Wednesday 28th September – 12 p.m.
Maeve looked at Nell. ‘You’re certain?’
Nell nodded, reaching for her hand, wanting to convince her. ‘I’m sure. And I’m also certain something was mentioned that would be proof. I just need to …’ She paced, trying not to agonise over it, hoping her brain would unearth the gem if she didn’t keep trying to dig for it.
Pacing, Maeve held her head, muttering, ‘Why didn’t she just talk to me? Why didn’t she trust me enough? I might have been able to save her from that … that bastard.’
‘You were her little sister, Maeve,’ Sylvia said. ‘She thought she was protecting you.’
‘Shouldn’t have cost her her life, should it?’ Maeve dashed away furious, resentful tears, and Aoife walked across to take her hand, both too rigid with fury to hug.
They stared at each other in deep unspoken understanding, and when Maeve turned to Nell there was fire in her eyes. ‘His brothers need to know.’
‘Don’t do anything … precipitous, Maeve,’ James advised. ‘We’ll talk to Baptiste right now and get him to make an arrest. Don’t spook anyone or give off any warnings, OK?’
Maeve didn’t answer. But Aoife jumped in. ‘If you’re going, so am I.’
Sylvia hesitated, then stood. ‘I’ll join you. I should see Conor. He’ll want to know.’
Nell hoped she’d be a calming influence: she feared Maeve could charge headlong into battle without someone being the voice of reason.
Even more, she dreaded all eyes turning to her, expectant for the answer, for that key piece of evidence that would hold the theory together …
And then it came, the dazzling bolt of lightning, just when she needed it, and her knees nearly buckled with relief.
‘Yes! Of course! I’ve got it! The evidence – is the pollen! ’
James drove as Nell looked up the details in her botanical key. He kept glancing at her in the rear-view mirror, waiting for confirmation.
‘Got it!’ She grinned at Rav, in the front passenger seat. ‘It’s the cloudberry. I should have guessed from the name.’
Rav nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. I was miles ahead of you.’
‘Go on then,’ Nell challenged. ‘Explain the significance?’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t dream of stealing your thunder with the Big Reveal.’ Rav grinned back.
‘Yeah, right.’ Nell’s shake of her head showed she knew better. ‘It’s a specialist high-altitude bog species. It isn’t found at the altitude where Siobhan was buried. It was your comment, Rav, about hares being found all the way up Ben Portach, and having an adaptable diet, that made me think about different plants occurring at different altitudes.’
‘Ah. Well, yes. I thought so.’ Rav smiled.
‘What about vectors?’
‘Never mind vectors,’ Shannon interrupted. ‘Doesn’t pollen famously drift? Wouldn’t it be carried for miles? By the wind?’
‘Yes, and birds.’ Rav grinned at her. ‘Great minds. That’s what a vector is. So tell us, Nell. What is the likelihood of the pollen being carried?’
‘It’s not impossible,’ Nell admitted. ‘But look at it this way. Pollen grains from eight plant species only are found on Siobhan’s body. And in large quantities. So that’s unusual.’
‘But that can’t be sufficient,’ Shannon said, ‘for evidence purposes?’ Her eyes slid to James.
‘Oh, it is,’ Nell said. ‘Because now I’m looking more closely at where those plants occur, they’re quite different. Some of those are wetland species, while others prefer drier habitats, while a couple of others are at opposite ends of the altitude spectrum. If these were accumulated by her going for a walk across the whole habitat, or if the wind was transferring pollen effectively, you’d expect far more of a mix of several species, and from more similar habitats.’
Shannon didn’t look very convinced. ‘This might be compelling stuff to a botany nerd, but you’ll have to try harder to convince a jury of common non-ecologists, Nell.’
‘Sure. So I mentioned cloudberry is a uniquely high-altitude species. But bog myrtle is a strictly lowland species. Then you have wetland species, bogbean and cross-leaved heath, yet also species that prefer drier habitats, like tormentil, bell heather and bitter vetch. And then you have the real mystery.’
‘What’s that?’ James asked, making a mental note of the details.
‘Pipewort. Only a few grains of pollen were found. But the fact there are any at all is impossible.’
‘Why?’ James’s heart was thumping the way it always did when a case was building and you knew you’d found the clincher.
