‘Think what, Ursula? That he’s just lost his wife? That he might be a terrifically desperate man? We still don’t know for sure he isn’t a killer and now a bodysnatcher!’
‘Desperate? Thanks. You always do this and I just don’t—’
‘Now is not the time, Ursula.’
‘Oh, it’s never the time, is it?’
‘Leave her alone.’ Mirabelle had pulled alongside Mother as usual. ‘You don’t know anything about it.’
‘And what the hell would you know?’
Kemp turned round to look at us. ‘All right back there?’
We nodded. Spear turned and looked without slowing down. ‘They do nothing but argue. I’ve never heard anything like it.’
‘You need to leave your mother alone about this. Just trust that she knows what she’s talking about. She knows when a man’s trouble. She’s got the scars to prove it.’
Mother glanced over in warning at Mirabelle.
‘What?’ I snapped. ‘If you’ve got something to say, just say it. You’ve been dancing around this.’
Mother turned to Mirabelle and shook her head. Mirabelle looked frustrated. As usual they were having one of their guarded non-conversations that excluded me.
‘Come on, dear.’ Aunt Charlotte had fallen back a little and looked at me with concern. She hooked her arm through mine and gripped me tight to her. ‘Give an old auntie a hand here.’ She guided me away purposefully and I watched Mother and Mirabelle give each other those same deep looks.
‘I wish she’d just come out and say it. She’s been like this for months.’
‘Oh, ignore her, dear. It’s just Mirabelle. You know what she’s like. She’s scared like the rest of us. She just shows it differently. They both do.’
‘Still bickering are we, ladies?’ Bridget was alongside us, holding Mr Bojingles tight as if he was the only life jacket.
‘Bugger off, Bridget,’ I snapped.
She laughed, then started muttering something to the dog and looking sharply at Kemp and Spear. It was like she was putting some sort of hex on him. She turned to us eagerly. ‘Let’s go catch a killer!’ She strode off with renewed vigour.
As we headed further out into the darkness, I could see the outline of the Druid stones jagged against the sky. Battered by sea spray and rain, this was an ancient scene, the sea its constant breath. I thought of Bottlenose’s tales of men buried beneath them and wondered if they were there now, looking up at us from their time-worn graves. The bitter clouds hung low above these old, great monoliths as they had for centuries, pushing them further down into the earth. What did this place care if there were a few more deaths? We were nothing in the history of this place. Perhaps Mother had been right, this was the Isle of the Dead. We were chasing a dead man, after all.
The light flickered in and out of the horizon as if it was a low star reflecting in the sea. But it was too close for that and with every step, the light grew closer. The outline of the rough-stone bothy grew more distinct at the end of the field and snippets of that same whistled tune sailed on the wind. Fear squeezed tight on my stomach until it was a physical pain, a lump just below my ribs. I gripped Aunt Charlotte’s arm and she looked at me.
‘It’ll be all right, girl,’ she said firmly. ‘We just go in, get the girl and wallop the lad. We can throw him back to the devil in the sea too if you want.’ Aunt Charlotte was a strange kind of hero but somehow I was glad she was there.
The rain wasn’t stopping, and we were close enough now that I could hear it drumming on the slate roof of the bothy. The light prickled through the shadows inside, moving as if guided by someone.
Spear stopped us all when we were still quite far down the field, but it was hard to place anything with accuracy in such darkness. He beckoned for us all to gather round him and held his finger to his lips. His eyes were set wide in warning.
When we’d formed a small group, he pointed towards the bothy, then to himself. His finger swept round the rest of the group then pointed firmly at the floor in a very clear signal that we should stay put.
Aunt Charlotte looked confused so I leaned over and whispered. ‘He wants us to stay here. He’s going in.’
She nodded. ‘Righto. Ten-four, Big Budgie.’
Spear frowned.
‘She means “Big Buddy”,’ Kemp clarified.
Spear filled his chest with air and looked decidedly irritated. He turned to set off.
‘Be careful.’ I don’t know why I said that. It just came out. The rain dripped down my face unchecked.
