Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

‘I think he would have been, yes,’ I said. ‘The only skeletal deformity was the hammertoes, but in someone his age I’m starting to think they could be down to some sort of repetitive injury. Or even badly fitting shoes when he was younger, although it seems severe for that.’

I could almost hear Lundy thinking. ‘You said there was a chance the victim was mixed race. Do you still think so?’

‘I only know what I told you before, and that was only based on the eye orbits and nasal bridge. It isn’t something I can say with any certainty one way or the other.’ I recalled Lundy had also picked up on the possibility the dead man was of mixed race at Leo Villiers’ house, though he hadn’t said why. ‘Do you have an idea who it could be?’

‘Not really. It’s probably nothing, but it put me in mind of the prowler the gardener reported seeing outside the house before Villiers disappeared. He only got a glimpse but he said it was a male, youngish and dark-skinned. “Like a migrant or refugee” was how he put it. Got me thinking how there isn’t much of an immigrant population in the immediate area. No jobs, no housing, and if you’re looking to illegally land a boat there’re a lot better places further along the coast. So what would a refugee be doing here?’

‘You’re thinking it might have been someone mixed race?’

‘It’s not impossible. The tabloids have got everybody stirred up about migrants, and Cruckhaven’s not exactly what you’d call multi-racial. Maybe the gardener just leapt to conclusions about the refugee part.’

Remembering the desperate town I’d visited the day before, with its closed shops and feral-looking teenagers, I thought Lundy might have a point. Still, it seemed like a long shot. ‘It doesn’t mean this is the same person. Or explain what he was doing at Leo Villiers’ house.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ he agreed. ‘There’d been a spate of burglaries at isolated houses not long before, so the assumption was it was probably someone checking the place out. He had a decent alarm system and there weren’t any more break-ins reported, so it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Not when we thought Villiers had killed himself. But I’m starting to wonder now if there might be more to it.’

So was I, though I’d no idea what. But Lundy had reminded me of something else. ‘Rachel told me they were burgled as well. Not long after her sister disappeared.’

‘That’s right, they were,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That was pretty much the first one, now you mention it.’

‘Do you think there’s a connection?’

There was a pause. A rustling noise came down the phone: I thought it was a bad connection until I realized he was rubbing his moustache. ‘Hard to see how, but it’s starting to seem like there’s an awful lot of coincidences.’

It was. I could sense that Lundy was ready to wind up, but there was one more thing he needed to know.

‘I spoke to Sir Stephen’s driver at the house earlier,’ I told him, and outlined the conversation I’d had. ‘He didn’t come right out and say how he knew about a second body, but he made out it was something he’d overheard.’

‘There’s a surprise,’ Lundy said sourly. ‘Given the names Sir Stephen must have in his address book it wouldn’t surprise me if he knows what’s going on before we do. Could his driver just have been nosy, or was he trying to pump you for information?’

‘I don’t know, but I didn’t tell him anything. You think he was hoping to report back to Sir Stephen?’

There was a snort. ‘Let’s say I can’t see anyone working for the Villiers if they don’t know which side their bread’s buttered on.’

‘So why did he badmouth Leo Villiers?’ I couldn’t imagine Sir Stephen being happy about an employee talking about his son like that.

‘Dunno. You’re right, seems odd.’ I could almost hear Lundy frowning on the other end. ‘OK, leave it with me.’

Before he ended the call he told me Clarke wanted me to examine the remains from the barbed wire as well. He hadn’t spoken to Frears and so didn’t know the post-mortem findings, but promised to email me the report as soon as he could. As I hung up I reflected that only the day before I’d thought I was off the investigation for good.

I didn’t intend to mess up a second time.

It was dusk by the time I pulled up outside the boathouse. I switched the engine off and sat for a moment, savouring the quiet. The old stone building on the creek’s bank looked as much a part of the landscape as the dunes and marsh grass. This was my favourite time of day, the long moment when the day is paused between afternoon and evening. I felt tired, but it was the sort that came from a good day’s work rather than illness.

Climbing out of the car, I stretched, then went to get my things out of the car boot. I’d called into a supermarket for groceries on the way: if I was going to be here for a few more days I’d need more than toast and eggs. Lifting out the carrier bags, I stepped back to close the boot and was almost hit by a car as it sped past.

‘ Je sus!’

I staggered, buffeted by its slipstream. The car was an old white hatchback with a red racing stripe. I caught a glimpse of the driver’s blond hair and then it was gone, the yellow glow of its headlights swallowed up by the tunnel of hawthorns that formed an arch above the road. Christ! I stared after it, shaken by the near miss but not so much that I hadn’t recognized Stacey Coker. I don’t think she’d even noticed I was there, and as my heart rate subsided I realized she’d been coming from the direction of Trask’s house.

That might explain the way she’d been driving.

Letting myself into the boathouse, I unpacked the groceries and put the kettle on to boil. Kicking off my shoes, I went across to the sofa where I’d left my overnight bag and swore as I stubbed my foot on the trapdoor handle under the rug again. Belatedly remembering Rachel’s warning, I rubbed my toes and swore some more, then threw back the rug to take a look.

A heavy iron ring was set into the wooden trapdoor. It was partly recessed, but still raised enough to trip over. It was obviously a loading hatch for the small dock below, back when this must have been a working boathouse rather than a bijou holiday flat. I tried lifting it but it caught with a rattle, locked or bolted on the underside. The ring stubbornly refused to lie flat, and I considered dragging the heavy pine trunk that doubled as a coffee table on top of it. But the ring protruded too far to stand anything on, so in the end I gave up and covered it over again with the rug.

The kettle had boiled. Checking the time, I went to make myself a mug of tea before I changed for dinner.

I parked on the gravelled area just off the track leading to Creek House. Out here, away from the light pollution of any towns, the darkness seemed to have a physical weight. The glow from an external light was visible through the copse of silver birch, but this far away it only served to enhance the blackness all around. I used the torch on my phone to guide me along the footpath through the trees, until I was close enough to the house not to need it. I turned it off as I emerged from the copse, and as I did Jamie appeared around the corner of the house. He seemed miles away, a distracted frown on his face. I stepped out of the shadows.

‘Hi,’ I said.

He flinched back, head jerking towards me in surprise. ‘Fuck!’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’

‘Yeah, no, I was just...’ He looked flustered and embarrassed.

‘Your dad invited me for dinner...?’

‘Oh. Well, he’s in the house.’

He started walking past. ‘Before you go, I’ve not had a chance to thank you for repairing my car,’ I said. ‘You did a really good job.’