‘Because pipewort wouldn’t have even been in flower then. The earliest it flowers is in July. So how could pollen from that species possibly be on Siobhan’s body in June?’
‘Early flowering?’ Shannon asked.
But Nell shook her head. ‘Not here, in this ecotone. And if there was some unusually warm spree, then you’d see other plants flowering early, too. But this record shows that wasn’t happening.’ She glanced at Rav. ‘So? How did pipewort pollen find its way onto Siobhan?’
‘It would have transferred from the flower that fell out of the pages of the notebook and got caught in Aoife’s car seat,’ Rav realised.
Shannon gaped as she understood.
Nell grinned at her. ‘Exactly. And that can only have happened in one place.’
At the station, Rav was relieved that Baptiste listened, wrote up a statement and agreed to get an arrest warrant, straight away. James had been compelling and concise, giving all the details Baptiste needed to expedite the case.
But, as they left Baptiste and Nessa to finalise the warrant, and headed back to the farmhouse, James’s unease grew. Despite the lack of insurance on James’s hired Range Rover, Nell was driving now, speeding around the sweeping bends. No one had discouraged her – they’d all grown increasingly desperate to race back, concerned about what might be happening back at the house. What if Maeve wouldn’t listen to reason, even if Sylvia and Aoife tried to urge caution?
In the tense silence, Shannon’s phone beeped, and she read the message. ‘Aha! Good old Gerome. He’s got the name of our anonymous painting seller.’ She met Nell’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, nodding. ‘It’s him.’
Rav asked, ‘Do you think Maeve will have said something?’ Even as he asked, he checked his phone app, looking for any new footage. There hadn’t been any movement for a while, judging by the times between the last recording, and the most recent. But a new file had loaded five minutes ago. His heart thudded as one loaded. He opened it, to see two people standing beside Sean’s bonfire, shaded blue showing it was unlit.
He squinted at the yellow-green figures. The shorter person was Maeve, standing up to one of the brothers. From her hand movements, they were clearly arguing.
‘Oh no …’ Rav said. ‘Maeve’s telling him. I’m certain.’
Nell met his eyes through the rear-view mirror for a split second, and pushed the vehicle even harder, flooring the gas through the wide bend.
‘Are Sylvia and Aoife there?’ Nell asked.
‘I can’t see them. I’ll text.’
‘Or call?’ Nell said through gritted teeth as she accelerated.
Grappling with the phone, Rav dialled. But Sylvia didn’t answer.
‘Not a good sign, is it?’
Rav turned back to his recordings, and gasped. Maeve was shoving the tall man. ‘Oh no. They’re fighting. And this is footage from about five or ten minutes ago. Hurry Nell, for God’s sake.’
James gripped the door handle. ‘I should have gone with Sylvia and kept an eye on things. I just wanted to make sure Baptiste had everything he needed for an urgent arrest.’
‘Well, he has, thanks to you.’ Shannon must be stressed to be so reassuring. ‘And he’ll be on his way, soon.’
‘No … no …’ Looking at the footage again, Rav couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The shoving had become punches. The brother had turned away, holding his face which was white-hot on the thermal image.
But now Maeve bent, grabbed some wood from the fire, standing to swing it far back, then whacking with all her might to smash it against the side of the man’s head.
‘Oh, God … She’s trying to kill him.’
As he slumped to the floor, she whacked him again.
‘Oh jeez, I think she has.’ Rav was breathless, staring at Nell.
She sped through the last part of the high street. As a couple tried to cross the road, Nell blasted the horn, making them jump back as she flew past their shocked faces.
She swooped down past the harbour, the boats blurring past as Rav stared at his screen. He couldn’t understand what Maeve was doing. She’d shoved the wood aside, then dragged the body sideways towards it. Now she was moving around on her knees.
‘No … no … she can’t be.’
‘What?’ Shannon asked, her voice urgent.
‘I … I think she’s putting his body in the bonfire.’
He saw Nell’s jaw clench as she approached the farmhouse, fishtailed into the drive and hauled on the brake.
James’s door flew open and he sprang out, barging through the gate between the house and the garage.
Expecting to be left behind, Rav pushed his door open and tried to listen to what was going on.
But Nell ran to the boot, unfolded his new wheelchair from the hospital, lined it up beside him and helped him in.
Shannon held the gate open as Rav sped through and Nell ran alongside him.
The bonfire was already ablaze.