‘It’s not a case of liking him or not. He can be an abrasive bugger but you’ve got to feel for him and his family. They’ve had a rough time of it this last year. Bad enough for his wife to go missing, but for it to come out that she’d been having an affair as well …’ Lundy shook his head, frowning into his tea. ‘The family’s had rotten luck. Trask’s first wife died not long after his daughter was born, some sort of complication after the birth. He had to bring up a baby and young lad by himself, which can’t have been easy. Then he meets this glamorous younger woman, London type who’s on the rebound herself, marries her and brings her out to the arse end of nowhere, if you’ll pardon my French. Christ knows what either of them were thinking, but it’s hard to see how it was ever going to work.’
‘Did he know about the affair with Leo Villiers before she went missing?’ I belatedly realized I’d no right to quiz him when I wasn’t on the investigation any more. But Lundy only shrugged.
‘He says he guessed she was seeing somebody, but not who it was. That came out later, when we pulled her phone records. There were a lot of recent calls to Villiers’ number, ending a few days before she disappeared. After that, everything pretty much pointed one way.’
‘You said yesterday that you’d suspected Trask at one point?’
Lundy’s smile was humourless. ‘He’s the husband; of course we did. But he was in Denmark for an architectural conference when she disappeared. Several witnesses saw or spoke to her after he’d gone, then two days later she dropped off the radar. His son and daughter were both away as well, the girl on a school trip and the lad staying with a friend from sixth form, so the alarm wasn’t raised until he got back later that week.’
I thought about the beautiful and assured woman in the framed photograph. Barring some unexpected stroke of luck, with Leo Villiers dead no one would ever know what had happened to her. Death was bad enough for a family to cope with, but for a loved one to simply vanish was even worse. And if her killer had disposed of her body in the Backwaters, as seemed likely, then there would be little left to recognize by now. The vitality, vanity, ambition and everything else that had made Emma Derby who she was would be long gone. Even though I hadn’t known her, I felt a familiar hollowness at how that could happen. The gulf between life and death is a mystery I couldn’t reconcile now any more than when I lost my own family.
‘Dr Hunter?’ Lundy said. ‘You all right?’
I pulled myself together. I’d been drifting: I was more tired than I’d realized. ‘Sorry. Just thinking.’
He drained his tea and put the mug down. ‘Well, I’d better get off. I’m supposed to be at my granddaughter’s birthday party this afternoon. She’s promised to save me a piece of cake, though I’m not holding my breath.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’ I smiled at the bittersweet memory of my own daughter’s birthday parties. ‘How old is she?’
‘Four. Proper little madam, Kelly is. Already knows how to wrap me round her little finger.’
‘Have you any other grandkids?’
‘Not yet, but one’s on the way. My daughter Lee – that’s Kelly’s mum – is expecting her second.’ He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t seem two minutes since she was blowing out birthday candles herself. How about you? Do you … ah, do you have any plans for when you get back?’
He’d recovered well, but I knew what he’d been about to ask. Do you have any kids? He’d caught himself in time, so either he’d done his homework on me or someone had told him about my past. I’d grown adept at fielding the question by now, and while it would always be painful it rarely caught me off guard any more. But Lundy looked mortified, his already ruddy face blooming an even deeper red.
‘No, no plans,’ I said, brushing over it to spare his awkwardness.
‘Right. Well, thanks again.’ He stuck out a meaty hand for me to shake. ‘Safe journey, Dr Hunter.’
After Lundy had gone I poured my cold tea away and made another mug. Although I still felt wrung out, I couldn’t detect any chills or feverishness that might indicate the infection was flaring up. But the DI’s visit had left me feeling flat and depressed. I couldn’t really blame Clarke for not wanting me back on the investigation – I’d hardly covered myself with glory so far – but it was still a disappointment. Still, dubious circumstances or not, I’d redeemed myself to some extent by finding the foot. Going out on the marsh might have been ill-advised but at least I could return to London knowing I’d done something useful.
