Wednesday 9 November
My phone rings after 1 a.m., while Eddie and I are helping Steve Tregarron. I regret picking up immediately because the DCI’s hectoring voice whines in my ear.
‘You had no intention of calling back, did you, Kitto?’
‘The killer set another fire tonight, sir. Luckily no one was injured.’
He makes a loud tutting sound. ‘Check the islanders are safe then start again tomorrow. I won’t have you risking any more lives.’
‘This is our last chance to find Naomi Vine.’
‘Stay indoors till sunrise, Kitto. If you disobey me it’ll be a disciplinary matter. Do you hear?’
‘Loud and clear, sir.’
I hang up before Madron can issue another pointless order. The man is so risk-averse he’s prepared to let the killer revel in his moment of power. Eddie joins me in the hallway of the Tregarrons’ flat a few minutes later. His boyish face looks calmer now that the landlord is recovering. He agrees when I explain that we can’t continue our search until Ella returns. The landlord is too weak to be left alone, even though he claims that his chest pain has stopped.
Eddie stays with Steve while I go downstairs to wait. I switch on a single light behind the bar then ring Ella Tregarron again, but the pub’s door creaks open before the call connects. The landlady’s expression is anguished, her black coat and boots mud-spattered.
‘Where have you been, Ella?’
She almost jumps out of her skin. ‘Jesus, you frightened me. I thought the place was empty. I was looking for Steve; the old fool left here swinging a baseball bat.’
‘You took one hell of a risk.’
‘I was afraid he’d get himself killed.’
‘We brought him back just now. He had an angina attack.’
‘Not another.’ Her voice is tense with fear as she peels off her wet coat. ‘Where is he?’
‘Upstairs, resting. His pills are doing the trick.’
‘Thank God.’
‘Did you see anyone else out there?’
‘Jimmy Curwen near Boy’s Rock, but he hid before I could reach him.’ She hesitates before speaking again. ‘Sam Helston was down on Blanket Bay.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Staring up at the church. I don’t think he even saw me.’
‘How come your clothes are filthy?’
‘I slipped on the mud.’ She glances down at the brown splashes on her jeans.
I take a breath before speaking again. ‘Steve thought you were with another man.’
Her expression is weary as she drops into a chair. ‘He’s always been jealous, but it’s worse than ever. I only have to chat to a customer for him to lose the plot . . .’ Her voice fades into silence.
‘Were you having an affair with Alex Rogan?’
She shakes her head. ‘I had a stupid fling with a summer tourist, years ago, soon after we got married. I’ve regretted it ever since. Steve was convinced Alex fancied me, but that’s rubbish. The bloke was in love with Sally.’ There’s fear in her face, as well as denial.
‘You think Steve hurt him, don’t you?’
‘My husband’s the best man I know.’ Ella’s voice falters when she speaks again. ‘But jealousy’s a kind of madness, isn’t it? I was scared he’d lost control, and now I feel terrible. I was stupid to doubt him.’ Her tone grows strident, as if she’s trying to convince herself. ‘Let me see him, please; the angina leaves him exhausted.’
‘Give me your phone first, Ella.’
She releases a bitter laugh. ‘So I’m the killer now, am I?’
‘You were warned to stay indoors. Anyone breaking the rule gets the same treatment.’
Ella tuts loudly before dropping her mobile into my hand. She hurries away, leaving me to scan her call list, but the phone has only been used twice today, to contact Julie Helston and Rachel Carlyon. Steve has rung her frequently over the past week, keeping tabs on her whenever she leaves the pub, but the only other male caller is Mike Walbert. I drop the phone back onto the bar: a five-minute conversation with one of the island’s elder statesmen is hardly incriminating, but the reasons for her husband’s jealousy nag at me. Steve is ageing fast, while she retains her beauty. The man seems torn apart by the idea of losing her.
Tregarron discovered the first body and spent tonight proving his desire to catch the killer, yet he appears a broken man. It’s possible that he’s hidden Naomi in an obscure place then faked an angina attack to put himself in the clear, but instinct tells me it’s unlikely. I can see why he would target Rogan, but Vine has given him no cause to attack, unless he’s begun to hate the incomers his business needs to survive. If Ella was telling the truth, the Birdman is hiding somewhere on Wingletang Down and Sam Helston is also roaming free. There’s a chance that Helston’s the killer, but the man has no history of conflict, despite his short fuse.
Eddie appears while I’m mulling over the new information. ‘Steve’s recovering, thank God,’ he says.
‘Are you all right? It upset you, seeing him so ill.’
He scowls at me, lack of sleep finally negating his politeness. ‘I just want this over; the killer’s running rings round us.’
‘Let’s find him then. We need to go back to Wingletang Down: Ella saw Curwen there and the killer may be drawn to it too. I think he’ll start his next fire well away from any houses, like on Burnt Island, to avoid being seen.’
When I look up again, Liz Gannick is in the doorway. The forensic chief’s childlike form is kitted out in waterproofs again, her expression determined. She points one of her crutches at me like she’s wielding a shotgun.
‘I’m sick of doing nothing. I’ll come with you.’
I point out that I’m the SIO, but Gannick ignores my objections, reminding me that I need a good partnership report. Her attempt at blackmail doesn’t convince me, because I doubt she’d damage my career without serious provocation, but I let her join us anyway. Her pace may slow us down, but her expertise could bring fresh insights.