The Split

by Sharon Bolton

  Heart pounding, Joe turns to see a woman in her forties, stout and plain.

  ‘Dr Susan Brindle,’ Nigel introduces the newcomer. ‘Sue, you know Skye, of course. And this is Detective Inspector Jones from England, and her colleague, Dr Grant.’

  ‘Joe.’ He holds his hand out. ‘Is Felicity on her way?’

  ‘Susan is the station chief here,’ Nigel explains. ‘All the BAS staff report to her. Sue, Detective Inspector Jones and Dr Grant would like to see Felicity.’

  ‘May I ask why?’ Brindle is hovering in the doorway, as though entering the room properly might commit her in some way.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s confidential,’ Joe replies before Delilah can speak.

  ‘Is she expecting you?’ Brindle asks.

  ‘This is a police matter,’ Delilah says. ‘Please have Miss Lloyd brought here immediately.’

  There follows a moment of stalemate, which the harbour master breaks by handing round mugs of coffee. ‘She said something this morning about a boyfriend,’ he tells them. ‘She’s been very keen on the visiting cruise ships the last couple of weeks. Pouring over the passenger manifests.’ He holds coffee out to Joe. ‘Is it you she was expecting?’

  ‘She didn’t mention a boyfriend to me.’ Susan Brindle still hasn’t entered the room. ‘We usually know if staff are expecting family or friends. They have to book leave.’

  Delilah puts her mug down untouched. ‘My son is not Felicity Lloyd’s boyfriend. I have a warrant for—’

  ‘OK, thank you, Delilah.’ Skye McNair speaks up. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

  To Susan Brindle she says, ‘These people have travelled a long way to see Dr Lloyd and there is no reason I can think of why she shouldn’t be brought here immediately.’

  ‘I can,’ says the harbour master. ‘She left an hour ago.’

  ‘Left to go where?’ Delilah demands.

  ‘Do I have your permission to request Ralph join us?’ Nigel asks Skye. ‘I think you’ll find he was the last person to see her.’

  Frowning, Skye nods and the harbour master makes a quick phone call. ‘Ralph’s our head boatman,’ he explains. ‘He’s on his way up.’

  ‘Is Felicity in trouble?’ Brindle asks.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing like that,’ Nigel says. ‘Probably just bad news for the lass. Although obviously I hope not.’ He looks, expectantly, at Delilah and Joe. ‘Your son, you say? Didn’t realise the two of you were related. Is Felicity family?’

  Delilah purses her lips. Joe gives a tiny shake of his head. The door opens again and a middle-aged man in outdoor clothing brings with him the smell of the ocean, engine oil and guano.

  ‘Ralph Chapman, who runs our boatyard,’ Nigel makes the introductions. Ralph nods to Skye and asks about her family. Joe puts a hand on his mother’s arm.

  ‘We’re looking for Felicity Lloyd,’ Skye explains, as soon as she can interrupt. ‘Can you help?’

  ‘Why?’ Ralph asks.

  ‘For the love of God!’ Delilah gets to her feet. ‘I have a warrant to take her into custody and I am this close to arresting the lot of you for obstruction of justice.’

  Skye opens her mouth.

  ‘No,’ snaps Delilah. ‘With respect, Superintendent, this is a British protectorate, subject to the laws of the United Kingdom and their precious Felicity is wanted for murder.’

  ‘Mum, sit down, you’re not well,’ Joe says, and to his surprise, Delilah does what she’s told. Keeping half an eye on her, because he doesn’t like the way her breathing has escalated, he addresses the room. ‘I’m Felicity’s doctor, or at least I was when she lived in Cambridge and I’m worried for her safety. Please tell us where you think she is.’

  ‘Several miles up the coast by now.’ Ralph speaks as though the words are being dragged from him.

  ‘Where’s she going?’

  ‘Bird Island.’ Ralph frowns at one of the computer screens. ‘She’s due back towards the end of the week.’

  Delilah says, ‘We have to go after her.’

  ‘I’m afraid we do,’ Skye tells Nigel. ‘Can you organise a boat for us?’

  ‘I don’t recommend anyone else setting out for Bird today.’ Ralph is leaning over one of the monitors now. ‘The weather’s taken a turn. I’ve been trying to get Flick on the radio, persuade her to turn around. And I can’t seem to find her on radar.’

