Ruth finds another room, a smaller one with a single bed and—crucially—a key in the lock. She has no intention of going back to Nell’s room so that Old George can pay her another visit. She locks herself in and gets into bed with the key and her phone under the pillow. It’s one o’clock. How the hell is she going to survive until dawn? If only she had something to read, something to take her mind off this house, Old George’s confession and the image of Fred Blackstock walking up the hill towards his ancestral home. I couldn’t think where else to go. I hate this place but it’s home.
In the bedside table she finds a travel guide to Norfolk and Suffolk. That will have to do. She pulls the covers over her shoulders—she is freezing—and starts to read.
‘Norfolk offers a breathtaking variety of countryside from open heath to wild marshland and miles of magnificent coastline . . .’
Michelle gets home at two. Nelson hears the car but Debbie has obviously dropped her at the entrance to the cul-de-sac because he then hears Michelle’s heels tapping along the pavement. Only Michelle would wear high heels to negotiate a flood.
He opens the door before she has time to put her key in the lock. She flings herself into his arms.
‘Steady on, love. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ Michelle is half laughing, half crying. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all.’
‘Did you have a nightmare drive? Is the coast road flooded? Debbie did well to get through it. What car has she got?’
‘Something Japanese. I don’t know. I’m just so glad to be home.’
She looks at him, her eyes shining with tears. She’s dressed up to go out—Nelson recognises that—but there’s also something different about her. Her hair is tied back and she doesn’t seem to have any make-up on.
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ says Nelson. That usually works with the women in his life.
‘No,’ says Michelle. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
Ruth wakes with her head on the wonders of Norfolk and Suffolk. Light is streaming in through the curtains and she isn’t dead yet. She goes to the window. Water stretches as far as the eye can see. Occasionally trees and hedge-tops mark the boundaries of fields but otherwise everything is uniformly blue and sparkling. It’s very beautiful but it’s also disconcerting, as if she has woken up to find herself in another world, a watery Narnia. This room faces east, towards the coast. She can see the top of Admiral Blackstock’s cross but otherwise land and sea have merged, the liminal zone has vanished and the sea sprites have reclaimed their own. Ruth imagines that this will finally send Old George completely round the bend.
It’s seven o’clock. Nelson said that he’d come in the morning but she’s sure that it will take him some time to get here, even if he does manage to commandeer a helicopter. She doesn’t want to stay skulking in her room. Old George seems much less terrifying in the daylight. And besides, she’s starving.
In the kitchen, Ruth makes herself a cup of tea and puts some bread in the giant toaster, presumably bought with the B & B in mind. There’s no sound from upstairs. She hopes that both Georges will sleep late. For ever would be nice. She thinks about Judy, enjoying her first morning with her daughter, whose first morning it is. She remembers holding Kate in her arms five years ago. She loved Kate from the first moment that their eyes met but she had missed having Nelson with her, to share in the miracle of their child. It was the only time that she has really felt the lack of a proper partner. Judy might be on her own now but at least she has Cathbad waiting for her at home.
Ruth eats her toast and then goes out to ring Judy. The mounting block feels quite homelike now. To her surprise, Judy answers on the third ring.
‘Hallo,’ says Ruth. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you. She’s beautiful.’
‘Did you think she’d be a girl?’
‘Yes. Cathbad always said she would be.’
But he was wrong about the baby being late, thinks Ruth. Aloud she says, ‘Have you thought of a name?’
‘We haven’t decided. Cathbad likes Astarte. I prefer Miranda.’
‘Insist on your name. You’ll never be in a better position to get your own way.’
Judy laughs. She sounds dreamy and contented. Ruth, standing on her own in the middle of a flood, feels jealous.
‘You got there in time then?’ she says.
‘Yes. Sally was wonderful. Perhaps I should name the baby after her.’
‘Is she still with you?’
‘No, she and Chaz have left. They spent the night at the hospital but I think Sally was worried about her father-in-law. Is he all right?’
‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘Fighting fit.’
She rings off, promising to come and see the baby when she can. Then she rings Cathbad to ask about her own baby. Cathbad, like Judy, is in wonderful spirits.
‘Another girl! Maddie wanted a sister. I’ve just rung her.’
Maddie is Cathbad’s daughter by a woman called Delilah.
‘How’s Kate?’
‘She’s fine. I’m just making a special celebration breakfast for us all.’
‘I’m hoping to able to get out of here today. Nelson said that he would come to get me.’
‘If Nelson says he’ll come, he’ll come.’
‘Yes. I know.’