He looked back and turned the sides of his mouth down, then started jogging towards the small building, his body scrunched tight and his head bent low. Kemp followed, which I’m not sure was really part of the plan.
Now we’d stopped, I started to feel the cold sinking further into my skin. My bottom lip began to shake and I moved from one foot to the other holding my arms around me. We were so exposed just standing there in the dark field. But there was nowhere else to go except the small grey bothy that watched us silently.
‘Don’t start with the dramatics,’ Mirabelle warned me.
I closed my eyes.
‘Mr Bojingles will freeze out here.’ Bridget pulled her coat further round the dog. ‘I vote we just go and knock on the door and see who’s in there and then talk it all through like civilized people.’
We stared at her. Mirabelle shook her head. ‘You’re kidding, right? This is not some drawing-room denouement at cocktail hour.’
I caught Mother looking wistfully towards the bothy as if part of her had thought the tiny stone house might actually have a sneaky espresso martini hiding in there.
‘There’s a bloody knife-wielding maniac on the loose who pretended he was dead so he could kill people.’
‘Now, we don’t know that for sure, Mirabelle.’ Aunt Charlotte tried to look reassuring which made it worse. ‘The young lady, Jess, might have become truly unhinged and stolen the body of the boy to dress him up as her dead boyfriend.’
No one spoke.
‘Wouldn’t she just take her boyfriend’s body for that?’ Bridget asked.
‘Maybe she wanted a younger model.’
‘Aunt Charlotte, please!’ I held my hands to my head. ‘This is utterly inappropriate.’
‘When has that ever bothered her?’ Mirabelle sighed.
‘Why don’t you just go back to stalking my mother?’
Mirabelle paused and then leaned closer. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Mirabelle, leave her!’ Aunt Charlotte stepped forward.
‘Why? You tell me why we’re all tiptoeing around Little Miss Fragile again? We’re all in danger.’ Mirabelle spoke in a hushed voice that hissed constantly. She glanced across at Mother, who seemed very distracted. ‘There’s people being murdered and all anyone is worried about is whether she discovers that her father was an alcoholic philanderer.’
The world slowed around me. I couldn’t feel the cold wind battering my face, I could barely see the two men running towards the bothy or the light flickering in its window. All I could think about was the dark shadow at the corner of my eyes, his head hung low and shoulders bent. He didn’t need to speak to let me know the answer, but I still asked the question.
‘Is it true?’
‘What?’ I could hear Mirabelle out there, outside my head, still talking. ‘Why is everyone looking like that at me? She needed to know. I couldn’t stand the martyred-saint nonsense anymore. We could die out here and all we’re thinking about is her again and her bloody cheating father.’
I could feel Mother by the side of me. Her hand reached out and I instinctively pulled back. ‘Ursula?’
‘Is it true, Mother?’ I looked into her face, daring her to answer.
Aunt Charlotte tried to link her arm through mine, but I pulled away. ‘Look, we are outside a killer’s house. Why don’t we just focus on that. We need to—’
‘No, there is no we,’ I snapped. ‘We’re just a sad group o
f people thrown together.’
‘That’s most families, dear.’ Aunt Charlotte tried again with holding my arm.
‘She’s not my family.’ I stared at Mirabelle.
Mother looked at her too but didn’t speak.
‘Pandora . . .’ Mirabelle looked weaker. ‘I’m sorry. I’m stressed, I’m tired and all I hear is how wonderful he was.’ She looked at me. ‘He was no saint. There was someone else and you might as well know it now before we all die!’
Aunt Charlotte squeezed my arm. ‘Don’t listen to Mirabelle. She’s just trying to—’
‘Trying to what? Lie?’
I felt Mother’s sigh. She closed her eyes and when she opened them to look at me again, I felt sure I could see the shadow of Dad reflected on the black beads of her pupils. ‘Mirabelle has gone too far.’
‘What?’
‘Be quiet, Mirabelle. You’ve said enough.’
The rain poured down my face in fast-trailing rivulets. I could tell the shadow was looking at the side of my head, but I didn’t look back at him.
Mother bowed her head. ‘You didn’t need to know.’
