I wake up with a tension headache throbbing behind my eyes. If I were back in London, my old boss would insist on a debrief with a psychologist after witnessing a bizarre murder scene, but formal support here is non-existent. Once the case finishes I’ll ask Jeff Pendelow to see each of my team members individually. Right now I need to offload before work begins. There’s no point phoning my brother Ian in New York, because it’s night-time there, but it’s mid-morning in India and my closest friend will have been awake for hours. I use my laptop to make the Skype call to Mumbai, and the tension in my shoulders loosens when Zoe appears, her carefree face relieving my worries. She looks like a young Marilyn Monroe, with the kind of smile that lights up a room. I spent my teenage years falling for her, but the infatuation has become a lifelong friendship.
‘Hey, big man, you’re alive. Why haven’t you returned my calls?’
‘Life’s been too crazy.’
I used most of my holiday allowance travelling to India last month to watch her get married. Part of me wanted to hate the man who swept her off her feet while she was teaching music in Mumbai, but Dev’s good-natured smile made it impossible. The elaborate Sikh wedding ritual reminded me just how far my friend has travelled from Scilly, but the smile on Zoe’s face proves she made the right decision. She leans closer to the screen, studying me intently.
‘What’s up? You never ring this early.’
‘I’ve got a tough case. I just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Go on then, spill the beans. What’s happened?’
‘One of the summer staff at the Star Castle was murdered.’
Zoe’s eyes widen. ‘Is the killer still on St Mary’s?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And the pressure’s all on you, as usual.’
‘Yup.’
‘No wonder you look wired. But there’s something else, isn’t there?’ She leans closer, as if she’s planning to dive through my computer screen.
‘Work’s hard at the moment, that’s all.’
‘It’s something personal – that’s why you’re phoning. Tell me or I’ll sing Kylie Minogue songs, very loud.’
‘No, please, not that.’ She belts out the first verse of a sugary pop song, forcing me to surrender. ‘Nina Jackson’s staying on St Mary’s.’
Her smile becomes a grin. ‘Did you invite her?’
‘Hell no. Why would I?’
‘She dented your bulletproof heart. You always walk away unscathed, but Nina got there first.’
‘Forget about it. How was the honeymoon?’
‘Lovely, thanks. Why not take her out to dinner?’
‘God, you’re relentless.’
‘Book a table at Ruin Beach Café and show her your manly charm.’
‘I can’t. Ferries to Tresco are cancelled, and my charisma didn’t have much effect last time.’
‘The girl must be able to see you’re a cross between Chris Hemsworth and Ryan Gosling.’
‘Maybe she doesn’t go to the cinema.’
‘You were mad to let her go the first time. Promise to call her at least.’ Zoe can still read my mind, even though we’re five thousand miles apart. ‘You want a family of your own, don’t you?’
‘One day, yeah.’
‘It won’t happen by magic, Ben. You have to find the right woman.’
‘Really? I had no idea.’
Zoe ignores my sarcasm and applies more emotional pressure, from gentle teasing to outright blackmail, before telling me about her honeymoon in Kerala. She talks about deserted beaches, lazing in hammocks and swimming in azure sea, filling me with envy. When I peer through the curtains, wisps of cirrus cloud are strung across the dawn sky, turning the Atlantic pearl grey. The weather can change in an instant here, delivering all four seasons in one day. My spirits have lifted when the call ends, but while Zoe may be keen to sort out my love life, the murder case is my priority. Even if I had plenty of free time, why chase someone who prefers her own company?
I’m still thinking about Zoe’s advice when a message arrives from the hospital. Hannah Weber’s condition remains serious but stable, with no change overnight. I’ve given Isla the task of tracking down her relatives, but connections are proving hard to find.
I go downstairs at 7 a.m. to find the dining room empty. Pans are clattering in the kitchen, but the day’s first service won’t start for another hour. I’d like to scrounge some food before I leave, but Rhianna Polkerris appears before I can cadge some toast from the chef. Her green-eyed stare connects with mine for once, rather than looking straight through me. Her appearance is honed to perfection, from the blonde hair cascading down her back to her crimson lipstick, and the silk dress that fits her like a glove. It’s a surprise when she bothers to speak; until now the woman has treated me like a bad smell.
‘Take a seat, Ben. I’ll get breakfast organised for you.’
‘That would be great, thanks.’
When Rhianna sashays across the dining room, her body language announces that the hotel is her own personal empire, which must irritate Tom while they jockey for power. She returns a few minutes later, holding a coffee pot and two bone-china cups.
‘You’re a lifesaver,’ I tell her, and it’s almost true. It takes an industrial amount of caffeine to get me fully awake.
‘Mind if I join you?’ She slips into the seat opposite before I can reply. ‘I should apologise for being so stressed when you told us about Sabine. The hotel’s being judged for the British Travel Awards next month. We’ve all been working flat out to get the place ready.’
‘I bet you’ll do fine. This place is impressive.’
‘Hotel work gives you tunnel vision.’ Her tone is gentler than before, making me warm to her for the first time. ‘I still can’t really believe Sabine’s gone.’
Emotions appear on the woman’s face and I realise she might be brittle, not hard as nails. Tears well in her china doll eyes, before she blinks them away.
‘The whole community’s in shock, and it can’t be easy working with Tom every day. I bet most husband and wife teams end up rowing.’
