by Kate Rhodes
‘Dean’s got bruised ribs, a loose tooth and his eye socket needs an X-ray tomorrow,’ she says. ‘I left Maggie with him at the studio. What made Matt attack him?’
‘He painted some explicit pictures of Laura.’
She shakes her head. ‘This place is falling apart. I think I’ll just stay indoors.’
I drop onto a stool to watch her cook, the air spiced with wine, garlic and freshly grated parmesan. ‘You didn’t have to make dinner. We could have gone to the pub.’
‘It’s a reward for rescuing my violin. It’s the one thing I’d hate to lose.’
Nina crosses the room in a few long strides to kiss my cheek, the scent of her cutting through the other aromas. Instinct takes over as I pull her into my arms, but I remind myself that she came here to recover, not be mauled by a virtual stranger. When I release her again, she stands her ground.
‘All that advance and retreat must be tiring, Ben. The food’s ready, you can come and eat.’
Her reactions mystify me. No one would guess that most of her possessions have just gone up in a puff of smoke, her calmness still intact. The pasta is coated in wild mushroom sauce, with ice-cold Sauvignon Blanc to wash it down.
‘What was your childhood like?’ I ask.
‘Quiet, but I liked being an only child. It taught me self-sufficiency.’ Despite her smile, her voice resonates with loneliness. ‘Let’s not talk about the past. How about some after-dinner entertainment?’
‘Brandy and lap dancing would suit me fine.’
‘Scrabble’s my best offer.’
I could retreat to my room, but she’s already cross-legged by the fire, laying out the board. A new side of her emerges during the game, softer and easily amused, the dog lolling at her side. I don’t want to fancy her this much, but the feeling won’t shift.
‘I should sleep, Nina. It’s been a long day.’
She gives a nod of agreement, but when she opens the sideboard to put the Scrabble box away, the photo I hid flutters to her feet. She looks fascinated as she picks it up.
‘This is you and Clare, isn’t it?’ she murmurs. ‘Shoulder to shoulder, wearing the same smile. You could be relatives.’
‘That’s how it felt.’ I stare down at the image again. ‘I still want to bawl at her, for locking me out.’ I rub my hand across the back of my neck.
‘More pain?’
Before I can reply, she’s facing me, one hand at the base of my skull, the other on my shoulder. I’m expecting another of those lightning movements that release my tension, but her touch barely registers.
‘We could both use some temporary comfort, Ben. Why not think about that?’ She steps back before I can reply.
When I open my eyes again, the room is empty. The photo of me and Clare is propped on the dresser; we look pleased with ourselves, like nothing could ever go wrong.
36
Rose tosses and turns in her sleep. She has nailed boards over her broken door, but nightmares are coming thick and fast. Laura is trapped beneath the ocean’s weight; she has become a mermaid, unable to surface, her blue-lipped mouth gasping for air. When Rose startles awake, the girl’s features have been replaced by the boatman’s. He stands over her bed in the semi-dark, his icy fingers grabbing her arms. It’s impossible to fight back, shock draining her strength.
‘Where did you hide it?’ the man hisses. ‘Only Sam knows our drop-off point.’
‘I didn’t take anything.’
‘Put it back, or I’ll break every bone in your body.’
Rose’s vision blurs, panic making her speak her thoughts. ‘Was it you that killed the girl? I have to know.’
‘Why would I, for fuck’s sake?’ His blank expression shows that he’s telling the truth. But if the boatmen didn’t kill Laura, who did?
‘I’ll do as you say,’ she stutters.
‘You’ve got till the weekend.’
When Rose opens her eyes again, she’s alone in her ruined bedroom, amongst piles of broken furniture. There’s a rip in the seam of her nightgown, a bitter draught chilling her skin.
37
My phone wakes me before the alarm. The voice babbling in my ear is female, her words garbled. It takes me a while to realise that it’s Danny Curnow’s mother.
‘Slow down, Patty, I can’t hear you.’
‘We need your help. Hurry, please.’
