DI Sam Slater had always known it was going to end badly, but he hadn’t thought it would come to this. Not so soon. He thought about the first voicemail he had received late last night, and put it away in a compartment in his head to take out later. There was nothing he could do about that. Not now. Not ever.
Sam pulled off his nitrile gloves and went out the same way he had come in, stealthily and quietly, leaving no trace.
He looked again at the text he had received a mere hour and a half earlier, the text that had made him first of all drive round to Seth’s house and now to the quay and to Reg’s fisherman’s hut.
The door was hanging off its hinges.
Sam stepped in.
There was blood spatter everywhere – the walls, the floor, all over the few, miserable sticks of furniture Reg had in his hut.
And there he was. The old man. Lying on the mattress in the corner, hacked – and there was no other word for it – hacked to death by someone who had obviously enjoyed his work. He shuddered, trying not to breathe in the smell of blood and shit and death. Reg’s face was turned towards him, and there was fear and desperation in his dead eyes. How frightened he must have been when his killer came in with his knife and there was nowhere for him to go. Had he been woken up by the killer’s presence? Or did the first blow from the knife wake him?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Why was Seth’s death relatively peaceful, yet Reg had to go with fear and horror? Perhaps he would never know; there might be no answer. Or maybe there had only been one syringe of drugs to use, so they tried to make Reg’s death look like, what? Robbery gone wrong? More like the work of a psychopath.
And they had killed the two old men in case they talked. Told anyone about the two women Reg had ferried over to the island.
That was it. Enough was enough. He couldn’t and wouldn’t put up with all this senseless killing any longer.
He left the hut.
This time, he didn’t bother to cover his tracks.
Time to call it in.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DAY SEVEN: EARLY MORNING
Alex didn’t know how long she had been kept handcuffed to the hard chair in that airless room. She had drifted in and out of consciousness, then had tried to sleep in between the waves of pain in her face. Her whole head was on fire, her arms, pulled tight around the back of the chair, numb. A small window, high up on the wall was letting in watery grey light. Must be morning then.
Her mouth was dry and she was desperate for a pee.
Hungry too.
Head aching. Feeling dirty.
What was happening?
Why were they keeping her here?
Where was Cora?
Cora. Perhaps they hadn’t caught her yet. There was a small leap of hope in her heart. She would go back to the mainland and – wait. Reg had left. Reg was one of them. She remembered that. So, she couldn’t have gone back with Reg. Where might she have gone?
The door opened, and in walked Jamie Rider. He saw her and went white. He was holding a cup of coffee and a paper bag. He put them both down on the table in front of her.
Alex wanted to cry. She had held out a small hope that Jamie Rider was going to be one of the good guys. That he really didn’t have much to do with the family business. Evidently she was wrong.
She stared at him.
Still he didn’t say anything, still he couldn’t look at her. Instead he took a key from his pocket and undid the handcuffs.
She tried to shake her arms, and bit her lip to stop herself from crying out as the blood began to flow. The pins and needles began, too. She wanted to cradle her cheek, but suspected if she touched it she might cry out.
‘Coffee and a couple of doughnuts for you,’ said Jamie, sitting down on a chair opposite. ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this. And I’m sorry that Lewis did this to you.’ He made as if to touch her, but she flinched and jerked away from him, pleased to see the hurt in his eyes.
At the mention of Lewis’s name, her cheek throbbed even harder. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes. But. Too much meddling. You didn’t know when to stop. You shouldn’t have listened to Cora Winterton. Then he wouldn’t have … you wouldn’t have …’
She had a sudden urge to spit at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Jamie? That your psycho brother wouldn’t have slammed his elbow into my face and almost broken my cheekbone?’ It hurt to talk. It hurt to do anything.
Had they captured Cora? Was she, at this very moment, sitting in a room similar to this wondering what was going to happen to her?
He must have seen something in her face because he smiled. Was it a sad smile or was she imagining it? ‘Cora must be somewhere on the island. We now know she came over with you. Of course, you know that we know and all that. Unless she swam back.’ He laughed, but nervously, she thought. ‘I don’t think she’d do that, not without her precious Rick. You know, I really liked you when I first met you, though when I realized you were a journalist I knew I had to be careful. Then there was the problem of you being there when Rick crashed that bloody car. That really complicated matters, but it also played into our hands.’
‘I bet it did.’ She heard the bitter tone in her voice. ‘You knew I’d been there all along, before I told you?’
‘Not straightaway, obviously. But then you showed me that picture from the CCTV.’ He nodded towards the doughnuts. ‘Eat.’ There was a slick of grease on the paper bag that made Alex nauseous and her jaw ache.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
He frowned. Then shrugged. ‘Up to you.’
Her head hurt from talking. Still, she had to carry on, find out more, a bit like catching a tongue ulcer on your tooth. The hurt felt delicious in some way.
‘What’s your role, then?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You told me the family business wasn’t anything to do with you, yet it obviously is. I was wondering what? I mean, you are a wanker banker, aren’t you?’
