Little Black Lies (21 page)

‘I spoke to him,’ says Rob. ‘Not the easiest conversation to have over a long-distance line but he had to know.’

‘What time, exactly, did you drive by this afternoon?’ Jan doesn’t wait for me to reply. ‘We know you left the newsroom shortly before four, you couldn’t have been here much earlier. Were you with Catrin Quinn?’

I know nothing about Peter’s disappearance, and yet suddenly I’m feeling guilty as hell. Jan has backed towards the kitchen door and I realize she’s edging nearer to the phone.

‘What’s Catrin got to do with this?’ I get to my feet.

‘Rachel saw her here this afternoon.’ Rob can’t look at me any more. ‘Seconds before Peter went missing. Just as it all went dark. She saw Catrin pick him up. By the time she ran outside, they’d both gone.’

‘The police are looking for her. They’ll find her. And if she’s hurt my grandson…’

Rob puts a hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘We’re all upset, Callum. Maybe it’s better if…’

I don’t need telling twice. I find my shoes, pull them on and step outside.

‘Obviously we all hope there’s been some misunderstanding.’ Rob has followed me out.

‘There’s no misunderstanding, Rob. Rachel saw her.’ Jan comes up to me, catches hold of my arm. ‘It’s twenty-four hours since she apparently found the other boy. He was on her land, on her property. And all those whales she killed. Not to mention the dead child on the wreck. Nobody believes that was coincidence. She’s not well, Callum. You have to help us find her, before she does something terrible.’

*   *   *

With one thought in my head, I drive to the harbour. Catrin’s car is here and her boat still missing. So I head up to the hills above Port Fitzroy. The darkness in the sky is beginning to soften. I drive on and leave the road, heading for the cliff. In the light, I can get right to the edge. In the semi-darkness it seems risky, but I need to know if her boat is down in the bay.

I drive as far as I dare, then get out.

I’m so cold that even walking forward is painful, but the rug from the car helps a bit. I carry on and the light grows.

So close to the edge, the wind is a demon. It tugs at the rug, determined to claim it for its own. Below me, surrounded by rocks that look like teeth, among clouds that swirl and a sea that strikes hard, is Catrin’s boat.

There is no life, no movement on board, and I have no way of getting in touch. If I call her on the radio, the whole world will hear. If I go down to the harbour, try to commandeer a boat and get out to her, I’ll be stopped or followed.

A flicker of white against the steel grey of the water catches my eye. A large white bird is flying low, barely skimming the surface of the sea. As it nears Catrin’s boat, it gains height. I can make out massive, black-tipped wings and a hooked beak. It hovers above the boat and I’d give a lot right now to be able to see what it can.

What’s going on down there, Catrin? What the hell are you doing on that boat?

I think about climbing down, swimming out, and know I wouldn’t make it.

I tell myself that Catrin would not hurt a child. That she drove past the Grimwood house yesterday and saw Peter, maybe playing in the garden, maybe watching at the fence. She saw him and it hit her hard, because her own son – my son – would have been almost exactly the same age. It hit her hard and she needed time alone. She went to where she always goes when she needs to get her head together, out to sea.

If she saw Peter, why didn’t I see him?

The wind pushes me back, as though afraid of what might happen if I get too close to the edge. There is another vessel, steaming around the headland, approaching Catrin’s boat at speed. A police boat. They’ve found her.

Catrin and I drove past the Grimwood house at roughly four in the afternoon. By ten minutes past four Rachel had missed her youngest son, was already searching. Fewer than a dozen cars a day drive along that road. That there should be three, in less than ten minutes?

And Rachel claims she saw Catrin pick the kid up.

Catrin has suffered more than anybody I know. I’ve seen suffering and I still say it unreservedly. She’s been damaged beyond recognition, probably beyond repair, but she still wouldn’t hurt a child.

I have to go on believing that. Or I might as well step off this cliff now.

The police vessel slows as it approaches Catrin’s boat. I see Queenie run on deck to greet them. Then she appears. She’s moving slowly, looks half asleep. Catrin, who is normally so quick, so agile on a boat, seems drugged. She catches a rope thrown to her and makes it off. I watch a police officer board her boat, then another. A third. With Queenie in her arms, Catrin is helped to make the crossing on to the police boat. She’s taken below, her head guided down to prevent it banging on the cabin roof. There are no cuffs that I can see, but it’s pretty clear what’s going on. Catrin is under arrest.