And it had been worth it to get to know Rachel better. We seemed to get on well now we’d cleared the air, and despite everything I’d enjoyed spending time with her. I’d got the impression she felt the same way. Yes, because nothing helps hit it off with someone like finding a rotting foot.
I drank the tea sitting in the chair by the arched window, looking at birds paddling on the full creek outside. I told myself I should call to find out what was happening with my car, but decided it could wait a few more minutes. Trask had said they’d let me know when it was ready, and hassling them wouldn’t get it done any faster.
Besides, I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to London. The prospect of spending the tail end of the bank holiday on my own in an empty flat settled on me like a pall. I could always head over to Jason and Anja’s, but it was a long drive and by the time I got there it would hardly be worth it.
I shifted to a more comfortable position in the armchair, stretching my feet out as I watched the afternoon slipping by outside. I’d only seen a little of the Backwaters, but I liked it here. The low-lying saltmarshes under the high sky had a restful, meditative quality. It seemed a long way from the noise and clamour of London, where the only green spaces were parks hemmed in by arterial roads. I’d not realized how tightly wound I’d become, how wrapped up in the grind of commuting and traffic. And the boathouse was a good place to stay: basic but with everything I needed. I’d be sorry to leave the peace and quiet.
Is that all you’ll be sorry to leave?
I didn’t know I’d dozed off until the sound of an engine outside woke me. I sat up, rubbing my eyes as I checked the time: I’d been out for over an hour. I felt better for it, though, still tired but clear-headed again. Thinking it must be Jamie with my car, I got up from the chair and almost tripped as I stubbed my foot on something under the rug. I swore, hobbling over to open the door just as someone knocked on it.
Rachel stood on the doorstep, hand raised. ‘Oh,’ she said, startled.
‘Sorry, I thought it was Jamie,’ I said, then felt like an idiot as I realized that didn’t make much sense.
‘What’s wrong with your foot?’ she asked, seeing me favouring it.
I straightened, trying to ignore the throbbing of my stubbed toes. ‘Nothing. I just caught it on something under the rug.’
‘That’s my fault, I should have warned you,’ she said, looking pained herself. ‘There’s an old trapdoor in the floor. The handle sticks up, so it’s a bit of a trip hazard. That’s another of those last-minute jobs I still need to do. Please tell me you haven’t broken it?’
‘I can’t vouch for the handle, but my foot’s OK.’ I smiled. Even if it wasn’t there was no way I was going to admit it. ‘How did it go with the CSIs?’
She shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much for them to do. They just took a few photographs of the creek where we found the shoe and then gave me a lift back to the house.’
She’d changed out of her wellingtons but wore the same red waterproof jacket as before. It was open to reveal a chunky Aran sweater that went well with her jeans.
‘Do you want to come in?’ I asked, standing back.
But she shook her head. ‘I’m not staying. I’m on my way to pick up Fay from a friend’s, but I told Jamie I’d drop by. The good news is that your car’s nearly ready. He’s changed the oil and stripped and cleaned everything, so it should be OK. He says you’re lucky it’s not a new car, because they’ve got more complicated electrical systems and he wouldn’t have been able t
o fix them.’
I tried to muster up some enthusiasm. ‘That’s great.’
‘Don’t build your hopes up. The bad news is it needs new spark plugs. Jamie doesn’t have any, so you’ve two options. There’s a big car spares store about twenty-five miles away that’s open on a bank holiday. He’s offered to pick some up from there. He says it shouldn’t take him long to get the car running again once he’s got them. I think he feels bad he hasn’t managed to finish it yet.’
That wasn’t his fault, and what he was suggesting would involve a fifty mile round trip for him, on a bank holiday Sunday afternoon. There was bound to be traffic once he hit the busier roads, and he’d still have to fit the replacement spark plugs when he got back.
‘What’s the other option?’ I asked.
‘There’s a petrol station at Cruckhaven that should have them. It’s only a local one, so it’ll be closed now. But it’ll be open tomorrow morning, if you don’t mind staying another night.’