  The harbour master joins him at the monitor.

  ‘Is she alone?’ Joe asks.

  ‘I think she took Jack with her,’ Ralph says. ‘At least I hope she did. I didn’t see them leave though.’

  ‘She’s not with Jack,’ Brindle says. ‘I saw him a while back, when that other chap was here.’

  Skye looks up. ‘What other chap?’

  ‘I’ll try her now.’ Nigel turns to the radio.

  ‘Can I see her room?’ Joe asks.

  ‘Why?’ asks Brindle.

  His mother gets to her feet and holds up her warrant card. ‘What part of wanted in connection with murder do you people not understand? Now, show my son to Miss Lloyd’s room – take me while you’re at it – and answer Superintendent McNair’s question. What other chap?’

  * * *

  Felicity’s room is small and feels even smaller when Joe, his mother, Susan Brindle and Skye are squeezed inside it. The neatness is familiar, as is the white dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, but the photograph by the bed is new; a shot of Felicity standing amidst towering columns of ice. Again, she looks happy.

  ‘And you didn’t ask his name?’ Skye is saying.

  ‘He was very cagey.’ The station chief sounds defensive. ‘And he scarpered pretty quickly.’

  The window looks inland. A short stretch of green meadow dotted with red flowers gives way to a massive slope of rock and scree, its peak shrouded in mist.

  ‘What exactly is it you’re looking for?’ Brindle asks.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Joe glances back to see a man of about his own age, an inch or so shorter, but of a stockier build, with fair hair and bright blue eyes.

  ‘Jack, these people are looking for Felicity,’ Brindle says.

  The newcomer’s blue eyes linger on Joe. ‘Popular woman this morning.’

  ‘Can you help?’ Brindle asks him.

  ‘Why?’ The man called Jack speaks directly to Joe. ‘Why do you need to see her?’

  ‘They’re police,’ the station chief tells him, in a hushed voice.

  Jack’s face clouds over. ‘Is that other bloke with you?’

  ‘Very good question,’ Skye mutters.

  ‘Close the door, please, I need to work in peace,’ Delilah says. ‘Superintendent, can you keep these people outside?’

  ‘Have you authority to be here?’ Jack takes a step into the room.

  ‘Is this where she was going?’ Joe has spotted the chart on the desk, a circle drawn around Bird Island. He glances over the Post-it notes, the weather forecasts, the journey times, the shopping lists.

  ‘Outside,’ Delilah points to the corridor.

  ‘They’re saying Felicity’s killed someone,’ Brindle says.

  Jack sneers. ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘We didn’t say that,’ Joe says. ‘We said “wanted in connection with murder”. Now, if you want to help, answer some questions. Is there a locked cupboard in this room? Or a locker somewhere that she had access to? Anywhere she could keep stuff she didn’t want anyone else to see?’

  Two mystified and hostile faces look back at him.

  ‘Felicity adopts orphan penguins in breeding season,’ Jack says. ‘She wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘That’s a point,’ Susan Brindle says. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘My room,’ Jack tells her. ‘Making a hell of a racket.’

  ‘Does she have a private locker?’ Delilah almost yells.

  ‘She has a locker in the boot room,’ Jack says. ‘She gave me the key to it this morning. No dead bodies that I could see. Just climbing gear,
some diving equipment and a packet of butterscotch.’

  * * *

  It doesn’t take long to search Felicity’s room and other than clear evidence that she’s left for Bird Island, they find nothing that can help. They return to the harbour master’s office as he’s finishing a telephone call. By this time, raindrops are splashing against the windows.

  Ralph, the boat man, is at the radio. ‘King Edward Point to Felicity, come in, Felicity.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t understand why the tracker on the RIB isn’t working. She wouldn’t have disabled it.’

  ‘All the visitors are going back to the ship,’ Nigel announces. ‘There’s a squall heading down off the mountain.’

  Delilah says, ‘So she could be anywhere?’

  Nigel says, ‘I got through to the station on Bird. They’ll be in touch the minute they hear from her.’

  Delilah says, ‘We need to go after her.’

  Ralph shakes his head without taking his eyes of the weather report. ‘Not a good idea. It’ll be a rough trip. And you don’t look like you’ve recovered from your last session on a boat.’

