Ruin Beach

by Kate Rhodes

  I rattle the door knocker but no one appears. I’m about to turn away when a pair of bloodshot eyes study me through a window in the door.

  ‘Shane? It’s DI Ben Kitto. Can we talk?’

  ‘Not now, come back tomorrow.’ His voice is a gruff whisper.

  ‘I’m afraid it can’t wait. I need information about your sister today.’

  His footsteps drag as he leads me to his kitchen. The place is too well-decorated for a bachelor pad, but an empty whisky bottle stands on the table, beside some crushed beer cans. It doesn’t take a stellar IQ to realise that Shane Trellon went on a bender after hearing of his sister’s death yesterday. But there’s no way of knowing whether his splurge was prompted by guilt or grief. His full mouth and dark hair make him resemble Jude, yet the family’s good looks have bypassed him by a few inches. His pitted skin and heavy jaw make him average instead of handsome. Shane lowers himself onto a stool, his frown deeper than before. The man has the same athletic build as his sister, dressed now in jogging pants and a white T-shirt, with the diving school’s logo emblazoned across his chest. When I ask how he’s doing, his reply is a shallow groan.

  ‘Have you taken some aspirin?’ I ask.

  ‘It won’t make any difference.’

  I hunt for an empty glass in his kitchen cupboards. ‘Drink some water at least. It’ll flush the crap out of your system.’

  Shane swigs down a few mouthfuls, then finally makes eye contact. ‘Have you got news about Jude?’

  ‘I need to get some facts straight first.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Why did she go diving so late at night, alone?’

  ‘Fuck knows. Jude had been keeping secrets recently.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  His tone is as sour as lemon juice when he finally replies. ‘She was tense about something, but wouldn’t say a word. I knew she was troubled.’

  ‘Why are you so touchy, Shane? Did Jude tell you she was going to Piper’s Hole?’

  ‘I thought she’d go home.’

  ‘The bar staff at the New Inn say you two had a row.’

  ‘It was nothing.’ His gaze drops away. ‘My sister could pick a fight with a brick if she was in the mood.’

  ‘What got her started on Sunday?’

  ‘I asked what was wrong, but she told me to back off. Jude trusted me more than anyone. She’d never locked me out before.’

  ‘Your dad says that she often went on night dives. Is that right?’

  ‘She loved it when we were kids. Jude said it was like entering another universe, nothing around you except silence and the dark.’ Shane stares at me like I’ve missed something obvious. ‘You know about her background, don’t you? My sister was a professional free diver, swimming to a hundred and fifty metres without oxygen, incredible breath control. Diving alone wouldn’t have bothered her, but it doesn’t make sense that she got into trouble. She’d clocked up thousands of diving hours.’

  ‘We think she may have been attacked. Can you think of anyone she’d clashed with?’

  Shane closes his eyes, frowning with pain. ‘She wasn’t crazy about a couple of clients, but she kept it quiet.’

  ‘The Kinvers?’

  ‘She called them a pair of greedy amateurs. They normally dive with Dad when they visit Tresco; this was the first time she’d dealt with them.’ He rubs his hands across his face. ‘Jude could be a pain in the arse, but we saw eye to eye on the important stuff.’

  ‘You cared about her, despite the rows?’

  ‘Always.’ He sucks in a deep breath. ‘She stayed here every few weeks, after the pub, and we’d sit around, talking for hours. She pissed me off sometimes, but I’ll never be that close to anyone again. If I find out who killed her, I’ll finish him.’

  ‘Don’t take matters into your own hands, Shane. Leave it to us. Have you got anyone to support you?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘A girlfriend, or a close mate?’

  The anger returns to his face. ‘I’m not seeing anyone, but the people I care about won’t let me down.’

  Shane has described his sister’s flaws, yet the guy looks heartbroken; their relationship seems to have thrived on conflict. It’s too soon to know whether the chemistry between them spiralled out of control, resulting in Jude’s death. He has had plenty of time to scour the place, removing any evidence that he harmed his sister, but there may still be clues about what had been troubling her.

