“In the freezer? But we saw him.”
“No! At the window. I saw an outline, that’s all – the light was behind him. Someone was there that I thought was Donald, but I couldn’t see his face. He was standing still. He might have been a cardboard cut-out for all I know. It could have been a trick, don’t you see? Cathy could have locked him in the freezer and put the cut-out up. And then when we got back she went straight off to the loo. She could have got rid of it then and none of us would be any the wiser.”
“And Isabella? How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know. But Cathy was being fantastically cheerful on the mountain, wasn’t she? It drove Isabella nuts – that’s why she went on ahead of us. I reckon Cathy did it deliberately to wind her up. Maybe Isabella had become so gloomy and doomy that Cathy didn’t need to kill her at all. She probably only had to leave the champagne out on the bedside table before we left the house. Isabella would have realized and drunk it to save the murderer the bother.”
“There’s no proof,” said Graham uncertainly.
“No,” I agreed. “But I’ve got a monster hunch that I’m right. I’ve got to tell Mike! Now, before Cathy adds him to her list of victims.”
Leaving Graham in bed, I jumped down the stairs three at a time.
I arrived in the kitchen breathless, still flushed from the shower, with my hair dripping wet. And there, sharpening a knife with immense and scary enthusiasm, was Cathy.
undercurrents
I skidded to a halt, hitting my hip on the table with a loud thump.
“Ouch! That must have hurt,” said Cathy. “You’re up early, Poppy. Why are you rushing about in such a hurry?”
“No particular reason.” I forced myself to sound calm. “I was just wondering… Where’s Mike?”
Cathy’s eyes narrowed. “Mike?” she said, and her voice had a funny edge to it. “He’s down in the woodshed chopping logs for the fire. We’ll be needing them if the storm keeps up like this.”
I had a vision of an axe embedded in Mike’s head in another so-called accident.
“He’ll be back in an hour or two,” Cathy continued. “Of course, we were supposed to be doing survival skills today, but with Bruce’s accident…” She sighed, then attempted a bright smile. It was so forced it looked more like a lunatic’s grimace. “I thought I’d take you all for a ride, instead. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “I’ll call the others shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, I turned and fled up the stairs, bumping headlong into Graham as he came out of his room.
“Graham!” I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Keep an eye on Cathy! Make sure she doesn’t leave the building.”
“How?”
“I don’t know! Just keep asking for more toast or something. Whatever happens, make sure she stays indoors.”
“OK,” said Graham. “Where are you going?”
“The woodshed. I’ve got to find Mike!” I stopped. Turned. Looked at Graham. “Where is the woodshed?”
“It’s the stone building at the bottom of the hill,” he replied. “But chopping logs is very dangerous, you know. It can cause all kinds of injuries—”
“See you later!” I didn’t even stop to put my coat on. I was off, wet hair flapping across my face, dashing out in my slippers into the wind and rain. I vaguely remembered the woodshed: we’d passed it when we’d gone for that ride along the valley. The lane zigzagged in hairpin bends down to it, covering twice as much distance as was necessary. If I ran along the cliffs a little way, I should be able to find a more direct route – I had to get there as quickly as possible.
I began running, pacing myself so I wouldn’t get a stitch or sprain an ankle on the uneven ground. It wasn’t long before I came to the U-shaped cleft in the rocks where Bruce had fallen to his death. I paused for a moment to catch my breath. If I turned inland from here, I should be able to scramble down the hill and get to Mike.
The hideous slurping of the hungry sea sent a chill through my veins. It was like a great monster that had swallowed Bruce down. Just like Iain – the man in Bruce’s story – both of them were lost for ever.
I started running again, and thoughts banged in my head with each pounding footstep.
A drowned man … a woman who betrayed him … a best friend … cursing their names … never buried … never found … no body ever plucked from the waves.
No body … nobody…
I felt a thought tickling the back of my mind and had the unnerving sensation that something important was dangling there, just out of reach. If I’d had more time, I would have sat down and worked it out but right then finding Mike seemed like the most urgent thing.
