“The kid you just dropped off at Bournemouth station.”
Elsa felt her skin prickle. She checked her rear-view mirror again.
That car behind her, was it Kelvin? Or one of his people?
“Nobody,” she said.
Did he know she was dating a copper?
“She's cute,” he said. “Sixteen, seventeen? It's not like you to go for the young ones.”
Elsa's jaw clenched. Bastard. “She's the daughter of a friend. I was doing her mum a favour.”
Kelvin grunted.
Elsa waited for him to say he knew who Sharon's mum was, but he said nothing.
Did that mean he didn’t know, or that he knew and was saving the information for when it might be useful?
The BMW was gone. Get a grip. She was being paranoid.
“Are you following me?” she asked him.
He laughed. “When can we meet?”
She ran over the day’s schedule in her head. “Six o'clock this evening.”
“Very well,” he told her. “Come to the house.”
Elsa swallowed. She'd only met him at his house twice before. She could only hope that Lesley would still be on Brownsea Island, that she wouldn’t have to account for her movements.
“Very well,” she said, turning into Stafford Road, where the Magistrates Court was.
She needed to put her game face on.
“I'll see you later,” he said. “Let’s hope you have good news for me.”
She hung up, her breathing shallow.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Frankie’s body felt heavy and her mind fogged. Images of Anya’s body, floating in the lagoon, kept flashing in front of her eyes.
She'd lain in bed for the last hour and a half, tugging at her memories of the last week. The police had talked about an argument between Anya and Natasha, and Natasha had been behaving oddly.
Did Natasha know more than she was letting on? Was she hiding something?
She trudged down the stairs and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Adam sat at the kitchen table, reading on his laptop. The news, no doubt. Frankie wished he would stay off it, there was nothing good in the news. Especially not now.
“I'm going for a walk,” she told him.
He frowned. “D’you want me to come with you?”
“No. I need a bit of time to myself.”
“You sure?” He stood up, his face full of concern.
She knew what he'd be thinking. Two women in three days, would she be the third?
Of course not. It was broad daylight, the island was full of police. Simone and Anya had both died at night. And last night, the island had been empty of police.
“I'll be fine,” she told him.
She left the kitchen and grabbed her waterproof from the hook by the door. Stopping herself, she put it back. It was muggy today, it wouldn’t rain. She pushed open the front door and headed out into the woods.
There was a route up to where Natasha worked that would take Frankie past the East and West Lakes, through the woodland on the west side of the island, and then down to Penelope Park. It was a twenty-minute walk, but Frankie did it in fifteen.
When she reached the clearing, Natasha was busy at work, her back to Frankie. She had earbuds in and didn't hear Frankie approach. Frankie walked up to her slowly, not wanting to startle the other woman.
When she was right behind Natasha, she hesitated, not sure what to do. She could tap her manager on the shoulder, but that would startle the life out of her.
Frankie took a few steps back, cleared her throat loudly and stamped her feet.
Natasha looked up, pulled out one of her earbuds and turned. She smiled when she saw Frankie, then the smile fell.
“I heard,” she said.
Frankie looked back at her. Natasha’s face was pale, her hair messed up. “About Anya?”
Natasha nodded. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been dreadful.”
“I'm trying not to think about it.”
Natasha took a step towards her, her hand out. Frankie took a step back.
“What happened between you and Anya?” Frankie asked.
Natasha's eyes narrowed. “Not you as well?”
“What do you mean? Who?”
“The police.” Natasha put down her tool bag and folded her arms. “They've been up here asking questions about me and Anya arguing.”
“And did you?”
Natasha sighed. “I don't want to talk about it. It’s…” She looked towards the centre of the island, as if expecting somebody to appear. “It's private.”
“What's going on, Nat?” Frankie asked. “You've been acting strange for weeks. And why are you wearing that fleece? You're sweating, I can see it in your hair.”
Natasha put her hand to her hair. “I like the fleece. It’s comfy.”
Frankie was wearing her own National Trust T-shirt and even that was hot. She cocked her head. “No, it's not. Take it off, show me what you're hiding.”
Natasha stared back at her, her jaw clenched. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Frankie stepped in and grabbed the collar of Natasha's fleece.
Natasha seized Frankie's hand. Frankie tried to tug it down. Natasha took her other hand and pushed her away. Frankie stumbled backwards, almost falling to the ground.
“Why is it so important you keep your fleece on?” she cried.
“It's up to me what I wear.” Natasha turned away and picked up her tools. “I'm busy, leave me alone.”
Frankie stared at her manager. For Frankie’s first sixteen months in this job, Natasha had been the perfect boss. Kind, considerate. She'd left Frankie to get on with her work without interfering, but given her support when she needed it.
But for the last two months, she'd been on edge. She'd argued with Anya and there'd been an atmosphere between her and Simone.
What had they known that Frankie didn't?
“Is it Bernard?” she asked.
Natasha's head snapped round to look at Frankie. “What are you talking about?”