He laughed. ‘Yep. And a real wanker banker. I launder the money that the family makes from the girls and the meth. Make sure there’s a long tangle that no one – if they did decide to investigate – could untangle.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’
He stared at her, puzzled. ‘What, laundering the money?’
‘Yes. Handling dirty money made out of the misery of others? Knowing you are ruining the lives of so many?’
‘Don’t be so moralistic, Alex, you’re no better.’
If she could have, she would have gasped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You can’t tell me the reason you hitched up with Cora Winterton was out of some pure desire to do good? You wanted the story behind Rick’s disappearance. You wanted to splash all about the homeless on the pages of a newspaper. Opportunist, I would call you.’
‘Don’t be such a dickhead. At least I can do some good with the story, draw people’s attention to what’s happening on the streets, get them some help. And maybe I’ll look into the court case.’ She moved her head from side to side in an effort to ease the pain.
‘Court case?’ Jamie’s voice was sharp.
‘Lewis and Cora.’
‘Why would you want to drag that up again?’
She shrugged as best she could. ‘Because I can? Because your family shafted her.’
‘Lewis did that.’
‘Don’t be crude, Jamie, it doesn’t suit you.’ Or maybe it did suit this new Jamie she was beginning to know. ‘I think we might be able to re-open the case. Look for witnesses.’
‘From twenty-four years ago?’
‘I can try,’ she shouted. Though she knew she would probably never get the chance.
Jamie thrust his face near hers. ‘That’s what I liked about you, Alex, your passion.’
‘I need a pee.’
‘Come on then.’ He jerked his head towards the door.
She stood up and the room swam around her, she was as weak as a
kitten. Any thoughts of trying to escape Jamie flew away. He took hold of her arm and led her out of the room.
The toilet was dark, dank and smelly. No window. No lock on the door. Alex didn’t hang around and was soon sitting back in her chair looking at the bag of doughnuts that made her stomach turn.
She closed her eyes, wondering what, or who, they were waiting for. Marianne Rider, she supposed. Who she was convinced was the brains behind it all.
How long was she going to be in here for? What was going to happen to her?
She heard the door open.
‘Alex Devlin.’
She opened her eyes. Joe Rider stepped into her line of vision. He didn’t look in the slightest bit avuncular or like Marianne Rider’s poor, henpecked husband. He stood tall and straight and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Joe Rider? Where had the jolly man who enjoyed his sticky toffee pudding gone?
‘Joe,’ she said, flatly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘No.’ He sat down on the only other chair in the room before looking around, wrinkling his nose in distaste. ‘I’m sorry you’re here. I rather liked you, you know.’
‘Really? That’s exactly what your son said.’ She tried to look bored, though inside her heart was beating fast and her palms were slick with sweat.
‘The question now, is what do we do with you?’
Alex didn’t want to think about that. ‘The farm has been in your family for years, you’ve diversified, you’ve got a good business. Why did you need to turn to sex and drugs?’
He looked surprised. ‘The two most lucrative businesses in the world, of course. And with farming being what it is these days and even with the diversification, well,’ he shrugged, ‘you know how it is. We’re doing these people a favour, giving them employment, getting them off the streets.’ He laughed heartily at that. ‘It’s what’s wanted, according to the cops. Look at it this way, it’s business, that’s all. It’s not personal. And I’m afraid you’ve got in the way, so we have to deal with you as well as the two Wintertons.’ Joe Rider shook his head. ‘It’s a shame, Alex. But what can I do?’ He spread out his hands as if in apology. ‘Put the handcuffs back on.’ His voice had gone from genial to uncompromising. ‘We’ll deal with her later. When we’ve found the Winterton girl.’
‘What do you think you can do with me? You can’t kill me and put me on a railway line or throw me in the sea, no one would believe I would kill myself.’
‘Really? Are you sure about that? After all, you’ve had a lot on your plate lately, what with your father’s Alzheimer’s, your sister battling mental illness, your son leaving home, your career not exactly on a great trajectory—’
‘None of that, none of them, have anything to do with you.’ Alex tried to jerk her wrists away from Jamie, but he deftly caught them and snapped the handcuffs on the sides of the chair.
Joe Rider sighed. ‘No. But we can make out a good case for it. Jamie will help, won’t you, Jamie?’
Jamie nodded. ‘You were in a very low mood after the exhibition. Conflicting emotions. Not sure your sister could bear the public scrutiny, plus, deep down, you were jealous of her success.’
‘And that’s just for starters,’ said Joe. ‘You’d be surprised at how convincing Jamie can be. Oh, and there’s David.’
‘David? I can’t see him killing me.’ The situation she was in, here, in this airless little room with her aching face and the Rider father and son talking about killing her and Cora and Rick made her want to giggle. Laugh out loud. Was she becoming delirious, perhaps?
‘May I have some water, please?’
Joe Rider gestured to his son, who went out of the room, coming back with a bottle of water a minute later. He unscrewed the cap and held it to her lips. She drank quickly, greedily, wanting to get some sort of strength back, just in case. In case of what? She thought of her mum looking after her dad who one day wouldn’t recognize the woman he had been married to for so many years. Then Sasha, getting on her feet at last, her delight at the success of her art work. And Gus. Her wonderful Gus, setting out in life, the arrow that she shot flying to goodness knows where, but she hoped she had done enough to make sure it landed in the right place.
