The House At Sea’s End

by Elly Griffiths

  He walks to the point of the headland and looks out across the next cove. Deserted. This was the place where they found the barrels, he remembers. The cliffs are higher here, streaked yellow and grey. The beach beyond Broughton, Ruth said. He rings her number again. No answer. He tries her home and gets the answer phone. He doesn’t know who he expects to answer anyway. The cat? Next he rings Judy, she’s best at the local stuff.

  ‘Judy? What’s the next beach beyond Broughton?’

  ‘Going north or south?’ At least Judy never asks unnecessary questions.

  ‘North.’

  ‘Rockham. Beyond that, it’s Cromer.’

  ‘Can you get down to the beach from there?’

  ‘Yes. There are some steps.’

  ‘Can you meet me there as soon as possible? Bring Cloughie too.’

  ‘Okay, boss.’

  As Nelson clicks off his phone, a wave breaks over his feet. Soon Broughton will be cut off by the sea and Ruth is still on the beach somewhere. There’s not a moment to lose.

  ‘What are you playing at?’ asks Ruth angrily.

  ‘Get in the cabin, Ruth.’ Craig is smiling, that gentle smile that she has always rather liked. He was her favourite of the field team, she remembers, because he never argued with her.

  ‘You must be joking. Put that gun down.’

  ‘If you don’t, I’ll kill you. Just like I killed Eckhart and the others.’

  ‘You killed them?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Craig, still in that sweet, reasonable tone. ‘I had to. I had to protect my grandfather’s memory.’

  ‘Your grandfather?’

  ‘Donald Drummond. My mother’s father. He was one of the Home Guard.’

  Donald. The gardener, who presumably had the key to the summer house. The one who had wanted to kill the Germans outright.

  ‘He was a fine man,’ says Craig. ‘He brought me up, you know. My father scarpered when I was a kid, Mum couldn’t really cope. But my grandparents, they were always there for me. Constant, steady. It was a different generation. A better generation.’

  Ruth remembers Craig telling her that he was brought up by his grandparents. Thanks to them he can make oxtail soup. Is it thanks to them that he is also a murderer?

  ‘Granddad told me all about the war,’ Craig says. ‘And when I was old enough he told me about killing the Germans. It was them or us, he said. I understood. He was only doing his duty, fighting for his country.’

  ‘They killed them in cold blood!’

  Craig turns on her furiously. ‘What do you know about it? Where would you be, you and all the bleeding heart liberals, if they hadn’t protected you? They stood on this coast line and they defended it. They defended it with their lives.’

  ‘Did you kill Archie and Hugh?’

  ‘I felt bad about Archie,’ says Craig. ‘He was a good man, but he was going to tell someone the secret. I did the gardening at the home and I saw how friendly he was getting with that carer, Maria. Then, when Nelson visited him, I knew it was time to act. I just popped up to his room after I’d finished in the grounds and sent him to sleep. It only took a few minutes. A merciful release, really. Archie hated getting old. Hated being in the home.’

  ‘What about Hugh? That wasn’t a merciful release.’

  ‘Hugh was a filthy communist. Granddad hated him. Anselm should have been a conchie and had done with it, but no, he had to go whingeing on about his conscience. You can’t afford a conscience in wartime. But Hugh always thought he was better than the rest of them. He had to go bleating to that German journalist. Telling our wartime secrets to a German! No, Hugh deserved everything he got.’

  ‘You stopped his stairlift?’

  ‘It was easy. I did the gardens there too. Got hold of the master key from that dipso warden and let myself in. Flicked the switch and there you go. I knew Hugh had a weak heart. I knew he’d kill himself trying to get free. Serves him right, in my opinion. Writing all those letters to the papers saying we ought to be friends with the Germans. Friends! He made me sick.’

  Craig looks down, smiling complacently. While his attention is momentarily diverted, Ruth presses the mobile phone in her pocket, touching random keys, hoping that she’ll get through to someone, anyone. ‘Help me,’ she says aloud. ‘I’m on the beach at Broughton. Craig’s trying to kill me.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Craig snaps to attention again, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Give me your phone.’

  ‘I haven’t got it.’

