Page 72 of The Rising Tide

Abraham purses his lips, non-committal. ‘I’ll need to draft this into a statement. Then I can read it back to you before you sign.’

‘No problem. You looked atheryet?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Lucy Locke. Husband’s one thing, but the wife –she’ssomething else.’

Abraham stares at her. ‘Go on.’

3

Beth McKaylin pulls a face. ‘I’m talking out of school and I really shouldn’t – about a Skentel native, too, which makes it doubly bad, but …’

She pauses. He knows not to interrupt. Loose tongues love to fill a silence.

‘Something off about that couple, always thought it.’ McKaylin puffs out her cheeks. ‘And there, now I’ve said it. But if you ask me,she’sthe driving force – the one with the ideas, thepower, in that relationship. I don’t reckon there was a thing going around in Daniel Locke’s head that Lucy Locke didn’t know about. If she didn’t like it, she’d get rid of it. And if it was still there, it’s because she endorsed it.

‘That place they have? Up on Mortis Point? Jesus. You know what “Mortis” means, don’t you? You go back a few hundred years, it’s where we used to hang people. Smugglers and thieves, rapists and murderers – they’d be carted up to the Point and hanged from a giant scaffold pointing out to sea. Not just those from Skentel but places all around. Buried them up there too, we did, or flung their corpses off the clifftop. You gotta ask how much bad karma you soak up, living at a spot like that.

‘And Lucy Locke …’ McKaylin licks her lips and scowls, as if she just tasted something rancid. ‘Skentel businesswoman of the year. What’s her story, eh? Nobody seems to know. Lived here till she was eighteen, shagged half the town before she left. Buggered off to London and turned up six years later with a kid. Lives the perfect life these days, by all accounts, but let me tell you: man, that chickhas atemper. I’ve seen a side of her she tries to keep hidden. Ugly, it is. Frightening. I ain’t sayin’ she killed her kids. And I ain’t sayin’ she drovehimto it, neither. What Iamsayin’, I don’t quite know – I just got a feeling, is all. Like when I was down in that cabin.’

McKaylin grins humourlessly, rolls her eyes. ‘I should probably watch my mouth.’

She’s missing a couple of teeth, Abraham notices.

His tongue probes the corresponding molars in his own mouth. ‘Let’s get back to the statement.’

TWENTY-FOUR

1

Lucy parks outside the hospital and heads up to Lundy Ward. A receptionist tells her that Daniel’s been released.

‘Released where?’

‘Just … well … released. I couldn’t tell you what he did after.’

Back outside, she checks her mobile. This far inland, she has four bars of reception, but she’s received no calls or text messages. When she calls Daniel, his phone goes straight to voicemail. ‘It’s me,’ she says. ‘I’m at the hospital. They said you’ve been released. I don’t know if you still have your phone, but if you get this, please call me.’

Lucy’s about to say more when she catches herself. It’s likely Daniel’s messages are being monitored. Hanging up, she climbs back on the bike. At the police station, five minutes later, she identifies herself to the desk sergeant and asks for DI Abraham Rose.

Lucy doesn’t know what to tell him. She can’t decide what to reveal. Her head’s a wasp nest, buzzing andscratching. She finds a seat and eases down on to it. When she closes her eyes, she sees Billie and Fin; their images on the Drift Net’s windows.

In her lap, her hands go round and round. She realizes she’s rocking. Forces herself to stop. Then her mind wanders – and when she comes back to herself she’s rocking even faster.

She’s been there twenty minutes when Beth McKaylin walks past, head down in her phone. The buzzing in Lucy’s head intensifies. If Beth’s been talking, it doesn’t spell good news. She glances around the waiting area. How many other Skentel residents have given statements? How many others have a story to tell?

She thinks of Billie’s party, the night of the blood moon. Of what happened in the study, and days later at Nick’s. Of everything the police will have dug up about her husband.

Of everything they might have dug up about her.

‘Lucy?’

Abraham Rose is as imposing as she remembers. When she stands, he doesn’t offer his hand.

‘I’m sorry I had to keep you,’ he says. ‘Would you like to follow me?’

He leads her to a windowless room that smells strongly of disinfectant.

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