Hell Bay

by Kate Rhodes

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you, Ben. I’m sorry.’

  ‘At least we’ve heard each other’s stories now.’

  ‘You don’t need any more drama.’

  ‘How do you know what I need?’

  Her head tips back, letting me kiss her throat. She’s so relieved to have shifted the sadness from her system to mine, I could easily take her to bed. Maybe she just wants to be reminded that she’s still alive. The urge to take advantage is powerful enough to make sweat erupt on the back of my neck.

  ‘I’d better go, Nina. It’s late.’

  ‘You could stay here.’

  ‘Believe me, I want to.’ The heat between us rises by another notch. ‘We shouldn’t go to bed the first time just because you’re upset.’

  She attempts a smile. ‘Maybe you’re not so macho after all.’

  ‘Hell, no. I’m a big Jane Austen fan.’

  ‘I’ll test you next time.’ She releases a laugh. ‘Thanks for listening.’

  ‘Any time. Remember to lock up after me.’

  Nina opens the front door and her parting kiss has me questioning my resolve. Shadow lets out a bark of disappointment when the door finally closes, as if he’s equally reluctant to trudge home through the cold. I’m still warm from pizza, red wine and desire, raising my collar against the wind coming off the sea.

  The dog’s barking gets louder as I cut through the dunes, but he’s nowhere to be seen. My guess is that he’s found something disgusting to roll in; it’s in my interest to haul him out fast. But he’s standing in a clearing, releasing a high-pitched howl. It sounds like something you’d hear in the forests of Wyoming at full moon. I crouch down to grab his collar, but he barks louder, like he’s seen a ghost. When I spin round to find what’s scared him, a sharp pain burns the back of my skull. The last thing I hear is the dog’s fierce growl, then footsteps racing across the shingle, before the world clicks shut.

  32

  My mouth is gritty when I come round, my tongue coated with sand. I’m face down on the beach, torch beam burning my retinas. The dog is making things worse, whining pitifully into my ear.

  ‘Shut up, hellhound,’ I mutter.

  The sound of my voice quiets him, but the effort of twisting my head almost makes me black out again. It takes three attempts to rise to my feet, vision blurred, but when I glance at my watch I’ve only been out a few minutes. There’s blood on my fingers when I touch the back of my head, and a wave of nausea washes over me. My attacker could still be nearby, crowbar in hand. The effects of the blow are more obvious when I stagger drunkenly across the sand. I consider going home, but instinct draws me to the boatyard, despite today’s tense interview.

  Ray’s light is still burning, the sound of his TV spilling downstairs. His door is unlocked when I use the back entrance, but Shadow is playing silly buggers, barking at full volume, refusing to come inside.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll freeze out here.’

  The air in my uncle’s hallway is tainted with cigarette smoke, gunfire echoing from his living room. Gary Cooper strides across the old-fashioned TV screen as Ray’s stern face looms at me.

  ‘What on Earth’s happened?’

  ‘I was attacked, on Gweal Beach. Phone the Curnows and find out if Danny’s at home, can you?’

  ‘Let’s check where that blood’s coming from first.’

  Ray seats me at his kitchen table. It reminds me of being a kid again, having salve rubbed into my scraped knuckles after helping him in the yard. Listening to him chunter as he riffles through his first aid box is as restful as a lullaby.

  ‘That bump’ll swell like a hen’s egg by morning.’ He swipes disinfectant into the wound. ‘Who the hell did this?’

  ‘I didn’t see, he got me from behind. Call the Curnows please, like I said.’

  ‘Keep the bandage pressed over the wound till it stops bleeding.’ When he reaches for his phone, I can hear the low growl of Jay’s voice at the other end of the line. ‘He says Danny’s asleep in bed.’

  Curnow’s response fails to convince me. So far, all I know about him is that he’s got no scruples. ‘Why isn’t your door locked, Ray?’

  ‘It’s stayed open sixty years. Why should I change?’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re still up.’

  He nods at the TV. ‘I was watching For Whom the Bell Tolls.’

  ‘Must be good, to keep you awake.’ Normally he’s in bed by eleven, but he loves old movies. Like everything else, it’s a passion he keeps to himself.