  When I get up to leave, Shane looks relieved, until he sees me scanning the sparse contents of his kitchen.

  ‘This place was a holiday cottage once, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The museum employs me as caretaker now. Visitors can book appointments each summer to look around. I show them the old well in the garden and the false floor, where the smugglers hid their stash.’ His voice tails away, as if his mind has suddenly defaulted back to his sister’s death.

  ‘I’ll come back another time, for a formal search.’

  ‘Why?’ His blurred gaze finally comes into focus.

  ‘You were one of the last people to see Jude alive. She may have left something here, to help us understand why she died.’

  A vein bulges in Shane’s neck, his face reddening. ‘It sounds like you’re accusing me of killing my sister.’

  ‘We both want her killer behind bars; I’m just gathering evidence, like I said.’

  The conversation remains in my head as I head north to Ruin Beach. Right now, Shane is the most likely culprit, and his temper runs so near the surface it wouldn’t take much to ignite the flame. There’s no circumstantial proof yet, but he could easily have followed his sister north from the pub, drunk and fuming from the insults they’d exchanged. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s taken a second job, to supplement his income from the diving school. Islanders must turn their hands to anything to make a living, knowing that pickings are slim during the winter. But it’s the look on Shane’s face when he spoke about Jude that interests me, anger combined with intense regret. It could just be the rawness of grief, but I need to understand the chemistry of their love/hate relationship.

  The tide is out when I walk along the shore, past the old Block House. It hangs over the beach as a reminder of the island’s military past, battalions stationed here to ward off invasions since Elizabethan times. Not much remains of it today, except a stone tower and a wall with its square rampart still intact. Once I round the headland it’s a quick walk to Ruin Beach, where a notice in the diving shop’s window states that boat trips are cancelled until further notice. Fifty metres away, the café is thriving, most of the outdoor tables filled with tourists drinking coffee as the sun intensifies, oblivious to the local tragedy.

  Mike and Diane’s house lies on the far side of the track. It’s a handsome stone building with a large front garden that must consume their spare time. A climbing rose has been trained across the roof of their porch, borders rioting with colourful blooms, but there’s no sign of anyone tending the plants today.

  Diane looks like a different person from the friendly, exuberant woman I saw yesterday. Her eyes are shadowed, chestnut curls snagged back from her face in a messy ponytail. I catch sight of a photo of her children on her sideboard, taken in their teens; Jude is clowning in the foreground, oozing charisma, while Shane stands in her shadow. It can’t have been easy playing second fiddle to his younger sister. Diane’s green eyes zero in on my face, as if she’s expecting me to announce that her daughter has been found alive after all. I can tell it’s the wrong time to announce that Shane is being treated as a suspect.

  ‘Is Mike here, Diane? I’d like to see you together.’

  ‘He’s asleep, and I don’t want him woken. Neither of us got a wink last night.’ Her hands jitter in her lap, unable to keep still. ‘I’m worried about Frida. Ivar’s kept her locked indoors since we got the news.’

  ‘Why not ask him to bring her round?’

  ‘My granddaughter needs me, but he’s not the type to ca
re about anyone else.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He’s so aloof, most of the time he hardly gives us the time of day.’

  ‘I’m sure Ivar will make contact soon. It would help to know a bit more about what happened on Sunday night. Did you and Mike have to work late at the café?’

  ‘Mike stayed here, but it was past midnight when the café emptied. I didn’t get back till two in the morning.’

  ‘Were any of the dive boats used that evening?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ She shakes her head blankly. ‘Mike would know, he keeps records of every trip.’

  ‘Do you want me to come back later to see you together? I’m using the top floor of the New Inn until we find out what happened to Jude.’

  ‘What do you mean? It was a diving accident, wasn’t it?’

  There’s no way to shelter her from the pathologist’s report. ‘We think it’s more complex, Diane; she may have been attacked. Something was blocking her airway.’

