Dark Sky Island

by Lara Dearman

‘Let him go.’

  ‘He’s four years old.’

  ‘He just wants to look at everything. We’re right beside him.’

  ‘He’s not used to the cobbles. He might fall.’

  ‘Well, then we’ll pick him up.’ He was getting exasperated, but she held on to Luke’s hand anyway. Tighter.

  To make matters worse, it was the town carnival. Colourful bunting fluttered between the buildings. As they walked from the seafront onto Le Pollet, the cobbled road that led to the High Street, they passed a man dressed as a clown. He held a bunch of bright helium balloons in one hand. He bent down, smiled at Luke.

  ‘Are you coming to see the show?’

  Luke looked at her. He was a good boy, knew not to talk to strangers.

  ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

  She started to walk, pulling Luke with her.

  ‘When is it?’ Reg asked.

  ‘Eleven o’clock in front of the Town Church. There’s a Punch and Judy.’

  Luke’s eyes widened. ‘Can we go?’ he whispered.

  It was so hard to say no to him.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she said.

  Beghin’s was the only place for school shoes, Reg said. It was right next to the Town Church, the red-and-white-striped Punch and Judy tent already erected and catching Luke’s eye.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of time, Luke,’ Reg reassured him. ‘Let’s get you sorted in here first. Then we’ll find a good spot to watch the show, eh?’

  It was decided, then. She could hardly say no now. She glared at Reg. He pretended not to notice. They went into the shop.

  A stern-looking assistant dressed in a sombre suit with a dark green tie and a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose placed Luke’s feet in an unwieldy metal measuring contraption. He told him to stand up straight, slide his heels back, then disappeared without a word. He returned a few minutes later with boxes stacked to his chin. Luke dutifully tried each pair, walking the length of the shop and back, wiggling his toes so the assistant could feel them through the stiff leather. The fourth pair he tried were declared a perfect fit, and Luke agreed that they were not too big, too small, too tight or too slippy and that he would probably be able to run quite fast in them. The assistant packed them back into the box, carefully folding the tissue paper over the top.

  ‘I’ll ring them up for you.’ He smiled.

  ‘Can we take the next size up?’ she asked.

  He wrinkled his brow. ‘But these fit perfectly.’

  ‘As well as those. Two pairs.’ She’d have asked for the size after that too but was worried that Reg would baulk at the cost. As it was, he just gave her a look, then rolled his eyes. Much as her eccentricities seemed to perplex him, he liked to see her happy.

  Luke roared with laughter at the Punch and Judy, right until Mr Punch put the baby in the sausage machine. Then he looked at her confused as the string of fabric sausages flowed over the side of the tent.

  ‘Is the baby dead?’ He had tears in his eyes.

  ‘It’s just pretend, sweetheart. And look.’ She pointed to the show. The sausages disappeared back into the grinder; the baby was removed, paraded back and forth, unharmed but still unsafe, wobbling precariously in Mr Punch’s arms.

  ‘He shouldn’t have done that,’ Luke said quietly.

  ‘It’s just pretend,’ she said. ‘And anyway, wait until you see what happens at the end.’

  With the baby safely returned to Judy, Luke started to laugh again, and by the time the devil had walloped him off the stage, he was clapping and cheering.

  Rachel looked around for Reg, who had been standing at the back, a shopping bag in each hand.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Time to go home.’

  He was tired on the way back to the ferry and she carried him, his head nestled into her neck.

  ‘It would have been better if the policeman had got him,’ he said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It would have been better if Mr Punch had gone to jail. Because after the devil hit him, he was OK and he might be mean to the baby again and to Mrs Punch.’

  ‘Her name’s Judy. I don’t think he was mean to them anymore. Not after seeing the devil. I think that would be enough to teach anyone a lesson, don’t you?’

  ‘Have you ever seen the devil, mummy? Does he really look like that?’ He held her tighter.

  ‘Don’t be a silly billy.’

