by Lara Dearman
‘What would someone be doing poking around in those caves, do you think?’
Michael was confused. ‘I’m sorry, Ms . . . ?’
‘Jones. Tuesday Jones.’
‘Ms Jones, I really have no idea. It’s not been a primary focus of the investigation so far.’
‘Well, maybe it should be.’
‘If you know something about this Ms Jones, you need to tell us.’
She shook her head, the hint of a smile on her lips.
Michael was suddenly aware that a tension had settled over the room. Nobody was talking, not even a whisper of conversation. Nobody was moving. They all sat straight and still. And nobody was looking. Not at him, not at the woman who was asking the questions.
A raised hand. ‘Yes, Jennifer.’
‘Are the police considering that the two cases might be connected?’
‘I’m not able to comment on that until we’ve identified the body found in the cave.’
‘Should people be locking their doors at night, Chief Inspector? Is there another serial killer on the loose?’ It was that idiot from Channel News again.
‘No, Mr Boswell, we do not suspect a serial killer is on the loose. And speculation of that nature is extremely unhelpful.’ He paused. ‘However, we always advise folk to lock their doors, and given the circumstances, I’d say people would be wise to follow that advice right now.’
‘Rubbish.’
Michael flinched. ‘You have something to add, Sir William?’
‘Load of rubbish. This whole place has gone to hell and a locked door isn’t going to make the blindest bit of difference.’ He stood, turned to the crowd. ‘I hope you’re all satisfied. Made a deal with the devil, didn’t you? And look where it’s got us.’ He spat, with surprising force, towards the group from the Chief Pleas.
‘Hang on a minute!’ Michael started towards him, but he raised his cane.
‘I’m leaving. You should too. You’re wasting your time. You’ll get nothing out of this lot.’
The sound of gentle sobbing broke the silence. Tanya Le Page, shoulders shaking, head in hands.
‘Let’s everyone calm down now,’ Michael said, although Tanya was the only one actually making any noise. ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’
‘How can you say that?’ She looked up. ‘No one is safe.’ She gestured around the room. ‘No one.’
‘We have no reason to believe that anyone else is in danger. Of course, if you know different, any of you, you should come forward immediately.’
‘I need a cigarette.’ Tuesday sounded bored. ‘Thanks for your time, DCI Gilbert. I’m sure we all appreciate it.’
As she left, Michael could have sworn some of the tension in the room lifted. Enough, at least, for a murmur of conversation to start up, chairs to shift and squeak on the floor.
‘That woman.’ Michael spoke quietly. ‘Tuesday Jones.’
‘Stupid name.’ Fallaize did not bother to keep his voice down.
‘Get me some information. Background, how long she’s been here. Then go and talk to her. Ask her about the cave comment. Whether she knows who tipped us off.’
‘I’m on it.’
Everyone in this room, Michael thought, had been terrified. Even the seigneur’s outburst seemed rooted in anxiety. Except Tuesday Jones. She hadn’t seemed frightened at all.
Jenny and Elliot were waiting outside the school gates. She had that determined look on her face as she approached him.
‘You all right?’ he asked. ‘Not letting all this get to you?’
‘I’m fine.’ She managed a tight smile. ‘Heading to Tanya Le Page’s. She just asked if she could speak to me.’
‘What about? If she’s any complaints about the investigation, she needs to come to us. You can’t be printing anything that will undermine public confidence, not now. You saw what it was like in there.’ Michael could feel his blood pressure rising, his left eye twitching in synch with his elevated pulse.
‘She looked worried. Not angry. I’ll let you know what she says. Then I’ve pretty much covered everything I can on Reg’s murder. Unless you’ve anything else for me?’
‘Nothing at the moment. You going back to Guernsey, then, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘Can we talk? Not now.’ She glanced at Fallaize, who stood a few feet away and was obviously listening. ‘Later this afternoon?’
‘What about?’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘I’ve been making some enquiries. About my dad.’ She winced as she said it, obviously anticipating his response.
He couldn’t help delivering.