  ‘Sleep in the spare room. I’ll check on you, for concussion.’

  Ray’s spare room is monastic, containing only a narrow single bed, a wooden chair and an old-fashioned anglepoise lamp. I’m still processing who would creep up on me in the dark, certain that the killer is continuing our conversation. He’s already left the photo and knife as tokens, and put his boot through a close friend’s door. My last thought is that I was a fool not to accept Nina’s invitation. By now I’d be in her bed, blissfully awake.

  My uncle is up with the larks in the morning. The smell of bacon frying drags me to my feet, even though his coffee may cause more damage than last night’s assault. Shadow has forgotten his bad mood and is sitting in the kitchen, eyes one shade paler than Ray’s. My head is still pulsing when my uncle shunts a plate towards me. I can tell he’s about to deliver a lecture, along with my meal.

  ‘Head recovering?’

  ‘It’s on the mend. Thanks for letting me stay.’

  He pours foul-smelling black liquid into my mug. ‘You’ve got an island full of willing volunteers. Why the hell aren’t you using us?’

  ‘An islander killed her, Ray. That’s the problem.’

  His eyes snap wide open. ‘So we’re all guilty now?’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘Let us help you, then.’

  I can see his logic, even though there’s little he can do. ‘I’ll keep it in mind.’

  We eat our breakfast in silence, Shadow crunching noisily on the biscuits Ray keeps for him, until we part company. My uncle’s words stay with me, but I’ve been part of a double act for the past ten years, no one to rely on except Clare. I can’t imagine leaning on anyone else. The clatter of Ray’s hammer follows me down the path, as if he’s venting his irritation on the boat’s gunwale.

  Eddie looks alarmed when I describe my attack. He contacts Madron straight away to alert him before making calls, checking to see whether anyone was seen wandering round the island last night. I leave the dog with him and set off to meet the Trescothicks. Jenna has already sent a text, saying that Matt will be at the house too, despite their troubles.

  The atmosphere at Tide Cottage has changed since my last visit, anger replaced by tiredness. Suzanne sits in the corner, twisting her long hair between her fingers. Her grandmother looks exhausted, a small grey figure hunched by the window. Matt is watching me closely, arms folded, but at least he seems calmer than before.

  ‘Is there any news?’ Jenna searches my face.

  ‘Did you hear about the break-in at the hotel, and me being attacked?’

  She looks startled. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine, but someone seems to think I’m getting too close.’

  ‘You know who it is, don’t you?’ Matt’s gaze settles on my face. ‘Tell us who the suspects are.’

  ‘I can’t, Matt. It would compromise the investigation.’

  Suddenly his mood darkens. ‘It’s my daughter you’re talking about. I’ve got a right to know.’

  ‘So you can beat them up?’ Jenna mutters.

  He stares back at her. ‘Is that all you expect from me?’

  The atmosphere is so explosive, one badly chosen word could blow the roof off the building. Gwen rises to her feet, her hand on Matt’s arm, the quiet gesture restoring his self-control.

  ‘Laura needs a proper burial, that’s all that matters,’ the old woman says.

  Right now, the girl’s body
lies in the tiny morgue on St Mary’s. ‘I’ll contact the coroner, but I’ve got some questions first. Did Laura talk to any of you about her plans to leave the island with Danny?’

  ‘Almost every day,’ Jenna says. ‘Nothing else mattered. She couldn’t see that she was too young to leave home.’

  ‘Suzie, did Laura mention anything else to you?’

  ‘Only that she had to go. There was no work for her here; she wanted to follow her dreams.’ The girl stares down at her hands, but my sense that she could unlock her sister’s secrets is stronger than before.

  ‘We think Laura was desperate for money, to support herself through college,’ I tell them. ‘She may have put herself in danger along the way.’

  Matt glowers at me, but Jenna soon changes the subject. The meeting dissolves as she praises the local support they’ve received: food parcels are still being delivered, dozens of cards bearing messages of sympathy. I wait until Matt leaves with his mother, to make sure he doesn’t make any more threatening gestures, the tension dropping away once they depart. After a few more minutes I say goodbye, Jenna thanking me in the porch before I leave.

