Death on Lindisfarne (18 page)

“I
know
,” Melangell exclaimed. “He was too shy to take the harp when they passed it round the hall and everybody had to sing. So he went out to the cowshed. And in the night, an angel came to him and taught him to sing a great song about creation. And next day he went to the monks and they took him to Hild and he made up lots and lots of poems about God and the world and everything.”

Fran leaned over her knitting. “She's a bright one, your Melangell. We had a lot of fun together, didn't we, duck?”

Aidan felt Melangell edge away.

“I suppose so.”

Elspeth was giving her own loud-voiced opinion about the place of women in ecclesiastical and academic life. Aidan looked around the room, meditating. He could not see Brother Simon behind him, but the priest's words to Lucy came back enigmatically. “
Be careful.
”

Aidan studied his companions, one by one. Who was it Simon had thought she needed to be warned against? James? He had an uneasy feeling that there might have been more to James's dealings with Rachel than the pastor wanted to admit. What might that have led to? Was it enough to make him a danger to Lucy now? And if James was not the threat, who else?

And what…? He felt a sudden catch in his throat. What form did Brother Simon fear that danger to her might take?

He looked back at Lucy, in the centre of the room. For the moment, she had put her grief behind her. Her cheeks were flushed with animation, her eyes bright with argument. She looked like a woman who was not going to back down from her position. But he was suddenly aware that beneath that healthy body and lively mind there was a vulnerable human being.

He turned round to Brother Simon, wondering if he could ask what he meant. But the priest had got to his feet. With a lifted hand of farewell, he slipped out of the room.

L
UCY CLOSED THE DOOR
and drew the curtains. She sank down on the bed. She had survived this long, difficult day, but she felt extremely tired.

The room looked different. At last she had been able to tidy away Rachel's things. She would have to dispose of them later. She supposed she ought to hand them over to Rachel's mother – not that Karen Ince had ever been much of a mother to the girl. Or should she simply take them to a charity shop?

The whole room now had Lucy's neatness. She swallowed as she remembered how Rachel's untidiness had irked her. Now the room looked big and bare without the girl's scattered clothes.

There were footsteps on the path outside the curtained windows. They went past and stopped. James, in the room beyond hers. On the nearer side was Elspeth and Valerie's room, and, closest to the house, the Cavendishes'.

Lucy looked at the door. Then she walked across and locked it.

She was uneasy with herself. Was she being melodramatic? Valerie's visit had been meant as a warning. But of what? It was hard to imagine the well-dressed, scrupulously polite and upright woman descending to violence. But there was no denying the fact that Valerie was intensely loyal to her friend Elspeth. That if Elspeth's wayward brilliance needed protecting, then Valerie would do anything in her power to safeguard her.

Lucy's hand strayed towards the mobile in her trouser pocket. She had confided the unsettling incident to Simon and he had been alarmed for her. Rather sweetly protective, really. He had told her she must report it to the police.

She hesitated, with the phone in her lap. She had wanted DI Harland to do more, but she was uncertain what. Just this frightening conviction that Rachel's death was not being given the importance it deserved.

But what had that to do with Valerie? Perhaps, more realistically, what had that to do with Elspeth? Or… She twisted the duvet cover in her fingers. New images were crowding in on her. Elspeth had admitted giving cocaine to Rachel. What if Lucy's unguarded outburst had been right, and that had contributed to, even caused, Rachel's death? But the all-too-obvious explanation of a depressive's suicide was becoming increasingly unlikely. What if Valerie had feared the consequences of Elspeth's rash offer to Rachel? What if she suspected Rachel might tell the ex-policewoman Lucy?

She felt the chill in her arms.

Elspeth herself lived for the moment, regardless of the consequences. But not Valerie. Valerie was thoughtful, a different sort of intelligence. She had proved herself as protective as a she-bear of her cub. Was it inconceivable that Valerie might take a pre-emptive step and silence the evidence only Rachel could give? A death all too easily explained as suicide?

A few hours ago, it would have seemed preposterous. But Lucy still remembered the ice in the air when Valerie had stood in that doorway, giving her grim-faced warning. There was more to Valerie than Lucy had guessed, behind that usually sweet smile.

