by Fay Sampson
He had only to take one look at Peter’s face to know the truth. Tears were trickling down the student’s face beneath the horn-rimmed glasses.
“Is she dead?” Aidan panted.
“M-must be. The sea was washing her in.”
Aidan bent down beside the sodden body. He turned her onto her side and ejected as much water from her slack mouth as he could. There was surprisingly little. Then he laid her on her back, breathed sharply into her mouth, and set to work with chest compressions.
He knew it was useless. Peter was right. But he had to try. He owed it to this unhappy girl. At the back of his mind was another thought: guilt. He had made things difficult for Lucy. And Lucy had cared for Rachel. She had done all she could to rescue the girl from whatever dark place she had been in.
At last, exhausted, he sat back on his heels.
“I phoned the police,” Peter said. “And told Lucy.”
Aidan thought back to the scene he had left. James, with a bloody head wound. He imagined Lucy, distracted from her mounting fear for the missing Rachel, having to cope with this new emergency.
She had struck him as calm and competent, whatever turmoil she was feeling inside. Her training in the police must have counted for something. He wracked his brains to think what he could do to help.
“What happens now? There aren’t any police on the island.”
“They said they’d send someone over from Berwick. But they’re also alerting the coastguard service here.”
Aidan remembered the coastguard hut near the harbour. He calculated the distance to this remote beach on the North Shore. Still, it shouldn’t take long if they had a Land Rover.
“There feels something wrong about moving her body. But the tide’s still coming in. If I had my camera with me, I could have photographed the position for the police.”
“She could have died anywhere,” Peter said. “You’d need to have someone who knows about tides and currents.”
“You think she’s been washed up from somewhere else? She didn’t die here?”
Peter shrugged without speaking.
Aidan bent to examine the pale face, cleared now of its wet hair. The marks of her acne showed dark against the sallow skin. There seemed no obvious signs of trauma.
“Do you think it was suicide?”
Peter shrugged again. “What else?”
“I don’t know. Some sort of seizure? We don’t know her medical history.”
“Does it matter?” Peter sighed. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
Aidan got to his feet. The wind blew coldly in the grey light. He wanted someone to come and take the body away. To wipe what had happened out of existence. He had had too much of death. Losing Jenny… He wanted desperately for this grey world to turn over to spring again.
The call from Peter had hardly ended before Lucy’s phone rang again.
“Lucy? Elspeth here. Bad news, I’m afraid. We’re at the coastguard base. Someone’s called the rescue service out. Word in the village is that there’s been a casualty on the North Shore.”
“I know.” Lucy could hardly get the words out.
Elspeth’s brusque voice softened somewhat. “I’m guessing you’d like to see her before the uniforms get there.” When Lucy did not reply, she went on: “May be too late for that, I’m afraid. The coastguards are leaving now. They’ve got a Land Rover that can tackle the dunes. They’ll cover the ground faster than you can. But they’ll be going past St Colman’s. I could ask them to stop by and pick you up… Hang on.”
There was the sound of a man’s voice in the background. Then Elspeth came back on the line.
“That’s sorted. It’s all happening here. I told them about James needing medical attention, but they say the ambulance paramedics will see to that.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, trying to hold her scattered thoughts together. “When he passed out, I dialled 999. He’s come round now, but he doesn’t look good.”
She cast an anxious glance across to the bed. Was James listening to this?
“Right, then. You’ve got Frances there, and Mrs Batley. Has Sue come back yet? No? Anyway, Val and I will hotfoot it back after the coastguards. Should be enough of us to man the fort until the ambulance gets there. You go.”
The call snapped off.
Lucy felt a surge of gratitude. She had been holding herself together since that terrible call, trying to balance her responsibilities to James, who, though injured, was still alive, with those to the dead Rachel, for whom she could do nothing more.
Dead. She found her mind would not accept the reality. Rachel could not be dead.
Lucy had seen her share of death in her few short years in the police force: traffic accidents; old people, only discovered when the milk bottles proliferated on the doorstep. And there had been the murder of a ten-year-old girl, for which Lucy had been the first officer on the scene.
She had thought this had toughened her; that she had learned how to cope. She even knew it might be some excuse for Bill’s treatment of her in those days. The macho culture of the police station was partly a defence against scenes like those.
But Rachel? Dead on a beach on Lindisfarne – the island that was meant to be a place of healing for her? That broke through whatever professional defences she had managed to erect.
I brought her here.
She rose stiffly, as though she had been sitting for a long time.
“The coastguards are on their way. They’re the first emergency service on the island.”
“Is Rachel dead?” Melangell’s innocent question cut through whatever evasions Lucy had planned to give the others.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said quietly.
The little girl ran across the room and hugged her.
Lucy made an effort to hold her voice steady. “The coastguards will deal with it until the police get here. I’m going to ask them for a lift out to where they found the… where she is.”
“Is Daddy there?”
“Yes. And Peter. I expect they’ll wait until the police arrive. You’ll be all right with Frances?”
“You’re not leaving us here alone?” Frances objected. “What if something happens to James? I know a bit about first aid, from the children’s homes, but not this sort of thing. I wouldn’t want to be responsible.”