  ‘Someone killed my daughter?’ Diane says the words in a quiet monotone.

  The information snaps the thin band of courage that’s been holding her together. Jude Trellon’s mother ignores my presence while she weeps, sobs racking her body. Watching women cry always makes me uneasy. It reminds me too strongly of my mother’s tears after my father drowned; she cried for weeks, impossible to console. I gaze at my scuffed boots, then fish in my pocket for a tissue to offer Diane. All I can do now is wait in silence while her emotions flood out.

  8

  Tom jogs down the steps to the beach when his morning break starts, hoping not to bump into anyone. Since Jude died, his need to be alone has deepened. The boy skirts around the side of Tregarthen Hill, over a landscape pockmarked with history. The horizontal stones of entrance graves loom above him, funeral cairns, and trenches from ancient tin mines. His father used to tell him stories about the island’s past, but after he left only Jude shared his interest in history. She lent him nautical maps of sites where ships foundered, until his fascination with the subject grew overwhelming. He had never realised before that the local waters are full of perfectly preserved wrecks.

  The boy’s thin arms swing at his sides as he marches north. Why didn’t he spend more time with Jude while he had the chance? Now the big diving trip they were planning will never happen. The fact that she had a boyfriend and a kid makes no difference. The space inside his ribs feels empty, eyes blurring when he considers all he’s lost. But he keeps on walking, determined to discover the truth. Jude told him months ago that her life was in danger, but he didn’t believe anyone on the island could act so violently. He will have to retrace her footsteps to find out why she died.

  He drops down to the beach, east of Piper’s Hole, with his torch inside his pocket. It takes courage to slip through the narrow entrance again. He has heard stories of pirates being hung here long ago, as punishment for their crimes, angry ghosts still lurking in crevices. The smell of rotting seaweed almost makes him gag, blackness cloying against his skin as he follows the passageway down into the cave. Tom’s torch beam skitters over granite walls, droplets of icy water falling from rock formations that hang overhead, like a monster’s fangs. The place contains nothing except silence today, the air unnaturally still. He kneels beside the pool, the black water unwilling to yield its secrets. It strikes him suddenly that he might be the only person to know why Jude dived here alone at night. Memories overwhelm him, making him cover his eyes with his hands, until he hears a sound. Someone must have followed him, but when he turns round, nothing is moving among the boulders. The boy drags in a deep breath to calm himself. His imagination must be working overtime because he’s so spooked by Jude’s death. The sound comes again, even nearer than before. In the stillness he can hear the low rasp of someone’s breathing. When he spins round, a figure is coming towards him through the dark.

  Tom stumbles to his feet and begins to run. As he gathers speed, the torch slips from his fingers, smashing apart on the rocks. Suddenly the darkness is absolute. He crawls over wet boulders, blind panic forcing him towards a crack of light in the distance. Jude’s killer must be metres away, the only illumination coming from a torch beam that flickers behind him. Tom has no idea who’s chasing him, but the man must have seen his face. He’s too terrified to look back, all of his energy focused on reaching the daylight before it’s too late.

  9

  Diane clings to my hand while she digests the news of her daughter’s murder. It’s a relief when Elinor Jago arrives; the postmistress is dressed in her usual severe clothes, but her voice is gentle when she comforts her friend. By the time I leave she’s made a pot of tea, and Diane is weeping on her shoulder.

  Eddie is still on the phone when I get back to the New Inn, but I can see he’s been busy. The floor of the attic has been swept, cobwebs brushed from the walls. Pages full of notes lie on the trestle table in front of him, but he’s so focused on his conversation that he barely raises his head. When I peer at his call log, I see that he’s had no luck in tracking the Kinvers down. The couple who employed Jude Trellon as a diving guide aren’t answering their phone. Shadow is trying to attract my attention, whining quietly in the corner. It’s only a question of time before he starts clawing holes in the walls, making me wish I’d left him at home. He races through the door when I set off to see Ivar Larsson again, celebrating his freedom with a chorus of loud barks.