  She felt him relax a little. His eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. ‘He probably only comes for bad people, doesn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right Luke. So we have nothing to worry about.

  It hurt to swallow past the lump in her throat.

  21

  Jenny

  She paced the path in front of the small front garden, nose wrinkled against the smell, mouth closed firmly against the flies. Michael arrived, looking too large for his bicycle, and wobbled to a stop. He embraced her awkwardly, half hug, half pat on the back, his usual greeting. The usual smile was missing, though.

  ‘Not like you to get in the middle of everything,’ he said shortly. ‘How’s the poor chap doing? And what exactly is going on?’

  She pointed to the house. He took a few steps towards it.

  ‘Is that . . . ?’

  ‘Smeared all over the house. The back too. Mr Mauger collapsed not long after he saw it. Chest pains.’

  ‘Any sign of a break-in? Any damage inside the house?’

  ‘Not that I could see. I don’t know for sure. I ran next door and used the phone, then sat with Len until the doctor arrived. He’s sick. Cancer. He should be in hospital, but he refuses to go.’

  ‘And what does all of this have to do with you?’

  ‘I was speaking to him about Mr Carré. They were friends. Was just looking for a bit of background.’

  ‘Hm. Find out anything interesting?’

  She hesitated. This wasn’t the time to bring up Charlie’s death. Michael had too much going on. She tightened her grip on her backpack. The note Len received two years earlier was tucked inside. She needed more than that before she asked Michael for help. She shook her head.

  ‘They’d grown apart. I’m not sure why.’

  ‘And this.’ Michael nodded towards the house. ‘What the hell is all this about?’

  Jenny shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. There’s been a lot of trouble over here recently. Maybe this is just more of the same.’

  Michael furrowed his brow. ‘This is disgusting, though. Who does something like this? Someone’s taken the time to collect a load of crap and then rub it all over this poor sod’s house. That’s something else. He didn’t have any idea what it was about?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘No. As soon as he realised what it was, he went into shock, started shaking and panting. I thought it was stress, but then he collapsed. He needs an ECG but is refusing to go to Guernsey. I think he’s scared he might never come back.’

  ‘Because it’s so bloody brilliant over here, eh? I don’t know about you, Jenny, but I’m getting the impression that no bugger on this island is being entirely honest with me.’ He stared at her for a moment too long and she felt her cheeks flush. She was glad to hear the creak of the front door. Joe Lawton held his nose as he walked over to them.

  ‘How’s he doing, Doctor?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I’m fairly sure he’s had a mild heart attack. I’ve arranged a bed for him at the Princess Elizabeth Hospital. Flying Christine is on her way over now.’ The St John Ambulance boat was the only way to transfer patients to Guernsey.

  ‘He’s agreed to go?’ Jenny was surprised.

  ‘I told him he might not last the night if he stayed here alone without any treatment. That together with the sedative I gave him seems to have had the right effect.’

  ‘Is he well enough to give a statement?’ Michael asked. ‘I don’t mean to be callous, but if Mr Mauger knows anything about who might have done this, I n
eed to speak with him.’

  ‘He’s not in a state to talk now. He’s very drowsy. And we need to get him in the ambulance as soon as it arrives. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be bothered about this sort of thing anyway, Chief Inspector. Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’

  ‘I’ve got plenty on my plate. I’m just not quite sure what it all is. Have you seen anything else like this recently?’

  ‘I’ve only been here a few months, and in that time I’m delighted to say I’ve not had the misfortune to venture into a house covered in dog excrement before. Surely just kids, though—nothing to do with what you’re investigating?’

  ‘This the sort of thing kids get up to on Sark, is it?’

  Joe Lawton shrugged. ‘Kids here don’t seem to be particularly different to anywhere else. A little more independent, maybe. They have more freedom than almost anywhere else I can think of. And they get bored. Leads to a certain wildness sometimes. I imagine this is just a prank that got out of hand.’

  The rumble of a tractor signalled the arrival of the ambulance. The driver got down from the cab at the same moment that a paramedic jumped out of the trailer and they both began wrangling a stretcher.