  ‘You’re going to leave a woman out on her own in a storm?’ Delilah demands.

  Ralph leans around Delilah to speak to Jack. ‘I thought you were going with her.’

  As Joe tells himself not to read too much into the worried expressions he can see around him, the phone rings. Distracted by the sound of his mother arguing with the boat man, Joe tries to hear what is being said to the harbour master. At last, after writing several notes on a desk pad, Nigel holds up a hand for silence.

  ‘That was the ship,’ he announces. ‘Like we haven’t got enough problems. One of the passengers is missing. The crew are organising a search party.’

  Joe feels a deadweight settling on his chest. ‘What’s his name?’ he asks.

  Nigel checks his notes. ‘Bloke called Lloyd. Freddie Lloyd.’

  66

  Joe

  A party of five – Joe, Delilah, Skye, Jack and Ralph – set off from King Edward Point in the pouring rain and even before they leave the sheltered waters of the bay, Delilah is throwing up. When they turn north-west into heavy seas, Joe knows that he’s made a mistake allowing her to come along. The launch is travelling directly into oncoming waves and every few seconds the boat climbs a turquoise wall of water before slamming down the other side.

  Skye, who seems unaffected by the sea state, is at the chart table speaking to the captain of the ship via radio and using the satellite phone to contact her office on the Falkland Islands.

  ‘Lloyd was last seen heading west out of Grytviken,’ she tells Joe.

  ‘How did we miss him?’ Delilah groans from her supine position on the cabin seat. ‘How could he be on our boat and we not know it?’

  Joe too is starting to feel uncomfortable. The cabin is hot and smells of diesel fuel, whilst the rain and spray have turned the windows opaque. It is a little like being trapped inside a washing machine.

  ‘You were in your cabin for most of the trip over, Delilah,’ Skye says. ‘As were a lot of people, to be honest. He might never have appeared in the communal parts of the ship.’

  ‘I should have checked the passenger list,’ Delilah mumbles.

  ‘We were never sure there was a Freddie,’ Joe says. ‘And we had no idea what he looked like.’

  ‘Well, he won’t walk to Bird Island,’ Skye says. ‘It’s sixty miles of mountains and glaciers, and he’d have to swim the last bit. If that’s where he’s heading, he’s on a suicide mission.’

  ‘Long way to come to commit suicide.’ Joe groans as the launch takes a sudden dive down a steep wave.

  ‘Joe, you don’t look good either,’ Skye says. ‘Go up and get some air.’

  Hating to leave his mother, knowing Skye is right, Joe pulls up the hood of his coat and climbs into the cockpit. Ralph is at the helm in a heavy oilskin coat and Jack is sheltering in the lee of the cabin wall.

  ‘How long to Bird Island?’ Joe takes the opposite seat.

  ‘Five hours in good conditions.’ Jack is holding binoculars to his eyes. ‘These are not good conditions.’

  It is a little after one o’clock in the afternoon.

  ‘Ralph’s keeping us close to land,’ Jack says. ‘He’s trying to avoid the bigger seas. We’ll have a more comfortable trip, but it will take longer.’

  Joe looks down into the cabin. His mother isn’t moving.

  ‘We’re keeping an eye out for Felicity’s RIB,’ Ralph shouts. ‘She may have decided to sit the storm out.’

  Joe turns to face land. The mountains are almost black in the storm, broken by streaks of white where the glaciers meet the sea. He switches seats, sitting next to Jack on the starboard side.

  ‘So, who’s this Freddie bloke?’ Jack asks, without lowering his binoculars.

  ‘According to Felicity, he’s her husband.’

  The binoculars drop. ‘She’s married?’

  Joe takes a mean pleasure in saying, ‘Guess there’s a lot you don’t know about Felicity.’

  ‘I know she’s not a murderer.’

  Joe says nothing.

  ‘Seriously?’ Jack breaks the silence first. ‘You really think she killed someone?’

  ‘There’s evidence.’

  Jack shakes his head. ‘I can’t see it.’ He lifts the binoculars again, as though the subject is closed.

  ‘She has a condition,’ Joe says, after a moment. ‘She may not have known what she was doing. I think she needs help. And a hospital, not a prison.’ He lets his eyes travel back towards the cabin. ‘Not everyone agrees with me.’

  ‘What sort of condition?’