Should she phone DI Harland? She checked her watch. Ten o'clock. Too late tonight for so tenuous a theory. She guessed it would be hard to convince the detective inspector to take her seriously, anyway. She wasn't sure if she believed it herself. Tomorrow morning would be better.

She was about to put the phone on charge and get ready for bed, when an idea struck her. She scrolled through her contacts list. Had she copied this one over when she changed her phone? Yes.

She speed-dialled the number. From what she remembered, Ian was unlikely to be in bed yet.

“Lucy! A blast from the past!”

“Yes. Sorry. You're not in bed, are you?… No, I know that's none of my business… Yes, I'm fine. How are you?… No, actually, I'm not. ‘I'm fine' is something you say automatically, isn't it? I'm ringing you because I'm a pretty long way from fine right now. I need to call in a favour.”

Lucy detailed the events of the last three days. “Yes, I know… Thank you. It's all been a bit of a shock. My first time running something like this… Well, we've had the police over, as you can guess. DI Harland and DS Malham… Yes, poor Len Chappell. You heard about that, did you? Got marooned on Holy Island overnight… No, I didn't know him. If he's local, he must have joined after I left the force. Still wet behind the ears.”

“Do you and Bill…?”

Lucy's hand tightened around the phone. “No!… Sorry, Ian. I didn't mean to bark at you. It was… Let's just say it wasn't a good experience. I'm sure he's a great policeman, of the old school. But, well, I'm glad to be at the other end of the country. Except for now… Look, about that favour. Rachel's body has gone for the PM. I really need to know the cause of death. Ninety-nine to one it was drowning. Only… Yes, you're right. Let's say there's an element of doubt. In my mind, anyway. Possibly in Malham's. I think DI Harland just wants to wrap it up and put it in the archives. Case solved… Will you? Oh, thanks. You're a star. Right, Ian. Give my love to the guys. Only … I'd rather you didn't mention to Bill that you've talked to me. Or that I'm here. Cheers.”

She closed the phone. She knew from the tenseness of her knuckles that she had done something dangerous. Was it interfering in a police investigation that was none of her professional business? Was she building Valerie's warning out of all proportion? Or was it stirring old and painful, even threatening, memories?

Aidan drew back the curtains and his heart gave a leap of joy. Today was just such a morning as he had imagined on Lindisfarne. The early sun was illuminating little white clouds in a lively blue sky. Across the
fields, he could just make out the curling foam on the running waves. There was a touch of gold in the light.

His feet touched the floor, almost before he thought of getting out of bed. His hands were hungry for his camera while there was still this crystalline quality in the air. He splashed cold water over his face and pulled on his clothes. Shorts and sweatshirt.

Then the truth struck home. He was astonished and appalled that he had not thought about it until now.

Rachel was dead. An unhappy girl driven to death, for who knew what reason. It was terrible that she should come here, of all places, and not find peace.

Could she really have met something worse, on these light-filled sands?

Lucy was the only person he had confessed his fears to. He still sensed that she disapproved of him, after that stupid outburst of temper the first evening. He could have dispelled that in an instant by telling her the real reason why he and Melangell were here without Jenny. She was a minister of religion, used to dealing with death. It should have been possible to tell her, more than most, that his wife had died. But it was still too raw, too painful. He could not cope with the sympathy of strangers.

He opened Melangell's door softly. She was asleep on her side, small pointed features outlined against the pillow. Tousled curls made a halo round her head. He closed the door. He would be back in good time to get her up for breakfast.

The air outside felt wonderfully fresh. It was a perfect spring morning.

He started to walk towards the shore. As his feet found a sandy footpath, echoes of yesterday were coming back to him. Lucy in the hallway below him. Brother Simon warning her, “Be careful.”

He pushed the thought away and got out his Nikon. The sparkling beauty of the morning around him was maddeningly elusive. Quartz flashed in the sand. Crushed fragments of seashells, in a rainbow palette of colour. The bending grass. The swing of gulls. Ripples curling over the stones of the beach on an incoming tide. How could he capture
the dance of delight in a single static image? A slow shutter speed that would give him the blurred flutter of wings? Or the sharp clarity of white pinions feathered against the blue?

He focused on the beach towards Hobthrush Island.