As I closed my eyes, it dislodged one lone, warm tear that fell much heavier than the rain along the turn of my face. ‘Go away,’ I whispered. ‘Go away.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Bridget began. ‘We are hunting a killer out here in the wilderness, in a storm and we’re doing your family meltdown again. For goodness’ sake, really! Now is not the time.’
‘I agree.’
‘Oh, Mirabelle, you are the cause of all this!’ Aunt Charlotte jabbed her finger at her. ‘You always are . . . You just . . .’
Her voice drifted away and all I could hear was my own voice whispering, ‘Go away.’
It was Mother who answered. ‘We need to focus. Look at me. Ursula, Spear and Brendan have nearly reached the bothy. We need to be ready. We can deal with this later.’
‘Go away.’
‘We can’t. We—’
‘Not you! Him!’ I shouted into her face.
I turned to look at his shadow. I looked straight at him and he looked back. ‘Go away,’ I whispered. He stood, watching me. Everyone watched me and then looked to the space in the air that I was staring at.
‘Ursula?’ Mother said softly.
I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side. When I looked back, his shape had gone. There was nothing but wind-whipped fields. A fierce darkness looked back at me.
‘We need to move,’ I said looking at the ground.
‘Stop. Ursula.’ Mother grabbed my arm.
‘So we just wait here do we, in the middle of this nowhere, waiting to be picked off because we can’t save ourselves? Because some man we don’t know told us to?’
Mother stared at me.
‘She’s right.’ Bridget sounded resolute. She picked up Mr Bojingles. He looked determined too. ‘We should move. There is no point standing in the middle of a field listening to your family catastrophizing. I’d sooner die any other way.’
‘OK. We go. Come on.’ Aunt Charlotte nodded and began to walk. ‘Come on!’
‘I—’
‘You’ve said enough, Mirabelle. Just move.’ Aunt Charlotte turned to me and Mother. ‘You too.’
Mother watched me and then nodded. ‘OK.’ She was quiet.
I took a long breath and felt the cold air linger in my chest. I nodded once but didn’t look at any of them. I started to walk.
The rain was driving like grit into my face. The relentless tapping of it on my head was grinding. I bent low, staring at the ground, suddenly very aware of how exposed we were — out in a field with no cover from the rain. Or random killers.
I watched Spear turn to look back at our group moving towards him and saw his disappointment as Kemp approached. At the last moment, Kemp seemed to fall and do some sort of sudden army roll into the wall of the bothy. It was unclear whether this was an attempt at a military manoeuvre or he’d just fallen and was trying to style it out. Whatever it was, Spear looked furious.
The lights had stopped moving in the bothy as if someone had been alerted to us. As we drew closer, I felt sure I heard a small sob that was quickly silenced. All there was now was the constant rush of the rain and the sea. Another splash of light flared across the sky.
‘What if Jess went willingly with him?’ Aunt Charlotte was saying to Mother. Mother didn’t answer. ‘What if they’ve been acting together?’
‘Let’s just wait and see, all right.’ Mother’s frustration was growing.
‘What if Spear’s luring us out here to kill us?’ No one answered Aunt Charlotte.
As we approached, I watched Spear inch towards the door. Kemp followed, copying him.
The light in the bothy started to move, quicker now and towards the door.
It disappeared for a moment.
‘Spear!’ I shouted. He glanced over and ducked down. ‘He’s at the—’
The door was wrenched back and a thin, dark shape hurled out. He fell over Kemp’s back where he was now crouching low on the ground and landed on top of Spear. The shape reared up and the blade was high in the air before cutting down through the rain. Kemp’s torchlight caught on the metal for a moment. It sunk down into Spear. We had discovered who Spear’s blade was meant for. Spear.
‘Shit!’ Kemp was up and dragging the boy over onto his side. The slight frame fell easily into the mud and I saw his face, pale against the ground. I barely recognized him. His eyes shone and he breathed heavily through a wide, dark mouth. Then he started to smile. It was definitely the boy from the boat, his face smeared with mud and his hair spiked with rain. And, we’d been right. He was very much alive.