  ‘Where’s your self-restraint?’ I ask, as he sprints away, oblivious to criticism.

  The dog only reappears outside Larsson’s house. The man’s skin is paler than before, muscles taut around his mouth, but his expression brightens when he sees Shadow. His pale eyes examine the dog’s face closely as he leans down to stroke him. To his credit, Shadow doesn’t flinch, even though strangers normally make him skittish. When Ivar finally returns his attention to me, he seems embarrassed by his display of tenderness.

  ‘I grew up on a farm. My father keeps dogs just like him. He’s a husky, right?’

  ‘Czechoslovakian wolfdog, but all dogs are ninety-nine per cent wolf anyway. Is it okay to bring him inside? His name’s Shadow.’

  ‘Because he’s always with you?’

  ‘He’s got no loyalty whatsoever. He’ll follow anyone that feeds him.’

  The small talk seems to relax Larsson, but only by a fraction; he looks thinner than before, his ash-blond hair uncombed. Soon I’ll need to question him about the state of his relationship with Jude, but not today. He’s retreated too far inside himself to give reliable answers. His daughter is sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, scrawling lines of colour across a sheet of paper, completely immersed. She seems to be using drawing as her means of escape, just like I took refuge in books after my father died. I keep my voice low to share the news that Jude was murdered, when Ivar follows me into the hallway. His reaction is quieter than Diane’s; he rocks back on his feet, remaining silent until his anxiety bubbles to the surface.

  ‘Promise to keep Frida safe, if anything happens to me.’

  ‘Of course, Ivar, but who would harm you?’

  His pale gaze meets mine. ‘I don’t know why Jude was killed. Maybe I’m their next target.’

  ‘I doubt it. She must have fallen out with someone on the island.’

  ‘Only Jamie Petherton. They went out for less than six months, but you’d think I’d stolen his wife.’

  ‘Did she often have rows with people?’

  ‘Jude was a passionate person. There were standoffs with her family, but they never lasted. She was incredibly close to her father.’ His voice falls by half an octave, gaze slipping away. ‘When can I see her? I need to say goodbye.’

  ‘Why not go over with Diane and Mike this afternoon?’

  Ivar frowns at me. ‘I need to see her alone.’

  ‘Can I ask a question first? It would help to know how you and Jude met.’

  He glances through the doorway, checking on his daughter. ‘Anyone could tell you. The
islanders gossiped about us for months.’

  ‘I never heard about it.’

  ‘She was seeing Petherton, like I said. It was nothing serious for her, but he couldn’t accept that it was over.’

  ‘That must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘It settled down after a few months. The guy’s never forgiven me, but Jude saw him as a friend, until they fell out recently. She never said why.’

  ‘How did your relationship with Jude start?’

  ‘I’m an oceanographer. I came here to study the local waters, five years ago. The Scillies have a unique ecosystem; the diversity of plants and creatures on the seabed needs to be recorded, before it’s lost forever.’

  ‘It’s that fragile?’

  He nods his head. ‘The seas register the chemicals we burn, every rise in temperature. Jude took me out diving each day for weeks. So much time in someone’s company is a good way to learn about them. I didn’t pursue her at first, but the feelings wouldn’t go away. By then I’d fallen for the island as well.’

  ‘You were prepared to lose your job because the relationship was so intense?’

  ‘I still work part-time. The university are paying for my research until the survey ends in five years’ time. Me and Jude had been talking about getting married; we planned to stay here with Frida permanently.’ Suddenly the chill returns to his voice. ‘Why are you asking me these questions?’

  ‘Someone hated Jude enough to attack her. I’m sorry if this is hard for you, but I have to know why. You said yesterday that you thought she’d been murdered. I’m not accusing you of anything, Ivar, but how did you know she’d be at Piper’s Hole?’

  There’s a hint of panic in his eyes. ‘The place fascinated her, and Jude could be impulsive. She dreamed of night diving there, but I begged her to forget it.’