“Has Bernard done something? Is that what happened between you, Anya and Simone?” Frankie felt the colour drain from her face. “Has Bernard got anything to do with their deaths? Have you?”
Natasha advanced on her, her arms outstretched. “Don't be ridiculous, Frankie. You don't know what you're talking about.”
Frankie stared into her manager's eyes. Natasha wasn't just her boss, she was a friend. The four of them had been a unit. And now there were just two left.
She heard a twig snap off to one side and turned.
Somebody was coming through the woods.
Frankie put her hand on Natasha's shoulder. “Did the police say they'd be coming back?”
Natasha shrugged. “I hope not.”
Frankie looked again to see a figure emerging from the trees. It was a man, middle-aged with thinning hair.
A woman trailed behind him. She was younger and blonde, wearing heavy makeup. Frankie knew her face from somewhere, but she couldn't place it.
But the man, she definitely knew. The man was Bernard.
He walked towards them, his gaze flicking between Natasha and Frankie. When he reached them he put a hand on Natasha's shoulder. She stiffened.
He looked at Frankie. “I think you need to mind your own business, don't you?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
The CSI team was wading through the lagoon, looking for forensic evidence. Lesley stood on the bank, watching. Gail called out instructions, using some sort of code. They were like a well-oiled machine, the three of them. Lesley wondered if her team would ever be like that.
She turned to see Ed coming from the direction of the quay, a grim look on his face.
“Hello,” he said as he stopped next to her.
Lesley gave him a tight smile. “How are your people coping?”
He shrugged. “I've spoken to all the team leaders, they're passing on the news. Nobody knows quite h
ow to react. Some are scared, some of them are grieving. Everyone's confused.”
Lesley looked out towards the CSIs in the lagoon. She'd missed Whittaker, who’d been and gone while she'd been on the other side of the island. Anya's body was gone too, the pathology team having taken her away to their lab in Poole.
“We've got a problem with a boat,” she told Ed.
“Our boat?”
She shook her head. “There's a TV reporter, Sadie Dawes. She's hired a boat by the looks of it and she's on the island somewhere. Natasha Williams’s husband seems to be helping her.”
Ed sighed. “I always knew I'd regret letting a journalist live on the island.”
“What sort of work does he normally do?”
“I thought he was a features writer, writing stuff for magazines and newspapers. I've not had many dealings with him really. He's a funny bloke.”
“Funny in what way?”
“There's something about him that gives me the chills. The way he looks at his wife. He fawns over her sometimes, it’s over the top.”
“Shouldn't every doting husband do that?” Lesley thought of her own marriage to Terry. Neither of them had ever fawned over the other.
Ed screwed up his face. “He does it too much,” he said. “Like he's trying to make up for something. Are you saying he's helping this TV woman get on the island?”
Lesley nodded. “We think they're here somewhere. PC Abbott saw a boat coming in and then when we went back to where she’d seen it, it was gone.”
Ed turned to her. “We have to get rid of them. What kind of boat was it?”
“A day boat. Just a little thing. Tiny cabin, outboard motor.”
He frowned. “I've seen a boat like that before.”
“I'm sure there are plenty of boats like that in the harbour.”
He shook his head. “Not over here there aren't. They tend to stay near Poole or in the River Frome.”
Lesley knew the River Frome, it ran through Wareham, where her cottage was.
“So when did you see this boat?” she asked him.
He looked away from the lagoon, his gaze clouded. “Friday? Saturday? I'm not quite sure. It was out over there, going past the edge of the lagoon. Really slowly. I just assumed it was some tourists who’d got lost.”
“So it's unusual to see a boat like that here?”
He nodded. “Do you think it's the same woman?”
“I doubt that a TV journalist would have access to a boat,” Lesley said. “It's probably a coincidence.”
“Unless it belongs to Bernard Williams.”
“You've never seen it moored up on the island, have you?” Lesley asked.
“No. But he does go back and forth to the mainland. I’m sure I've seen him coming back at times when the passenger boats aren't running.”
Lesley looked at Ed.
If Bernard Williams had a boat, then it might have been him that had taken Simone out into the harbour and pushed her overboard.
“I need you to come with me,” she said. “We need to find him.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Lesley grabbed her phone as she turned away from the lagoon. She dialled Tina.
“No news, boss,” Tina said. “Sorry.”
“You haven't found them?”
“It's a big island. We’re working as fast as we can.”
Lesley looked at Ed. “If you brought a boat like that onto this island, where would you hide it?”
He frowned. “Near the scout camping ground. There are some huts near the water, you could conceal a boat there.”
Lesley relayed the information to Tina. “Search there,” she said. “We'll join you.”
She was about to ask Ed to come with her when her phone rang again. It was Dennis.
“Dennis, what have you got for me?” she snapped.
“Everything OK?” he asked.
“We might have a lead,” she said. “Bernard Williams, husband of the woman who managed the two dead women.”
“That fits,” he said.
“Fits? How?” Lesley felt a chill run down her back.
“Mike spoke to the HR manager,” Dennis said. “Apparently Simone Browning was scared of the man.”
“Scared of Bernard Williams?” Lesley asked.
