JOE HATED THIS. BEING OUT IN the dark and no street lights at all once they got beyond the boundary of the village. Worrying about Holly, because Holly didn’t get herself into dangerous situations. She was sensible and followed the rules, not like the boss. And although she was younger and fitter than the boss, he sensed that she wasn’t so resilient, so cunning or so brave.
They walked in silence. Vera seemed to be thinking. He hoped she’d pull some solution out of the bag at the last minute, like some overweight female magician. She often did. But Joe thought this scenario was unlikely to be so easily resolved. It didn’t feel like any sort of magical illusion, and anyway, occasionally tricks went wrong; surely people could drown in tanks of water or get sawn in half or stabbed when knives were thrown.
They walked at the same pace, one each side of the road. There were no other cars out tonight. It was late now, and sensible people were eating their supper or watching television. The tide must be nearing its height because in the distance he could hear the scrape and suck of shingle on the shore. Every so often, there came the howl of the foghorn. Each time, the sound shocked him.
They shone their torches into the side of the road and into the rough grazing beyond the hedges and the stone walls. Nothing but motionless sheep, blurred by the mist, staring back with yellow eyes, dazed by torchlight. Once, he was startled by a wispy figure, standing quite still in a field. It was a scarecrow, wearing a coat like Vera’s.
When they got to the Pilgrims’ House, there were no cars parked outside. There was still a strip of blue and white tape strung across the width of the building, telling everyone to keep out. Vera was crouching, looking at tyre marks.
‘More than one car has been parked here, but they could have belonged to those birding friends of Linz’s.’ She ducked under the tape and tried the front door. It was locked and she walked on until she was standing next to the window, right at the end of the house. ‘Get in there, Joe. It leads to Rick Kelsall’s room. If the killer opened it, you should be able to manage it.’ A pause. ‘And if he was smothered by someone already in the house, this is your chance to show me how clever you are. Otherwise, just break it.’
At first, he thought he would have to break the glass, but the original sash window was only just held by the catch inside and when he jiggled it, he could lift the pane. He climbed into the room, where once Kelsall’s body had been hanging from a beam. ‘No lights,’ Vera said. ‘We don’t want the world knowing we’re here. Just open the door and let me in.’
The place was silent, and already felt damp, colder than it had been outside. He let Vera through the front door and they went round all the rooms, shining light into every corner.
‘No sign that anyone’s been here since the forensic team left,’ she said. There was fingerprint dust everywhere, congealing in the damp air.
He went back into Kelsall’s room, shut the window and slid the catch across again, and they went outside, pulling the door behind them to lock it.
He thought they’d head back then, to the warm red room above the bar in the Seahorse, but Vera was already on her way to the chapel. This door opened immediately. She stood on the threshold and shone her torch ahead of her.
‘Someone’s been in here. Mucky footwear prints on the floor.’
‘That could have been from days ago. Philip Robson using it for his dusk meditation.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘There’s that smell of candlewax too. Strong. I’d say the candles have been lit very recently.’
They walked in, avoiding the footprints. Vera walked up to the altar and shone a light on the candlesticks. ‘Look, they’ve been left to burn right down. Philip strikes me as a careful man. He’d have blown them out.’
‘So, you think Holly lit them for some reason?’
‘Nah!’ Vera was dismissive. ‘This was another trap. They were lit to lure her in. She met the birders on the marsh and then she’d have come back to her car to drive off the island. But if there was candlelight in the chapel, she’d have gone inside, wouldn’t she? She’d want to investigate.’
She walked back towards the door, shining her torch under each of the pews. Nothing. The place was as bare and austere as it had always been. Then she stopped so suddenly that Joe, following behind her, always a few steps in her wake, the Prince Consort to her Queen, almost bumped into her. She crouched again, moving easily in spite of the weight she carried. He saw a stain on the flagstone.
‘Blood,’ she said.
‘It could be anything.’
She didn’t answer, but continued outside, leaving him to follow.
