Zoe is on my mind as I drop slices of bread into the toaster. Nina is at the breakfast table, still in her dressing gown, even though there was no need for her to rise early. Yesterday’s row is lingering in the air. We still can’t decide what to name our baby, but there’s a tacit agreement not to raise the subject again until we’re both ready for the final say.
Shadow stands at Nina’s side like a bodyguard, unaware that she’s well able to look after herself. She’s sitting with hands folded over her rounded belly again, gazing out at the sea. I’ve never met anyone so calm. I have to swim, or run round the island to remain on an even keel, but there will be no time to exercise until the skeleton’s identified. My concerns about Nina are replaced by curiosity about Nathan Kernow’s odd behaviour last night. I need to find out if his vigil sprang from a sense of guilt.
Nina doesn’t speak when I sit down opposite; her work as a counsellor has taught her to use silence to good effect. She eats a full slice of toast before finally voicing her thoughts.
‘Something’s nagging at you, isn’t it? I’m getting tired of asking why.’
‘I go into myself sometimes, that’s all.’
‘You could try letting your feelings out, instead of keeping them locked away then flying off the handle.’
‘My family never had deep, meaningful chats like yours. We just got on with stuff.’
Nina nods her head. ‘There wasn’t much choice for me, with an Italian mother who’s also a diva. She rants and raves all the time, but there must be a middle way.’
‘It doesn’t come naturally.’
‘I know, Ray’s the same. Maybe that’s why he’s spent most of his life alone. Our lives would be easier if you let me help you more.’
‘You do, all the time. I’m grateful for it.’
‘Don’t thank me, please, just speak your mind. I hate having to guess what you’re thinking; sometimes I’m way off the mark.’
I stare back at her, surprised. We’re both so strong-minded, it takes a crisis for either of us to admit we’re wrong.
‘Can we talk about this later?’
‘Why not get it off your chest before work?’
‘I’m running late.’ I swallow a deep breath before continuing. It crosses my mind again to tell her about Travis, but it’s not the right time. ‘Dev was upset last night. Zoe’s had a miscarriage in the past few days.’
‘Not again.’ Tears well in Nina’s eyes. ‘That’s her third since they started IVF.’
‘You knew they were trying?’
‘I guessed, last time they were here. The poor thing’s having a tough time with the injections and the uncertainty. Why didn’t she call me?’
‘She will, when she’s ready to talk. I’ll go and see her today.’
Nina can seem unshakeable, but she’s as sensitive as the violin she practises on every day. I hate leaving her upset, but there’s no choice. I have to get to work.
Shadow noses his way through the gap once I open the front door. He bounds across the beach at top speed, chasing seagulls, then spins in wild circles. It’s an object lesson in joie de vivre, and my own cares fade as I follow the well-trodden path through the heart of the island.
The white plastic tent is visible as I climb Badplace Hill. I’m halfway to the top when I see Eddie hurrying up from the beach, his outsized uniform flapping in the breeze. I wait for him to catch up. He must have caught the first ferry over from Tresco. His eyes burn with excitement when he greets me, as if the skeleton we’ve exhumed is the best thing ever. The sergeant has a talent for everyday policing, travelling between the islands, stewarding events and supporting the community, but he comes alive under pressure. He was in his element last year when he had to liaise with MI5 before Prince William and Kate Middleton made a flying visit. This is his first chance to work on a cold case, and it’s clear he’s enjoying the challenge.
I watch Penny Cadgwith’s buggy arriving from the Town when we reach the crime scene. I can tell her asthma is giving her trouble; she’s so out of breath she has to use her inhaler before she can speak normally. I give her a minute to recover, my gaze shifting to Louis Hayle’s grey-walled house above us. His face appears at a third-floor window. Maybe I’d feel the same in his situation, as if the huge seascape encircling the property was mine alone. When I turn back, our visitor appears to have recovered.
‘Thanks for coming back, Penny. Are you sure you’re okay to work?’
‘I can’t stay at home when there’s a riddle to solve.’ She’s clutching her tool bag, her gaze steady.
‘I’ll shift the polythene for you.’
Eddie follows me inside the enclosure, which already feels hot and airless, the temperature higher than yesterday. I move the rocks with care, then peel back the plastic sheet. I can’t believe my eyes once the task’s complete. There’s only a patch of bare earth. The skeleton Penny worked so hard to expose has vanished, and the thief has done a thorough job. The earth has been rubbed smooth, not a single indentation to show where the bones lay.