  Eddie looks intrigued when I tell him about the meeting, as if a new method of detection is being revealed.

  ‘Madron was on the phone earlier. The tabloids are offering big cash payments for interviews with the family.’

  I shake my head firmly. ‘Keep them at arm’s length.’

  ‘That won’t be easy,’ Eddie replies. ‘I heard the Trescothicks are struggling to pay for Laura’s funeral. I’ll get my mum to do a whip-round.’

  I could insist he types up witness reports, but he’s already on the phone, enlisting local support. It’s a reminder that things operate differently here. My colleagues in the MIT would be amused by the thin line between policing and social work. He’s still gabbling when I leave, the dog slinking after me towards Rose Austell’s cottage. News of my ambush on the beach seems to have circulated the island, texts arriving from a dozen people, checking I’m okay. The community’s interest felt stifling as a teenager, but right now it’s a comfort, especially when my wounded skull is throbbing in time with my pulse.

  Rose peers at me from the window of her cabin. When the door finally opens, she brandishes a broom at me.

  ‘Go away,’ she snaps. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

  ‘I’ve brought you a present, Rose. A bottle of burgundy.’ Luckily I remembered her fondness for gifts before I left home.

  She takes a grudging step back. ‘Come in, if you must. But the dog stays outside.’

  Rose is dressed in a rainbow-striped jumper, threadbare jeans patched with bright red wool and a necklace of large orange beads. Even in her odd outfit, she’s a commanding presence, with her hawk-like features and imperious gaze. I follow her through the crowded sitting room, almost toppling a mound of dried heather, the air scented with the musty sweetness of honey. She points at the only empty chair in her kitchen. Despite her bluster, I notice that the tremor in her hands is worse than before.

  ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to upset you the other day.’

  ‘You’ve got a job to do, I suppose. Better have a drink and forget about it, hadn’t we?’

  The atmosphere is too fragile to survive a refusal, even though it’s mid-morning. She pours wine into coffee cups and passes one to me. ‘How’s Sam doing?’

  ‘The doctors say he’ll be in hospital for weeks, but should make a full recovery, in time.’

  ‘At least he’s getting there.’ I swallow a sip of burgundy, the flavour setting my teeth on edge. ‘Rose, you said Sam knows what happened to Laura. Is that true?’

  ‘It’s not for me to say. There are dangers here that outsiders don’t understand.’

  ‘I was born on the island, remember.’

  She stares out of the window. The sea is a hard line of graphite, pressed flat by the weight of the sky. ‘I can tell you the most dangerous man on Bryher.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Jay Curnow,’ she says in a loud whisper. ‘Stand still long enough and he’ll slap a price ticket on you. He’s got the island in a stranglehold. He hated the Trescothick girl for taking his son and heir.’

  ‘You’re scared of something, Rose. Why not let me help?’

  The holes in her claim are obvious. Jay Curnow is a respected landowner and member of the parish council. The idea that he would sneak out one morning to kill a young girl seems ludicrous. His face the day Laura’s body was found held relief as well as concern, but resenting someone’s existence is different from killing them.

  ‘I’ll have to leave this place soon,’ Rose whispers.

  ‘Why? You own the cabin, don’t you?’

  ‘Curnow wants to buy it, before the council force me out.’

  ‘That’s coercion, Rose. If he bothers you again, tell me.’

  Her eyes are brimming when she nods at the window again. ‘The worst danger I’m facing comes from the sea.’

  I don’t bother to reply. Her words are as cryptic and confusing as her son’s. She drains the last drop of wine from her cup then slams it down on the table as if the matter’s closed.

  The sun is breaking through the cloud for the first time in days when I head back to work. I know the chances of Jay Curnow hurting anyone are negligible, but Rose may be correct about him behaving ruthlessly to acquire so much wealth. He seems like the kind of man who stops at nothing to get his way; but would that extend to hurting Laura, for spoiling his son’s future? That would make his wife complicit. She might have lied by saying that he was still in bed the morning the girl died. When I run a search on Curnow, the extent of his empire interests me. He owns eighteen properties; including a villa in a renowned beauty spot on St Mary’s, valued at a million pounds.

