by Kate Rhodes
‘Her sister’s round here more often. Suzie’s interested in my herbs.’
‘Was Sam upset when the relationship ended?’
‘Not for long. That one wanted more than he could give.’ She stumbles to her feet abruptly. ‘I’ve got work to do, Benesek. It’s best you leave.’
On the way out she thrusts a jar of honey into my hands. It’s clear gold, a chunk of honeycomb wedged at the bottom. I turn to thank her, but the door has already closed, making me wonder how many visitors cross her threshold. Rose’s renowned eccentricity is a great defence. There’s no way of knowing if she’s hiding Sam somewhere on the island, but it’s obvious she’s keeping secrets. Something’s put her on edge, yet she seems too afraid to explain. The boy’s disappearance leaves a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of honey could disguise. Very few twenty-year-olds let themselves be parted from their phones. It’s possible that the boy killed Laura, then threw himself into the sea, but the idea seems far-fetched. If he and Laura were both running drugs round the islands, they could have fallen foul of the same smuggling gang.
I have to make one more call before returning to the hall. Gwen Trescothick lives in a narrow cottage, the windows studding its pan-tiled roof, looking down on my friend Jim’s farm. She answers the doorbell quickly, the distress of her granddaughter’s death so soon after losing her husband apparent in her face. Her features are wizened, skin deeply furrowed as she attempts a welcoming smile. The place is small and neat as a doll’s house, the opposite of Rose Austell’s cluttered cabin. I have to dip my head to enter her kitchen, where every surface sparkles. The first thing I notice is a framed newspaper clipping on the wall. Matt Trescothick’s face wears a grave expression in a black and white portrait, under the headline LIFEBOAT HERO IN DARING SEA RESCUE. She watches me expectantly and for the first time I notice that she’s wearing hearing aids, head angled towards me when I ask my first question.
‘What kind of girl was Laura, Gwen?’
‘A sunny little thing when she was small, my husband adored her.’ Her words ebb away. ‘But she was ready to fly the nest. Matt wouldn’t mind me saying things have been tricky since he lost his job. Laura absorbed some of the worry.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’ve got money troubles. Laura was trying to save, but her mum took half her wage. Jenna’s never satisfied.’ Her lips pucker in disgust.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Nothing’s ever good enough to please her.’
I give a slow nod. ‘Matt slept here, the night before Laura died, didn’t he?’
‘Can you blame him? I don’t like him staying over, but a man wants to feel supported at home.’ Her gaze flits towards the window. ‘It’s affected the whole family.’
‘Do you remember what time he got up that morning?’
Her gaze slips from mine. ‘Tenish, I think. He was the worse for wear when I cooked him breakfast. My son’s still grieving for his dad; God knows how he’ll cope with losing his girl as well.’
‘He’s lucky to be getting so much support.’
‘I feel sorry for Danny Curnow too. I couldn’t sleep last night – when I looked out of the window about three o’clock, he was wandering across the beach, like a lost soul.’
Gwen’s statement puts Danny in the right place to have left the photo of Laura on my doorstep, but fails to provide a reason. We carry on talking for another half-hour, the rest of our discussion focusing on Laura. It builds my impression of an extrovert girl with big ambitions and a wide circle of friends, her grandmother unaware of any enemies.
Eddie looks upbeat when I return to the hall, the dog rousing to his feet to sniff at me before loping back to his blanket in the corner. My deputy still seems fascinated by the idea that the killer may have marched up to my front door, to leave his photographic tribute, but his excitement rises even further when I mention my concern for Sam Austell’s welfare. If he’s been running drugs round the islands, he might be in danger. I ask Eddie to alert the NCA and tell them that smugglers’ boats could be haunting Bryher’s shores.
