Tuesday 27th September – 4.30 p.m.
As Conor strode outside, gasping for air, the table erupted, and James wanted to back away from the onslaught.
‘Can’t you arrest Finn, James?’ Sylvia looked as outraged as Shannon. ‘Can’t you show Conor that the system works? ’
Finn smirked at them. ‘On what grounds? Conor, behaving like a maniac?’ He sat a little taller now Conor was gone. ‘You – and Conor – have no idea what happened between me and Siobhan.’
James raised his eyebrows at Finn, then answered Sylvia’s question. ‘There’s nothing me or the Gardaí can do now, not without evidence.’
‘But we’re not going to get that, are we? Not now.’ The look Sylvia shot Finn made Rav wonder if she was having second thoughts about her stance on violence.
Maeve looked like she was contemplating her own vengeance. She grabbed the breadknife and leaned towards Finn. ‘Is it true?’
From across the table, he eyed the blade, whimpering and shaking his head. But Maeve clearly wasn’t convinced. When she slammed the point of the knife into the table – like she was longing to stab something else – Finn flinched, then sobbed. She glared at the two brothers. ‘What a miserable bloody life you two pathetic cowards gave my sister.’
Turning, she stormed out after Conor, leaving the knife swaying before a wide-eyed, trembling Finn and brooding Brandon.
James raised his eyebrows and exhaled. Standing to leave, everyone joined him except Brandon and Finn.
In the empty driveway, Sylvia turned to them. ‘We’re going to have to leave,’ Sylvia said. ‘Conor won’t share a house with either of his brothers now. And I don’t blame him.’
‘I think we’re all in the same boat there, Sylv,’ James said. ‘I’d ask Maeve to help us find somewhere to stay, given the festival, but she’s got her hands full.’
‘You can stay at my suite,’ Shannon offered.
‘Sorry … what? ’ James looked bewildered. ‘What suite?’
‘I booked the Empress Suite at Cailithín Castle,’ Shannon said. ‘The hotel where we were going to have cocktails for Sylvia’s celebrations.’
‘But … we were staying here!’ James said. He looked wounded, like the suggestion meant that Shannon didn’t want to stay with him.
‘Oh, be realistic, sweetie. You can never guarantee the accommodation when you stay with friends and family. And there always comes a point when it’s a bit much, being under each other’s feet all the time. So of course I had a back-up plan. I expect Nell has one, too.’
Nell shook her head. ‘No. I was looking forward to staying here.’ She shot Rav a rueful look. ‘Although I should know by now that family gatherings can get a bit … deadly.’
‘Lucky one of us thinks ahead, then.’ Shannon said. ‘So we should pack. And I’m guessing you want to go to the station, James? Put in a complaint about Finn? And look into that little lead Nell and I gave you earlier?’
Rav frowned, wondering what it was, but James nodded.
As Sylvia and Shannon headed in and upstairs to pack, Nell turned to Rav and James. ‘Sergeant Baptiste showed me some evidence that he wants me to explain. It’s some botanical records that I need to review at the station.’
‘Oh?’ Rav was instantly curious. He bit back his request to know more, realising he’d have to help get them packed and moved out. With a sigh, he said, ‘OK, you go, I’ll pack for both of us.’
With a grateful smile, Nell said, ‘Thanks, Rav. And I’ll fill you in later. I don’t even know what’s needed of me yet. We can double-drive there, James, then I can dash back to help here, and you won’t be rushed if you’re managing to get anything out of them?’
Both men nodded and as James moved off to head to the station, Rav turned his wheelchair to go back inside. Nell touched his arm. ‘Thanks, Rav. I’ll be as quick as I can over there.’
Soon, Rav had managed to pack their clothes into a case, scoop up their toiletries, and tuck the notebook Nell had given him inside his holdall, to keep it safe. But he needed to go and collect his cameras. Before he set off, he called up the stairs to Sylvia and Shannon, ‘I’m just off to get the camera.’ At the lack of reply, he added, ‘Just in case anyone’s wondering where I am …’
Bumping over the tussocky ground was still hard work. At least his arms were getting stronger, maybe already back to being climbing fit. If only his legs would catch up. At least the track was easier-going for most of the route.
By the time he got to the cliff edge, with the wind whipping up his wavy hair, the blood thundering in his ears was as loud as the crashing of the waves against siltstone, and the cries of gulls wheeling overhead. It feels good to be in the fresh air—
Then, with a flash of pain, everything went black.
Nell had been totally absorbed by her task. She’d painstakingly identified each electron micrograph that enlarged each grain of pollen, showing its structural complexity, enabling an accurate ID to species level.
Nell had expected it to take hours, and braced herself for a long session. But there had only been eleven different species: bell heather, bogbean, bog myrtle, cloudberry, hawthorn, cross-leaved heath, bog rosemary, tormentil, bitter vetch, bilberry and pipewort, with only a sparse sample of the latter.
Tucking the documents back into their folder, she wrote up her report then emailed it to Baptiste. Then she forwarded that email to James.
When Baptiste glanced up from his discussion with Nessa and nodded, she knew she could leave. But she didn’t dare say anything to James, sitting in reception within earshot and view of Baptiste. He smiled but had the sense not to seize his phone and read his emails there and then.