  ‘What do you know about Jay Curnow?’ I ask, turning to Eddie.

  ‘He sponsors the rugby club, and gives money to local charities, but him and his wife are too flash for round here.’ Disapproval shows in his face. ‘Patty loves her spa breaks and designer clothes. They keep a sports car on the mainland, by all accounts.’

  His description chimes with Maggie’s view of Jay as a tough businessman with few scruples, but doesn’t amount to a killer’s profile. I spend the rest of the afternoon digging for dirt but finding none. When I look up again, darkness has fallen over the island like a blackout curtain, while Eddie uses his own time to make more phone calls, gathering donations to pay for Laura Trescothick’s funeral. My impression of him has shifted from earnest choirboy to a young man with a conscience, prepared to stay late, even though his pregnant fiancée wants him at home.

  ‘Get moving, Eddie. You’ve done enough.’

  For once he doesn’t argue, grabbing his coat and racing for the door. Something flickers in the corner of my eye soon after he’s gone. There’s a movement outside the window, but when I look again, the blank square of glass is empty, the dog asleep in the corner. The silence is so complete, I can hear my own breathing. I use my torch to scan the area around the building but find nothing. Back inside, I rub my eyes then carry on reading witness reports. There’s no point in interviewing the Curnows again without proof of their involvement in Laura’s death.

  My torch fails on the way home, luckily the moon is out in full force. The last breath of an Atlantic squall fills my ears with white noise and my mouth with the taste of salt. Memories of being attacked on the beach make me glad to get indoors, but Shadow’s behaving oddly, prowling at my feet. Maggie must have used her key earlier today. There’s a loaf of bread on the kitchen table, a shepherd’s pie in the microwave. I hit the button and watch my unexpected meal rotate. Years ago, her attempts to mother me would have grated, but now I’m grateful to be remembered. Clare’s suicide has taught me that independence is overrated.

  The meal settles my mood, last night’s aches and pains receding. The dog seems calmer too, stretched out by the hearth, even though the fire’s unlit. I dump the dishes in the sink and th
ink of Nina, moving round her rented kitchen with long-limbed grace. She’s probably alone, dwelling on details I forced her to remember last night. Suddenly I want to see her so badly that I’m hunting in my pocket for my door key. When my wallet falls to the ground, a photo of me and Clare falls out. I could shove it back into place without looking, but that would be cowardly.

  The picture is a year old, the pair of us in dress uniform. We’d just been to Scotland Yard to receive our commendations for helping to track down a contract killer who had claimed a dozen lives. I hold the picture closer, to study Clare again. Her short hair is the brassy blonde she always favoured, and she’s wearing the half-smile that was her trademark, as if comedy and tragedy deserved the same response. She pretended to be cynical about the bravery award, but I think she was glad that her decades of graft had finally been noticed. It must have been impossible for her to imagine a life outside the force. Grief and shame curdle in my stomach, emotions so raw that it would be crazy to start a relationship right now, but after last night’s exchange I should check on Nina’s welfare. Clare’s death has taught me the consequences of ignoring someone in distress. I open the sideboard and put her photo on the top shelf, where I won’t have to deal with it.

  When I set off, the dog stays so close he seems determined to trip me. At first the walk is peaceful, until an acrid gust of smoke catches the back of my throat. When another arrives, I run at full pelt across the beach towards Gweal Cottage. Orange light flickers from an upstairs window, smoke belching from the broken glass, the front door hanging open. There’s no sign of Nina, but that doesn’t mean she’s safe. I grab my phone and call Maggie as I rush inside. Smoke wafts down from the landing, making me grab the fire extinguisher before running upstairs. Flames are licking the walls of the bedroom in front of me, but the house seems to be empty. A fireman once told me you should contain a fire, so I slam the door and spray foam under it, sealing the inch-wide gap. With luck, it will give me time to search the other rooms. I chase across the landing, yelling Nina’s name. Downstairs I grab her violin case, then haul more of her belongings into the front garden.