He picks up the phone immediately, leaving me to study a printout of islanders with criminal records, downloaded from the PNC. Matt Trescothick is first on the list; despite his hero status, the guy served fifty hours of community service two years ago for punching a man outside the Rock, leaving him with bruised ribs. Then, just before Christmas, he was cautioned for affray outside a Penzance nightclub. It surprises me that the island’s golden boy is losing his glitter; unemployed and picking fights, his marriage under pressure. Then my eyes drift to a record that’s twenty years old. The reason for my old teacher Tom Horden’s resignation finally makes sense: one of his thirteen-year-old pupils accused him of touching her inappropriately. The school gave him an ultimatum, to quit immediately or risk going on the sex offender’s register if the case went to court. All I remember is his rapid departure and rumours of a breakdown. Horden has lived quietly since then, behind his high privet hedge, caring for his wife. I close my eyes and try to imagine him following Laura on a freezing cold morning, governed by impulses he couldn’t control.
‘Are you okay, boss?’
I rub my hand across my jaw. ‘Just thinking, Eddie. Why?’
‘The picture of Laura is from her Facebook page; anyone could have downloaded it.’
‘It’s their motive that interests me. Someone wants me afraid that I’ll meet the same fate, if I pursue the case.’
The image he hands me is an intact version of the fragments in the plastic bag. It shows Laura beaming at the camera, fresh-faced and innocent. I try to imagine why anyone would destroy her image. Maybe the killer couldn’t handle all of that youth and beauty being out of reach. Either her father or her boyfriend could have been afraid she would abandon them. My theories about the case are still whirling round my head when Eddie speaks again.
‘A woman came by earlier. She wants your permission to travel to the mainland.’
‘What’s her name?’
He scans his list. ‘Nina Jackson, Gweal Cottage.’
I rise to my feet slowly, telling Eddie I’ll interview her while I’m there, kill two birds with one stone. My tongue seals itself to the roof of my mouth as I follow the path west from the hamlet, the dog in hot pursuit. She’s the only woman to interest me in months, and now she’s about to leave. The place she’s renting lies at the foot of Gweal Hill, and is another of Jay Curnow’s properties. It’s a fisherman’s cottage, adorned with features designed to lure tourists into long summer lets: pale blue shutters, rose bushes trained across the porch, a stone bench by the front door. When I glance back, Shadow is behind me on the dunes, tongue lolling as he trots to catch up. Music pulses through an open window, a hot burst of Motown, playing at full volume. I knock harder in case she hasn’t heard; Marvin Gaye abruptly falls silent.
The woman stands in the doorway, in leggings and a thin white T-shirt, feet bare even though it’s the end of a harsh winter. Up close, her eyes are the same colour as the honey Rose gave me earlier, pale amber, reflecting the light.
‘Nina Jackson?’
‘That’s my name.’
‘I’m Ben Kitto, you wanted to see me.’
‘I know who you are. Your assistant says I need your permission to leave Bryher.’
Shadow bolts through the open doorway, making me wish I’d left him at home. ‘Sorry, he’s got no manners.’
She produces a smile at last. ‘I didn’t know he was yours. He often comes here.’
‘Scrounging for food?’
‘Company, I think. We take walks on the beach.’
‘Feel free to adopt him, he’s hunting for a new owner. Do you mind if I come in?’
She steps back, her movements fluid and graceful. ‘You need to interview me, don’t you?’
I stand in her hallway, hands buried in my pockets. ‘Is now a good time?’
‘Not here. The kitchen’s warmer.’
Her log burner’s roar
ing in the corner, the room hot enough to make me peel off my coat. There are few personal details on show, except a copy of Mansfield Park lying open on the table. It’s obvious she’s a neat freak, as well as a fan of high-class literature. She moves around in silence, filling the kettle, not bothering with small talk. Her dark hair follows her jaw in a sleek line. I can’t help admiring those long limbs and subtle curves, but after a minute I force myself to look away. Nina places a mug of tea in front of me, and it would be rude to admit that I hate the stuff. The steam smells lemony, with an odd tang of woodsmoke. I put my Dictaphone on the table and press record, but when she sits opposite, her gaze is so direct, it’s a struggle to concentrate. There’s no sign of warmth on that perfect oval face.
‘When did you arrive on Bryher, Nina?’
‘A month ago, I flew from Land’s End.’