‘For God’s sake, Jenny.’ Michael put a hand to his head, covered his eyes. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate.’
‘I know you don’t have time for this now. But it might be relevant.’
Fallaize let out a sceptical-sounding huff.
‘How so?’ Michael asked.
‘Later. At the Mermaid?’
‘I’ll not be able to take a break until five at the earliest.’
‘Five, then.’
He sighed as she walked away.
‘I know you’re friends, sir, but I wouldn’t take anything she says too seriously. She always looks halfway to a nervous breakdown.’
‘Did I ask for your opinion, Fallaize? Go and speak to Tuesday Jones, will you?’ Cheeky little bastard.
He waited until Fallaize had cycled off towards the incident room before sitting on the wall. These conferences always made him feel ill. He was all right while he was doing it, but afterwards, it was as if all of the tension he kept in check was unleashed. He felt it rising from his stomach and into his chest, like stress reflux.
He was going to have to tell Jenny what he knew about Charlie Dorey’s death. He should have been honest months ago. As soon as the inconsistencies were brought to his attention. She would have understood. Everyone made mistakes. It was the not coming clean that caused problems. The cover-up. It was always worse than the crime.
27
Jenny
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’
They stopped at the crossroads before Tanya Le Page’s house. It was the first time either of them had spoken since they’d left the school.
‘I’m a bit distracted with everything that’s going on, Elliot, that’s all.’
‘There’s something else. I’m getting a bit tired of having to second-guess you all the time, Jenny. Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind so we can get on with things?’
‘Were you out with Jade last night?’
He looked taken aback. ‘Yes.’
‘And I’m the one who’s not being honest?’
‘Jenny, I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘You’re doing me a favour by not telling me you’re sleeping with someone else? Fuck off, Elliot.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Jenny. Jesus. It was team drinks. Jade organised it, that’s all.’
It was too simple an explanation to be anything but the truth. She let it sink in for a moment, felt the sting of embarrassment behind her eyes.
‘I’m sorry. I . . . misunderstood.’
He nodded. ‘You did.’
‘What team drinks?’
‘It wasn’t everyone.’
‘Just the popular crowd?’
He sighed, exasperated. ‘I didn’t organise it. You were here, anyway.’
They stood next to each other in silence. The heat was oppressive.
‘I need to speak to Tanya Le Page.’
‘Let me guess. You need to do it alone?’
‘Elliot, it’s not because I don’t want you there. But she won’t talk to me if you are—she’s very protective of her son.’
‘It’s fine, Jenny. I get it. You don’t need me. No problem. I’ll see you in Guernsey. Presuming, at some point, you decide to come back.’
There was something very final about the way he rode off, without so much as a goodbye or a glance
over his shoulder.
Arthur Le Page was kneeling next to the coffee table, surrounded by colouring pencils, a vase of deep red roses pushed to one side. His head was bent over a sketchbook, long hair falling like a protective curtain about his face.
‘He’s hardly spoken all week,’ Tanya whispered. She was still red-eyed after the meeting. ‘Just the odd word. Nothing about what happened. The doctor says it’s post-traumatic stress. Says we can’t rush him. I know the police are desperate to get him to talk. But he didn’t see anything. I’m sure about that.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Can we talk in the kitchen?’
‘Of course.’ Jenny followed her through the bright living room into a long, low-ceilinged room. Polished brass pots hung over a central island. Dishes spilled out of a ceramic sink. A gleaming range cooker hummed in the corner.
‘Do you want some tea?’ She got up but seemed to immediately forget why she had done so and sat back down again, put her head in her hands. ‘This is a nightmare.’
‘Here, let me do it.’ Jenny filled the kettle and rinsed two mugs from the sink.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I didn’t know who you were when you brought Arthur home. Your dad was the man who drowned off Sark a couple of years ago.’
‘That’s right.’
‘It must be hard for you, being here.’
Jenny shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s harder at home, where there are reminders of him. Besides, he loved Sark. I have happy memories of him here.’
‘I’m sure there are lots of people who speak fondly of him.’