Her voice disintegrates into noisy tears as first light seeps through the window. When I peer inside the spare room, Shadow is lying peacefully asleep beside Nina, allowing me to exit the house alone. Most of the island is in darkness as I head across Shipman Down. I cover the ground fast, jogging north when I reach the eastern shore, with Tresco’s black outline visible from the corner of my eye. The Curnows’ house still resembles a futurist palace, enough light blazing from the windows to drain the national grid.
Danny’s mother looks different when she rushes outside. Without make-up, Patty is more girl next door than glamour model. She’s dressed in faded jeans and a black jumper, skin blotchy with tears. Her mouth flaps open, releasing a high-pitched moan that edges towards a scream.
‘Come inside, Patty, we can talk there.’
She’s already gabbling. ‘Danny never came home last night. We’ve looked for him everywhere.’
‘Try to explain for me, step by step.’
An acre of clear air hangs over us in the vast hallway, but the atmosphere feels leaden. Through the living room doorway, I catch sight of Jay in his dressing gown, ranting into his mobile, but Patty chooses the kitchen for our conversation. She pours coffee without asking how I take it, slapping the mug into my hands. The tension she’s exuding makes the air feel electrified.
‘When did you realise Danny was missing?’
‘Around 5 a.m., when I used the bathroom. I saw his bed was empty.’ She’s on her feet again, struggling to keep still. ‘Since Laura died, he’s gone out on his own, almost every night. We couldn’t stop him.’
‘What did your son do yesterday?’
‘He wouldn’t come out of his room; it was driving me crazy. I told him to pull himself together.’ She claps her hand over her mouth like the words could be reclaimed.
‘Can you remember what time he left last night?’
‘I heard him go out about eleven.’
‘No boats have sailed since then, so he can’t have gone far. Has Danny talked much since Laura’s death?’
‘Hardly at all, he just shuts down. He’s in a terrible state.’ She keeps her eyes fixed on the window. ‘I tried to get him to see a counsellor, but he refused.’
‘Chances are he’ll be back soon. Let’s look upstairs, you can see what he’s taken with him.’
The boy’s sheets and duvet lie in a tangle, a whiff of stale aftershave, musky and unpleasant, lingering on the air. Clothes litter the floor, beside used plates and mugs, proving that he’s been eating his meals alone. Laura’s letters are scattered across his desk. Even from this distance I can see kisses scrawled across each page, her favourite heart symbol, pierced by an arrow.
‘What’s missing, Patty?’
‘His phone’s gone, but he’s not answering. That’s his wallet on the table.’
‘How about clothes? Do you know what he’s wearing?’
She peers into the wardrobe. ‘His black hooded coat, and I think his grey trainers are missing too.’
‘Has his dad been able to talk to him about Laura yet?’
‘Jay’s not keen on discussing emotions. He and Danny are so alike, they row all the time.’ The frustration on her face reveals that she’s caught in the crossfire.
‘I’ll start looking for your son straight away. Call me if he comes home, okay?’
Jay Curnow has finished making his call when we get back downstairs. There’s no sign now of the ruthless millionaire, willing to steal any property from its rightful owner at a knock-down price. Age has finally caught up with him, his skin ashen. He mumbles a few words of thanks, but the sounds are inco
herent, his vocabulary unravelling.
There’s a chance that Danny is walking off his nightmares, but if he was telling the truth, he could have run into Laura’s killer. My first port of call is the pub, a five-minute jog away across the dunes. I gallop up the steps of the fire escape to hammer on Maggie’s door. She’s wide awake when she answers, her expression shocked.
‘Wake Zoe and Billy, can you? I need a team searching inland and another on the beaches, looking for Danny Curnow.’
She rises to her toes to kiss my cheek. ‘Thank God you’re here, sweetheart.’