Ruth rings off feeling frightened and depressed. Judy and Cathbad sound so happy. She should be happy for them but all she can think is that she is dependent on someone else’s husband coming to rescue her. She stays on her vantage point, looking towards the horizon. As she looks, a dark shape comes into view. At first she thinks that it’s a longnecked bird gliding on the water but then she sees that it is a small boat being propelled by someone standing up like a gondolier. The boatman has long hair flying out behind him and for a moment she thinks that it’s Cathbad, even though this is clearly impossible. Could it be Chaz finding a novel way home? Or maybe it’s a woman? For some reason, Ruth suddenly feels scared. She climbs down from the stone and splashes back towards the kitchen door. She thinks that she’ll feel safer inside.
She takes off her coat and boots. Her cup of tea is still on the table. Perhaps she should make some more toast. Eating always makes her feel better.
Then she realises that Old George is pointing a gun at her.
Nelson is trying to locate a helicopter. Unfortunately the police helicopter and the two belonging to the coastguard are both in use.
‘It’s urgent,’ says Nelson. ‘I need to apprehend a homicide suspect.’
‘I can’t help it,’ says the controller. ‘The chopper’s out rescuing old people from a home in Wells-next-the-Sea.’
‘I’ll have to try to get there by car,’ says Nelson. ‘I need someone with a four-by-four. What does Tim drive?’
‘How should I know?’ says Michelle.
Nelson looks at her in surprise. He had been talking half to himself and had forgotten that he was still in the bedroom and that his wife, prettily dishevelled, is watching him from the marital bed.
‘Sorry, love,’ he says. ‘I was thinking aloud.’ He drops a kiss on her head and rings Tim, who answers with admirable promptness.
‘You’ve got a four-by-four, haven’t you?’ says Nelson. ‘My car’s useless in these conditions. Clough’s is even worse. I need to get to Blackstock Hall this morning.’
‘It’s a Toyota Rav4,’ says Tim. ‘Off-road. It’s pretty tough. Have you heard about Judy?’
He did hear something about Judy. What was it?
‘She’s had her baby. A girl. She’s just rung from the hospital. Apparently she went into labour at Blackstock Hall last night.’
No wonder she wasn’t answering her phone, thinks Nelson. He remembers now that Ruth gave him this news last night but that it has been lost in the general worry about Chaz, Old George and Michelle’s strangely protracted journey home. He feels slightly ashamed and this makes him sound uncharacteristically hearty. ‘That’s fantastic news. Good old Judy.’
‘Mother and baby both doing well, apparently. Shall I come and pick you up in half an hour?’
‘Tim’s a good lad,’ says Nelson as he heads towards the shower.
Michelle doesn’t answer.
‘I’ve been thinking it over,’ says Old George genially, ‘and I realised that it was you I was talking to last night not Nell. Stupid mistake. You’re younger. And bigger. I don’t see so well at night these days. Damn cataracts.’
He could be any old-age pensioner at the doctor’s surgery complaining about his symptoms. Except that he’s holding a gun in a hand that seems remarkably steady.
‘It’s loaded,’ says Old George. ‘I always keep it loaded, just in case. Sally doesn’t know. She’d think it was dangerous.’
It is dangerous, Ruth wants to scream. She glances towards the back door, only a few metres away. If she can just distract George for a minute . . .
‘Stay still,’ barks the old man. ‘It’s Lewis’s gun, by the way.’ He switches back to his former pleasant tone. ‘An antique really. I thought it would be fitting. It still works though.’
‘You don’t want to kill me,’ says Ruth. ‘The police know I’m here. They’d catch you and put you in prison. You’d hate that. Think how it would upset Sally,’ she adds desperately.
Old George considers, head on one side. ‘No, I’d better kill you,’ he says. ‘We can always make it look like an accident. My son will help me with that. After all, we got rid of the other one, Lewis’s son. We can get rid of you too.’
Oh God, Young George is in on it too. The ineffectual son, who always seems to hover in his wife’s shadow, is actually a cold-blooded murderer. It was probably Young George who killed Patrick.
Old George raises the gun. Then he stops and tilts his head again, like a gun dog. He’s heard something. Ruth hears it too. Footsteps. They both look dumbly towards the door.
‘Morning, all.’ Hazel stands in the doorway, wearing waders and a fisherman’s jumper. He still has his druid’s cloak on though and his long hair flops around his face. It must have been Hazel whom Ruth saw punting across the marshes. Of course, he knows the land well. He would know where to find a boat. Ruth is so pleased to see him that she wants to cry. Hazel is as good as Cathbad at turning up just when he’s needed. It must be a druid thing.
‘I was just explaining to Ruth why I have to kill her,’ says Old George, rather plaintively. ‘I’m afraid I told her the whole story last night so of course we’ve got to get rid of her.’