Lucy was saved by Mrs Batley coming in, bearing a tray with several mugs of tea.
“I guessed it’s not just our casualty who could do with a hot drink.” She put down the tray and looked round at their strained faces. “Has something else happened?”
“They’ve found Rachel,” Melangell said. “She’s dead.”
“Oh, my goodness!” The mugs rattled suddenly on the tray. “The poor soul! I’m really sorry, Reverend. You must be having a terrible time.”
Reverend. The word struck Lucy with unfamiliarity. It was hard to remember that Mrs Batley was talking about her. She had been back in that earlier life in the police she thought she had left behind.
“Yes, it’s almost too much. Elspeth and Valerie are coming back as fast as they can. There’ll be plenty of people to keep an eye on James until the ambulance service arrives. Elspeth suggested I could get a lift with the coastguards to the beach where they found Rachel. I’d like to… see her.”
“Of course you would. Don’t you worry about us. We’ll look after him, won’t we?” Mrs Batley smiled gallantly at Frances and Melangell. “Now, young lady, I think we ought to leave this poor gentleman in peace. I’ve no doubt he’s got a nasty headache after a knock like that. You and Mrs Cavendish run along to the lounge. I’ll wait here. I’m sure nobody’s going to complain if supper’s late for once.”
“Thank you.” Lucy smiled wanly. “I’ll go out to the gate and see if they’re coming.”
She would have liked time to herself. Peace. A space for prayer. But she knew even as she opened the front door that there would be no room for that yet. Before she had taken a step towards the gate, the yellow and blac
k Land Rover was heading down the road towards her.
A young man in blue overalls leaned over and opened the rear passenger door.
“I’m really sorry about this. I’m Dan, by the way. First aider. I hear you’ve got another casualty indoors.”
“A head injury. He passed out and he’s not really compos mentis yet. We made him lie down. We’re just waiting for the ambulance.”
Dan reached down a hand to help her aboard. The door slammed shut. The Land Rover sped off, the light on its roof flashing.
The Land Rover seemed crowded. There were a man and a woman in the front seats, the man driving, the woman talking into a radio. Two men shared the seat behind with Lucy. All wore dark blue overalls with gold insignia.
“How did it happen, this other injury?” Dan asked.
“Nobody knows. He came staggering back dripping blood. Nothing he’s said makes much sense yet. He seems to have come to in the gardens of the castle, but he might be confused about that.”
Her body was tense. She ought to be concerned about James, but all she could think of at the moment was Rachel’s body, sodden with seawater, lying on a beach as the spring daylight faded. She could not put words to her grief. She had to be there.
A burly coastguard on the far side of the seat leaned over. His look was sympathetic. “It’s a rotten do. I gather the girl they’ve found was a friend of yours. I’m John, by the way. Officer in charge of this crew.” His large hand clasped hers.
“I’m the leader of the group she was with. But yes, she was a friend.”
“Sven,” said the younger, fair-haired man behind the wheel, turning a sharply angled profile. “We’ll have you out there in a few shakes.” The Land Rover was racing along the coast road now.
A friend? How accurate was that? Lucy had done her best to reach out the hand of friendship, of love. But could she honestly say that Rachel considered herself a friend to Lucy? At times, she had been more like a wounded and terrified animal, starting away at the slightest touch, back arched, spitting.
No. There had been other times, like yesterday, when Rachel had been laughing and singing with Peter in the car. They had been winning. Lucy was sure they had. Softening her, relaxing her, getting her to trust them.
So what had happened between one day and the next to make Rachel suddenly decide to take her own life? It must be suicide, mustn’t it? It was too much of an irony that she could stumble to an accidental death here on this island of sanctuary.
But Lindisfarne was not a safe place, physically. It never had been. Every year the emergency services were called out for holidaymakers in trouble, forgetful of the treacherous tides. There were rocks that could prove dangerous to the unwary.
The Vikings had slaughtered the monks and left the sands red with their blood.
“Hold on,” said the driver. “This is where we leave the road.”
Lucy came to with a start. They had left the route that curved around the south shore towards the causeway. They were bucking over the dunes. The engine of the 4x4 roared, and then they crested the ridge.
The North Shore lay in front of them: a long expanse of sand glimmering in the pale light. Sven leaned forward and peered through the windscreen.
“Over there,” said the woman at the radio. “To your left.”
Lucy could just make out two small figures along the beach. The Land Rover rocked over the hillocks down on to gently shelving sand. Lucy could see them more clearly now, just above the high-tide line. Aidan and Peter. Waiting.
She tried not to look too hard at the dark thing that lay inert on the sand between them.
The Land Rover drew up in front of Aidan and Peter. Aidan watched a grey-haired man in blue overalls get out on one side. A taller, younger man followed. Lucy jumped down from the other side. The fair-haired driver stayed, with a middle-aged woman talking into a radio handset beside him.
He was startled to see how pale and tired Lucy looked. She had seemed so fresh-faced and fit when they met. He should not underestimate the depth of her shock.
She stood now, hands in pockets, looking down at Rachel’s still face.
“May light perpetual shine upon her,” she murmured.
