Jimmy peers out from his hiding place, catching sight of a new fire burning at the northern end of Covean Beach. He keeps his eyes fixed on the flare as he heads towards it, his heart lifting when the dark figure reappears. This time there’s a parcel in his arms. The killer pauses by the high tidemark, staring out at Sackey’s Rock, its sharp outline blurring as the tide rushes home. Jimmy hides behind marram grass on the dunes until the man starts moving again. His mouth is dry with panic when the figure steps onto the Bar, the waves swirling at his feet.
This is where his sister drowned. Jimmy’s mother always told him to avoid walking out to Gugh as the waters rose, in case the sea swept him away too. But tonight he must ignore her advice. He waits until the black-coated figure reaches the distant shore, never once glancing back at St Agnes. Jimmy forces himself onto the ridge of sand. He concentrates on each step, afraid of slipping into the deep water that lies on either side.
He feels weak with relief when he reaches Gugh. Keith Pendennis’s house lies directly ahead, all of its windows dark. He looks up at Kittern Hill, where the figure halts by the Carlyons’ home. Jimmy watches him shift the parcel he’s carrying over his shoulder, his pulse quickening when he sees an infant’s pale face. The killer is carrying a baby in his arms. The figure hurries on past Obadiah’s Barrow, its outline glittering with starlight. Jimmy is afraid the man will drop the child on the ground. He catches sight of a shadow running uphill, then ducks behind a drystone wall to avoid being seen, waiting five long minutes before emerging again. Now the man is unlocking the door of the holiday cottage at the top of Kittern Hill, but a few minutes later he reappears, his arms empty this time, then vanishes into the darkness. Jimmy scours the horizon, losing track of his outline.
Jimmy waits until his nerves settle before rising to his feet again. He normally loves visiting Gugh at low tide, to count the kittiwakes’ nests on its high granite cliffs, but tonight he’s terrified. He edges through the dark towards the holiday cottage, checking whether the man is lying in wait, but the property seems deserted, no sound except waves crashing against the rocks below. The door handle won’t budge, yet he can’t stop now. Naomi Vine may be waiting inside to be set free.
He stands by the window, peering into the empty house. Moonlight illuminates a small kitchen, with chequered lino and white units. It’s only when Jimmy looks again that his mouth gapes open in shock. The green shirt Naomi Vine was wearing lies crumpled in the corner, a red handprint marking the wall, beside a smear of blood.