‘But now you’re going back to the mainland?’
She shakes her head. ‘Just for a day trip. I’m staying here six months, I already do bits and pieces of work.’
I spot a violin case on a shelf by the door. ‘You’re a musician?’
‘Only as a hobby.’ She runs her fingers through Shadow’s fur.
‘It would help to know why you came here.’
‘Sorry, you want me to explain myself.’ She changes position, as if the straight-backed chair causes her discomfort. ‘I live in Bristol, but fancied a slower pace. I thought I’d give rural isolation a try.’
I can almost hear the gaps in her statement. ‘You came to the right place.’
‘It suits me so far.’
I glance at the wide gold band on her finger. ‘Will your husband be joining you?’
‘I’m not married.’ Her calmness falters, before her gaze steadies again. ‘It’s Laura you want to talk about, isn’t it? We only spoke once, in the hotel bar, when I ate there one evening. She recommended places to visit on the islands, but I never saw her again.’
‘You must see everyone who uses the path. Do many people walk on the cliffs?’
‘Dean Miller often sketches up there. I see the Hordens, Danny Curnow and Jim Helyer sometimes.’
I could ask about her alibi for Monday morning, but it would be pointless. Living alone, with no houses in viewing distance, who could confirm it? I turn off the Dictaphone then study her face again.
‘You’re visiting the mainland today?’
She shakes her head. ‘Monday. My aunt will never talk to me again if I forget her birthday.’
‘I’ll get Eddie to put it in his log.’
‘He seems very keen.’
‘That’s an understatement.’ I run my hand across the back of my neck, pain gathering as I reach for my coat.
‘You do that a lot.’ Her clear gaze settles on me again. ‘Your headaches probably come from a pinched nerve at the top of your spine.’
I stare back at her. ‘How did you guess?’
‘From the way you move. I did three years medical training, but qualified as a chiropractor. If you sit here I can release it for you.’
‘There’s no need, I should be going.’ But the pain’s suddenly intense enough to keep me standing there.
‘Are you scared I’ll hurt you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then let me help.’
She makes me sit on a wooden chair, her manner so matter-of-fact that resistance seems futile. Normally I’d race for the door, but the discomfort’s bad enough to make me take a risk. She stands behind me, her hands cool on the back of my neck. It’s so many months since a woman touched me, my senses are on overload. Her scent is a subtle blend of roses and fresh air, but her hands are more direct, fingers probing the base of my skull until she hits the site of the pain. Suddenly it’s so raw my vision blurs.
‘There it is. Now look ahead for me,’ she says quietly.
She places the flat of her hand against my jaw, then pushes my temple hard. A starburst of pain flashes through me, then something clicks into place. When my eyes open again, she’s crouching in front of me, watching my expression.
‘Better?’
‘You’re a miracle worker. What do I owe you?’
‘First session’s free. I can show you relaxation exercises another time.’
Shadow gives a loud bark, as if he’s tired of being overlooked. Nina leans down to stroke his head and he falls silent instantly. The expression on her face is solemn as she holds out my coat, and before long I’m on the beach again. When I stare up at Gweal Hill, I’m pain-free for the first time in weeks, but no closer to understanding who killed Laura Trescothick.
15
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I reach the Rock, hoping for more information about Laura’s father, even though DCI Madron would be angered by my line of enquiry. Maggie is stacking shelves behind the bar with bottles of mixers, in time for the tiny influx of regulars that counts for happy hour on Bryher. When her head pops up, her grey curls are dishevelled as she gives me a grin.
‘My favourite godson.’
‘Your only godson, Maggie.’
‘Don’t be such a pedant. I can tell from your face you’ve come to pick my brains. Do you want to talk here or in private?’
‘Your office is the best plan.’
She bobs ahead, small and agile as a child. The office shelves are lined with books about the history and geology of the Scillies, biographies of local writers and artists. Her desk is stacked with folders labelled ‘bills paid’ and ‘money loaned’. Maggie’s finances have always sustained the fishing community, subsidising families through winter’s lean times. Without her, the island’s economy would grind to a halt.