Eddie’s face registers incredulity while my heart races. Last night’s strange encounter with Nathan Kernow immediately floods my mind.
‘You’re certain all the bones have gone?’ Penny asks, frowning.
‘Everything,’ I reply.
‘That can’t be right. Can I see?’
‘Go ahead.’
She pulls on sterile gloves before entering the tent. I watch her expression turn to disbelief as she pores over the ground on hands and knees. There’s a tremor in her voice when we get back outside.
‘Who’s crazy enough to steal a skeleton?’ Shock has turned her skin even paler than before. ‘It’s such a clean job, I’d say they’re an expert.’
‘Someone’s afraid of being identified. The killer thinks we’ll work out who the victim was from his remains. I was banking on it, to be honest.’
She nods. ‘Any science lab can extract DNA from calcified bone. If the dead man was an islander, you could have taken samples from everyone here to find a match.’
Her point makes sense. Most of Bryher’s hundred-strong community are descendants of five main families, the majority of us distantly related.
‘It won’t stop us finding his identity. At least we’ve got the murder weapon, and the bag that was in his hand.’ It’s still wrapped in plastic, on a shelf in my living room, waiting until Liz Gannick arrives.
‘This will slow you down.’ Frustration shows on Penny’s face. ‘The dental records would have sealed it for you. I’m sorry, Ben, there’s nothing more I can do.’
‘There’s no need to stay. I’m grateful for your help.’
‘Ring me if you find anything, won’t you? I’ll come straight back.’
I watch her buggy trundle back down the hill, cursing under my breath. I should never have followed Madron’s advice. Louis Hayle is bound to pay us a visit once the news gets out. I need to know if Nathan Kernow returned to complete his vigil; he may have seen someone else here, or even removed the bones himself. When I tell Eddie about his ritual, complete with candles and flowers, he doesn’t appear surprised.
‘Nathan’s a true hippy. I heard he joined some weird cult in the States years ago, until his mum dragged him home.’
‘He’s an obvious suspect. I want to speak to Louis Hayle first, to see if he witnessed anything, then we’ll talk to Nathan. But it’s possible someone else wanted to stop us finding out the identity of the victim, we have to keep our minds open.’ I gaze down at the site again. ‘The murderer’s still on the island. They’ve worked hard to wipe away the traces.’
‘Wouldn’t they just sling the bones in the sea?’
‘They took trouble burying the victim in the first place. It’s possible they’ll do it again.’
Eddie looks sceptical. ‘That’s one hell of a risk, isn’t it?’
‘It’s easier now there are just bones to carry. It’s lucky Liz Gannick’s flying over to St Mary’s this afternoon; she’ll be able to analyse the bag. I’ve arranged for Lawrie Deane to ferry her over on the police launch, then I want the island locked down. No one leaves or arrives without our agreement.’
We check the ground one more time. I’m hoping for footsteps across the newly turned soil, but the only tracks appear to be mine and Penny’s. It hasn’t rained for days, and Maeve’s digger has gouged the surrounding earth into deep furrows. It looks like someone used a fallen branch to sweep their prints away, and it strikes me again that the stunt was carefully planned. The theft of a skeleton sounds more like a joke than a policing issue, but there’s no way some teenager strolled up here for a macabre dare. Every shred of evidence has been removed, leaving us with few clues to chase, apart from Nathan Kernow’s presence at the scene.
I call DCI Madron as we cover the short distance to Louis Hayle’s property on the summit of Badplace Hill. There’s a long silence when I explain the situation, which always spells trouble. His calm manner when he assessed the scene yesterday evaporates fast. He’s outraged that I failed to stand guard all night, even though he advised against policing the site round the clock. When I remind him that it was his decision, he yells so loudly, I switch off my phone with a sense of relief. Frustration makes me feel like hurling it into the sea.
Louis Hayle’s home sits so near the crime scene, it’s an essential visit. My deputy’s people skills will come in handy, because my own bluntness rarely pacifies the general public, while Eddie is skilled at pouring oil on troubled waters. Hayle’s attitude to the building project makes sense from the top of Badplace Hill. He’s got a three-sixty-degree view of the islands from Bryher’s highest peak, with the downs rolling away to the sea. His house is a grander version of the granite cottages that huddle in the valley below, built in Victorian times to withstand storms, turning its back on the sea’s hard winds, with a slate-tiled porch that faces Tresco. The activities centre will change his surroundings for ever and bring droves of walkers flocking past his home.