Jenny wasn’t sure if it was a question or not. ‘He had friends here. What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Ms Le Page?’
‘Everyone knows it was Arthur who found Reg’s body.’
‘I haven’t said a word,’ Jenny protested. She had, under strict instruction from Michael, not told a soul about Arthur’s involvement in the case, not even Elliot.
‘I know it wasn’t you. Constable Langlais is one of the most indiscreet men I’ve ever met. I’m sure he only volunteered for the job so he could satisfy his craving for gossip.’ She paused. ‘I want you to write about it but make a point of the fact that Arthur did not see who killed Reg Carré.’ There was an edge to her voice now. ‘The police keep saying we’re safe, but how can they possibly know that? And now they’ve mentioned a witness who saw a man, it’s only a matter of time before people work out it was Arthur.’ Her big eyes glistened and she tore a piece of kitchen paper off a roll and dabbed at them. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s been two days,’ Jenny said gently. ‘Plenty of time for Arthur to have talked.’
‘But he hasn’t!’ Tanya said sharply.
‘I know that. And you know that. But the murderer doesn’t. There would be no point in anyone trying to harm Arthur. And even if there was, they would have done it by now, wouldn’t they?’
Tanya sighed. ‘Maybe. Who knows. We’re not dealing with a normal person, are we? Normal people don’t do this sort of thing.’ She shuddered. ‘So will you do it? The article?’
‘Of course.’ Graham would love it, Jenny thought. Particularly with Tanya being so photogenic.
‘Can I say a quick hello to Arthur before I go?’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Sorry.’ Tanya shook her head. ‘He wet himself when the milkman rang the doorbell yesterday.’
‘Poor thing. Of course, I don’t want to upset him.’
A crash from the living room. A wail. Tanya paled and rushed out of the room. Jenny followed.
‘What the . . . ? What are you playing at?’
The vase of flowers lay on its side, roses spilling out of it, water pooling on the table and dripping off the edge onto the cream carpet. Arthur stood, his sketchbook clutched to his chest. He looked, Jenny thought, defiant.
‘Bloody hell, Arthur. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate!’ She started picking up the flowers. ‘Shit! They would have to be roses, wouldn’t they?’ She sucked at the bead of blood that had appeared on the end of her thumb.
Jenny righted the vase.
The front door slammed.
‘Oh God, no!’ Tanya ran after her son. Jenny followed. The street was empty. ‘He’s got to stop running. Every time we fight, he runs.’
‘Let me help you look for him,’ Jenny offered.
‘No. You’ve done enough. I’ll find him. Usually I’d just leave him be, but not now. Not until they catch this madman. God knows how long that will take—the police don’t seem to have a clue.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Jenny was instantly defensive of Michael. ‘It’s only been a couple of days. They haven’t even had the forensic evidence back from the lab yet.’
‘I forgot—you’re friendly with DCI Gilbert, aren’t you? I’m sorry. He seems like a nice man. But a couple of days feels like a long time when you’re stuck on an island with a killer.’
It was Jenny who found Arthur, sitting in the entrance to a field just a few hundred yards from his house. He was still scribbling in his sketchbook.
‘Hey.’
He looked up.
‘What are you drawing?’ She sat next to him. Glanced down at the page. ‘That one’s good. Is it Batman?’ The boy put his hand over the picture. ‘Do you like superheroes?’
‘’S’not Batman.’ He did speak, after all.
‘Oh. Well, it’s very good.’
‘It’s bad.’
‘Better than I could do. I’m rubbish at drawing.’ She smiled.
‘It’s the bad man.’
Jenny felt a chill as the child’s gaze met hers. ‘You saw someone who looked like this?’
He nodded. ‘Mummy said not to tell.’
Jenny gently moved the hand that covered the picture. The figure was dressed all in black, his face half covered in some sort of mask, the eyes wide and bug-like.
‘He looks a bit like Batman.’ Jenny wondered if the trauma had confused his memory. Perhaps it was easier for him to process an image of something he was familiar with than whatever the reality had been.
‘’S’not Batman. It’s the Beast Man.’