How could she bear not to see any of them again?
It was not an option.
‘No, you’re right about David. Can’t see it either. But he will help to spread the story of your anxiety. And your obsession with trying to find Rick Winterton. An obsession that led you here.’
She was confused. Perhaps she didn’t hear Joe Rider properly. ‘What do you mean? Then the police’ll come here and you’ll be found out.’
Joe Rider smiled. ‘It’s time to quit while we’re ahead. We’re going to close this particular operation down and move everything abroad. We have begun packing up and transferring the girls and much of the equipment to boats to get out of here. This coast is marvellous, isn’t it?’ Alex thought he was going to rub his hands with glee. ‘Then, boom! We’ll cover our tracks.’
‘How?’ Though, with a creeping dread, she thought she knew.
‘It is well known there are mines all over the island. A few Second World War bombs as well, I shouldn’t wonder. Ordnance they call it.’
‘But they’ll come over, the police, I mean. They’ll find evidence of the lab, the Internet sex.’
‘Will they? Are they going to look that hard? Perhaps Slater can come in useful one last time. And if not, it doesn’t matter. We’ll be a long way away by then.’
Through the fuzziness in her head Alex almost missed the name. ‘Who did you say?’
A smile curled on Joe Rider’s lips. ‘Detective Inspector Sam Slater. Good-looking police officer – I expect you noticed that? He’s one of us. Misdirects, seeds doubt in inquiries, keeps us one step ahead. He’s good at that.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Should be here soon. To help.’
Jamie had stayed silent through all of this. Alex looked at him, at once pleading and horrified. ‘Jamie? Surely you can’t let him get away with this?’
Jamie stood up. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’
Was it her imagination, or were his eyes wet?
‘Jamie,’ she said, desperate now, ‘you’re not that kind of person.’
‘I am,’ he said, almost sorrowfully. ‘Money corrupts, you know that.’
‘Absolutely.’ Joe Rider grinned.
Jamie put the bottle of water down on the table.
The Riders left the room.
CHAPTER FORTY
DAY SEVEN: EARLY MORNING
Cora was shivering, not only from the cold and early morning mist that was settling on the island, but from sheer exhaustion. Finding Rick had been a much more difficult task than she’d imagined. For a start, there was much more activity than she had thought there would be, more people around even though they were concentrating on carrying equipment or pushing people down the paths towards the beach behind the lighthouse. It meant she’d had to duck and dive more times than she’d wanted, trying to hide behind buildings, lying flat on paths, making herself small and insignificant against large lumps of concrete that were dotted around, all the time remembering that there could be old mines anywhere off the beaten track.
She had searched for Rick in deserted and tumbledown sheds. She had crept into a long, low prefab, somehow avoiding the odd armed guard but did not find him. Another long, low building was too heavily guarded for her to even attempt to break in – and she had scratched her hands and knees trying to look through boarded-up windows. She had to hope he wasn’t in there. A Second World War pillbox yielded nothing but old sacks and a bird’s nest.
Now she was crouching outside an underground building – there were four squares of concrete covered with wire that seemed to be shafts down into the structure. She crept towards one of the openings and peered down.
It was a dormitory with cots arranged in several rows. Most of them were empty, bar one. Was that Rick down there? Yes, yes, she was sure of
it. She wanted to call out to him, give him a sign that she was here. Wait. There were men, scurrying around, doing – what were they doing? She couldn’t make it out, but whatever it was, they were in a bloody hurry.
Her stomach turned over.
It wasn’t going to be anything good.
She crept round the edges of the concrete shafts, hoping to find some clue as to how she could get in. There. One of the shafts had a ladder against the brick that seemed to lead down into the chamber. She tried to prise away the wire cover. It was loose at one side, having rusted away from the edge. She pulled at it, breaking her nails in the process. She tugged again. The skin on her fingers was scraped off. They were bleeding and stinging and she could see flakes of rust embedded in the wounds. This is for Rick, she told herself grimly, trying not to make any noise for fear of alerting someone, though she didn’t know what she was going to do once she had gained access to the shaft.
She looked again. Rick was still there. The other men had scarpered. Good. There was no one to see or hear her now. She hoped.
She put all her effort in to one last pull of the wire cover.
At last.
One more look to make sure the coast was clear before she swung herself round and began to climb down the ladder.
After what seemed an age she reached the bottom. Still no sign of anyone. She ran over to the cot where Rick was lying. He was still and his eyes were closed. She shook him, hard.
Slowly, so slowly, he opened his eyes. They were unfocused. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She shook him again. ‘Rick, come on, now, please, we’ve got to get you out of here.’ She looked around, frantic. Someone was sure to come along at any minute. ‘Rick.’ She shouted as quietly as she could in his ear.
He opened his eyes again and smiled. ‘Cora. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come for you. We’ve got to leave. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.’ She gritted her teeth, put her arms underneath his shoulders and tried to heave him up off the cot.
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