“Reading between the lines, she thought there was something untoward going on between him and his wife. Domestic violence, perhaps.”
Lesley thought back to the times she'd seen Natasha Williams wearing that long-sleeved fleece. Was she hiding injuries?
“OK, Dennis, anything else?”
“Nothing at the moment, boss. How are things with you? How's Johnny?”
Lesley gestured for Ed to stay where he was. She walked on ahead and lowered her voice.
“Who might Johnny be ringing with the initials AK?” she asked Dennis.
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“Dennis?”
“I don't think this is the best time to talk about this.”
Lesley gritted her teeth.
“That's for me to decide, Dennis. Who is this AK? Johnny told me he was talking to his wife, but I spotted the display on his phone. What’s Johnny’s wife called?”
“Alice,” said Dennis.
“Alice Chiles,” said Lesley. “So who is AK?”
“Maybe you saw it wrong, boss.”
“No one programmes their wife’s initials into their phone like that. Who’s AK?”
Another pause. Eventually, Dennis spoke.
“Think about it,” he said.
Lesley's mind was racing, her heart too. She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Just tell me Dennis, for God’s sake.”
“Boss, please.” Dennis didn’t like blasphemy.
“Sorry. Put me out of my misery, will you?”
“AK is Arthur Kelvin.”
Arthur Kelvin?
Lesley clutched the phone tighter. Ed was approaching, looking uneasy.
“You're saying that Johnny was talking to him,” Dennis said.
“That's what I heard,” she replied.
“He told me…”
“He told you what? Did you know about this?”
“I told him to stop. He promised me.”
So Johnny was in cahoots with Dorset’s biggest crook, and Dennis knew about it. And neither of them had told her.
She wished she wasn’t stuck on this damn island.
“He lied to you, Dennis,” she said. She took a breath. She wished she was at the office, so she could look the DS in the eye. “And you lied to me.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
“I think you should leave,” Bernard said to Frankie. He walked towards them, his face hard.
“Bernard, love,” Natasha said. “It’s OK. She’s just leaving.” She looked between him and the blonde woman. “Who’s…?”
“Who are you?” Frankie asked, before Natasha could finish putting the same question.
The woman shrank back. “Sadie Dawes,” she said. “I work for the BBC.”
Frankie laughed. “The BBC? How did you get here?”
They'd banned boats from the island. How would the BBC send a journalist over?
“I brought her,” Bernard said. “I've got access to a boat.”
Frankie frowned. “A boat?”
He sneered at her. “You don't need to worry about it. Natasha, ignore everything she says to you.”
Natasha nodded at her husband. She tugged the sleeve of her fleece.
Frankie looked at her. “You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that. I've seen the way he looks at you.”
Natasha shook her head. “That's not how it is,” she said. “He loves me. I love him.” She smiled at Bernard, who smiled back at her.
The couple advanced on each other. Bernard enfolded his wife in an embrace. She leaned into him.
Frankie had been observing the body language between Bernard and Natasha for weeks. It had changed. It had grown unnerving. He'd been too demons
trative, too doting. And Natasha tensed every time he touched her.
Even though she was in his arms now, her body was stiff. She looked scared.
Frankie stepped towards her friend. “Has he been hurting you, Nat?”
Bernard looked over Natasha's shoulder at her, his eyes full of hate.
“You fucking women. You think all men are the same. You're just jealous.”
“Why would I be jealous?” Frankie asked, incredulous.
“You can see how close we are. How much we love each other. Natasha is everything to me. You need to mind your own business.”
Natasha was motionless in his arms.
“Nat,” Frankie said to her, steadying her voice like she was talking to a scared child. “Tell me, has he been hurting you? Did he hurt Simone and Anya? Is this why you argued with them?”
Natasha sobbed. Bernard squeezed her tighter. Natasha made a high-pitched sound.
“You're hurting her,” Frankie said. “Leave her alone.”
The TV woman, Sadie, walked round them. She brought her phone out of her pocket and held it up.
“You can't film this,” Frankie said.
She was about to make a run for the woman when Bernard pushed Natasha away and grabbed Frankie. He had her by the wrist, his fingers digging into her skin.
Frankie cried out. She twisted her hand but he dug in harder.
Natasha screamed and slumped to the ground. Her eyes were wild. “Bernard! Stop!”
Bernard grunted and pulled Frankie towards him.
He twisted her arm in one hand and grabbed her under the chin with the other. He had her in a firm grip. Her leg had twisted beneath her. Pain pulsed through it.
She closed her eyes. She'd sprained her ankle.
Shit, she thought. Was she about to become his third victim?
Chapter Sixty-Six
Dennis stood in the DCI's office, tapping his fingers on her desk. “Pick up, pick up,” he muttered as the phone rang out. On the fourth attempt, it was finally answered.
“DC Chiles,” said Johnny.
“Johnny,” said Dennis. “Why aren’t you picking up?”
“Sarge?” Johnny replied. “What's up?”
The Island Murders (Dorset Crime Book 3) Page 19