  ‘I shouldn’t discuss her. She was my patient.’

  Jack turns to face him and once again Joe is struck by how blue his eyes are. ‘I’ve seen Felicity every day for nine months,’ Jack says. ‘Her compulsion to tidy everything is verging on obsessive. She may have a mild form of OCD. Other than that, nothing. She’s completely normal.’

  ‘It’s possible being here helped her.’ Joe pushes down the surge of jealousy that this man has seen Felicity at her best. ‘I think fear of her husband triggered her symptoms back in Cambridge. On the other side of the planet she felt safe.’

  ‘Until you brought him.’

  There is no answer to that, so Joe resumes looking for Felicity’s RIB. The land is cloaked in a grey mist and he can barely make out the reddish-brown outlines of buildings. Something that looks like a tower, and a shipwreck close to shore.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jack says. ‘That was uncalled for.’

  ‘We don’t have to worry about Freddie yet,’ Joe says. ‘From what Skye tells me, he won’t get anywhere near her. What’s that place?’

  ‘Husvik,’ Jack says. Another old whaling station. Bit like Grytviken, but not safe for visitors. We’ll pass another in a while, at Stromness. Then Prince Olav a bit further up.’

  The cabin door opens and Skye appears. ‘You’re wanted,’ she tells Joe.

  Down in the cabin, Delilah has managed to sit upright. ‘Tell him,’ she says.

  ‘We’ve had some more news from the ship,’ Skye tells Joe. ‘Freddie Lloyd saw the ship’s doctor just before we arrived. He’s recently been released from prison.’

  67

  Joe

  The storm is at its height by the time they reach their destination – a single storey, green-painted building nestling in the foot of low hills. After Ralph and Jack have tied up the launch, Joe and Skye help Delilah onto a salt-encrusted jetty and then across a beach of kelp-covered rocks. The six-hour trip has taken its toll. Even Ralph and Skye are pale and Delilah is on the verge of collapse.

  The news awaiting them is not good.

  ‘She’s not here? How can she not be here?’ Skye demands of the married couple who run the station.

  ‘We are expecting her,’ Jan explains as her husband Frank organises hot drinks. ‘Just not necessarily today.’

  ‘So where the hell is she?’<
br />
  ‘Mum, take it easy,’ Joe warns, even as he is thinking about accidents at sea, Felicity’s boat overcome by waves.

  ‘There you go, love.’ Ralph hands Delilah a steaming mug. ‘Use your mouth for drinking not talking until you’re a bit more yourself.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Delilah tells him, but she clutches the mug with shaking hands as a flurry of raindrops, possibly spray, hits the window. The sea seems dangerously close. ‘Where else could she have gone?’

  ‘Camping out would be stupid,’ Ralph says. ‘She’s not stupid.’

  ‘Husvik,’ Jack says. ‘There’s an old manager’s villa there. It’s the only place apart from Bird Island and KEP where she could hang out safely, especially in a storm.’

  ‘Husvik?’ Delilah gasps. ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘No sign of the RIB,’ Ralph tells him. ‘I watched the entire coastline on the way up.’

  ‘That’s miles back, isn’t it?’ Delilah’s colour is returning rapidly. ‘Someone get me a map.’

  ‘She hid it,’ Joe says.

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be found. She’s hiding.’

  ‘From us?’ Jack asks.

  ‘From Freddie. She’s terrified of Freddie.’

  He remembers her trembling even as she mentioned Freddie’s name, her whispered memories of what she suffered at his hands. And the break-in at her house, when someone – probably Freddie – nearly killed her, and not a single one of them took it seriously.

  ‘Could he walk to Husvik?’ Skye asks.

  ‘Ten miles or so,’ Ralph tells her.

  ‘He’d have to cross three glaciers not to mention climbing several mountains,’ Jack says. ‘Unlikely. Not impossible.’

  ‘Can we go back?’ Delilah asks Ralph.

  He laughs. ‘You’re a game old bird, I’ll give you that. But no one is going anywhere until this storm dies down.’

  Joe thinks of Freddie, relentlessly tracking Felicity down, of her hiding up somewhere in fear of her life, while they are miles away.

  ‘Can we get a helicopter out here?’ he asks. ‘Skye, you must be able to organise that. From the RAF base on the Falklands?’