“Inside the old hedgerow?” I repeated, as my stomach curdled in horror. “In the hollow where Will and Rob play?” I inhaled slowly and willed myself to stay calm. “My God . . . He must have been there when Percy’s helicopter landed.”
“We think he was,” said Bill. “We think he overheard Percy talking about Gretna Green and going north of the border, and he deduced that Percy would take you to Scotland.”
“Unfortunately,” Damian put in, “Sir Percy’s purchase of Erinskil Island was widely reported in the press. Alfred Spofford—or Abaddon, if you prefer—would have had no trouble locating Dundrillin Castle on the Internet.”
“So he followed us north,” I said. “But how did he get onto the island?”
“He bought a ticket on the ferry,” said Bill, “but since the ferry didn’t leave until the following morning, he spent the afternoon in the pub.”
“Where he ran into Jack Nunen,” Damian interjected.
“Jack . . . ?” I searched my memory until the name clicked. “The reporter from the Morning Mirror? The guy who was chasing after Peter and Cassie?”
“That’s right,” Damian confirmed. “Mr. Nunen was in the pub, attempting to ferret out information on Peter and Cassie. According to witnesses, Abaddon engaged Mr. Nunen in a low-voiced conversation. They left the pub together. Shortly thereafter Mr. Nunen hired a powerboat. It was seen leaving the harbor at six o’clock, but Mr. Nunen wasn’t on it.”
I tensed, remembering the gun. “Where was he?”
“Abaddon knocked him out, tied him up, stole his wallet, and dumped him in a little-used shed in the marina,” Damian replied. “Mr. Nunen wasn’t found until early this morning. He’s in hospital on the mainland, with severe concussion.”
I released a small sigh of relief but couldn’t keep myself from asking, “Why didn’t Abaddon shoot him?”
“You may as well ask why he didn’t shoot Andrew,” said Damian. “I think he was saving the bullets for . . .” His words trailed off, and he glanced uneasily at Bill.
“He was saving the bullets for me and the boys,” I finished. I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “I understand. He wouldn’t want to waste valuable ammunition on less-important targets.”
Bill rubbed my leg. “Should we take a break?”
“Am I swooning?” I inquired politely.
“No, but you look awfully pale,” Bill observed.
“You’d look pale, too, if you’d lost eight gallons of blood,” I said brusquely, and raised my chin. “Please, go on.”
My husband gave my bodyguard the age-old look of one helpless man to another. “I told her I’d stop if she showed signs of flagging.”
“There’s no stopping now,” said Damian. “I’ve seen that determined glint in her eye before.”
“So have I.” Bill surveyed my lifted chin appraisingly. “We could ask Dr. Tighe to sedate her.”
“Just you try,” I growled, and decided to move the story along myself. “Abaddon arrived in Stoneywell Harbor, in Jack Nunen’s boat, around seven o’clock the night Peter went missing. How did he get past Cal Maconinch, Damian? Didn’t you ask Mr. Maconinch to check his ID?”
“Abaddon stole Jack Nunen’s press pass and his driver’s license,” said Damian. “Both men were thin, clean-shaven, fair-skinned, and dark-haired, and Abaddon wore Mr. Nunen’s wire-rimmed glasses. The resemblance was close enough to fool Cal.” Damian sat back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him. “Abaddon’s visit to the pub in Stoneywell wasn’t as cut-and-dried as Peter made it sound. He stayed there for quite some time before returning to his boat—long enough to confirm your presence on the island and to learn the location of your rooms. He also found out that the castle is equipped with an alarm system. Mrs. Muggoch, of course, told him about the Slaughter Stone.”
Bill’s lips tightened. “The stone’s association with human sacrifice must have appealed to him.”
“‘I will strike your children dead,’” I murmured, “‘and give your wife a like measure of torment and mourning.’”
“We don’t know when he left the harbor,” Damian went on, “but several circumstances made it absurdly easy for him to enter the castle.” He held up one hand and ticked the points off on his fingers. “Cal left his post to join the elders in Dundrillin, so no one was keeping an eye on the boat. The storm obscured the cameras monitoring the side entrance. The power failure made it easier for him to override the alarm system.”
“I thought the alarm system had a backup generator,” I said.
“He’d studied electronics at Brook House,” Bill reminded me, “and he’d brought a set of specialized tools with him. He would have disarmed the system without the storm’s help, but there’s no denying that the power outage took place at an opportune moment.”
“While we were saying good night to the elders,” Damian continued, “Abaddon let himself in through the side entrance and climbed the emergency stairs. No one can know for certain, but I believe he stopped first at the Cornflower Suite.”