Her confidence feels misplaced, given my lack of progress. When I check my watch it’s only 7 a.m., salmon-pink clouds streaking the horizon, the start of a clear winter day. I head south, collecting searchers as I go: Pete and June Moorcroft, Arthur, then Ray. My uncle and the ferryman walk in silence, but the shopkeeper’s jabber is so grating it takes effort not to tell him to shut up. There’s no sign of activity on the quay except the Bryher Maid breaching the sound. The air’s so pure, I can see Eddie on the opposite shore, neat and upright in his black gabardine. I call his mobile to instruct him to wait at the hall, in case the search party needs help. By the time we reach the island’s southern tip, we meet a dozen more islanders, dressed in outdoor gear. From their gloomy expressions I know Danny hasn’t been found. Most of the island’s families are represented, alongside Maggie’s staff from the pub. I feel a wave of gratitude when she rallies her troops.
‘Everyone back to the Rock for breakfast.’
At the edge of the crowd I catch sight of Nina’s slim frame, drowned by my leather jacket, Shadow at her feet. Zoe bobs forwards to join me. She seems to have dressed in a hurry, white-blonde hair flying in all directions, a bright green scarf at her throat. I reach out and squeeze her shoulder, but her million-dollar smile is on half-strength today.
‘Where do you think he is, Ben?’
‘Keeping warm somewhere, I hope.’
I divide the searchers into two parties, sending them back to the pub along the inland routes, with Zoe still at my side. We keep silent as we scan the open ground. The island is free of litter, nothing to see except gorse bushes, bracken and marram grass. When I look down at Zoe, she’s concentrating too hard to talk. The swimming pool by Gweal Hill lies on the horizon, a dark patch on the water making me increase my pace.
‘Jesus,’ I mutter to myself.
‘What?’ Zoe’s anxious face peers up at me.
The pond is growing bigger with every stride. The water’s murky today, half covered by the round leaves of water lilies. A black piece of fabric floats on the surface beside granite rocks I dived from as a kid. I can see that it’s a jacket as I grab the sleeve, leaving it heaped on the bank. My eyes search the water again. Why would a boy choose to die in an inland pool instead of miles of clear ocean, without leaving a suicide note? It crosses my mind to dive in and search for his body, but it’s so overgrown I wouldn’t see a thing. Zoe comes to a halt beside me, panting for breath, and although I feel like sinking to my knees, I stay vertical for her sake.
‘Is that Danny’s coat?’ she asks.
‘I think so.’
‘Want me to fetch his parents?’
‘Not yet, let’s search the area first.’
Zoe’s eyes are wide with shock, but she follows my instructions. We spend the next twenty minutes pushing through brambles and ground elder, checking thickets either side of the pond. I stand on the bank to call Eddie, asking him to summon a police diving team from the mainland. My head keeps filling with memories of late summer days, when the pool was dredged clean so we could dive from the boulders. Some of my best childhood days were spent here, but it never felt the same after a kid from my year jumped in for a dare one winter, the freezing cold stopping his heart before he reached the bank. I photograph the coat, then send Zoe back to the hall for an evidence bag. The wait feels worse than my hours spent guarding Laura’s body. I can almost picture the boy waking in despair before sunrise, leaving the house in silence, a determined look on his face.
The worst part of the morning is watching the Curnows fall apart. Patty keeps begging me to check again, even though their son’s coat has been found by a pool where others have drowned. She’s convinced he might still be sitting on a rock somewhere, looking out to sea. I don’t have the heart to point out that no sane person would spend a winter day outside without a coat. Rational argument won’t help; all I can do is reassure her that the island will be patrolled all day, no one is giving up hope.
Eddie deals with the two police divers who arrive mid-afternoon from the mainland, laden with kit. The leader is a skinny twenty-five-year-old called Trevor, equipped with lamps, wetsuit and flippers slung over his arm. A helicopter buzzes overhead as we talk, a huge mosquito threatening to bite. Someone must have a hotline to the press, alerting them to every new development. I turn my back on it, wondering how much the informant is getting paid for passing on everything they see.
Light is fading when the divers enter the water. The area’s been cordoned off but Jay and Patty wait beside the pool, clinging to each other while the men slip under the water, flippers pointing at the sky, the yellow beam of their lamps flickering beneath the surface. They work for an hour then wade up the incline, the lead diver yanking his oxygen monitor from his mouth.
‘It’s too dark,’ he says. ‘We’ll have to wait till morning.’