Into the frame of his viewfinder a figure came jogging.

At once, Aidan let the camera fall to his chest. His face warmed with embarrassment. Had she seen him? Two days in a row. He had deliberately taken a different direction this morning. Yet so, apparently, had she. Would she think he had come down to this beach on purpose to photograph her morning run?

He remembered now that earlier meeting. Lucy had not just been jogging for exercise. She had confessed, almost shamefacedly, that this was the way she found it best to pray.

He tried to imagine it. The interaction of the balls of her feet with the earth beneath her. The lungfuls of God's good air. The energy that multiplied itself through physical exertion. The sense of exhilaration.

His mind flew back to Brother Simon's warning.

What could Lucy Pargeter have to fear here on Lindisfarne?

What did it have to do with Rachel?

He saw her check. She had spotted him. She must be resenting him for interrupting this precious private interlude before the day began and she had to assume the responsibilities of leader.

She came on, running steadily towards him. Navy blue tracksuit, white shirt.

“Hello,” she panted. She leaned over, her hands on her thighs, while she caught her breath.

“Good morning.” He gestured awkwardly at his camera. “I wasn't out here to snap you, honestly. I just thought this morning was too perfect to miss.”

“I know. It should be paradise, shouldn't it?”

He hesitated. “Is it over? The police investigation, I mean. If the inspector's decided it's suicide, they won't be back, will they?”

“There's the post-mortem. We don't know the result yet.”

“Could it be anything other than drowning?”

Lucy's clear blue eyes met his unflinchingly. “Let's wait and see.”

Aidan stared back at her. This was his doing. He was the one who had told her about the coastguard's doubts. He could feel himself colouring, imagining how that must look against his ginger hair and beard. He took a step closer. “Yesterday, I was coming down the stairs. I didn't mean to listen in, but you were talking to Brother Simon. He told you to be careful.”

She looked away. “Ah. You heard that, did you?”

“What did he mean?”

She turned her gaze back to him. She seemed to be considering whether it would be wise to confide in him. What was he to her, anyway? Just one of the people who had signed up for her history holiday. Someone she had known at a fairly superficial level for three days. Someone who had rebuffed her attempt at sympathy.

“I don't think I can discuss it. Not till I've told the police.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Aidan's mind now. Told the police? So something
had
happened. Something that had given Simon reason to fear for her. Thoughts went tumbling through Aidan's mind. It had to do with Rachel's death; with the growing suspicion they shared that it might not be suicide. And if it was not… Someone here on the island was implicated, and Lucy knew who it was.

He felt the rush of fear for her that Simon must have felt.

“Tell me,” he ordered. “Give me a name. If there's a possibility you may be in danger, someone else should be looking out for you.”

Surprise at the vehemence of his demand widened her eyes.

“I can handle it. There may be nothing in it. Just something strange that happened, that's all. It wouldn't be fair to blacken someone's name if it turns out not to mean what I think it might.”

You told Simon,
he thought.

Simon's an old friend. You're not.

She started to move back towards the house, walking swiftly now. He fell into step beside her.

“I understand about confidentiality. But there's a word neither of us is saying, isn't there? If it's not suicide, and not an accident. Shall I spell it out to you? The only option we're left with is… murder.”

The word fell between them, like a stone dropped from a great height.

“I've been trying not to say that to myself,” she told him quietly.

“And does this person whose name you won't tell me know which way your thoughts are going? Is that why Simon thinks you're in danger?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don't you? As it happens, yes. I was given a warning to keep quiet.”

Now Aidan felt the blood that had warmed his cheeks not long ago drain out of them.

“And you still won't tell me!”

She looked at him sideways, uncertain. “I don't think I can. Until I've told the police.”

“Which this person presumably won't want you to do.”

“I was given strict orders not to.”

He saw the determined tilt of her chin.

“But you will?”

“What choice do I have? Even if I hadn't once been a police officer. I owe it to Rachel.”

They were nearing the road in front of the house.

“Let me make one guess. You can tell me if I'm wrong.”

“I don't think that it's for you to make the rules.”

“James?”

He saw the start she gave. The flash of alarm in her eyes. Had he guessed right? Or was it surprise?