‘I need to know more about Matt and Jenna. What’s your view of them?’
She leans back in her chair. ‘Everyone respects Matt, but Jenna holds that family together. He’s tried building jobs, the oil rigs, driving work on the mainland, but nothing sticks. There’s not enough work on the trawlers these days.’
‘I heard they sold Tide Cottage to Jay Curnow.’
‘He got it cheap when the bank repossessed it.’ Her face darkens. ‘Jay always goes after properties when people are down on their luck. The guy isn’t blessed with much compassion. Matt took it to heart, Jenna’s the calm one.’
‘No wonder there’s no love lost between the two families. Have you ever loaned the Trescothicks money?’
‘Once in a while.’
‘Come on, Maggie. It’s details I’m after.’
‘I leant them a grand last winter. They returned every penny.’ Her shrewd eyes level with mine. ‘Most of the time Matt’s a great guy, but if he loses it, you’d better steer clear. He’s been spending too much time in here lately.’
‘Tell me about the man he hurt.’
‘A tourist jostled him at the bar two summers back. Normally it would have blown over, but the bloke’s wife called the police.’
I recognise the regret in her voice. Islanders exercise their own form of justice, rarely involving the authorities. The warring parties cool off at home, shake hands in the morning, or avoid each other until the dust settles.
‘Matt drinks too much?’
‘If he was happier, he’d spend more time at home. He wants to be the breadwinner, but it hasn’t happened.’
‘What kind of dad is he?’
‘Caring, by all accounts. Jenna guards her privacy; she’s never said a word against him.’
‘He doesn’t push her around?’
‘I bloody hope not, that girl works like a trooper. You can see the strain she’s under.’
‘What about Laura and Suzanne?’
‘Those girls were thick as thieves. God knows what poor Suzie will do now,’ Maggie says quietly.
‘Do you know how Laura got on with her dad?’
Maggie gazes at her folded hands before replying. ‘They seemed close, but a few weeks ago I saw them arguing on the beach. It was around midnight. I saw the pair of them from my bedroom window when I shut the curtains. He was shaking
his fist at her; even with the window closed I could hear him yelling.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘He was furious about something.’ Maggie’s eyes catch mine again. ‘Aren’t you going to ask what I was doing the day Laura was taken?’
‘You’re not high on my suspect list.’
Suddenly her expression hardens. ‘It could be any one of us, Ben. You should keep your eyes open.’
‘Believe me, I am.’ I know better than to argue when she’s upset.
She shuts her eyes. ‘Sorry, darling, I can’t seem to forget seeing Laura on the beach. It sticks in my throat that she was killed, right in front of us. That bastard probably drinks in my pub.’
‘Chances are. Can you think of anyone who’d harm her?’
She hesitates. ‘Only Dean Miller comes to mind.’
‘Why? He says they were close.’
‘They were, but he’s lived alone so long, and he’s an oddball. Loneliness sours people, doesn’t it?’
‘He told me kids flock to his place.’
‘They go there to meet their friends, that’s all.’
‘Dean was spotted in his studio the morning Laura went missing; it looks like he got up early to paint. Right now, I’ve got no reason to doubt it. Do you know if anyone wanders round the island at night?’
‘Jim Helyer takes late walks sometimes, and Emma Horden runs poor Tom ragged.’ She reaches up to touch my cheek. ‘You were always the smartest kid here, watching people with those big green eyes. You’ll work it out.’
‘Run away with me, Maggie. We could fly to Vegas tonight.’
‘Tempting, but one divorce is enough.’
‘Pity.’ I give her hand a quick squeeze. ‘Is Billy around?’
‘Night off. His ankle’s still buggered.’
‘He’s got no alibi for Monday morning.’
‘Yes, he has,’ Maggie says in a firm voice. ‘I can vouch for him.’
‘How come?’
‘Billy was in pain, so I let him stay over.’
‘I still need to speak to him. You wouldn’t have heard him leave the guest rooms.’
‘He slept in my bed, you fool.’
