Death on Lindisfarne (21 page)

A
IDAN STEADIED HIMSELF AGAINST THE WALL
. “I'll get the police,” he said thickly. His jaw was throbbing. He had forgotten about it until now, because of the violent pain in his skull. He wondered if he could walk in a straight line. But there was no way he was going to be yet another burden on Lucy's leadership.

“I'll go,” she said in concern. “Are you sure you'll be all right alone?” She cast a meaningful look at Gerald Morrison.

“I'll do it,” Melangell cried. “I know what to say.”

Before anyone could stop her, she set off at a long-legged run, back towards the school.

“Are you sure?” Lucy took a step after her. “Let me come too.”

“Leave her. She's a bright kid. She'll get it right.”

“She is rather special, isn't she?”

Karen had collapsed on to one of the picnic benches outside the hotel. Gerald gave a last scowl at Lucy and Aidan, then went to console her.

“Have you met him before?” Aidan murmured.

“No, never.”

Almost immediately, Melangell reappeared with a woman police constable in tow. The officer stopped when she saw the blood on Aidan's head.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“No. But I'll do.”

“Do you want to press charges? I take it that's the gentleman over there?”

Aidan shook his head, then wished he hadn't. “No. There are more important things right now. They're Rachel's parents.”

The police officer strode briskly towards the pair.

“Let's get you back to the house,” Lucy said. “I should probably drive you to the hospital. The causeway's open.”

“I'll be OK.”

As they moved away, he saw the officer cross the hotel lawn to Karen. A sharp shout from Gerald Morrison rang out.

“Now look here, young woman. I haven't come all this way to be treated like a criminal. Do you know who I am?”

The policewoman's reply was lost behind them.

“Who do you think he is?” Aidan asked. “Somebody important?”

“No idea. As I said, as far as I'm concerned, he never featured in Rachel's life till now.”

“Do you think that's really what brought him up here? The fact that he might be able to sue somebody for her death?”

Lucy stopped dead on the road. “I've had a sudden terrible thought. All this time I've been telling myself that murder victims are usually killed by somebody they know. To read the tabloids, you'd think the greatest danger was from strangers, but it's really not true. Ever since we found it wasn't suicide, I've been puzzling my brain to think who on Holy Island could possibly want her dead, or had got her into a position which ended up with killing her accidentally. What if it wasn't one of our group? What if Gerald Morrison was already on Holy Island on Sunday? Is it possible
he
could have killed Rachel?”

“For the chance of compensation? It sounds a bit far-fetched. And why wait till she's in Northumbria? Wouldn't it have been easier to do it in Devon?”

Lucy persisted. “It's just the unlikelihood of it happening here that would be his best cover.”

Aidan was relieved to find he was walking steadily now. They were almost at St Colman's House. He glanced down into Melangell's anxious face and managed an uncertain smile. But the face he turned to Lucy was more sombre.

“Could there be another reason? Something in his career that would make the discovery of an illegitimate daughter with a criminal record a blot on his prospects?”

“I would have thought it was hardly unusual enough for that to matter nowadays. And killing her wouldn't destroy the record. It would be more likely to draw attention to him. But I still think there's a darker reason for him to be here.”

Aidan realized he would be glad to get indoors and sit down. But an insistent thought would not be silenced. “Are you sure you're not latching on to him because you don't want to think it's someone from our group?”

“That would be a relief. But look at the way he hit you. He's obviously got a violent streak if he's crossed. And it's almost a carbon copy of James's injury. James still can't remember what happened, or he says he can't. But don't you think it's too much of a coincidence? Two of you falling and sustaining head wounds? It looks very much to me like the same modus operandi. What if he found Rachel and James together? Knocked James out and… disposed of Rachel?”

Aidan turned his head cautiously as they crossed the guesthouse car park. Lucy was striding towards the door with renewed animation.

He called after her, “There's one name you haven't mentioned. One person besides yourself who's known Rachel a long time. Who's been sunk in depression ever since she died. Hasn't it occurred to you that if Rachel knew her killer, then the most likely person is Peter?”

“No!” Melangell cried out.

Lucy spun round to face him. “That's impossible! Peter cared about her. He would no more have killed her than I would.”

If blue eyes could be said to blaze, hers did.

Aidan held up placating hands. “I'm only following your logic. That most murders are committed by someone the victim knows. And nobody here knew her better than Peter, except you. How do we know what went on between them?”

He had a sudden picture of the day of their arrival. Meeting Rachel running down the stairs, her eyes bright and provocative. She had been coming from the top floor where Peter had his room.