‘Arthur!’ Tanya’s voice.
He froze.
‘Mummy said not to tell,’ he whispered.
‘About the Beast Man?’ she whispered back.
‘About anything.’
‘Arthur!’ Closer now.
Jenny couldn’t tell if she sounded worried or angry. They were hidden from her view, but she would see them as soon as she drew level with the field entrance.
‘You go to her. I’ll stay here. She won’t know you spoke to me.’
He seemed to think about this for a second, then nodded. ‘OK.’ He got up in a hurry and trotted out to meet his mother.
‘There you are.’ Tanya was mere feet away. A couple more steps and she would see Jenny. Their footsteps retreated, Tanya’s voice a low murmur, Arthur silent once again.
Jenny waited until she could no longer hear them. Gave it another couple of minutes for them to make it back into the house. She got up. Dusted the dry grass off the back of her shorts. Picked up the sketchbook Arthur had left behind and slipped it into her bag.
She spent the afternoon in her room at the guesthouse finishing a report into the meeting Michael had held that morning (‘Police Urge Vigilance but Islanders Should “Remain Calm”’), as well as starting on the interview with Tanya (‘“This Is a Nightmare”—Sark Mother Speaks Out’) and the piece about Corey Monroe (‘Monroe: “I’ve Tried to Make Friends”’). Enough to keep Graham happy until tomorrow morning at the very least. She lay back on the bed. Thought about what she had to tell Michael. Malcolm’s outburst. Tuesday’s warning. Arthur’s strange drawing. And Monroe. His reference to the assault she’d suffered in London. Or was it?
Fuck, she was tired. She scrolled through her messages. Nothing from Elliot.
She typed one. I’m sorry. Can we talk when I get back? She added an ‘x’. Deleted it. Pressed ‘send’. The
Wi-Fi symbol flickered. One bar, then two, then none. An exclamation mark appeared. Text not sent. It would have to wait until she got to the pub.
Outside, the sound of trees swaying. She closed her eyes. Slept dreamlessly.
She woke with a start. There had been a sudden noise. A door slamming, maybe. It was oppressively warm, but the light in the room had a pale, silvery quality, and for one panicked moment Jenny thought she had slept through until nightfall. She checked her phone. Four thirty. She pulled open the curtains. Not darkness. But not quite light. The sky was overcast. The landscape drained of colour.
The noise again. She splashed her face with cold water. Changed into her last clean top and pulled on a pair of shorts. On the landing, she found the source of the disturbance. An open window, a door to one of the other bedrooms swinging back and forth in the draught. Jenny shut it and went down the stairs.
Shuffling. She wondered if Rosie sat in the kitchen all day just waiting for the sound of her guests’ footsteps in the hallway.
‘I shouldn’t stay out too late tonight if I were you. Weather’s coming in. I can feel the pressure.’ She rubbed the top of her nose and then looked at Jenny’s T-shirt with disapproval. ‘Wait there.’ Rosie disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bright yellow cagoule. ‘Take this with you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You take care. It’s treacherous out there in bad weather. Everyone’s so happy about this Dark Sky Island status because they can see the stars. I’d rather have a couple more street lights. See what’s right in front of me.’
Michael sat at a corner table sipping at what looked like a glass of lemonade. Fallaize was at the bar draining a pint. Jenny nodded a hello to him. He looked ill, she thought, sallow-skinned, his usually perfectly coifed hair unruly. He raised his chin in return and waved at the barman, tapping his finger on the top of his glass. Jenny joined Michael.
‘He all right?’ she asked, looking at Fallaize.
‘God knows.’ Michael rolled his eyes. ‘He’s off duty. Probably got the bloody flu. And not that I wish him ill but I’d be a damn sight happier if he buggered off home. Driving me nuts he is. Usually treats me with complete and utter contempt; now I can’t shake the bugger off. Can’t bloody do enough for me. Presume he’s angling for promotion. As if a couple of days of not being an arrogant shit is going to make up for the last ten years. Anyway. Shall we take a walk? Too many people in here.’