I’d been so resigned to leaving that evening I didn’t know how to respond. God knows, I didn’t feel up to driving back to London after trekking across the marsh: I’d pushed my luck enough for one day. The sensible thing to do would be to rest up until to morrow, and Trask had already said that would be OK. But even if Clarke wasn’t already annoyed that I’d involved Emma Derby’s family, there was another potential drawback.
‘This petrol station isn’t called Coker’s, is it?’ I asked, remembering my attempt to call out a mechanic.
Rachel gave me a wary look. ‘No. Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
For a moment I thought she was going to pursue it, then she evidently decided against. ‘It’s up to you, but I’ve got to go into Cruckhaven in the morning anyway. I can pick up the spark plugs then and you’ll be on your way by lunchtime. It just depends how much of a hurry you’re in.’
No hurry at all, I thought, thinking about the empty flat waiting for me. I felt my resolve wavering.
‘What does your brother-in-law say?’
‘Andrew doesn’t mind either way.’ She pushed a hank of dark hair from her forehead, and for an instant I saw a resemblance to her sister. ‘It’s not as if you’re getting in anybody’s way out here.’
Again, I thought back to my conversation with Lundy. I’d told him I’d only stay until my car was repaired, but I didn’t say when that would be. One more night couldn’t make much difference, not if Trask didn’t object.
Besides, I’d already been thrown off the investigation.
‘Can I walk to Cruckhaven from here?’ I asked, stalling. I’d put on the family enough as it was without Rachel’s having to fetch sparks plug for me as well.
‘You can but it’s the best part of an hour, depending on the tide. And there’s not much point when I’m going there anyway.’ She gave me a sudden smile that carried a shade of embarrassment. ‘If it makes you feel any better why don’t you come with me?’
There were still any number of reasons why I shouldn’t. I felt a brief, internal tug of war.
‘I’d like that,’ I said.
11
IT WAS THE best night’s sleep I’d had in months. I’d slept on my first night in the boathouse but that had been more like exhaustion, as my body fought off the infection. This was a deep, restful sleep of a kind I’d almost forgotten.
After promising to pick me up at ten next morning, Rachel had left, leaving me to wonder if I’d done the right thing. It was still only late afternoon, and I’d no idea what I’d do to pass the rest of the time. There was no internet or TV, or even any music or books. Or work. Usually when I was working on an investigation I’d spend any downtime going through reports and case notes. That didn’t apply now, and although I had my laptop I couldn’t even go online to check emails.
But for once the need to work, to do something, didn’t nag as loudly as usual. Rachel had offered to bring more groceries, but – providing I didn’t mind soup or eggs again – I’d enough food left to see me through till morning. There was no pressing need to go anywhere if I didn’t want to, so I didn’t. Instead I kept station in the armchair, staring through the window at the slowly ebbing tide and trying not to read too much into an innocent offer of a lift.
Prodded by a rumbling stomach, I made an early supper from what was left of the tomato soup with an omelette and toast. Not exactly haute cuisine but I enjoyed every mouthful. As the last of the light faded from the sky, I took an after-dinner walk along the bank of the muddy creek, this time heading out to where it fed into the estuary. The going was much easier than when I’d headed into the Backwaters that morning. There was no path as such, but the ground was drier and firmer underfoot, the marsh giving way to low sand dunes covered in tough, spiky reeds. After a while I came to an overgrown shingle embankment, part of an old tidal defence that had been allowed to crumble so the tides could reclaim the land. Climbing up on to it, I looked out at the exposed mudflats of the estuary. Further inland was a cluster of lights I thought must be Cruckhaven, while out to sea I could see the lights of container ships making their slow way across the darkening horizon.
I would have liked to go further, but it would soon be dark. I turned back, feeling an odd and unwelcome restlessness I couldn’t identify at first. It wasn’t until I was almost back at the boathouse that I realized seeing the estuary had reminded me of the Barrows, which had in turn jogged loose thoughts of the body we’d recovered from the sandbanks.