18

Way before I get back into Stanley three hours later I’m praying for more rain. A bloody great downpour, a thunderstorm, a frigging hurricane would do. Anything to get this lot off the streets. People are everywhere. Bob-Cat’s Diner is full. The pub has opened early. There’s a crowd outside the post office. People are drifting in and out of the town hall. Two days ago, when we looked for Archie West, there was a sense of purpose that you could almost touch. Everyone was determined to get out and find the lad. It’s all very different now and this isn’t compassion fatigue. A lot of these faces I don’t recognize and feel sure they must be off the cruise ship, drawn ashore by the sense of a drama unfolding.

They’ll all know about Catrin’s arrest. If they think she did it, they’ll be waiting for the police to force a confession, for her to tell them where Peter is. No one will be looking for him.

It’s nearly eight o’clock in the morning. Resisting the temptation to speed back into town after watching Catrin being taken into custody, I’d driven home instead, taken a shower, put on dry clothes, eaten. I’d forced myself to be calm, knowing that Catrin, like any other arrested prisoner, would have to be processed. She’d be booked into the system, have fingerprints taken and be photographed. She’d be offered a solicitor and, if she accepted – I hope to God she did – there could have been a couple of hours’ delay before one was found and woken. The first interview could have taken an hour and by then they’d have to break.

That crap should all be over with by now and the initial excitement, at the station at least, will be starting to die down. They’ll have time to talk to me.

Heads turn my way as I park. Already, I’m tainted by my association with the woman they know has fallen under police suspicion. God help me, there is a TV crew, here to cover the beached whale story, only to be met with a completely unexpected bonanza. One guy holds a camera on one shoulder, the other has one of those big furry microphones that hover out of shot. A woman in an apricot-coloured coat has hair that looks solid. A warm shade of blonde, it curves around her head. The wind blows her scarf across her face. Her hair doesn’t move. Someone tips them off and as I climb out of the car, they’re heading over.

‘Callum Murray, your close friend, Catrin Quinn, has been arrested this morning. Do you have any comment to make?’

I step to one side, she bounces in front of me. Her make-up is caked thick on her face. It might work on camera; in real life it looks grotesque. ‘Are you still telling people it was coincidence you and she found Archie West on the hillside two nights ago?’

I sidestep around her again, treading on the cameraman’s toe in the process. ‘Watch it, mate,’ he mutters.

‘What happened? Did he assault you?’ Apricot lady turns her attention from me and I stride ahead. She bolts round in front of me again. ‘Do you have any comment to make about the child’s body you found on Tuesday night?’

Luckily I’m at the door. There is a constable on door duty. Apricot tries to follow me. Constable Bouncer holds her back.

‘All right, Neil.’ I nod to the sergeant on the desk. ‘Is Catrin here?’

A silent nod tells me she is. Behind us, the Apricot gang are arguing that they have as much right to enter the police station as anyone else. Bouncer is holding firm.

‘Can I see her?’

Neil blinks and squares up to me. ‘She’s being interviewed.’

‘Does she have a solicitor?’

His eyes fall to the counter. He’s not sure.

‘Has she been charged?’

Blank stare.

‘When can I see her?’

He looks over at the door. ‘Come back later.’

Someone behind the Apricot gang wants to come in. Constable Bouncer is torn. His hesitation costs him ground and there is a sudden flood of newcomers into the reception area. Sergeant Neil is distracted. Bouncer is flustered. Former Second Lieutenant Murray is a canny bastard. I back away and slip quietly into the inner corridor.

I’m not going far, just to the office on the right where Skye has her desk. She looks up.

‘Neil let me through,’ I tell her. ‘It’s chaos out there.’

She nods, pulls a face. ‘I’ll say.’

I cross to her desk, pull over a chair and sit down. ‘Skye, tell me what’s happening with Catrin.’

She blushes and fiddles with a button on her shirt, as usual finding it difficult to make eye contact. People have told me that Skye has a crush on me and I’ve suspected the same thing myself. I’ve never acted on it, even if she is the only woman on the islands I could snog without getting a sore neck. To me, Skye is an overgrown kid. But if she does have a soft spot, I’m going to exploit it to the full now.

