It’s 10 p.m. when I set off from home to see Zoe. She still hasn’t answered any of my texts, which means she’s either sick or angry. It’s a relief to escape the strained atmosphere between me and Nina. I should apologise for leaving so abruptly this morning, but the skeleton on the downs has soured my mood. I’d rather smooth things over tomorrow, and a chat with Zoe will help. My friend always tells the truth, never accepting bullshit or compromise.
Hell Bay Hotel is lit up like a beacon when I cross the beach. Shadow has stayed indoors with Nina while she reads one of her classic novels, by Dickens or Jane Austen. The sea looks peaceful, the waves flatlining while the wind holds its breath. Half a dozen container ships are ploughing west to America, their lights blinking at the vanishing point where the Atlantic meets the sky. The walk only takes me ten minutes. When I peer through the panoramic windows of the hotel bar, a solitary bartender is polishing wine glasses, while a few OAPs nurse their last drinks of the day. My friend must be upstairs with her husband, in the flat she uses when they visit the UK.
I’m about to jog up the steps when a man’s cultured voice calls my name.
‘Long time no see. Help me drink this coffee, will you?’
When I spin round, Zoe’s husband is sitting at a table in the shadows.
It took me a while to accept Dev. Half of me was glad Zoe had found happiness, the other half unwilling to see our friendship change, but the man’s charisma is irresistible. He won me over after I flew to Mumbai for their wedding. We became friends during the three-day ceremony, which included feasts, dancing and parties with hundreds of his Sikh relatives and friends in venues right across the city. He’s in his early forties, with aristocratic features, an athletic build and the self-assurance that comes from a moneyed background. His parents sent him to the best private school in India, then the Royal College of Music in London, where he developed a love for composing and perfected his English. He could have drifted through life frittering his inheritance, but ten years ago, he opened a residential music school for street kids in Mumbai. He met Zoe after she took a job there teaching singing. Since then, a dozen more schools have opened, and his phone never stops ringing.
‘You don’t normally touch caffeine, Dev.’
‘I needed a boost, to be honest. Zoe’s been in bed all day.’
‘Is she sick?’
‘Just a bit low.’ The frown on his face makes me concerned.
‘Why, exactly? She’s dodging my calls.’
‘She’ll tell you herself.’ He looks away. ‘I’ve been helping out in the restaurant while she rests. The hotel’s busy for this time of year; there’s a party of thirty from the British Ornithological Society, all obsessed by puffins and guillemots.’
‘Zoe’s usually the first to roll up her sleeves.’
‘She prefers her own company right now. Tell me about this skeleton you’ve found. Have you discovered its name?’
‘We’ve only just begun. The one distinguishing feature is a cloth bag clutched in his hand. I shouldn’t give out details, but I know you’re always discreet.’
‘You’ll find his secret, Ben. I admire your determination.’ He rises to his feet. ‘Let me fetch another cup for this coffee.’
‘No need, thanks. I used to drink double espressos then sleep like a log, but not any more.’
‘It’ll probably give me bad dreams.’ He drops back onto his seat. ‘Tell me more about your work, please. I need distraction.’
‘It’s not very uplifting. The body was chucked into the ground like a piece of rubbish.’
He looks amazed. ‘That never happens in Sikh families like mine. If a relative dies abroad, we fly their ashes home to be scattered on the Ganges. People think the sacred river will carry their soul to heaven.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘Not really, but it’s a beautiful idea.’
‘I envy people their faith sometimes. It must help in a crisis.’
‘Zoe doesn’t believe in the afterlife, which is a pity. It might help her recover.’ His face suddenly clouds with worry.
‘What’s wrong? Tell me, Dev, or I’m going up there.’
‘She hates people knowing, but you two are so close it seems crazy to keep it from you.’ He rubs his hand across his jaw before speaking again. ‘She had another miscarriage a few days ago, after ten weeks. It was our third cycle of IVF.’
‘I had no idea. I’m so sorry.’ The news makes me long to be with her, no matter what Dev says, but I can’t intrude.
‘Nothing I say comforts her.’
I feel a pang of guilt that Nina fell pregnant so easily. Zoe was the first person I told, before any member of my family. Dev’s broken expression reminds me how lucky I am. We go on talking for another quarter of an hour, then I can see him tiring, so I rise to my feet.
‘Tell Zoe I’ll visit tomorrow, whether she likes it or not.’
‘Thanks for your company, Ben.’
We give each other an awkward hug before he climbs the fire escape at the slowest pace imaginable. I don’t blame him; facing Zoe’s sadness on top of his own can’t be easy.
My mood is flatlining as I make my way home in the dark, using my pocket torch to avoid boulders littered across the beach. It’s only when I reach my porch that something unexpected catches my eye. A thread of light is flickering due north. The only property on the down is Louis Hayle’s place, but the light is near where the skeleton was found.
I set off at a rapid jog. There’s no point in calling Eddie, because he took the last ferry home to Tresco hours ago, and this might be a wild goose chase. One of the islanders could be taking a late-night stroll. I’m hitting my stride as I reach the down, then something trips me, and I pitch forwards onto a bed of heather. My airways fill with its dry perfume, lips tinged with salt as I scramble back onto my feet. I spin round, looking for whoever toppled me, but the down appears empty. There are just thickets of gorse, and a line of sea grape bushes, moulded by the breeze. I only catch sight of a figure in the distance when I’m about to leave.
‘Who’s there?’ I yell out.
Nathan Kernow blunders towards me carrying a flashlight. He looks older than before, his thin frame vulnerable, even though he’s swaddled in an oversized coat.
‘It’s late for birdwatching, Nathan. Why are you here?’
‘I’m holding a vigil. That poor creature shouldn’t be alone now his peace has been shattered.’
‘I can’t believe you came back, after hearing the area was out of bounds. You’re trespassing on a crime scene.’
‘We have to respect the dead. Let me stay till morning, please.’
‘Go home, Nathan; you’re breaking the law. Vital evidence may have been destroyed.’
The games designer admits defeat with a nod, but my curiosity about his motives increases when I see that he’s made himself comfortable, with a blanket spread across the heather, right by the tent we erected. Candles are burning on a makeshift altar, and I can see wildflowers lying on a fallen branch, the four points of the compass carved into the wood.
‘What’s all this?’
‘It’s a funeral of sorts. I hope someone would do the same for me.’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ The man’s behaviour makes no sense, but at least he appears to have done no harm.
Kernow scrabbles on the ground, gathering his belongings, then hurries away. He’s left a solitary candle flickering inside a jam jar, making the site look eerie. I feel unsettled by his behaviour, but his reluctance to leave seemed genuine. He must be certain that his ritual would help, to spend a night in such a lonely place. Nothing has changed when I check inside the tent. It’s still protecting the skeleton from predation and the elements, the bones covered by polythene, yet my discomfort lingers. I’m so used to the Atlantic’s hard gales, the early summer stillness puts me on edge, with not even a blade of grass stirring in this ghost-ridden place.
My conversations with DCI Goldman have made me imagine danger where none exists. The down is deserted when I blow out the candle and walk home. The sea’s silence feels uncanny; the waves are quiet for once, keeping their secrets to themselves.