‘Please help us, Beth’s gone.’
Scott Gregory’s skin was the colour of a bleached pebble. He carried Edith in his arms and Mallory noticed the child was alert once more as she concentrated on chewing the edge of a blanket.
‘Do you have any idea where she might be? I need to find her urgently,’ she asked.
Scott’s expression changed to one of acute misery, his mouth settling into a thin line. ‘She’s gone outside. She’s taken her coat and boots. I thought she might be heading to the mausoleum on the other side of the island. She told me she was desperate to see it and it would be just like Beth to do whatever she wants.’
‘The mausoleum? OK.’ Mallory swallowed at the thought of returning to that place.
‘But…’ Scott pulled Edith into his chest and she let off a wail of protest. ‘She might have gone back to the boathouse. You interrupted us, and Beth doesn’t like unfinished business.’
Mallory took a step back at his words. ‘Then that’s where I’ll go first. If she’s not there, I’ll carry on to the crypt.’ She paused taking in the father and child. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Known what?’ Even his response was half-hearted. The game was up.
‘Known that she’s Bryony Clive.’
Scott shrugged and turned his face away from her.
‘You married her knowing she was a killer.’
‘She served her sentence. She never made any effort to hide what she’d done with me. She told me on our third date and I knew she was an ex-felon through my mother’s charity. She wanted it to be out in the open. She was terrified the newspapers would track her down. They were always trying. People wanted to write a book, an article, a radio drama. She’s been given protection but what’s anonymity these days where anything can be put on the web? It was only when Edith was born that we began to feel safe. A judge put a whole-life order to protect us all, but especially our child. We began to feel less hunted.’
‘I honestly don’t think you know your wife at all.’ Bryony turned Beth had simply been biding her time. ‘Beth is obsessed by poisons. You must have heard about the case beyond what she discussed with you – she was infamous. Haven’t you been afraid?’
Scott was defiant, his face in high colour. ‘I’ve never been afraid of my wife.’
‘But look what she’s done here.’
‘You can’t prove anything.’
Mallory, aware that sweat was pouring from her skin, grabbed Scott’s arm and dug her fingers in hard. ‘I bloody well can and the police will be able to prove plenty too. Why’s she decided to settle scores suddenly? She got Grace, Stella and Noah to the island under false pretences. Why go to all that trouble?’
‘Beth has a long memory.’
‘I bet she has. But why now?’
‘There’s a new book coming out by that woman, Anna Kirby. She’s been putting out feelers, trying to track down Beth, who got wind of her enquiries.’
‘But Beth’s identity was hidden by law. You said things got easier after Edith’s birth. You’d have been protected from any exposure.’ Mallory was overcome by a spasm of pain. She had to get down to the boathouse.
‘Anna, or Stella, which was her real name, didn’t want to expose Beth, she wanted to work with her. But Beth had never forgiven her for the original book. It was all lies and sensational claims. Beth asked me to look after Edith while she met Stella. She told me she wanted to reason with her.’
‘We know how Beth reasons with people. What about Grace?’ She saw his confusion. ‘The girl who died on Saturday night.’
‘I know nothing about what happened to her.’
‘You sure?’ Mallory stared hard at him. His answer would make a difference to whether he’d be given his freedom to bring up Edith or would be prosecuted alongside Beth for enabling the killings. ‘And Noah?’
Scott opened his mouth. ‘What about him?’
Mallory turned. Scott would find out soon enough about the body count of Beth’s revenge plans. ‘I have to find her. If you’re lucky, you might find a lawyer who will prove you knew nothing about your wife’s intentions. But tell me, how do you think Beth would react if you did something to upset her?’
Scott didn’t answer but Mallory heard Edith say, ‘Where’s Mama?’