I can hear classical music playing a slow waltz when Mr Hayle opens his door. His manner seems gentler on home ground. I don’t expect courtesy from an old man whose charm has turned abrasive, yet he invites us inside without delay. The place is less luxurious than I remember from my childhood, despite its size, but many original details have been preserved, including the tiled floor in the hallway. It still has the stripped-down look of a holiday home, even though Hayle moved here permanently several years ago. I can see little evidence of the man’s personality, with every wall painted white or pale blue, until my eye catches on a cluster of photos celebrating his achievements. He’s holding a sporting trophy aloft in the biggest one, his frame lean and athletic. The next shows him in the Himalayas, surrounded by peaks glistening with snow; the man seems to enjoy standing above the rest of society, looking down on us all.
Hayle’s former athleticism is missing when he leads us into his drawing room, his tall form slightly stooped. I catch sight of a brass crucifix on the wall, and shelves packed with books, including his own on succeeding in business. I can’t tell if his faith ever clashes with his belief in capitalism, but now that his anger has faded, he’s just an old man, with a haunted expression. I’m certain the best way to tackle the situation is to accept responsibility before he can accuse me of negligence, even though I was following Madron’s orders.
‘There was an incident last night, Mr Hayle. I’m afraid the bones we found were removed from the site.’
‘Are you serious?’ He stares back at me, eyes wide. ‘Those people have no conscience whatsoever.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Trenwiths are hell-bent on inflicting that wretched building on me, but I never thought they’d stoop that low.’
‘You’re accusing them of stealing human bones?’
‘Daniel and his team can start again now, can’t they? They’ll be here tomorrow with their diggers making that infernal noise.’
‘The site will be closed for weeks. A forensics expert is coming over from Penzance to check it, which always takes time.’
His scowl deepens. ‘Those two will stop at nothing.’
‘You seem to view the building project as a personal vendetta.’
‘I used to have influence on these islands. They want to prove it’s no longer the case.’
‘A man died, Mr Hayle, yet you only seem concerned about your view.’
‘Nonsense, I protested about graves being desecrated in the first place.’
‘The Trenwiths have never expressed any personal animosity towards you, in my company at least, but let’s focus on the crime. Did you see anyone on the downs last night?’
‘Only Lucy Boston, around six thirty. She often walks here after closing her shop.’
‘No one else?’
‘How would I know? I don’t spend every minute gazing out of my window. I was in bed by ten thirty, listening to Radio Three.’ He jabs his index finger in my direction. ‘This is an utter shambles; I’ve a good mind to complain to your superior officer.’
Eddie steps into the breach before a row can escalate. His voice is calm when he points out that no one could have forecast such a bizarre crime. Louis Hayle calms down after five minutes of his gentle reasoning, but he looks at me with distaste when I ask another question.
‘How long did your family own this property before you moved here permanently, Mr Hayle?’
‘Three generations, but surely you know that already? There are no secrets on Bryher. I spent summers here every year while I was working, doing my best to improve the local economy. My wife preferred London until she reached her fifties. We planned to spend our retirement here, but she’d have hated how the land’s being abused. Bryher’s beauty lies in its ancient fields and clean beaches. If that changes, this place will be ruined.’
‘I understand how you feel. We have to get back to work, but thanks for your time.’
He glares at me. ‘You made a serious error, Benesek, but at least you owned up. I value honesty above every other virtue.’
His words appear positive, but his tone of voice is so patronising, it sounds like he’s criticising a poorly behaved child. His disdain follows me down the path, along with a blast of classical music, but he’s correct about one thing. I should have followed my instinct to stand guard, despite Madron’s advice. It’s my duty to put it right.
I instruct Eddie to set up the vacant room at the Rock as an incident room. We need to hold a public meeting there at midday. He’ll have to call round and make sure everyone attends. I want the killer to feel like we’re onto him from the start. If he’s under pressure, it’s more likely he’ll slip up. My deputy jogs back downhill with his usual enthusiasm.
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I set off to see Nathan Kernow. It’s another message from my old boss in London, saying that one of Craig Travis’s gang members, Denny Lang, died in a car fire last night. His body had to be identified by dental records. I remember Lang well from my time undercover; the accountant was close to Travis, but his loyalty soon melted away. He was a quiet, grey-faced man, mumbling the names of a dozen other gang members to shorten his stretch. I can’t pretend that Craig Travis is powerless any more; his influence lingers even though he lies dying in Crowthorne. The past is coming alive, with angry ghosts threatening to invade the present.