I jogged a little way inland and saw, to my relief, that I was right – there, just a few hundred metres below me, was the woodshed. The trouble was that the ground between here and there was covered in gorse and bracken and densely growing heather. It would take ages to push my way through it. Maybe I could find some sort of track? I scanned the area quickly and noticed a break in the scrub – a faint path – as if someone had made their way down ahead of me.
With my heart in my throat, I began to follow it. But I hadn’t gone more than a few metres when something caught my eye.
A large slab of rock was jutting out of the slope, giving shelter from the elements, and underneath it was a long, dry hollow. It was the size of a single bed. Again, I had the tickling sensation that I was missing something important.
I walked towards the rock and saw that the heather beneath it was flattened, as if someone had slept there. To one side was a cut square of grass, as neatly edged as a piece of turf. I peeled it back. Underneath, the earth was blackened and there was a strong smell of ash. A fire had burned there not long ago.
In a blinding flash I realized that the murders had absolutely nothing to do with Cathy! I’d been completely wrong about her.
We’d thought we were alone on Murrag. It had never occurred to me – or any of us – that someone could survive outdoors in the middle of a force-ten gale. But here was solid proof that another person was living on the island. A stranger. No wonder everything had seemed so impossible! Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
I was so busy telling myself off for my stupidity that I didn’t hear the stealthy gliding tread of an avenging spirit coming up behind me. It was only when a spectral voice uttered my name that I turned.
And came face to face with a ghost.
death sentence
I honestly thought I was going to faint. I went dizzy. My mouth was dry as sandpaper. My legs could hardly hold me up.
It was Bruce Dundee.
Back from the dead. His scarred face dark with fury.
“But you’re dead!” My voice was reduced to a tiny, pathetic croak. “I saw you! There was blood in the water. You were unconscious. You got washed away.”
“Yes, I did. I’m a ghost. You believe in ghosts, don’t you?” Weirdly, all trace of his Australian accent had vanished.
Clutching every scrap of common sense tightly with both hands, I struggled to work out what I was looking at. I fought against the sick feeling that rose in my throat.
Ghosts don’t need to make campfires, I told myself sternly. They don’t need dry places to sleep. This is not a ghost. It isn’t. I stared hard at Bruce Dundee. He looked solid enough.
“OK … so you didn’t die,” I said. “You survived that fall. But if you didn’t die why didn’t you come back to the centre? We were all so upset! Or were you frightened? Was it Mike who cut the rope? Did he try to kill you?”
Bruce Dundee threw back his head and laughed. I felt about a millimetre tall.
Suddenly it was so obvious! My hands went to my head and I dug my fingers into my scalp. How could I have been so thick?
“Hang on…” I glared at him because I knew exactly what had happened. “You did it!” I accused him. “You cut the rope yourself! No wonder we couldn’t figure it out.”
Bruce didn’t answer.
Just stood staring at me.
“There aren’t any currents around here, are there?” I demanded. “Not ones that suck people down to the depths so their bodies can’t be found. You made that story up so we’d think you were dead. But all that blood… What was that? Tomato sauce?”
“Stage blood. Plenty of it. It had to be convincing, you see.” His voice was crisp. Clipped. English.
“You knew there was a storm on the way. You knew the coastguard couldn’t come so what did you do? Let yourself get washed away and then cling to a rock around the corner? Climb back up once we’d all gone? You’re a survival skills expert, so living outdoors would be no trouble at all. I should have worked that out ages ago. And since then you’ve been hiding out here, picking people off one by one…” I stared at his wrecked face, trying to read his expression. “Why are you doing this? Are you Richard’s cousin? Or his friend?”
“I’m not his cousin. Not his friend.” Bruce gave a bitter, weird-sounding laugh. “I am him. The man himself. I am Richard Robertson.” He did a low, mocking bow.
My jaw dropped. I tried to speak but all that came out was a faint, astonished gasp.