Back at the Seahorse, they saw the Land Rover parked outside and found Charlie in Di’s sitting room, drinking tea. It was much warmer now, the heater giving a steady glow. Linz was serving in the bar downstairs, but the landlady was in the room too. There was the smell of bacon frying. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’
‘She was there.’ For once, Vera didn’t seem distracted by the thought of food, though Joe saw that she ate the sandwich in a couple of bites when it was presented. ‘In the Pilgrims’ House chapel. No sign of her car, Charlie?’
‘Honestly, boss, I’ve been all over the island. Up to the castle and along the track as far north as I could go. I looked in the Herring House courtyard. The hotel car parks. That house on the Snook. Everywhere I can think of.’
‘Still, it must be somewhere.’ Anxiety was making Vera snappy and irrational. ‘It can’t have disappeared into thin air.’
Joe tried to focus on practicalities. The thought of Holly, being held somewhere against her will, made his brain turn to water and that would help nobody. He remembered their drive over the causeway, the water splashing against the Land Rover as Vera drove too fast ahead of the tide. ‘They couldn’t have taken her off the island? Just before we came on or just after?’
‘After would be a stretch,’ Vera said, ‘especially in Holly’s car. You’d get so far, but I doubt you’d make it all the way across.’
‘Isn’t that what happened to Isobel Hall?’
Vera looked at him, held his eyes. ‘You’re thinking history repeating itself?’
‘I don’t know. Just thinking aloud.’
‘This fog,’ she went on, ‘nobody would see to call the alarm. If she was unconscious, you’d just leave her in her car, halfway across and wait for the tide to take her. The authorities might put that down as an accident. Any head wound could be a result of the car being swept away.’
By the time she’d finished speaking, they had their coats back on and they were halfway down the narrow stairs. Joe was praying to the God of his grandfather that he was wrong, that they’d find Holly’s car hidden in the acres of dune near the causeway, that his imagination was running wild. All three of them crammed into the Land Rover’s bench seat. They drove past the Lindisfarne Hotel, where a solitary smoker stood in the doorway, his back to the light, and the row of bungalows. It seemed to Joe that there was a bit of a breeze and that the mist was lifting a little. But that could be wishful thinking, or his imagination playing tricks again.
Vera drove too fast and almost slid where driven sand had made the road slippery. She only came to a stop when the water was lapping the wheels.
‘It must be high water,’ she said. ‘Soon it’ll be on its way out.’ She was out of the vehicle, shining her torch into the darkness, but all it hit was a grey bank of fog. ‘We need the lifeboat!’ She was panicking now and Vera never panicked. ‘Charlie, get on to them.’
‘No evidence she’s out there, boss.’
‘And no evidence that she’s not. Do it!’
Charlie was on his phone, muttering a message they couldn’t hear because he was still in the Land Rover. He raised his voice. ‘The nearest lifeboat is Seahouses. They’re shouting them now.’
‘Surely some bugger on this island has a boat!’
‘I’m talking to the coastguard.’
Joe was standing beside his boss, peering into the gloom. Vera was right about the tide. The water was sliding away from them. Again, he thought he felt a breeze on his face. Looking up, there was one star, which disappeared almost as soon as he glimpsed it. The mist might be clearing above them, but over the water it seemed to be as thick as ever. The light of their torches bounced back at them. Vera got back into the Land Rover and put the headlights on full beam. And that was when he saw it. The fog thinned briefly and the image was sharp and clear, held for only seconds in the beam. A car, a hundred yards away from them and no longer on the causeway. It had rolled onto its side, so swamped with water that only a few inches of the door panel and the wing mirror showed. If Holly had been in there, she’d had no chance of survival.
He’d shouted to Vera, but she’d already seen it. ‘Charlie, tell the coastguard that we need that boat now! And an ambulance on standby at the mainland end of the causeway.’
Joe marvelled at his boss’s ability to act. He was frozen in grief. There was nothing he could do. Even if he swam to the car, it would be too late to save Holly, and besides, his boots seemed rooted to the concrete. He was overcome with a dreadful lethargy and his only thought was that Holly wouldn’t have responded like this. She wouldn’t have been as pathetic as him if he were in trouble. Holly would have known the right thing to do. He climbed in beside Vera, opened the window.