I tried to put it from my mind, telling myself it was no longer anything to do with me. It didn’t work. Even though I was now off the case, that didn’t stop me thinking about it. Besides, I hadn’t entirely finished yet: Lundy had asked me to email him the photographs I’d taken of the training shoe. I couldn’t send them to him from the boathouse, but I could at least transfer them onto my laptop, along with the ones I’d taken out at the Barrows.
And if I happened to take another look as I did, then where was the harm in that?
Back at the boathouse, I put the kettle on and connected the camera to my laptop. With a mug of tea next to me, I studied the images of the training shoe again. They were a lot more detailed on the laptop’s bigger screen, but with the foot largely hidden inside the shoe they didn’t tell me much I didn’t already know. I spent a while studying the gaudy purple sock, enlarging it to better see the fabric. Although it wasn’t my field, I was pretty sure the muddy cloth was man-made rather than natural, either polyester or some other synthetic.
I was only guessing about that, but there was no doubt about what else I saw. On the shoe’s sole, obscured by the coating of mud, were printed words I hadn’t noticed before. They’d been too small to see on the camera screen, but they were more clearly visible on the laptop. Again, I magnified the image, zooming in and playing with the contrast until I could clearly make them out. Three words, stamped or moulded into the sole’s rubber base: Made in China.
Cheap training shoes and colourful synthetic socks didn’t fit with the image I’d formed of Leo Villiers, but that was Lundy’s problem now. Even so, I still opened the photographs I’d taken of the body itself as it lay on the sandbank. The right ankle joint protruded from the sodden leg of the jeans, but not enough to see anything one way or the other. I went to the images of the head. The horrendous injury was as bad as I remembered. Opening another photograph to view alongside, I considered what I could see of the exit wound, trying to gauge the shot’s trajectory.
But it was pointless speculating. And I wasn’t going to see anything in a few photographs that the police wouldn’t find out for themselves. I made myself close the laptop before I could become too engrossed, knowing it would only frustrate me. Instead, I made myself another mug of tea and sat with the light off, watching night settle over the creek before going to bed.
I woke once, roused by a series of grunts and weird, mournful howling from outside. Seals, I realized drowsily. Rachel was right, I thought as I drifted back off to sleep. They did sound like rowd
y Labradors.
The alarm on my phone pulled me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I felt more rested than I had in a long time. The only aftermath from whatever bug I’d had was a lingering ache in my joints, and a ravenous appetite. I showered and shaved, then toasted what was left of the bread for breakfast and ate it with the last of the eggs. I didn’t know if I’d be coming back to the boathouse after I’d got the spark plugs from Cruckhaven, so once I’d washed the dishes I packed what few things I had with me in my bag.
That done, there was nothing left to do but wait. I sat by the window again, trying not to glance at my watch or acknowledge how nervous I was beginning to feel. She’s giving you a lift to buy car parts. Stop acting like a schoolboy. When I heard a car crunching over the cinders I jumped up, narrowly avoiding stubbing my toe again on the trapdoor handle hidden under the rug. I took a final look around the boathouse, feeling a touch of regret that this would be the last time I’d see it.
Then I grabbed my jacket and bag and hurried outside.
Rachel was leaning through the open rear door of the old white Defender, making room in the back. I could see a mess of sports equipment and what looked like a wetsuit thrown inside.
‘Morning,’ she said, pushing aside a box full of coiled rope. ‘I swear I don’t know where Jamie gets half this stuff from. You should see the state of his room – I looked in once and slammed the door as quick as I could. Here, do you want to put your bag in? There’s space now.’
She was wearing a tan suede jacket today, open to reveal a black sweater over her jeans. If she wore any make-up it was too subtly applied for me to notice, but her hair looked more carefully tied back than usual, exposing more of her smooth forehead and strong features. I found myself wondering if any of that might be for my benefit, before telling myself not to be stupid.
The Restless Dead Page 12