  ‘I need to get Len moved now. If you have any further questions, I’ll be at the surgery the rest of the afternoon.’

  ‘Where would that be, then?’

  ‘The big house just before the turn-off to La Moinerie.’

  ‘That massive place with the pillars? You live there?’ Michael queried.

  ‘It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m a bit lost in it, but it came with the job.’ Joe Lawton walked over to the ambulance and began to give directions.

  ‘Very sure of himself, isn’t he?’ Michael muttered.

  Jenny smiled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘For a policeman, you have a surprising problem with authority figures.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He glared at her. ‘Eh? Bloody doctor has no authority over me.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Shit. I was supposed to meet Elliot nearly an hour ago.’

  ‘Ah. Brought your partner in crime this time. Glad to hear it. You stay out of trouble, all right? And you never finished telling me what you and Len were talking about.’

  ‘I’ve got to run. Mum says hello, by the way. You should give her a call, organise that dinner?’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Yes. Should do. Will do. Anyway. Best get on with this, eh?’

  It was a cheap trick, but it worked. Michael, distracted, turned back to the house, forgetting his question about Len Mauger. At least for now.

  Elliot was pissed off. Again. The fact that she’d turned up to the café over an hour late hadn’t helped.

  ‘What do you mean you’re staying over? We’ve got everything we need, haven’t we? It’s going to take hours to write all of this up.’ He waved at the waitress, the same one who had served Jenny the day before, and asked for the bill.

  ‘I can do it from here. And there’s someone else I need to speak to.’

  ‘About Reg Carré? Or your dad? Jenny, this is getting out of hand. I know that’s what you’ve been up to—I’m not stupid. He was in Sark right before he died, and you’re acting the way you always do when you’re obsessing about something.’ He stopped at her look. Lowered his tone. ‘Look, there’s a murder investigation underway here. We need to be focused on that.’

  ‘I am. This isn’t about my dad. Not entirely. Len Mauger was a friend of Reg’s too, remember.’

  Elliot’s face softened. ‘I’m worried about you, Jen.’ He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘This stuff with your dad . . . Wait.’ He held out a hand as she started to interrupt. ‘I’m not saying it’s nothing, or that you’re looking for answers that don’t exist. I’m not saying that. I’m just asking you to slow down. You don’t have to do this now. We’ve got enough to do. The police are holding a conference tomorrow in which they’ll give an update on the investigation and appeal for information. We’ll need to be here to cover that.’

  ‘Fine. What else have you got?’

  Elliot flipped through his notebook. ‘Spoken to a few residents. All said pretty much the same thing. Shocked and appalled, et cetera, et cetera. Your cousin told me they were checking passenger lists on the ferry, so looks like one line of enquiry is that the killer has scarpered. We can follow up on that at the press conference tomorrow. Oh, and one lady mentioned gambling. She was very upset about it. Said there were people here who should know better than playing card games for money. It’s the devil’s work, apparently.’

  ‘This is a Methodist island. A lot of the older folks are still very devout. Who did she say was gambling?’

  ‘Well, I was asking about Reg. I presume she meant him. Can’t see how it’s relevant to anything.’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘You think she slit his throat for breaking the Methodist code?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘OK, some sort of row, then. A feud over a card game? Seems a bit intense.’

  ‘Everything about this place is intense.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’ve been shutting you out. And I have been obsessing. I’ll stop. Or I’ll let you obsess with me.’

  ‘That’s more like it. I don’t want you doing this alone. But for now, one of us is going to have to get these reports filed.’ He leaned over and kissed her.

  His lips were warm and dry, and he smelled fresh and clean, like he always did, and she felt so stupid that she hadn’t just shared all of this with him from the start.

  He sat back and his phone pinged. She caught a glimpse of the screen as he pulled it out of his pocket.

  ‘I’m going to have to go.’

  ‘OK. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Sure.’ He squeezed her shoulders as he left. ‘Get some sleep, will you? You look exhausted. And for God’s sake, be careful. This place gives me the creeps at the best of times.’