  Craig comes closer and, pressing the gun against her head, pulls her hand from her pocket. He prises her fingers from the phone and throws it into the sea. Ruth hears it splash and, despite everything, can’t resist an involuntary moan. Her phone! Her life is contained in her phone. Now it’s at the bottom of the sea with the barnacles and rusting tin cans.

  ‘Don’t try anything else, Ruth. I’m a crack shot. My grandfather taught me.’

  ‘Like he taught you gardening.’

  ‘Exactly. My family have always looked after the gardens at Sea’s End House. Even now, when there’s hardly any garden left, I still tend it. I still care for it.’

  Tend, care. Strange words for a murderer to use. Can this softly spoken man, an archaeologist, for God’s sake, really have killed three people?

  ‘I’m glad I killed that German,’ Craig is saying now. ‘He just wanted to dig dirt on Captain Hastings and his troop. He wasn’t fit to lick their boots. And he was deceiving Clara. He told me that he was married, boasted about it almost, one night in the pub. So I waited for him that night. I had the keys to the garden room, you see. I’d done the garden earlier and I just waited. Eckhart was sitting in his car, sending a text to someone. Probably his wife. I asked for his help. Said my car had broken down. When we got to the car park I stabbed him and threw his body in the water.’

  ‘Clara was devastated. You broke her heart.’

  Craig laughs. ‘She’ll get over it. Can’t have a Hastings marrying a German, destroying that fine English bloodline. No, Clara’s destined for higher things. I might even marry her myself.’

  In your dreams, thinks Ruth. The Hastings family would never let their daughter marry the gardener. To them, Craig, like his grandfather before him, is a servant. They would sooner let Clara marry Dieter Eckhart. Class is a stronger social adhesive than nationality. But Ruth decides not to say any of this to Craig. She has to keep him talking, get him to feel sorry for her.

  ‘Don’t kill me, Craig, I’ve got a baby. She needs me.’

  ‘Your baby! You’re never with her. She wouldn’t miss you, she never sees you.’

  Another tribute to her mothering skills. But Ruth knows that Kate does need her and, for this reason alone, she’s not going to let herself be killed. She throws herself to one side, splintering the rotten timbers of the boat. Craig shoots but misses. The bullet lodges itself in one of the barrels. In seconds, the sea is on fire.

  Nelson sees the smoke from the cliffs at Rockham. Judy and Clough haven’t arrived yet but he doesn’t wait. He leaves his car on the grass and makes for the steps, a rickety wooden structure marked by a sign saying, unambiguously, ‘Danger! Do not take the steps at High Tide. Danger of Drowning.’ Nelson, bounding down the slippery planks, sees a semicircle of shingle beach below. A line of grey rocks separates it from the next cove but the sea still hasn’t reached the bottom of the cliff. There may still be a chance to get to Ruth. The smoke spirals high in the air, like a distress flare. What the hell is happening? Is this Ruth’s way of attracting his attention? If so, it’s working…

  He runs across the beach, stumbling over the pebbles. Michelle once told him that this was good exercise. Now it feels more like torture, like one of those nightmares where you are running your hardest but get nowhere, where the ground turns into marshmallow and your feet become lead weights. Surely he should have reached the cliff by now. The waves are breaking over the furthest rocks. He’ll have to climb to g
et onto the next beach. Jesus, if only he was fitter. He should never have let his gym membership lapse.

  His phone rings. He answers it, still running.

  It’s Judy.

  ‘We’re at Rockham, boss. Where are you?’

  ‘On the beach.’

  ‘There’s a ship burning on the next beach. A real inferno. Black smoke everywhere.’

  ‘Any sign of Ruth?’

  ‘No, but we can’t get close enough to see.’

  ‘Call the coastguard. And the fire brigade.’

  ‘I already have. The coastguard says the tide’s coming in fast. You’d better get back up here.’

  ‘No. I’ve got to get to the next beach.’

