“That was the worst bit,” Wilkie said. “Parsons phoned up the cops morning after that party to say his boy’d gone missing. Cops said the usual: He probably got into a local girl’s knickers and he’s sleeping off the aftermath in her bed or under it, so phone us again if he doesn’t turn up in a day or two because otherwise we can’t be bothered. Meantime, one of his own girls?this is one of the boy’s sisters?tells him about the scuffle Jamie’d had with the Kerne lad, and Parsons thinks there’s more here than meets the eye. So he sets off to have a look round for the boy. And he’s the one who finds him.” Wilkie shook his head. “Can’t imagine what that would be like, but I expect it could drive a man to madness. Favourite child. Only son. No one ever called to answer for what happened. And the one name associated with the hours leading up to the death: Benesek Kerne. You can see how he fixed on him.”
“D’you know Benesek Kerne’s own son has died?” Lynley asked. “He was killed in a fall from one of the sea cliffs. His equipment had been tampered with. It’s a murder.”
Wilkie shook his head. “Didn’t know,” he said. “That’s bloody unfortunate. How old’s the boy?”
“Eighteen.”
“Same as the Parsons lad. Now, that’s a bloody shame.”
DAIDRE WAS SHAKEN. WHAT she wanted was the peace she’d had a week earlier, when all that her life had asked of her was that she look after herself and meet the obligations of her career. She might have been alone as a result of this, but that was her preference. Her small existence was safer that way, and safety was paramount. That had been the case for years.
Now, however, the smooth-moving vehicle that had been her life had developed serious engine troubles. What to do about them was the issue that intruded upon her serenity.
So on her return to Polcare Cove, she’d left her car at the cottage and walked the remainder of the distance down the lane to the sea. There, she’d made for the path and picked her way along its stony ascent.
It was windy on the path and windier still on the cliff top. Daidre’s hair whipped round her face and flicked its ends into her eyes, which smarted. When going out onto the cliffs, she usually removed her contact lenses and wore her glasses instead. But she hadn’t taken her glasses when she’d set out in the morning, which had been a matter of vanity. She should have stopped into the cottage to get her glasses, but at the end of her day’s journey, it had seemed that only a vigorous climb to the cliff top could keep her fixed in present time.
Some situations one came across required a person’s intervention, she thought. But surely this wasn’t one of them. She didn’t want to do what was being asked of her, but she was wise enough to know that wanting was not what this was about.
The sound of an unmuffled engine came to her not long after she reached the top of the cliff. She’d been sitting upon an outcrop of limestone, watching the kittiwakes, and following the majestic arcs the birds made in the air as they sought shelter in niches in the cliff. But now she stood and walked back to the path. A motorcycle, she saw, was coming down the lane. It reached her cottage and veered into the pebbly driveway, where it stopped. The rider removed his helmet and approached the front door.
Daidre thought of couriers and messengers when she saw him: someone carrying a package for her, perhaps a message from Bristol? But she was expecting nothing, and from what she could tell, the rider had nothing with him. He went round her cottage to seek another door or to look into a window. Or worse, she thought.
She made for the path and began to descend. There was no point to shouting because she couldn’t have been heard from this distance. Indeed, there was also little point in hurrying. The cottage was some way from the sea and she was some way above the lane. Likely by the time she got back, the rider would have left.
But the thought that someone might be breaking into her cottage spurred her downward. She kept her glances going between her footwork and her cottage as she went, and the fact that the motorcycle remained in place in her driveway kept her speed up and her curiosity piqued.
She arrived breathless and dashed in through the gate. Instead of a housebreaker half in and half out of a window, though, she found a girl clad in leathers lounging on her front step. She was sitting with her back against the bright blue door and her legs stretched out in front of her. She had a hideous silver ring through her septum and a turquoise-coloured choker tattooed brightly round her neck.