After I leave the hotel, I go straight to Jamie Porthcawl’s home in the Town, but there’s no one at home so I cut south across Shipman Head Down. I should visit Ray’s boatyard to find out the truth, but I’m running late for a catch-up meeting with Eddie at the Rock. My journey takes me past All Saints’ Church, where a small group of islanders and tourists are waiting for morning communion. The church was built two hundred years ago, like most of the houses on Bryher, from local materials. It’s a squat granite box with a slate roof, the tower added forty years later, after the community had saved enough money for a bell.
When I scan the worshippers again, I see Sandra Trescothick and Penny Cadgwith chatting together, their faces animated. I can tell they’re enjoying each other’s company. Strong friendships form right across the islands, because our lives are so interlinked during the long winters, we rely on each other for support. Sandra Trescothick is famously self-sufficient, but I’m glad to see she’s got close friends. She’s lived alone on Bryher for a few years, since her only son left for university.
I spot the Porthcawls and head straight over; Jamie steps in my direction like he’s shielding his Christian friends from our conversation, but they’re already filing inside the church.
‘Could we have a quick word, please, Jamie?’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘The service is just starting. Can it wait for an hour?’
‘Fine, I’ll come to yours.’
‘Any time after church. I’ll be at home all day.’ He does his best to smile, even though his face looks strained.
I’m surprised that such a down-to-earth man is God-fearing, but a lot of the islanders are Christians, which may be connected to living close to the sea. It’s seized so many lives over the years, people rely on prayers as self-defence. I scan the queue again, expecting to see Louis Hayle, who attends church most Sundays, but he’s nowhere in sight.
My godmother’s pub is pulsating with music when I arrive, ‘Born in the USA’ spilling from the kitchen doors at ear-splitting volume. Billy looks like a diehard rocker when I step inside, with a red bandana round his head, his T-shirt proclaiming his undying loyalty to Bruce Springsteen. He turns the music down, but continues chopping onions as he gives me a brief nod of greeting. Maggie and Billy have only lived together a few years, but I’ve learnt how he operates. He’s easily wounded by thoughtless remarks, and holds long grudges, but his loyalties are unshakeable. It’s clear I’m not in his good books.
‘Shadow’s been scrounging again. Why not feed him, once in a while?’
‘He’s cunning, Billy. If you give him scraps, he’ll never leave you alone.’
‘It’s not my fault the creature’s hungry.’
‘What’s really bugging you?’
He narrows his eyes. ‘I’m not thrilled about a skeleton appearing a few hundred metres from us, if you must know. It’s like one of those horror films where people start dying for no good reason. At least that bloody activities centre won’t happen now. Those two can bugger off and spoil someone else’s view.’
‘How come you’re so against it?’
‘Look what the developers did to Newquay. The council let some idiot put up a hotel on the surfing beach, then Jamie Oliver opens a sodding restaurant, and fifty more hotels pop up beside it.’
‘How does Maggie stay cheerful with you around?’
‘I feed her well, but I can’t get a bloody kitchen hand. Clear off and let me work.’ His knife is moving so fast, I’m glad to be out of reach.
Eddie has turned the pub’s function room into Scotland Yard, with folders bulging with witness reports. It crosses my mind to tell him about my old colleague getting killed, but the DCI warned me not to share the news with the team, in case it reaches the wider community. My deputy looks so excited, I’d hate to take the shine off his day. His positivity keeps our working relationship strong, and explains how he talked me into becoming godfather to his three-year-old daughter, Lottie.
‘I’ve got a feeling that bag in the skeleton’s hand came from Ray’s yard, Eddie.’
He gazes up at me. ‘Should we get him in for questioning?’
‘I need to get my facts straight first.’
‘What happens next?’ he asks, looking at me like I’m a world expert.
‘Gannick’s going back to the crime scene to take more earth samples. She thinks whoever took the bones must have left evidence. She’ll send the samples for analysis to the lab today. It’s possible we’ll get a DNA profile of the killer within forty-eight hours.’
‘Do you still think the victim was an islander, boss?’
‘It’s more likely than a tourist. We’ve got around a hundred permanent inhabitants, with our numbers doubling for a few months in summer. How would a hotel guest figure out the best place to hide a body?’
‘With difficulty,’ Eddie says. ‘But a holidaymaker wouldn’t be missed so easily, would they? The hotel staff would just assume they’d hopped on a ferry and gone home early.’
‘We need to see if the pub and hotel have records going back thirty years, to cover our bases. Can you chase that down, while I focus on finding out who took the bones? Penny Cadgwith could be right about the killer fearing exposure. DNA can be extracted from bone samples now, so they had to act fast. If Gannick finds a fragment of bone from the victim, we could establish a genetic link by testing the island’s whole population.’
‘We still need a suspect.’ Eddie’s smile dims for a moment.
‘I can’t believe someone murdered a teenage boy then dragged his body up Badplace Hill alone. The victim was unconscious when that spike entered his skull, or another person was holding him down. I bet the killer had help, or at least confided in someone.’
‘You think a local on Bryher has kept the secret that long?’
‘A few people are acting strangely, like Jamie Porthcawl going back to the scene. He was twitchy just now too, when I tried to talk to him. Nathan Kernow’s still a suspect as well. His mother took in paying guests decades ago; maybe our victim stayed there.’
Eddie stares at me. ‘Do you think he’d have attacked one of his mum’s lodgers? He was just a kid.’
‘He’d have been somewhere between nine and nineteen, but it would explain why he went up to the site.’
‘Out of guilt, you mean?’
‘He was tense when we spoke, so we need to keep watch. Let’s get to work, Eddie. See if anyone remembers a visitor suddenly disappearing years ago.’
Eddie gives a slow nod of agreement, but there’s resignation on his face. Loyalty matters more than justice to many islanders, like in the old days. Smugglers still use the islands as an entry point to the UK for drugs, booze and tobacco, and people prefer setting their own rules. Our case demonstrates the islanders’ aversion to the law. We’ve pressed the whole community for information, yet no one’s willing to speak. I can’t blame them entirely – I’m keeping information about Travis to myself too, even though Nina deserves the truth.