Not that it would be much help. Nell was crushed that the pollen found on Siobhan’s body hadn’t been some great reveal of a different habitat, suggesting she’d been moved. All were bog species, all exactly what you’d find around the place she was buried. But something was nagging at the back of Nell’s mind. Was it something Rav had mentioned …?
Starting the BMW, she noticed the time. She’d been nearly two hours. Rav would probably have finished packing by now. Heading along the road, she hurried in case there was anything left she could help with.
Parking up and leaping out, she waved at Sylvia, who was playing packing Tetris with her and Conor’s cases in the car boot. ‘Want a hand?’
‘No, I can manage,’ Sylvia puffed. ‘But Rav might. He went over to get his kit, oh, it must be over an hour ago now. I was going to start walking over once I’ve got this … jammed … in …’ The cases wouldn’t fit and Sylvia gave in and began unpacking. ‘I don’t know what magic Conor did to get them all in in the first place.’
Nell drifted towards the garage, then between it and the house, to the garden and field. She kept watch, expecting to see Rav on his way back. But there was no sight of him. She paused, scanning the hills. He could easily be hidden by a valley, but her gut told her something was wrong.
Nell sped up, unable to shake the feeling that Rav needed help. Soon she was running, almost as fast as her heart was pounding. Stumbling over the uneven ground, her panic made her breathing shallow. The distant grey horizon of sea bounced in her vision.
Pushing through the burning in her lungs, she cursed Conor for being right about needing to keep her running up. She tripped in a dip in the field, turning her ankle, but momentum carried her forward and she ran through the sharp bolt of pain.
Seeing the post Rav had strapped the camera to up ahead, with its now perilous lean, she sprinted. But the camera was still attached.
Fear spiked as she ran flat out to it, adrenaline surging through her veins. If he’s been out for an hour to collect it, why is it still here?
Skidding to a halt on the damp grass, she nearly slipped over.
Where is he?
She scanned the hills undulating away from her.
Turning, she kept looking, taking in the coastline as far as she could see.
Nothing.
No one, anywhere.
Her heart hammered like a trapped bird, so hard she thought she’d be sick. ‘RAV?’ Her yell became a scream of panic. ‘RAV?’
Rav felt the motion first. Cold, rhythmic swaying against his feet, then shins. Wet and icy.
He grew conscious of something firm underneath his body. And intense, engulfing pain. Fire seared through his legs, like his nerves were scorching lines of flames.
Squinting in light that seemed too bright, he tried to put his hand on the ground next to his face and push himself up.
Nausea rolled in his belly and his skull was thudding. He could taste blood: tangy metal in his throat. The pounding in his head was so relentless he couldn’t lift it, couldn’t open his eyes. His neck ached with how heavily his head hung against his chest.
There was something suffocating about the pain, the burning tangle of his legs. Like dealing with it would intensify the agony, which was already almost too much to bear.
With each icy surge, his legs were smashed against something, making his body convulse.
His head swam. The darkness … was almost … comforting …
It was easier … just to … let … himself … go.
‘RAV?’
His heart contracted.
‘RAV!’
Her voice pierced his dark swirling consciousness. He gulped for air.
‘RAAAAAVV!’
His thoughts woke, and took shape through the grey fuzziness filling his head.
A wave crashed against his body, buffeting the wheelchair against his twisted legs in a crescendo of pain. He nearly groaned aloud, but no sound came.
Head hammering, he pushed up on one arm against the sand underneath him. Leaning forward made sickness boil in his throat but he swallowed hard and dragged one leg, then the other, from the crush of the metal cage.
The effort was exhausting and he sat back, panting. The next wave pushed the wheelchair against his torso, and Rav managed to shove it away from him. He didn’t need something else battering his body.
‘Rav?’ The voice he thought he’d heard was growing distant.
‘Here!’ Wincing, he knew he couldn’t yell. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone and managed to dial Nell through the crazed, cracked screen.
‘Where are you?’ Her voice was breathless and jerky.
‘Over the cliff.’
‘What?’ The wind blasted as she turned round, then the sound of her panting as she sprinted. The sound of crunching as she kneeled on rock. ‘Oh my—’
He thought his head would explode as he craned his neck to look up at her.
But the sight of her made his heart sing.
‘I’ll call for help. What are your injuries, Rav? Do you know?’
‘Head hurts. Everything hurts.’
‘Don’t move.’
Rav dimly recalled Conor telling him that clapping could be a test for paralysis. Something about the coordination it required. Trembling, half afraid to do it and discover the worst, he leaned up and brought his hands together as if in prayer. With a relieved whimper, he tried again, like he was really clapping. He could do it! So not all was lost …
High above him, he could hear Nell talking on the phone, but he couldn’t make out every word. Ambulance. Cliffs. Fall. Track. Post.
Then a pause before she leaned over again.
‘The tide’s coming in.’
Rav could see that – well, feel that – for himself.
The beach here – if you could call it that – was a narrow strip of sandy mud, exposed when the tide was at its lowest, and rock. He was lucky that his landing spot happened to be more of the former. But while his thighs and torso might be out of range of the sea now, that wasn’t going to last long.
He tried to drag his body back, walking his hands underneath him, hauling himself closer to the cliff.
The effort was excruciating.
And it wasn’t going to buy enough time.