Page 97 of The Rising Tide

‘You don’t need to worry. I’ve been in places like this before, remember? Just concentrate on finding Fin. Whatever it takes.’

‘I love you,’ she says.

‘Go,’ he tells her.

THIRTY-THREE

1

Back on Mortis Point. Home. Although it doesn’t feel like that now.

In the bathroom, Lucy runs a shower and rinses the prison off her skin. Afterwards, dressing quickly, she still feels dirty.

Maybe it’s not the prison. Maybe it’s what she learned inside.

A photo of Fin stands on the dresser. ‘I’ll find you,’ she tells him. She notices Snig at the foot of the bed and ties it around her arm. ‘I don’t know how, but I will. Because your life’s not over, Fin. It’s just beginning. And you’re my beautiful boy.’

Downstairs, she tours the house, filling a backpack with everything she might need. From the study, duct tape, a retractable Stanley knife, a handheld GPS and a VHF radio. From the kitchen, a bottle of Evian, a packet of pineapple Yoyo Bears, a filleting knife and a carving knife. From the living room, her binoculars. From the wet room,a coil of rope, a flotation belt, two rocket flares and Fin’s winter coat.

On the living-room wall hangs a 1908 Pattern cavalry sword, an heirloom passed down from Daniel’s great-grandfather. Lucy stares at it a long while before dismissing it. But she does take the man’s curve-bladedkukrifrom its display stand on a side table. Nepalese in origin, a thirteen-inch blade curves from its bone handle.

At the breakfast bar in the kitchen she closes her eyes, replaying part of her conversation with Daniel.

He knows you, this guy. At least, he knows of you.

Did he know Billie, too? Clearly, he used her to manipulate Daniel. Did she do it under duress? Or did he deceive her into helping him?

He knows you.

On the counter is her notepad with its list of constructed names. The last one she scrawled there, and by far the most convincing, belongs to Zacarías Echevarria. But on Saturday night, hunched over Daniel’s laptop, Lucy had googled him. Zacarías died of a coronary at an Andalusian blackjack table six years ago. She can’t think of a single past resident of the Alto Paraíso commune who might bear her ill will.

After Zacarías came Jesús Manzano, in the Portuguese beach town of Zambujeira do Mar. Lucy worked in Manzano’s bar, eventually moving into an apartment adjoining his house. But again – despite the Portuguese prosecutor’s allegations – they never embarked on a relationship. Manzano treated her like a daughter. When Lucy left town, she did so with his blessing. Years later, when she sailed to Portugal with Daniel and the kids, they visited Manzano for three glorious days.

He said he wanted you to experience a period of self-reflection. A sharp shock and a moral change of course.

Daniel’s words describe a monster; a lunatic. But which name, of all those she’s written down, might they describe?

It’s hell, this. Worse than hell.

She stares hard at her notepad. And realizes, with a lurch, that she can hear music playing from somewhere else in the house.

2

Lucy tilts her head.

Definitely music. It’s tinny and distant, like the theme from an old-school video game. From the rucksack she retrieves one of the knives and moves to the door. In the hall, the music’s fractionally louder. It’s not coming from the ground floor. She’s halfway up the stairs when it stops.

Lucy pauses. One of the treads creaks beneath her. She edges closer to the wall, carefully continuing her ascent.

A breeze is blowing through the upper hall, legacy of her feud with the herring gulls. In all the destruction, she hasn’t killed a single bird. But she’s created multiple entry points into the house.

This guy, he’s ruthless, Lucy. You’ll have to be ruthless too.

She creeps up to the landing. Stops. Listens.

A door creaks. Billie’s, possibly. Or was it Fin’s?

Cold air against her face. Could wind have moved the door? Lucy turns her head, wary of someone rushing herfrom the master bedroom. Now, the bathroom door squeals. She watches it move two inches forward, another inch back. Definitely the wind.

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