The old fool is talking as if he actually expects Hazel to help him. Ruth turns towards Hazel—maybe together they can overpower Old George—and sees that he too is holding a gun.
‘It’s OK, Dad,’ he says. ‘I’ve got this.’
Dad? Can Hazel really be Old George’s son? It would mean that George fathered him in his fifties but, quite frankly, Ruth would put nothing past him. She stares at Hazel. She had trusted him implicitly because he was Cathbad’s friend. It turns out that this was something else that Cathbad was wrong about. For the first time, though, she sees the Blackstock resemblance. Hazel has dark hair and eyes and a strong nose. He looks, she realises, very like Chaz.
Amazingly, Old George seems to think that introductions are in order. ‘My son George,’ he says. ‘His mother was a village girl called Susan.’
‘Suzanne,’ says Hazel.
Old George dismisses Suzanne with a wave of the hand. ‘She insisted on calling him George after me, which was a bit confusing because I already had a son called George. But no matter. He calls himself Hazel for some reason. He’s illegitimate, which is a shame because it means he can’t inherit this place and he loves it so. But he’s got some sort of plan about that.’
Presumably his plan involves killing all the legitimate Blackstocks. Hazel must have attacked Cassandra on the spur of the moment when he found out that she was the heir. He was on the spot—Ruth had spent a lot of the evening talking to him—he could easily have sneaked out in the darkness and ambushed Cassandra while she stood amongst the family tombs. They were his family tombs as well, of course. It was probably Hazel too who killed Patrick. God, it was Ruth who actually pointed out the Ancient Mariner to him. Somehow Hazel must have discovered Patrick’s identity. He probably just asked him, chatting away with his easy druid’s charm before bludgeoning him to death.
Hazel is still pointing his gun at Ruth. ‘Sorry, Ruth, but you really do know too much,’ he says.
‘I don’t know anything,’ says Ruth. ‘Please let me go. I’ve got a young daughter. I’m all she’s got.’ She realises that she is crying.
‘We’ve got to make it look like an accident,’ Old George is saying.
‘Maybe we can drown her,’ says Hazel. Old George comes closer to his son, presumably to discuss this interesting matter further. Ruth takes her chance and shoots through the door, out into the hall.
Despite the car’s toughness and Tim’s skill as a driver, they come to a standstill a few miles outside Hunstanton. They turn a corner and the road has simply disappeared. It’s as if they are standing on the seashore except that this sea is interspersed with the odd tree and hedgerow and, several nautical miles away, a grey house sits entirely surrounded by water.
‘Can we swim?’ asks Nelson. He’s only half joking. Both men are wearing waders, but when Tim takes an experimental step off the road, he sinks almost to his waist.
‘Bloody hell. It’s deep. We can’t wade there, that’s for sure.’
‘We need to get to that house,’ says Nelson. ‘Ruth could be in danger.’
‘The chopper’s on its way.’
‘The chopper could be hours. She’s stuck in the house with a self-confessed murderer.’
‘I can’t believe the old guy killed his own brother.’
‘Can’t you?’ says Nelson. ‘I can.’
Tim is about to answer when his face takes on an expression of almost comical amazement. Nelson turns to see what Tim is looking at. Coming towards them across the flooded fields is a gigantic duck.
‘Tell me I’m dreaming,’ says Tim.
The duck is bright yellow with a vivid orange beak. It chugs steadily across the water, occasionally emitting a shrill blast of birdsong. As it gets closer, they see that it is actually an amphibious vehicle with ‘Norfolk Birds’ printed on the side. It is being driven by a man with shoulder-length dark hair.
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ says Chaz.
‘What are you doing on that thing?’ asks Nelson.
‘It belongs to a mate of mine who does bird tours,’ says Chaz. ‘I thought it was the only way of getting to the Hall. Want to come along?’
But Nelson and Tim are already splashing towards him. As they climb aboard, they see that Sally is sitting in the bows, incongruously dressed in a black dress, pearls, gumboots and a yellow raincoat.
‘Hallo DCI Nelson, DS Heathfield,’ she says. She looks tired and worried but still manages to make it sound as if she’s welcoming them to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. ‘How nice to see you.’
‘We need to get to the Hall as soon as possible,’ Nelson says to Chaz. ‘I think that Ruth might be in serious danger.’
‘Oh dear.’ Sally wrings her hands. ‘I did worry about leaving her but Judy needed me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ says Tim kindly. ‘Judy said you were wonderful.’
‘It is your fault,’ says Nelson. ‘You left Ruth alone with a madman.’
Chaz and his mother look at each other. Neither of them rushes to Old George’s defence.
Chaz starts up the engine and the giant bird begins its slow journey across the marshes.