She switched on the Land Rover engine and backed up a little. Joe had no idea what plan she might have in mind. They were in no danger now the tide was on its way out. But there was a dip in the road and by reversing a few yards, the front of the vehicle was tilting up slightly. Again, Joe felt wind on his face. Definitely not his imagination this time and looking up there was a scattering of stars. With her headlights still on full beam, Vera turned the steering wheel a touch to the right. The beam moved above the water, until it hit what she was looking for. Still shadowy, a wooden tower, with a ladder to reach it. One of the refuges for trapped drivers and walkers. The closest tower to the island.
‘There’s something there.’ Vera was talking very quietly to herself.
Joe could see it too, but thought it wasn’t Holly. This was a pile of rubbish, seaweed and discarded plastic left by an abnormally high tide. The water was ebbing away from them quickly now.
‘Any news on the lifeboat, Charlie?’ The boss, calm. Icy.
‘They’ve launched. On their way from Seahouses. But the locals are scrambling too.’
‘That might be too long. I’ll drive in as far as I can get with the Land Rover. Then it’s down to you, Joe.’
‘You think that’s her?’
‘I’m willing to take a chance on it.’ A moment’s pause. ‘Are you?’
‘Of course.’ Though he wasn’t sure. The fog had thickened again and the water would be freezing. He wasn’t a strong swimmer and had nightmares about drowning. About cold saltwater covering his head and the tide pulling him under. But he knew that Holly would do the same for him, and really there was no question.
Vera drove the Land Rover forward at walking speed until the sea reached the top of the wheel arch. ‘I’ll have to stop now, or you’ll not get the door open.’
‘Where’s the tower?’ Panic was overwhelming him, just like the water of his dreams.
‘Ahead and to your left. Look, I could go.’
‘No!’ That would be shameful. This was a fool’s errand. But he couldn’t let Vera show him up. He’d be ridiculed for the rest of his career. He thought Charlie had had more sense than to volunteer, but the man turned to him, apologetic.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t swim.’ The words a cry. He would rather be out in the water, than sitting here, helpless.
Joe put a hand on Charlie’s arm, then he pushed the door open and slid out. He stumbled immediately on the uneven surface beneath his feet, and tripped forwards so the water reached his chest. The cold seeped through his clothes and took his breath away. He pushed against the weight of it, staying on the causeway, following the beam of the headlight. It shone a path through the mist.
He only saw the refuge when Vera shifted the car slightly so the light pointed to the left and he could see the base of the tower again. Steps leading up, like the structure in the Rede’s Tower adventure playground. It looked close enough to touch, but when he moved towards it, suddenly, he was out of his depth, weighed down by his jacket and boots. He’d stepped off the causeway without realizing. The water covered his face and he panicked. This would be the end then. No glory, no saving of a colleague, but another officer’s life wasted. Then his thoughts cleared like the fog and he lunged forward and grabbed on to one of the underwater rungs of the ladder, and pulled himself clear of the tide. He stood there for a moment, spluttering, gripping the slippery wood, his life depending on holding tight. Then he began to climb, every step an effort because of the weight of his waterlogged clothing.
As he reached the platform, he was above the level of the headlights’ beam, but the mist was definitely clearing and the darkness wasn’t quite so dense. He felt for the shape they’d seen from the shore. Wet cloth. Nothing moving. He heaved himself onto the platform and took his torch from his jacket pocket. It was still working. The first thing he saw was Holly’s face. White. No sign of life. He wrapped himself around her. He was cold, but not as cold as she was and if she was close to death, he didn’t want her dying alone, with no human contact.
Then suddenly he heard the call of wading birds, frightened from their roost by the sound of an engine and more lights, and the fat inflatable rib circling the tower and a man in a yellow oilskin climbing the ladder as easily as if it were an obstacle in a kids’ playground. His own voice demanding to know if his friend was alive.