‘Spear!’ I ran the last few metres. The blade was still visible, standing up proud from his chest. Kemp was grappling with the boy.
Aunt Charlotte was running, the puddles splashing up around her, the tweed jacket flaring out behind as she dove through the air and crashed down on top of the strip of boy.
The sound of the sea washed in the background. ‘Spear!’ I shouted again.
The rain fell on Spear, sluicing the blood down into the mud. He didn’t respond.
CHAPTER 32: THE SINS OF THE FATHER AND THE MOTHER
Aunt Charlotte was spreadeagled on top of the squirming lad. His legs stuck out into the mud behind her, his own boots, the boots Angel had worn for so short a time, were on his feet. The thin, white face was to the side, looking out into the darkness. And he was laughing. Great gales of laughter came out of him and spluttered into the mud pooling round his face.
I knelt down next to Spear.
Mother and Mirabelle ran towards us. Bridget walked with a rigid speed behind them, holding the dog close. I could hear her chuntering away. ‘Mr Bojingles, stay vigilant.’
‘Come on, Spear,’ I shouted. I held him by the shoulders and looked down at the knife. The pool of blood was spreading across his camo jacket as if it was a new part of the pattern.
There was a groan. He was alive.
His eyes flickered open. He coughed and his face wrinkled in pain. He looked confused for a moment. His head fell to the side and he looked over at Aunt Charlotte holding the boy down. There was a flash of recognition on Spear’s face and then another spike of pain took him.
He held his hand to his injured chest and seemed surprised to feel the knife there.
‘Hey, you were right,’ the boy shouted over at me. ‘You pointed me in the right direction every time. So thank you.’
Aunt Charlotte frowned and pushed her hands into his chest.
He laughed. ‘I did steal the knife to kill someone, and how poetic that it should be the knife’s owner.’
‘You little bugger.’ Aunt Charlotte pushed with more determination. ‘And it’s not poetic if it doesn’t rhyme.’ She drew her knee into his abdomen. Kemp was in front of her and held the boy’s shoulders down.
‘Sins of the father, eh?’ Nate clipped his head towards Spear.
Kemp lo
oked down into his face. ‘What are you talking about, boy?’
Nate looked up. ‘I heard you, with her, the night before we sailed. You were in the Anchorage with that whore, Nell. My mother.’
Spear’s breathing suddenly grew more stuttered.
‘It’s OK. It’s going to be OK,’ I said. Spear glanced at me and then back at Nate.
‘This is where you die, Spear.’ The lad smiled.
Aunt Charlotte ground her knee further down.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ Kemp muttered.
‘What the hell are you talking about — “Don’t hurt him” — he’s nearly killed Spear. And he would have done if I wasn’t such a fan of WWF.’
‘The World Wildlife Fund?’ Bridget asked.
‘No, she means the wrestling.’ Mother was beside me now, but I didn’t look at her.
The dog leaped from Bridget’s arms and eagerly headed over to us, sniffed round the blade and started licking.
‘Christ, get the dog away!’ Spear tried to push the dog.
‘Don’t push Mr Bojingles,’ Bridget scurried over and picked up the dog. ‘How dare you!’
‘We have a man down here, severely injured! You need to control your animal!’ Mother had once more adopted a very military tone.
Spear groaned again and this time it sounded as though he was gargling on something. He closed his eyes.
‘Stay with me, Spear!’ It’s strange how we borrow unreal phrases when unreal events unfold. I’d never imagined myself using these words, but then I’d never imagined being on an isolated island watching a man die.
Nate was moving frantically now, desperate to escape from under Aunt Charlotte. ‘Not sure how long I can hold him,’ she murmured.
Mother ran over and Mirabelle followed. They each took an arm and pinned him, while Aunt Charlotte remained with her knee on his chest. Kemp held tight to his shoulders.
The gale lashed round us. The boy laughed manically as he was held down.
At the bothy door, I could see Jess stagger and fall to the floor.
‘Jess!’ I shouted.
She nodded, her face pale in the darkness.
BODY ON THE ISLAND a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 2) Page 26