Words Aidan remembered from Jenny’s funeral service.
“Amen,” he whispered.
The older of the coastguards held out a hand to Aidan. “John. I assume you’ve tried CPR?”
“As well as I know how.”
The younger man knelt down. He held Rachel’s nostrils and blew into her mouth several times. Then he began chest compressions, more strongly, even brutally, than Aidan had dared to. Mouth to mouth again. Then more compressions.
Time stretched out. Aidan felt that none of them really expected a miracle to happen.
At last the man sat back, exhausted. As Aidan had done earlier.
“No joy, I’m afraid. She’s gone.”
He got to his feet and turned to look along the coast, eastwards. There the sand flats ran out into a rocky headland.
“Funny, that. You could understand if she’d gone out on the rocks and slipped. Or got trapped when the tide turned. But how does she get to drown on the open beach?”
The grey-haired John turned his grave face to Lucy. “I’m sorry to ask this, love, but is there any reason to think she might have been suicidal?”
Lucy winced. Then she raised her eyes and looked steadily at him.
“She’d had a bad time. In care as a child. Mother a druggie. She’d been using drugs herself. But she was pulling herself out of it. Getting her life together.”
“Still, it happens, doesn’t it? They get a bad day. The black dog on their back. And suddenly it all seems too much to go on.”
“Yes,” Lucy almost whispered.
Dan, his hair whipping in the breeze, came back and knelt beside the body. He felt the pockets of her black coat.
“If they’re set on drowning, they usually weight their pockets with stones, walk out into the sea and just keep going. Or throw themselves off a rock.”
“She was in the water when we found her,” Peter said. “At least, in the shallows. The waves were sort of rolling her up the beach.”
“How long had she been missing?” John still had his eyes on Lucy.
“It was after half-past ten when any of us last saw her. At the priory.”
The coastguards looked at each other thoughtfully.
“So, suppose she goes out to Snipe Point. Jumps off. How could the incoming tide carry her here?”
The older John shook his head. “No chance. She’d have been washed back onto the rocks. Or the current would have taken her east.”
“So, she drowns on a flat sandy beach. And she’s obviously not been swimming.”
“I’m sorry, love,” the senior officer said to Lucy. “It can’t be very pleasant, listening to us discussing this. But the police will ask the same questions. We know this coast. They’ll want our opinion.”
“Yes, I know.” Lucy’s voice was firmer now. “Would you give me a moment with her?”
There was a brief hesitation before they understood her. Then, Dan flushing a little, the two coastguards stepped back. Aidan and Peter looked at each other. Then they too drew back, leaving a private space around Lucy and Rachel.
The young minister knelt on the sand and stroked the hair from the girl’s face. She clasped her hands in prayer. From a distance, Aidan heard only the murmur of her voice.
Then Lucy stood. Aidan saw her straighten her shoulders in that familiar gesture. She was in charge of herself again.
The rush of the breeze was swallowed up in a louder roar. The senior coastguard shaded his eyes.
“Jean’s done her stuff on the radio. They’ve sent in the cavalry, I see. Air ambulance.”
Chapter Fourteen
JEAN, THE RADIO OPERATOR, leaned from her window. “Where do you want it?”
“Should be room in that little car park behind us. Not likely to be cars there this late in the day.�
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John leaped into the rear passenger seat and the Land Rover crested the dunes and disappeared. A few moments later, Lucy watched the helicopter settle out of sight, flattening the grass of the dunes as it passed.
She felt emotion draining away from her. She was becoming detached, distant from what was happening around her. She had done all she could, for James, for Rachel. It was out of her hands now. She could leave it to the professionals.
Professionals. Once that would have been her. PC Lucy Pargeter. In a way, she still was one. The dog collar she had worn this morning marked her out to the public as the Reverend Lucy Pargeter. The sort of person people expected to comfort them in grief.
Now she was the one who needed comforting. Or would do, when the reality came back to hit her with full force.
She recognized the detachment that was taking over, making everything seem small and far away, as a symptom of shock.
The professionals were coming back over the ridge. Besides the coastguard John, were a portly man in orange flying overalls and a younger one carrying a stretcher.
They had hardly descended the dunes when another man came striding after them. He wore a Nordic sweater and a waterproof jacket. Lucy flinched at the look of enthusiasm in his youthful face. She had already guessed who he must be.
He advanced towards the group, lifting a hand in acknowledgement to the younger coastguard, who seemed to know him.
“Hi, Len,” Dan called to him. “Hope we’re not spoiling your Sunday.”
Len held out his ID to Aidan, assuming, Lucy thought wryly, that he would be their leader. “Detective Constable Leonard Chappell, Northumbria Police. Thought I might get here ahead of the air ambulance, but didn’t quite make it. I’m sorry about this. Were you a friend of the deceased? A relative?”
“Detective?” Aidan sounded startled.
“Routine. Unexplained death.”
Aidan motioned him towards Lucy. “This is the Reverend Lucy Pargeter. She’s in charge of our group. She’ll explain better.”
“Sorry, Miss Pargeter. I mean, Rev.” Her status seemed to embarrass the young detective.
“Lucy will do,” she said, to put him at ease.