  He clicks off the phone. He has finally reached the rocks and sees that they are, in fact, the remains of a man-made wall, huge grey breeze blocks, covered in seaweed. He tries and fails to get a foothold, falling back onto the pebbles. The waves are crashing against the end of the wall. He should go back, wait for the coastguard. It’s not going to do either Michelle or Ruth any good if he gets killed. But he launches himself back at the wall, clinging on with his fingertips, hauling himself upwards by sheer willpower. Then, somehow, he’s there, standing on the very top of the sea wall. The next cove is filled with black smoke. He can’t see anything else at all. He pauses, catching his breath, and is hit in the small of the back by what feels like a tidal wave. He falls heavily, hitting his head on stone.

  The force of the explosion sends Ruth flying. She lands on the beach, lying on her back, unable to move. In front of her is a solid sheet of flame. Where is Craig? Surely he must have been killed? Smoke stings her eyes and she can hardly breathe but she knows that she has to get off this beach. If the fire doesn’t get her, the tide will. She stands up, staggering slightly and heads towards the cliffs. She may just be able to climb round into the next cove. She falls, scraping her knee against stone and, almost accidentally, finds herself in the sea. She kneels in the water, thankful for the kindly cold, splashing water onto her burning face. The salt stings but even that is welcome; it proves that she is still alive.

  Looking back, all she can see is blackness, even the flames have disappeared. The smell is overpowering. It must be the oil burning. Hastings’ long-forgotten booby-trap has gone off with a vengeance. And where is Craig, the man who has dedicated himself to preserving Hastings’ good name? If there’s any justice, he’ll have been blown sky high when the barrel first exploded. Killed by the devices planted by his beloved Home Guard. But Ruth doesn’t believe in that sort of justice. She struggles on, waist deep in water. If she can only reach the sea wall, she can climb up, call for help. Surely someone will have seen the flames? Maybe the fire boat will save her life?

  She’s dizzy, disorientated. She doesn’t realise that she has reached the wall until she literally walks into the first submerged rocks. She falls again, tasting salt water, but she manages to climb onto the rampart. A wave almost knocks her off her feet but she holds on, hands and knees across the seaweed and pointed barnacles. She’s nearly there. Just a few more steps.

  ‘Hallo, Ruth,’ says a familiar voice.

  CHAPTER 31

  It’s Craig. Somehow he is above her, standing on the highest part of the wall. His face is black with smoke but he seems unhurt. So much for poetic justice. He doesn’t seem to have his gun but he is stronger than her and heavier. And he’s already killed three people.

  Ruth lies on the wet, slippery wall. Waves break over her, icy and relentless. She can see Craig getting closer, his sturdy archaeologist’s boots, his combat trousers, soaking wet now, his hands clenching into fists. She can’t do anything; she can’t even stand because she knows that the waves would knock her down again. Her only chance is to… as Craig comes within reach, she grabs his ankle and pulls.

  ‘Bitch!’

  He falls almost on top of her. His face is within inches of hers and she claws at him, desperate to dislodge him from the rocks. But he fights back, prising her fingers away and pushing, using all his body weight against her. She finds herself sliding. He’s above her now. She can see a demonic white grin in his blackened face.

  ‘Bye-bye, Ruth. I’ll give your love to Ted and the others. Such a sad way to go. I’ll tell them how I struggled to save you.’

  He stamps heavily on her hand. She lets go, falling backwards into the churning sea. Surely this is it. The long descent into unconsciousness, the waters closing over her head, her life spiralling away from her – Kate, Nelson, her parents, Erik, Peter, everything. Even as she falls, she thinks: who will look after Kate? Please let it be Nelson rather than her parents. But, as she thinks of Kate, suddenly she feels a superhuman surge of strength and she kicks out, fighting against the tide. Her head emerges above the water, coughing and spluttering. She sees Craig, black against the sea wall and another wave crashes over her head. She fights again, striking out for the wall and this time, miraculously, her fingers close around something, a metal loop, probably for tying up a boat. The rusty iron cuts into her hand but she holds on as the waves buffet her against the rocks. Craig can’t see her. The air is still full of smoke and he must be sure that she has gone under.

  How long she hangs on she doesn’t know. Again and again, the tide pulls her away and then throws her back against the wall. She is freezing, almost delirious with cold. She thinks that hypothermia might get her before Craig does. Maybe she should just let go, take her chances against the waves. Then she hears someone calling her. The voice seems to be coming from a long way off but, at the same time, speaking directly in her head.

  ‘Ruth. Take my hand.’