‘Thanks for trying. We’ve got rooms for you at the pub.’
The Curnows are already turning away, Patty weeping as Jay leads her down the path. Back at their house we sit in the glass-walled living room, with no curtains or blinds to protect them from the world outside. It’s the opposite of Jenna’s claustrophobic cottage, but the atmosphere is the same. Jay and Patty sit huddled on the settee, fear imprinted on their faces.
‘Can you describe Danny’s behaviour since Laura died?’
Jay’s jaw tightens. ‘My wife’s in bits. Can’t the questions wait till tomorrow?’
‘Any information you give me now could help bring your son home.’
‘He’s been so angry,’ Patty says quietly. ‘Danny’s obsessed with finding Laura’s killer. He goes out all hours, hunting on the beaches, even though I begged him to stay indoors.’
‘Did he mention names of people he suspected?’
‘He never said.’ She lets out another sob. ‘It’s our fault, he stopped trusting us.’
‘We’ve done our best, love,’ Jay mutters.
Curnow’s comment falls on deaf ears, his wife turning away. I leave them to resolve their differences just before 10 p.m.
The night sky is clearer than before, a canopy of stars poised above the sea, moonlight bright enough to dazzle. The conditions encourage one last search, so I set off across the shore. I’m planning to drop down the eastern side of the island, then walk home from Droppy Nose Point. Instinct still tells me that Danny would have chosen the sea rather than a fetid pool if he planned to end his life, stripping off his coat as he headed for the beach. But the boy didn’t strike me as suicidal. He was on a mission to avenge his girlfriend, nothing else cluttering his mind. My eyes scan the tideline; seagulls bob on the water, keeping quiet for once. I don’t look up again until the wide sweep of Green Bay comes into view. The peaks of Three Brothers Rock look like a triad of old men, heads bowed in conversation, behind them the jagged outcrop of Merrick Island. When I look back inland, Jenna Trescothick is crossing the beach, wearing a padded jacket, a woollen cap shadowing her face, hands buried in her pockets.
‘What are doing out, Jenna?’
Her eyes are unfocused. ‘I heard about Danny; I can’t let it happen again.’
‘You shouldn’t be here after dark.’
Her stare hardens. ‘I have to do something. There’s no way I can sleep.’
‘Leave it till tomorrow, it’s not safe. Let’s go back to the cottage.’
She falls into step beside me, maintaining her silence, emotions travelling ac
ross her face like a storm system. Danny’s absence must have kick-started her grieving for Laura all over again. When we reach her house, she slips inside and shuts the door without saying a word.
38
Madron is waiting in his office when I arrive, his eyes small and focused as lasers. No doubt he’s been poring over the email I sent him since the crack of dawn.
‘The divers have found no trace of him yet, sir.’
‘Suicide, you think?’
‘That’s too neat. First the girl’s murdered, then this. He wants us to assume Danny couldn’t handle the guilt.’
‘That might be exactly what happened.’
‘I’ve reviewed the evidence; a suicidal kid isn’t that organised. I think he went looking for Laura’s killer then ran into danger. His body could be anywhere.’
‘The lad probably wanted to avoid judgement,’ Madron says.
‘There are some suspects who could have been roaming the island when Laura and Danny went missing.’
‘You sent me the list.’ He reads the names out in a sing-song voice. ‘Pete Moorcroft, Dean Miller, Arthur Penwithick, Jim Helyer, Matt Trescothick, Ray Kitto.’ He slaps his glasses down on the desk. ‘Half of these men are pensioners. Why in God’s name would any of them kill a pair of teenagers?’
‘I’d lay odds on it being Matt Trescothick.’
His chin rises. ‘Give me your rationale.’
‘I’ve always believed it was someone close to the victim. Matt Trescothick’s been under pressure for years, I’ve seen his violence first hand when he attacked Dean Miller. Maybe Danny ran into him last night and got the same treatment, if he thought the boy knew what he’d done.’
‘It takes madness to kill your own child. Trescothick’s got anger issues, but he’s not a psychopath.’
‘You don’t have to be crazy to lash out, then cover your tracks.’
