Elsewhere on Debussy Point, the killer was pouring a nightcap in celebration of a job well done.
Not that it had been without its problems. It had been a close call when that jumped-up little lab rat, Caitlin Marsh, had tumbled to the fact that Gemma had malaria. It had all gone perfectly until that point. Gemma had no idea what had hit her – and ideally no one else should have suspected either, at least not until the post-mortem. But luck was on the killer’s side, as it so often had been in the past, and it was too late for the treatment to be effective.
The rush of relief was almost overwhelming. Out from under the heel of that she-devil! Gemma had seriously overestimated her ability to control the situation. Bit off more than you could chew this time, didn’t you? It was almost laughable. She’d really thought she had the whip hand. She wasn’t even a very good scientist. Looked at all round, she was no great loss at all.
But still, along with the euphoria came a niggling little doubt. How was it that Caitlin had come up with such an accurate diagnosis? It was something to put alongside the competent way she had handled the situation when Gemma had been found sick in the cottage. Was there more to Caitlin than met the eye? Was she really just a lab technician? Perhaps it was time to look a bit more closely at her. It couldn’t be, could it, that she suspected something? No, no, that wasn’t possible, but all the same Siobhan said that Gemma had been delirious when Caitlin was alone with her. Could Caitlin have heard something she shouldn’t have heard?
Perhaps Caitlin was what she seemed – a technician who’d made a lucky guess. But, better safe than sorry. That was why it had seemed a good idea to follow her back from the lab last night. Had she realized that someone was walking behind her? There was a moment when it seemed that she had. Evasive action had been required. Not that there was any harm in throwing a little scare her way.
And if the worst came to the worst...
Swilling the last of the whisky around the glass so that the viscous liquid clung to the side, the killer went to the window and gazed out over the island. The sky was overcast. No stars were visible. On nights like this, it really was so very dark out there. And Caitlin did have that habit of wandering around the island alone. It was a dangerous place, Debussy Point. Those cliffs; that cold, cold sea...
It wouldn’t be so very surprising if she came to grief one evening, would it?