  It is Tatjana. Why she is here Ruth doesn’t know. It is all mixed with another day, another fire, the flames of a burning town. Tatjana, a gun in her hand, saying, ‘I have to do this, Ruth. Don’t stop me.’

  Now Tatjana too seems possessed of extraordinary strength. She hauls Ruth’s waterlogged body above the water while Ruth herself scrabbles against the sheer stone. Then Ruth is lying face down on the sea wall and Tatjana is still pulling at her. ‘Come on, we can’t stay here.’ Why not? All Ruth wants to do is lie down and sleep, even with the whole North Sea bearing down on top of her.

  ‘Come on, Ruth. We need to get moving.’

  Nelson is floating. The waters are dark and rather soothing. They speak to him in his mother’s Irish voice. ‘It’s all right, son. You’re safe now.’ Then he hears another voice which, oddly enough, belongs to Cathbad.

  ‘Don’t give up now, Nelson. Fight it.’

  Nelson opens his eyes and the sky explodes in front of him.

  Another voice.

  ‘Wake up, boss. We’ve got work to do.’

  Jesus, now he’s hallucinating about Clough. He shuts his eyes again and surrenders himself to the tide.

  Tatjana is wearing a red jacket and Ruth follows it blindly, running back along the wall until they reach the foot of the cliff. Then Tatjana jumps into the next bay.

  ‘Jump, Ruth.’

  Ruth jumps. The water only comes to her knees but the tide is strong, making it difficult to move forwards. Ruth fixes her eyes on the red jacket and struggles to put one foot in front of the other. It reminds her of that day with Trace, trying to cross the beach as the waters rose. But, unlike Trace, Tatjana keeps looking back, encouraging, cajoling. ‘Come on, Ruth. You can do it. You have to do it. Kate needs you.’ And, every time, that name spurs Ruth onwards. You have to do it. Kate needs you. She keeps going, half walking, half swimming. There’s no sign of Craig. In the distance she can see Sea’s End House, its flag fluttering gaily. If they can just reach that headland, surely they can call for help.

  They are almost at the next wall when he appears, as if from nowhere. Maybe he was hiding in one of the caves. He knows this beach well, Ruth remembers. Now, without speaking a word, he powers towards them through the foaming waves. Ruth screams.

  He throws himself at her, knocking her back under the water. She struggles, kicking out. Then
she feels him being lifted away from her. Tatjana must be helping her. She can hear screams, shouting, and another noise, a great mechanical whirring, directly above them.

  ‘Leave her alone!’

  Ruth wrenches herself free and swims towards the noises, the waves suddenly seem incredibly high. Now, other hands are pulling her up onto the sea wall. Tatjana is next to her, putting her arm round her. Craig is still in the water but, as she watches, people are reaching down to him too. A helicopter circles above them, churning the bay into a whirlpool. Now Judy is there, putting handcuffs onto Craig.

  ‘He tried to kill me,’ says Ruth.

  ‘I know,’ says Judy. ‘I saw.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  The police launch appears beside the wall, bobbing in the choppy water. Judy climbs in with Craig, and Tatjana and Ruth follow, falling clumsily into its bows. Now they are heading back across the cove. People wrap foil blankets round them and try to give them hot drinks but Ruth suddenly feels exhilarated, invincible. She starts to laugh. Judy looks at her in concern.

  ‘It’s okay, Ruth. You’re safe now.’

  But Ruth can’t stop laughing, it’s all mixed up – joy, fear, exhaustion, and an overwhelming sense of relief that she isn’t going to die after all. Not this time.

  Tatjana puts her hand on Ruth’s arm.

  ‘Ruth. I’m sorry about earlier.’

  ‘That’s okay. You saved my life.’

  ‘You saved yourself.’

  ‘How did you get here anyhow?’

  ‘You rang me.’

  ‘I just pressed random buttons,’ says Ruth, ‘you must have been the last number I called.’

  ‘Well, I thought you sounded like you needed help.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You should have rung the police,’ says Judy, slightly reprovingly. She is sitting beside Craig who is huddled in his blanket, staring into space. Hard to imagine that a few minutes ago he seemed inhuman, a monster possessed of terrible powers.