  She watched him walk away, head bent as he looked at his phone. She didn’t know if she was sad or angry, just that she was alone and Jade was texting Elliot about a drink at the Cock and Bull, and Jenny was sure that was why he had to be back in Guernsey in such a hurry, and there was nothing she could do or say about it because it was her fault. She had pushed him away, spending all her time wrapped up in the past, so caught up in other people’s stories that she had no energy left to tell her own.

  The waitress came over with the bill. ‘You don’t need to pay it.’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Mr Monroe said it’s on the house. And will you please go and meet him at the steps to Havre Gosselin when you’re done.’

  ‘He was here?’

  ‘About ten minutes ago. He was watching you and your boyfriend. Looked a bit put out, actually. Lucky you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, the bloke’s a complete wanker, but he’s also a billionaire. He leaves me five quid every time he has a drink here. Imagine what you’d get for making him breakfast in the morning.’

  Jenny was rendered temporarily speechless.

  ‘You’d better get a move on. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Not even for coffee,’ she added slyly.

  Corey Monroe stretched, catlike, when he saw Jenny approaching. He was muscular, she noted, well-honed biceps barely concealed beneath a Fred Perry tennis shirt. There must be a gym somewhere in his mansion on Brecqhou. He rose from the bench overlooking Havre Gosselin, the tiny, rock-bound harbour between Sark and Brecqhou, and stretched out a hand. His mirrored sunglasses were perched on top of his head, reflecting the grey of the sky above. He looked tired, she thought, the skin under his eyes pale and puffy, but the smile was undiminished, confident. Aggressively so.

  ‘So, so pleased we could make this happen.’ He took her hand. Dry, firm grip.

  ‘Thank you for suggesting we speak, Mr Monroe. My editor was delighted when I told him you were prepared to do an intervi
ew. But I’m really under pressure to finish a report for this afternoon. I was wondering if we could possibly do this another day? There’s a lot going on right now, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

  ‘Quite.’ His smile loosened at the edges. ‘These are terrible circumstances to be meeting under. But there’s nothing wrong with making the best of a bad situation. I thought you might like to come across to Brecqhou. Have a look at the place. It won’t take long. I’ll have you back here in an hour or so.’

  ‘You’d allow me into the house?’ Jenny’s reasons for asking to delay the interview were genuine—she had no time to work on a profile, no matter how interesting the subject—but a glimpse into the mansion on Brecqhou was not an opportunity to be missed.

  ‘I’ve never really understood people’s fascination with my home. But my longing for privacy has backfired on me. It’s difficult to make friends when I’m considered aloof, at best. At worst, well, God knows what they say about me. Or maybe you do.’

  She sensed he was showing her his best side. That this willingness to co-operate was fleeting and could quickly be replaced with hostility if she failed to meet his expectations. Which seemed to be that she would do as he wanted.

  ‘Why are you doing this, Mr Monroe? Why talk to the News after years of taking such great efforts to stay out of the papers?’

  ‘It’s like I said yesterday, Jenny. The situation on Sark has become untenable. It’s bad for business. My previous attempts to reach out to the population have proved unsuccessful. I’ve decided to try something else. And as someone with a considerable stake in the island, I believe what I have to say is relevant to yesterday’s tragic events.’

  ‘I can ask whatever I like?’

  ‘You can ask. I don’t have to answer.’ She had the impression he was amused. ‘Shall we get going?’ He gestured towards the path. ‘There’s something I want to show you before we get in the boat.’

  She followed him, away from Havre Gosselin, down a grass track to a field. He stopped at a gate. It was made of a bright amber timber. It looked brand new, and too pristine for its position, in the middle of an unruly hedge covered in long grass and brambles. She looked over it, into the field. Most of it was full of neat rows of olive trees, leaves silvery green. But closest to them, the trees were withered and black. She thought at first it must be the result of some disease, but the breeze provided another explanation.