A frown appears on her face when she gazes down at the diamond engagement ring and thick gold band on her finger. ‘We made it through ten years, just about.’
‘Did you have a big wedding?’
‘We had all the bells and whistles, flower girls and a white Rolls Royce. I worked as a wedding planner back then, but a fairy tale ceremony is no guarantee things will work out.’
‘I can’t see the appeal of blowing your life savings on a single day.’
‘It took me years to realise.’ She still looks upset as she cradles her cup in her hands; I’m amazed she’s exposed the strife in her marriage to a stranger. ‘I remembered something about Sabine, but it may not be relevant. She was on a motorboat in Porthloo Bay, on her afternoon off last Thursday. The boat was going so fast, I stopped to watch. She was with Harry Jago.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘It slipped my mind till now. I’ve been so thrown by it all, it’s made me forgetful.’ She takes a delicate sip of coffee. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘We’ve got some strong lines of inquiry.’
‘And suspects?’
‘I can’t reveal details yet, I’m afraid.’
A delicate flush covers her cheeks. ‘Sorry, it’s just that we’re all desperate for news.’
‘You’ll have some soon, I promise. I need to take fingerprints from everyone who works here this morning. Is that okay?’
‘Including me and Tom?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll make sure everyone’s informed. You’re welcome to use the lounge upstairs.’ She rises to her feet, brushing her dress with her hands, until the fabric falls in a perfect line.
‘By the way, you haven’t seen my dog, have you?’
‘He was outside the kitchen on Monday night, but not since then.’
‘If he comes back can you call me?’
‘Of course, your number’s on our system.’ She glances at her watch, just as a waiter arrives with a huge platter of food. ‘Enjoy your breakfast.’
The conversation gives me plenty to consider while I plough through my bacon, eggs and sausages. I need to speak to Harry Jago urgently, and my dog is avoiding me, for reasons unknown. Rhianna’s motives are mysterious too. It sounds like she’s falling out of love with her husband, and she was too curious about the case, but she may just be eager to know when her hotel can operate normally again.
It’s still early when I leave the hotel. I scan Hugh Town’s narrow streets again for signs of Shadow, but he’s nowhere in sight. The place will remain quiet until the shops open at 9 a.m. The few remaining holidaymakers are likely to get up late, not leaving their hotels and guesthouses until mid-morning. My brief walk ends when I arrive at the Strand. Harry Jago lives in the last house in the terrace. The building is a rental property, and even though the mat in the porch carries the word ‘welcome’, there’s little sign of it when I knock on the door. It’s unlocked, and swings open to release a gust of warm air, thick with the stench of yesterday’s food. The coffee table in his living room is littered with empty beer bottles and takeaway cartons. I’m not sure how he’s paying the rent since his mother died. He spends his days ferrying tourists around the local bays, but his income will drop dramatically in winter when casual work dwindles. I yell Harry’s name again, but an old man’s querulous voice echoes through the wall.
‘Stop that racket, will you?’
Stuart Helyer appears in the hallway a minute later. He has lived in the property next door with his wife Esme since he worked as a lobsterman, forty years ago. Helyer has been retired for my entire lifetime. He claims to be St Mary’s oldest inhabitant, but looks too robust to be so ancient. He’s still in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his watery eyes assessing me calmly, white hair standing out from his skull in thick clumps.
‘Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, Stuart.’
‘I don’t need much these days, but Esme likes her rest.’
‘Have you seen Harry lately?’
He sighs loudly before replying. ‘Not since yesterday. That boy’s a royal pain in the arse, bringing girls home, drinking, and playing music too loud. Most people steer clear of him, but his mother was a sweetheart. I hope the landlord doesn’t chuck him out.’
‘Do you see much of him?’
‘Harry’s a decent lad when he’s sober. He tidies our garden and never charges a penny; Esme gives him the odd hot meal in return. It’s a pity the boy can’t hold his drink.’
‘There’s something else I need help with, Stuart. Have you heard this phrase before: The bride in her glory will ever be fair?’
The old man repeats the words to himself. ‘Sounds like the start of an old wedding song from when I was young, but I doubt you’ll find it written down anywhere. I wish I could remember the next line, but my memory’s gone.’
‘Don’t worry, Stuart. Tell Harry to come to the station, please. I need to see him today.’
Helyer drops my card into the pocket of his dressing gown, but suspicion clouds his features, and I doubt he’ll make use of use it. Most islanders prefer to settle disputes with no outside interference. Some see it as a personal failure if the law gets involved. I’ll have to keep returning to Harry Jago’s home to find out how well he knew Sabine.
My phone rings just as I walk out the front door. It’s the security manager at the airport, his words emerging in a rapid stream. The latest flight to the mainland has been cancelled because one of the pilots hasn’t reported for work. It’s the first time Jade Finbury has ever missed a flight during six years of employment in Scilly, and she’s not answering her mobile. I think about my brief chat with the pilot on Sunday, after she flew Liz Gannick over from Penzance. Her manner was warm and relaxed. Whatever’s happened, I need to find her fast. When my gaze catches on the sea, its colour is changing from turquoise to cobalt for the first time in days – it looks like Ray was spot-on about the change in weather. My old headmaster enters my field of vision when I look down at Town Beach. He’s taking another morning run, this time with his wife Elaine at his side, their dog trailing behind. The couple are crossing the wet sand at a pace that would put many younger joggers to shame. My own movements are much less graceful when I hurry back to the station.