“I suppose you know about the accident in South America?” he continued. “There was an inquest, of course, when they got back. After Mike gave his evidence, Richard Robertson was officially declared dead. I am a ghost, twice over.”
“But I don’t get it,” I said. “Why didn’t you get in touch with them? How could you leave your friends like that? Thinking you’d died? Missing you…”
It was like watching a volcanic eruption. Bitterness and hatred poured out like lava. “Missing me? Missing me? My best friend cut my rope. He left me to die. My pals were so heartbroken they never even bothered to look for me. Do you know what happened, Poppy? Do you want to hear how much I suffered? When I finally recovered consciousness I was at the bottom of a crevasse with a cracked skull, two broken legs and frostbite so bad that I lost half my face to it.” He rubbed his hand across his mutilated features. “This wasn’t caused by bad plastic surgery after a car crash – this was what they did to me! I waited for them to come. But when I’d waited and waited and they still didn’t show up I crawled out of that glacier like a worm on my belly, mile after mile down that mountainside. I had to make splints for my own legs. Bandage my own face. When I made it to the base camp, they’d long gone. Do you know what it’s like in that part of the world? Of course you don’t! I went from snow-capped mountains to tropical forest. From savage cold to unbearable heat. Biting insects. Hornets. Mosquitoes. Snakes. Scorpions. I had to forage for grubs. Insects. Larvae. It took me weeks to reach the nearest village – a few huts in a clearing. No medicine. No painkillers. Hardly any food. It was months before I gained enough strength to get to civilization. By the time I came home, I’d been declared dead and my best friend had married my fiancée—”
“Mike and Isabella,” I said flatly. “So you started to plan your revenge?”
He gave an acid laugh. “What else could I do?”
I looked at him. “The way you killed them – it was all to do with what happened to you, wasn’t it? The hot shower that killed Steve Harris – that was like the heat of the jungle. You messed up the thermostat. Wedged the door. Waited. And the same in the freezer that killed Donald – because of your frostbite. You waited until we went out, then you pushed him in. Locked it. Isabella’s poison – was that because of the snakes and scorpions?”
He didn’t answer directly. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth… It wasn’t revenge. It was justice. Isabella knew that. She let me kill her without a murmur. She was grateful.”
The champagne, I thought. The rose petals. Like a wedding. That was sick. “She thought she had it coming. That you were an avenging spirit.”
“She always was superstitious,” he murmured.
“How did you get out of her room?” I asked. “We were right behind her. Why didn’t we see you?”
“I’m a mountaineer, Poppy. I climbed out of the window.”
“Of course.” It was so obvious! How could we have missed it? I looked at him and said quietly, “That first night… She went so pale when she saw you. I think she almost recognized you.”
“But she didn’t, did she?” he spat bitterly. “None of them did. My closest friends, and not one of them knew me.”
I was starting to get cross. “Isabella felt dreadful about what happened to you, she really did. I heard her! And she regretted marrying Mike. It was all a big mistake. You didn’t need to kill her!”
“Oh, but I did. Just as I need to kill Mike. I’m saving him for last. But I want him to lose everyone first, just like I did. I want him to know exactly how it feels to have everything stripped away. But before that, there’s the question of how to despatch my dear little cousin Cathy.”
“Cathy’s your cousin?” I couldn’t help feeling pleased that at least I’d guessed that bit right. “But Cathy wasn’t in South America! She had nothing to do with the accident.”
“No,” he said. “But she was at Mike and Isabella’s wedding. She agreed to take the job here. She’s in love with Mike. Has been for years. That’s enough of a betrayal for me.” His mouth twisted into a leer. “And now, I’ll need to get rid of you too. Mike really shouldn’t let interfering little girls wander off on their own. You never know when they might slip, and this cliff-top path is so dangerous. One false step can lead to disaster. So easy to topple over the edge. Another tragic accident…”
I had begun to back away and, as he made a lunge for me, I turned and ran. But my foot caught in a clump of heather and I tripped. Richard Robertson’s arms closed around me and a second later I was being hauled towards the edge of the cliff.
day of judgement
When something hit Richard Robertson, crashing into him with such force that his legs were knocked from under him, I thought it was an enraged sheep. I hit the ground with a thud and rolled away, spinning beyond his reach. Scrambling to my feet, I started to run. But then I heard a familiar sound, and realized the thing that had launched itself at Richard wasn’t an animal at all. It was Graham. And Richard had got hold of him.