I lean forward. ‘Catrin and I go back a long way, Skye. All a long time ago, but I probably know her better than anyone. I can help.’

Skye is young enough and keen enough to want to chase any lead. ‘Do you want to make a statement?’

‘Of course.’ I’m sure I can think of something if I have to. ‘Preferably to you. But first, I need to know what’s going on. Has Catrin been arrested?’

She nods, unhappily. ‘If you ask me, it was a bit premature. I’d have just brought her in for questioning. But coming right on the back of Archie West’s abduction, and with all the press attention, I guess the Chief Superintendent didn’t want to take any chances.’

‘Has she been charged?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘What are the facts, Skye? What have you got?’

She shakes her head. ‘I really shouldn’t.’ Then she gets up, strides to the door and shuts it. ‘What the hell,’ she says. ‘I’m sure it’s all over Stanley anyway. When did anything ever stay quiet here?’

I wait. I probably look patient but I know my time is running out.

‘Catrin was seen driving up the hill towards the Grimwood house yesterday shortly before four o’clock,’ she tells me.

‘By who?’

‘Someone who works at the boatyard. Ten minutes later, he saw her again, only this time going the other way, towards the harbour.’

I wait, give Skye time.

‘She stopped outside the house. Rachel Grimwood was at her bedroom window. She saw Catrin get out of the car and she saw her carrying Peter.’

‘The kid could have got out into the road. Of course Catrin stopped for him.’

‘She was seen – Catrin I’m talking about now – getting on board her boat with a very large bag or bundle.’ Skye really isn’t enjoying passing on the bad news. ‘Something she was struggling to carry.’

‘What does she say it was?’

Skye shakes her head. More knowledge than she has.

‘Is that it? She drove past the house, picked the kid up out of the road and carried a bag on to her boat?’ I lean forward, reach out as though to touch Skye’s hand, then pretend to think better of it. ‘Skye, this is dangerous. While your people are focusing on Catrin, they’re not looking for Peter. Have you seen the circus outside? No one is looking for Peter.’

I stand up and cross to the window, turning back when I reach it. ‘The weather’s taken a turn for the worse. Peter will have it a lot tougher than Archie did. A small kid won’t survive in the open for long in these conditions.’

Her face crumples, and I feel sorry for her, but there’s more at stake than Skye’s feelings. She makes a sudden movement that doesn’t seem designed to go anywhere or achieve anything and knocks a pencil holder off her desk. It clatters to the floor.

‘There’s a storm forecast for this evening,’ I tell her, which isn’t true that I’m aware of.

‘The army are ready to start searching.’ She crouches down to retrieve the pencils. I’m pretty certain she bangs her head on the side of the desk but she bites her lip and doesn’t complain. ‘But the Chief Superintendent told them to hold off until we’ve had chance to interview the prime— to talk to Catrin.’

‘He’s a fool.’

‘There’s also a team of divers searching the bay where her boat was anchored last night.’

I cross back to her desk and find the last pencil for her. As I hand it over, I take her hand. It feels large and warm in mine, so different to Catrin’s tiny, always cold hand. ‘Skye, I need two things. I need to talk to Catrin and I need you to get that search going as soon as possible. There’ll be another lair somewhere. An old hut, a food store, an outbuilding.’ I let her go and lean back on my heels. ‘Look, it’s obvious that whoever took Peter also took Archie and we already know Archie was taken by a man.’

In my pocket, I still have the spreadsheet I showed Catrin on Tuesday night but there’s no need to get it out now. I emailed it to Skye months ago.

‘Forty-one men between the ages of sixteen and seventy-five were at both the West Falkland Sports Day and the Midwinter Swim. A handful of those will not have alibis for when Archie and Peter went missing. Good old-fashioned police work will find the man who’s taking the kids, Skye. You can find him yourself; this morning, if you put your mind to it.’

She rubs her hand as she gets to her feet. ‘Actually, Archie is pretty confused about what happened. He’s also talking about a woman.’

‘What?’

Skye takes a step closer to the door. In the corridor an alarm runs the length of both walls. She only has to touch it and my time is up.

‘The latest thinking is that Archie was taken by a man and a woman working together.’