Myra smiled and took a bottle of Jack Daniel’s out of her coat pocket and set it down on the sand between their feet. Kate stared at it as Myra rummaged in her other coat pocket and found a pack of cigarettes. She opened it, teased one out, and put it between her creased lips. The flickering glow of the lighter illuminated the old woman’s face, making the pupils contract rapidly in her large brown eyes.
“Do you fancy a drink?” asked Myra, indicating the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the sand. “I’m dead, and this is a dream, so I think you can have a drink.”
It was tempting, but even in her dream, Kate knew the stakes. What would happen if she ever drank again. She shook her head.
“No.”
“Good girl,” said Myra, smiling and exhaling smoke through her teeth.
“I miss you,” said Kate, feeling a surge of sadness for her departed friend. “I put flowers on your grave every month.” She reached out, and Myra took her hand. It felt real—soft and warm. Myra chuckled.
“Nice ones they are too. None of that shit from the petrol station forecourt.”
“I’m making a mess of everything,” said Kate. “My first big case with the agency is going to slip through our fingers . . . Tristan’s given up a good job, and I don’t know how long I can keep paying him . . . I’m relying on Jake running the surf shop and caravan site . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do at the end of the summer.”
Myra took a last drag on her cigarette and flicked it away. The red ember sailed through the air, landed on the wet sand, and vanished.
“Well. I’d better be going,” she said, patting Kate on the hand and heaving herself up out of the deck chair.
“Is that it?” said Kate.
Myra pulled her coat around her. “Kate. Think of all you’ve been through in your life. Jake is finally living with you. You’re finally doing what you dreamed of with your own detective agency. The police have linked four unexplained murders. Those lads would have remained in unmarked graves if it wasn’t for you. You’re even refusing to drink this Jack Daniel’s in your dream. And here you are, wallowing and getting in a state about the small shit. Cash-flow problems. Work problems.” Myra leaned down and picked up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She tapped her hand on Kate’s shoulder and pointed with her finger. “You’re back from the wilderness, my girl. Don’t throw it away.” She started to walk slowly back up the cliff. Kate watched her turn and vanish through the sand dunes.
Kate woke up, sitting in the deck chair on the beach. The chair next to her was empty. A warm breeze was blowing, and her phone was ringing in her pocket. She took it out and answered just before it stopped ringing. It was Tristan.
“Sorry to call late. Everything okay?” he asked. “You sound groggy.”
“Yeah. I dozed off. What is it?”
“Noah Huntley. I’m sitting here working out what we should ask him, or should I say, how we should go about asking him tough questions, and I don’t know where to start. It’s not like he’s going to tell us if he’s been going around killing and raping young guys.”
“I’ve been thinking about this,” said Kate. “We won’t ask him about that. We’ll concentrate on working out what his relationship was with Joanna. That’s the key.”
38
In the early hours of the next morning, Tom parked in a quiet residential street on the outskirts of Exeter. He dressed head to toe in black. It was a hot night, but he pulled on black gloves and a black balaclava with eyeholes. From beside him on the seat, he picked up a plastic bag that contained the underwear belonging to Hayden. He placed it in a black rucksack and got out of his car.
The street of finely appointed terraced houses was still and quiet, and the only sound came from the buzz of moths hovering in the orange glare of the streetlamps. Keeping to the shadows, he walked two streets over and came to a black SUV in the shadows of a tall tree. The windows of the surrounding houses were all dark. He reached into his pocket and found the car lock immobilizer. It had been an expensive purchase online, but worth it. Standing next to the SUV, and preparing to move fast if it didn’t work, he pressed the button on the device. With a slick whir and a flash of headlights, the SUV’s central locking opened, and the locks popped up.
Bracing for a car alarm, he opened the passenger door and waited, but nothing happened. There was beautiful silence. Taking care not to touch anything, Tom took out a pair of long metal tongs, pulled Hayden’s underwear from the plastic bag in his rucksack, and wiped the fabric all over the passenger seat, dashboard, and steering wheel. He then shoved the underwear under the passenger seat of the car.
He straightened up, put the tongs back in his rucksack, and closed the passenger door of the SUV. He pressed the button of the immobilizer, and the car locked itself, and the headlights flashed once.
It had taken less than a minute. Tom melted away, back into the shadows to his car.
He made one stop on the way back home, to an old red phone box on a country lane, where he phoned the police hotline and left urgent information about the Hayden Oakley murder investigation.
39
On Tuesday morning, Kate and Tristan found themselves in a Starbucks close to the university campus in Exeter. Perched on a hill, it was in a busy row of shops and looked out over the estuary. It was close to where Noah lived with his wife.
Tristan thought it was odd to see him arrive, in person, after weeks of staring at pictures of him on CCTV, with Joanna, and hearing all the stories and conflicting opinions about him.
He was a tall, broad man, much taller than he’d looked in photos. He’d also filled out a little more since the early 2000s. He was dressed like an off-duty actor, in slightly creased white chinos and a blue linen shirt with a thin scarf knotted loosely at his neck.
He came up to them at the table, and there was a moment where Tristan didn’t know what to say.
“Hello,” he said, getting up and offering his hand. “I’m Tristan Harper, and this is my associate, Kate Marshall.”
“Lovely to meet you both.” He smiled, taking Tristan’s hands in both of his when they shook. Tristan noticed he clasped Kate’s hand a little less warmly, just using his left hand.
“Thank you for making time to meet us,” said Kate. “I’m just going up. Can I get you a coffee?”
“I could murder a latte, large, and a scone if there’s one up for grabs,” said Noah. He was very confident, but underneath was a tinge of nerves, thought Tristan. Kate went off to the counter, and Noah seemed to look him over.
“Where is your detective agency, exactly?” he asked.
“We’re in Thurlow Bay. It’s about five miles outside Ashdean.”
“Ashdean, such a quaint place. I used to go there for weekends as a young boy. I had an aunt who owned a house up on the cliff. Aunt Marie. She was a lot of fun, liked the gin, if you know what I mean . . .” He made a drinking motion with his hand.