Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

‘I don’t know. Both, I expect.’ Rachel stared into her wine glass. ‘Andrew told me it was none of my business, and that any time I wanted to leave I could. We were both angry and upset, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time I left. I don’t know how much good I’m doing here any more. Maybe I’m just another reminder of Emma, and God knows there are enough of those around.’

She didn’t sound bitter, just resigned. The wind blew a gust of rain against the boathouse. It sounded like handfuls of gravel hitting the roof. I found myself looking at her sister’s framed photographs leaning against the wall. The one of silhouetted geese against a Backwaters’ sunset was uppermost.

‘I rest my case.’ Rachel said, seeing what I was looking at. She got up and went over to the pictures. ‘I don’t know if these are any good or not, but it seems a shame to just hide them away. Do you know much about photography?’

‘Not really.’

‘Me neither. Emma was the arty one, but she was always impatient. She liked things to look spontaneous, and if the shot wasn’t right she’d just stage it. This one, with the geese flying into the sunset? She told me she set up her camera and then threw a stone into the water to startle them. And this one.’ She pulled out the photograph of a motorbike on a beach, the gleaming machine incongruous in that setting. ‘Somehow I don’t think it just happened to be parked on a sand dune like that.’

Something stirred at the back of my mind. I hadn’t given the photographs much thought since I’d gone through them on my first morning. I got up and went over to where Rachel was continuing to flick through the stack.

‘Can I take another look?’

‘Sure.’ Rachel moved to one side to make room. ‘I wasn’t hinting, you know. You needn’t buy one.’

I smiled, but distractedly. I went back to the motorbike photograph. ‘When was this taken?’

‘I don’t know. It must be one of her older ones because I think that’s her ex-boyfriend’s bike. You know, the poser I told you about? He used to have a macho boy’s toy like that. A Harley-Davidson or something.’

‘So it wasn’t taken around here?’

‘No, it must be some other beach. Emma hadn’t been here until she came with Andrew, and she’d already split with her ex by then. Why?’

‘No reason.’

I’d been thinking about the sodden leather biker jacket and boots on the body recovered from the barbed wire. But if this were an old photograph taken somewhere else, it couldn’t have anything to do with the remains we’d found in the Backwaters. I started to put it back but Rachel put her hand on my shoulder to stop me.

‘Hang on a second.’

She was frowning as she stared down at the photograph. I looked back at it but couldn’t see what had caught her attention. ‘What is it?’

‘Probably nothing,’ she said, but didn’t sound convinced. ‘It sounds stupid, but I’ve never really looked at any of these before. Not properly. They’re just... Emma’s pictures.’

I waited. Almost reluctantly, she pointed at something in the background of the motorbike photograph.

‘I’m not sure, but... doesn’t that look like the sea fort? The one by the estuary?’

I took a closer look. There was something there, an angular silhouette rising from the sea, but it was too out of focus to make out. ‘It might be. Or it could be an oil rig or derrick?’

Rachel didn’t answer. She began flipping through the other framed photographs until she stopped at one. She started struggling to pull it out. I took the weight of the stack to make it easier for her. The second photograph was of a seagull, imperiously glaring at the camera from a tuft of spiky grass on a sandy ridge.

‘There.’

She tapped the glass. What looked like the same structure could again be seen in the background. It was still in the distance, but clearer this time.

The distinctive towers of the Maunsell sea fort.

‘This was shot from a slightly different angle, but I recognize where it is now,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s the sand dunes out by the end of the sea wall. You get a good view of the fort from there.’

‘Are you sure?’

Lundy had told me the old Second World War forts were dotted along the entire south-east coast. But Rachel was emphatic.

‘Positive. I’ve walked there often enough. And look, you can see there are only three towers left, and one of those has partially collapsed. It’s the same fort, I’m certain of it. Shit, I can’t believe I never noticed before. When I saw the bike I just thought it must be one of her old photographs!’

She sounded upset, and I couldn’t blame her. Rachel had already known her sister was having an affair with Leo Villiers. Now, if she was right about the motorbike, it looked as though Emma Derby had also continued to see her ex-boyfriend after she’d married Trask. That had all sorts of unpleasant implications, and not only for the family. It meant there might be someone else involved in all of this, someone the police knew nothing about. A man who owned a motorbike and might well have worn biker leathers.

Like the remains on the barbed wire.

Rachel didn’t know anything about that, though. And this could still be a false alarm. ‘Did your sister use digital or film?’

A few photographers still used film, but if Emma Derby wasn’t one of them then the original jpeg should show the date when the photograph was taken. Rachel shook her head.

‘Digital, but we lost most of Emma’s photographs when the computers were stolen in the burglary. The only reason we’ve got these is because she had enlargements made before she disappeared, and the print shop still had them on their system.’

‘Even if the photo was taken here it might not be her ex-boyfriend’s bike,’ I said, not really believing it myself. ‘Would you know it well enough to recognize it?’

‘No, but how many other people could she have known with a stupid bike like that? Let alone who’d want its picture taken on a bloody sand dune!’ Rachel seemed angry now. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing Mark would do. He’d love having his bloody status symbol photographed and framed.’

‘Mark?’

‘Emma’s ex. God, what was his surname? Something religious, Vickers or Church.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Chapel, that’s it. Mark Chapel.’

I made a mental note of the name. ‘It’s probably nothing, but you still need to tell Lundy about this,’ I said gently.

‘God, I suppose so. Shit! Just when you think things can’t get any worse.’

She looked so unhappy that I reached out and put my arm around her. She leaned against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I was very aware of the scent and warmth of her body. She lifted her face to look at me. Neither of us spoke, and then a gust of wind suddenly buffeted the boathouse. The structure shifted and creaked, and as quickly as that the moment was gone.

Rachel sighed and moved away. ‘It’s getting late. I’d better be going.’

I didn’t trust myself to speak as she put on her jacket. The smile she gave me was both wry and regretful.

‘Thanks for the wine and... you know. Listening.’

‘Anytime.’

A blast of wind pushed the door back when she opened it, sending a cold spray of rain inside. She grimaced. ‘They got the weather report right for once.’

‘Hang on, I’ll get my coat.’

‘It’s OK, there’s no point us both getting wet.’

I didn’t insist, knowing she didn’t want me to. Framed in the pitch black of the open doorway, she gave me another smile. Slanting rain bounced down behind her.

‘Well. Goodnight.’

Then she was gone. I heard her crunch across the cinders, but it was too dark to see. I closed the door, feeling the wind fighting me before it clicked shut. I stood in the sudden quiet, unable to decide if I was angry at myself for being tempted or because I hadn’t done anything.