winston, hugging myself against the chill. Like Ivy said, the forecast is for snow later today but for now at least, the dark clouds above are only threatening to cover the world with white. Last night’s few flakes didn’t amount to much and the snow on the ground this morning is barely more than a light powder.
There’s no sign of the cat. I go around the back of the house and call him again, wishing I’d brought a tin of tuna out here to entice him back from wherever he ’s lurking.
I set off down the garden, looking to see if Winston is hiding in the bushes, when I notice that the shed door is slightly ajar. I can also see bootprints in the powdering of snow on the grass, leading from the house to the shed.
I hesitate. If Rob’s in there, I don’t want to go down there. On the other hand, what if Winston is in the shed with him? I did tell Ivy I’d get her cat back and after Rob’s implied threat the other day, I’m not sure I’d trust him in a shed with Winston.
Steeling myself, I march down to the bottom of the garden and open the shed door fully.
There’s someone in there, rummaging around in a pile of gardening tools. It isn’t Rob; the person’s frame isn’t big enough. When he stands up and turns to face me, I see that it’s Mike.
There’s a shelf that runs along the wall of the shed, holding tins of paint and weatherproof treatment for fences. Winston is strolling along the shelf, tail in the air, purring loudly.
“Kate,” Mike says. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, I was just looking for Winston. Ivy’s a bit worried about him.”
He reaches out to the cat and rubs his ears. “Yeah, he followed me in here. I’m just looking for some duct tape. One of my kitchen cupboards is coming off its hinges.”
“Do you have a key then?” I point at the open padlock hanging from the door.
“Oh, yeah. The key is kept under the plant pot just outside the door. Don’t tell Rob I told you that.” He smiles conspiratorially. “I often come in here for supplies if I need to fix something in my flat. No point waiting for that tosser to get around to it.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?”
He seems unsure how to answer that. Then he shrugs. “Do you?”
I shake my head. “No, not really.” Then I casually add, “Do you know how he got those scars? Ivy said he was in some sort of accident.”
Mike nods. “Car accident.”
“Ivy thinks it…affected him.”
“Yeah, well who would’t be affected by something like that? It’s a good job Mummy and Daddy gave him a place to live and a job to do because otherwise, I think he’d be out on the streets.”
He searches through the shelves and finds what he’s looking for. “Aha, here we are! Just what I need.” He picks up a roll of grey duct tape.
“I’d best take Winston inside,” I say, taking the cat into my arms. He’s heavy but at least he doesn’t fight me. Instead, he purrs and rubs his face under my chin.
“Sure thing. See you later.”
I take Winston out of the shed and retrace my steps up the garden towards the house, thinking it strange that I didn’t see Mike leave the house while I was in Ivy’s flat. He’d have to walk past her open door to get out to the garden.
As I get closer to the house, I realise why I didn’t see Mike come out here; his bootprints that lead down the lawn to the shed don’t originate at Northmoor House’s main door. They come from the back door.
I stop on the path and examine the tracks. They’re the only prints in the snow so they’re definitely Mike’s. Does he have a key to the back door as well as the shed?
That doesn’t make sense. Mike’s flat is on the first floor so why would he have a key to an entrance door on the ground floor?
He comes out of the shed and closes the padlock before squirrelling the key away under a plant pot.
Before he sees me loitering at the back door, I quickly go around the corner and in through the main entrance.
Ivy is sitting at her kitchen table, the teapot and cups arranged before her. When she sees Winston, her face lights up. “Winston, I told you not to go out there today. You’re a very naughty boy.”
I put the cat down and he goes over to Ivy, winding around the legs of her chair.
“Thank you for finding him, dear. I expect he was in the bushes.”
“No,” I say, taking the seat across from her. “He was in the shed with Mike.”
“Oh, he’s a lovely young man. He always strokes Winston when he sees him.”
“Do you know much about him? Mike, I mean.”
She pours the tea and ponders. “Well, not much, really. I think he works in York. Very pleasant chap.”
While we drink our tea, I keep an eye on Ivy’s open door to see it Mike will come walking past. When he doesn’t, I assume he must have entered the house the same way he left it, via the back door. But how can he get from the back door up to his flat? There aren’t any steps up to the first floor other than the main staircase.
“Are you all right, dear?” Ivy asks and I realise I’ve zoned out.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, offering her a smile.
She starts to tell me about Winston’s favourite hiding spots outside and I nod and smile at the right places but my mind is elsewhere. I’m contemplating the possibility of Northmoor House having secret staircases and hidden rooms. Maybe I’ve just read too many Gothic Romance books.
But a secret staircase would explain how I heard footsteps in the attic, even though the hatch was closed and locked.
It makes my mission to get the keys from Ivy’s drawer even more imperative.
I stir my tea and purposely drop the spoon onto the floor. It’s a move that wouldn’t fool anyone but Ivy is looking down at Winston and rubbing him between the ears so she doesn’t suspect anything.
“Oh,” I say, “I’ll get another spoon.”
Ivy pushes her chair back. “Let me get it, dear.”
“No, no, you stay there.” I spring from my chair and pull open the cutlery drawer, blocking Ivy’s view with my body as I reach into the pile of spoons in the organiser and jangle them together to hide the noise of the keys as I pick them up and push them into my pocket. They bulge against my jeans and I feel they’re so obvious that Ivy is bound to notice them.
Quickly retaking my seat, I st
ir my tea noisily, chinking the spoon against the china cup to draw Ivy’s attention there and away from my face, which I’m sure looks guilty. I feel bad about taking the keys but she doesn’t use them and I need them for something important.
If I’m going to have a good look around Rob’s flat, I need to get in there somehow.
Chapter 22
Dani stands beside her Land Rover Discovery at the side of the moor. Above the sprawling landscape, dark clouds roll across the January sky and a light fall of snow has begun. The winter breeze blows the flakes into her face and over the Land Rover. She ignores the snow. Wrapped up in a padded winter jacket and black knit watch cap, she barely feels the cold. Her attention is on the expanse of moorland in front of her.
The Land Rover’s passenger door opens and DS Matt Flowers climbs out. Similarly attired to Dani, in padded winter clothing, he shouldn’t feel the cold either but he rubs his hands together as if to warm them. “We’ve been here half an hour, Guv.”
Without taking her eyes off the moors, Dani nods slightly. “And we might be here for another half an hour.”
He follows her gaze across the wintry landscape. “I don’t understand what we’re doing here.”
“I told you on the way. This is where Caroline Shields’ car was found.”
“I know that but what are we looking for?”
“We’re not looking for anything in particular, Matt. I’m thinking.”
He looks up at the darkening sky. “This snow is going to get worse fairly soon.”
Dani nods. “Just like the night the car was found in the ditch. Heavy snow, freezing temperatures. So why would she drive along this road?”
“She was on her way to a Christmas party, if I remember correctly.”
“The party was in Scarborough. She should have been driving south on the A171, not heading north through the moors.”
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