Mallory forced herself to look at the child. ‘I’m going to find Mama now for you.’ The eyes that looked up at her were identical to Beth’s. A series of images flashed through Mallory’s brain. Elsa pointing at Bridget Marsh in the photo and noticing her likeness to Alys. Elsa again in front of the photo looking for Julia’s relative using the same method. She realised with a sudden clarity how Grace had spotted Beth as Bryony. It wasn’t Beth who’d looked like her childhood friend, but her daughter. It was Edith she’d been looking at when she’d remembered the tragic birthday tea.
The dry clothes she’d donned were soaking within minutes as Mallory battled the dying storm. She’d found a pair of gloves in her jacket and even the meagre warmth on her hands made her feel better. The rain cooled her fever a little. Her mind felt a little less woolly although her eyesight was beginning to blur at the edges. Mallory shook her head, clearing water from her face, and ploughed across the grass. She no longer cared who was looking at her from the window – her foe was no longer hidden behind her. She would get to Beth and lock her in the boathouse until help came. Alys, Grace, Stella and Noah. They all deserved justice whatever their personality flaws. She remembered this from her policing days. How she would have liked Shan next to her, urging her to keep going. She conjured a mental image of her colleague and tramped on. As she got to the top of a path she saw another figure, too small to be Beth, rush across the lawn.
‘Go on,’ screamed Elsa. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘Get back inside,’ Mallory shouted.
Her words fell on deaf ears as Elsa plunged on. ‘I’ll be fine,’ the girl shouted back. ‘I’m getting help.’
Mallory pushed on to the path, taking care on the treacherous cobbles. Although blowy, she was steadier on her feet than during her last trip. The lull was coming and the pitch black was turning the murky grey of a September morning. As she neared the bottom of the path, Mallory could see a light in the emerging dawn moving away from the boathouse down the shingle towards the sea. Mallory picked up her pace, the light rain pitting her face. She was hobbling, her numb leg slip-sliding underneath her as she concentrated on the light. It was only as she neared that she realised the glow was placed beyond the sweep of the beach. Beth had launched the boat and was trying to start the engine, desperately tugging at the motor to get it started.
‘You won’t get anywhere,’ Mallory shouted across the water. ‘I’ve drained the engine.’
Beth ignored her, still pulling at the chain until, giving up, she lifted an oar and began to row. Her movements carried her further from the shore – she was heading east and the swell pushed the boat up and down in the murk. Mallory focused on the waves – in the distance there would soon be a glimmer of yellow from the rising sun.
‘It’s over, Bryony,’ shouted Mallory, but Beth pulled harder on the oars, battling the swell of the tide.
‘Shit.’ Mallory zipped up her jacket. Thank God she’d put on her windcheater rather than the puffa jacket she sometimes used. The thick down would have been useless in the water, pulling her into the sea’s depths.
She moved forward to wade into the water, conscious of the danger Beth, the sea, and her weak body presented. I want to survive this and see Toby again, thought Mallory. I was mad to come here.
‘Go back,’ Beth shouted. ‘Leave me alone.’ Her voice had an odd note to it. A crack that Mallory hadn’t noticed before.
‘You know I can’t do that.’ The Arctic-cold water was up to her neck. The days of freezing showers had given her some resilience but this was something else. There was only one thing for it. She took a plunge and dived in keeping her head above water and pushing through the swell with a front crawl. Beth should have been able to get away from her. Mallory would be no match for a strong rower, but she saw she was gaining on the boat. Beth had, unaccountably, stopped rowing.
‘Go back.’
Mallory plunged ahead until she reached the orange boat and grasped at a handle. She heard Beth drop the oars. ‘What’s that noise?’
Mallory forced herself to listen above the slap of the waves to a sound that was tolling out across the bay. A bell. Someone was ringing the bell tower – a call for help across the waves. Elsa, thank you, she offered up to her colleague. ‘It’s the cloister bell. It’s calling for help. It’ll soon be over, Beth. Beth?’
Above her had gone quiet and as she hung on to the ropes, she was aware of a dangerous warmth seeping through her. She had no strength to get herself onto the boat and it would be here, after everything, in these waters, that she’d die.