Graham’s fists were pounding against his captor’s arms. “Get off! Get off me! Run, Poppy, run!”
I could see at once that Graham didn’t stand any more chance against the lean, wiry climber than I did. Richard was half lifting, half dragging him towardsthe cliff edge, just as he’d done with me. They were already perilously close to the edge. Graham’s face was white, but still he shouted, “Run, Poppy!”
I had no intention of running anywhere. But if I hurled myself at Richard the way Graham had done, I’d be in danger of knocking all three of us over the edge. Richard had his arms around Graham’s waist, and was lifting him off his feet. In a second, he’d launch him into the air, and Graham would plummet into the sea.
As Richard began to swing Graham in a wide arc, I grabbed at Graham’s outstretched legs and leaned backwards, hanging on as if it were a lethal tug-of-war contest. But my slippers couldn’t get any grip on the wet grass. I tried digging my heels into the turf but I was sliding towards the edge. Richard was too strong. I’d slowed him a fraction, but that was all. With one determined lunge he would throw both of us into oblivion.
A hideous grin, one mad laugh, and Richard swung Graham again. I didn’t let go, but I lost my footing, skidded off the muddy grass and started slipping over the cliff edge. Holding on desperately to Graham’s legs, I tried to find a foothold. There was nothing below me but air. I looked down and saw the hungry sea reaching up. Above me, Graham – who had been trying to escape Richard’s grip – was now clinging to him, frantic to hold on to whatever he could grab. Reaching up, he’d seized a handful of Richard’s hair and was clutching it as if our lives depended on it – which of course they did. With a cry of pain, Richard took a step back, then two, three more steps, trying to dislodge Graham’s fingers. I crunched hard against the cliff-face and was scraped painfully ba
ck on to solid land with each lurching pace Richard took. As soon as I felt the grass beneath me, I let go of Graham and flung myself at Richard’s head, tugging at his ears while he lashed out with fists and feet.
We couldn’t hold him for long. He’d already prised Graham’s fingers from his skull and was bending them backwards with vicious relish. Graham was yelling in agony and there was a horrible cracking sound. I lunged at Richard’s nose, but he turned on me and I felt his fist hit me in the mouth. Before we knew it, he had us both by the scruff of the neck like a pair of kittens.
We were done for. This was it. My mouth throbbing with pain, I struggled as hard as I could, hitting and scratching him, but it was useless. The sea crashed on to the rocks below. Any second now we’d both be down there. Claimed by the sea. Lost for ever.
I screamed, hard and high, going on and on without drawing breath until I felt my chest was going to burst.
And then I felt someone’s hands ripping us both from Richard’s clutches and pushing us back to safety. Mike!
“Bruce…?” he gasped. “What the…?”
“He’s not Bruce,” I screamed. “He’s Richard Robertson!”
Mike looked at me, disbelieving. But then he stared once more into Richard’s hate-filled eyes. “Richard? You survived! Oh dear God! Mate, I’m so sorry—”
The noise that came from Richard’s throat was barely human. He leapt at Mike and they rolled together, over and over, a tangle of flailing fists, kicking feet and biting teeth. There was nothing we could do but stand and watch, horrified, rigid with shock and fear.
Mike was strong, but Richard was propelled by an anger that gave him superhuman strength. Mike was down. Carried by the speed of his fall halfway over the edge. He was hanging on to tufts of grass, scratching desperately for something to cling to, but they were coming away in his hands. Richard was standing over him. Lifting a booted foot to stamp on his hands.
But then a stone cracked against Richard’s skull. He jerked forward. Half turned. Saw Cathy, with her upraised hand. And fell.
Mondays are Murder Page 6