Lucy's face in front of him was very still now, as she thought about his words. Then she shook herself, slowly. “I can't believe it's Peter.
Especially now that I've seen how violent her father can be. Believe me, I've had experience of that kind of man.” He saw her shudder.

“When you were in the police?”

There was something more to it than that.

She looked at him guardedly, as if wondering how much to say. Then she turned away. She spoke so quietly he hardly heard her.

“Yes and no. My partner was in the police force too. Don't get me wrong. He was a good officer in his way. But not a good human being. If I did the slightest thing wrong, he hit me.”

Aidan held his breath, waiting for her to go on.

“If I'd stayed in that relationship, I think he might have killed me.”

Lucy stood in the hall, still shivering with remembered shock, while Melangell bounded upstairs to get ready for lunch and Aidan followed more slowly. What on earth had possessed her to share that most painful secret of her past with this foxy-bearded man she had only known for three days?

All the same, she had been very glad to have him with her when she met the violent anger of Rachel's father. She winced. Aidan had come out of that encounter with a bruised jaw and a bloody head. At least he was not playing the martyr, like James.

Should she really take him to the hospital, in spite of his protests?

But the thought came crowding back of the appalling suggestion he had made.

Not Peter.

She sat at the lunch table, struggling for once to find conversation with her guests. She was alarmingly conscious that Valerie was glaring at her malevolently. Did she know, or guess, that Lucy had told the police about that threatening visit and Elspeth's luring Rachel to take cocaine?

“Pass the mayonnaise,” Elspeth barked.

Lucy jumped. It was ridiculous to react as if the most normal request was filled with menace.

Across the table, she caught Aidan's eye. He gave her a small smile, and she immediately felt better.

But she hadn't told him everything. Aidan had heard Simon warning her to take care, but she had refused to tell him where that threat had come from.

Her eyes fell on Peter at the foot of the table. Aidan was right about one thing. Peter's large form was slumped in his chair, a picture of depression. A pang of guilt seized her. Had she done enough to try and comfort him? He had taken Rachel's death hard.

A treacherous worm of thought was boring its way in. She hadn't picked up the impression that relations between Peter and Rachel had gone that far. She had never thought of Peter as being in love with the troubled teenager. Just a loyal friend, doing all he could to help Rachel out of the mess she had made of her life.

So why this depth of grief? Could Aidan possibly be right? Was it not only grief but guilt?

She watched his dark, shaggy head bent over the table. He was hardly eating.

Lucy looked around the remainder of her group. Would they stay, now that the island was overrun with police? James and Sue looked mutinous. They had never really wanted to be part of her course. James had made his anger at Sue's mistake abundantly clear. She could hardly blame them if they cut their stay short.

But the people she most expected to leave were the Cavendishes. She sat up with a start. There were still two empty places. Where were they? Then she relaxed a little. They must be the last ones being questioned at the village school. That was hardly going to improve David's temper when they returned late for lunch.

Almost as she thought this, he came storming in. Frances followed him more apologetically.

“I'm lodging a complaint! A law-abiding citizen's got a right to go about his business and enjoy a holiday, without being marched before the police every day. Three times they've questioned us. Three times!”
He slammed his fist on the table as he sat down. “I'm not standing for it! If they try to question me tomorrow, they'll have another think coming. I'm off.”

“Now then, dear,” Frances tried to soothe him. “They were only doing their job. The poor girl's been murdered, by the sound of it. They have to ask these questions. But it's not very pleasant, is it?” She turned to Lucy, appealing. “I mean, it's not what you expect when you come to a holy sort of place like this.”

“No,” Lucy told her. “It's not what any of us expected.”

Calculations were chasing through her mind. Ought she to refund some of their money if they left now? Where would that leave her budget for the course? Could she carry the drain on her own income?

How could she be thinking about money at a time like this?

She laid down her knife and fork. “I'm sorry about all this. You've still got some free time this afternoon. You might like to visit the Lindisfarne Centre, since we didn't get there this morning. They have a good exhibition about the history of the island, and a video about the Vikings attacking Lindisfarne.” She threw a smile in Melangell's direction.

“Just what we need,” boomed Elspeth, with forced heartiness. “A set of Norse thugs bloodying their battleaxes on the necks of a load of religious fanatics. Murder and mayhem.”

The table fell still. Nobody laughed.

Lucy found her voice. “I'll see you all again at St Mary's church at half-past three.”

Back in her room, Lucy took out her phone.

“Ian? Sorry to trouble you at work. It's just that something's come up… Yes, to do with Rachel's murder. The place has been swarming with police this morning. I did wonder if I'd see your ugly face.” She tried to keep her voice light.