She grabbed my arm, pinching the skin, and pushed me into the car, then marched around to the driver’s side, slamming the door as she threw herself into her seat. I tried to breathe, to stay calm.
Susan started the engine and we set off down the hill. The snow was a little lighter than it had been at the bothy, spots of white in the darkness.
‘I promise you I didn’t do this,’ I said as we went up the next hill, past the village hall and the little shop that doubled as a post office. In the distance I could see what would have been the Elizabeth Grant Arts Centre, not far from the caves.Soon, we were hugging the coast again, windscreen wipers squeaking, the sea invisible in the blackness.
‘Be quiet,’ Susan said. ‘Save it for the interview room. Remember you’re under caution.’
She was driving at about thirty miles an hour, seemingly confident on this road she’d taken many times, despite the conditions. Not only was it still snowing, but here, so close to the edge of the peninsula, thick fog had begun to creep in from the sea, rendering the landscape white and opaque.
‘Are you sure it’s safe to drive?’ I asked after a few minutes when it felt like we were driving through clouds.
‘Didn’t I tell you to shut up?’
‘Can you at least slow down?’
She caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. Held it. ‘You city dwellers, you’re all the same. Drive two minutes, hit a traffic light, crawling along at—’
‘Susan!’
She had been so busy taunting me in the mirror that she hadn’t seen it. Something appearing out of the fog, a grey shadow. The shape of a ghost. Reacting late, Susan stamped on the brake and the car skidded on the icy asphalt, spinning off the road on to the rough ground that sloped gently down towards the sea. It all happened in a second, but I remember thinking I was going to die, that the car would plunge into the water. Instead, it crashed into a metal signpost warning of the dangers of swimming, and stopped, jerking me forward.
I sat there for a moment, breathing hard. Had we hit the person who had been on the road? Were they hurt? In the front seat, Susan was silent, slumped forward.
The handcuffs made it difficult, but I unfastened the seatbelt that had saved me, opened the car door and staggered out, landing on my knees on hard rock. Managing to get to myfeet, and having to twist around to do it, I opened the driver’s door.
I said Susan’s name and she groaned. Fog crept into the car, smothering her like it was trying to drag her to the underworld. I spoke her name again then looked for blood on her head and face. There was none. She was dazed, that was all. Momentarily out of it. I stepped back and took in the state of the car. It looked fine. Just a dent in the front.
The handcuff keys were hanging from her front pocket.
This is your chance, said a voice in my head.
I didn’t move. Was I really contemplating this? With every passing minute I was becoming more convinced that my innocence could not save me. I needed to find proof. Perhaps, right now, I couldn’t prove that I hadn’t shot Morag but, if I could find Jasmine, she could tell the police what had happened in the caves. What if Zack had been at both deaths, too? Could he have come back here when we thought he was stalking deer with Charles? Again, Jasmine would know.
I had a much better chance of finding her if I was free than I did being guarded by some community support officers while Susan stumbled around on her own.
And if anyone asked, I could say I’d gone to seek help for Susan and the person who’d appeared out of the fog. Or I’d hit my head in the crash and staggered away, dazed and unsure where I was.
Turning around again, I backed up towards the car and, awkwardly, took hold of the keys. It was easier than I expected, especially in the cold, to twist my wrist and slip the key into the lock. Moments later, the cuffs sprung open. I was free.
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my phone back from Susan, walked around the car and hurried up the slope towards the road, leaving her behind. Then, above thepounding of my heart, I heard it. Movement nearby. Had she woken up already and left the car in pursuit of me?
It wasn’t Susan.
It hadn’t been a person on the road. There, before me, standing in the road, turning its head from left to right and back, imperious, statuesque, stood a white stag. I stared at it, and it looked back at me, unblinking.
Then it turned and walked away, slipping invisibly into the fog.
32
I hurried along the road as fast as I could, afraid I was going to slip on ice and tumble over the verge. All I had to light my way was the torch on my phone. I wished I’d checked the boot of Susan’s car for a proper flashlight, but it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea to add stealing police property to the list of things they might charge me with. But shining my phone’s light at the road beneath my feet allowed me to follow the markings there. Every so often I come across a sign that saidPASSING PLACE. Halfway to the village I heard movement ahead of me and froze, thinking it might be Susan’s uniformed colleagues, come to take me back into custody, but it was only a sheep. It watched me as I passed.
As I walked I turned over everything that had happened in my mind. I had obviously been right that Zack must have been responsible for what happened with Samir. But why?HadSamir been responsible for Fase? Had Gravitas secretly employed him– and would they really have murdered him just so they didn’t have to pay him? It couldn’t be that simple. I wondered, too, if Zack was working alone or if Charles was involved. Could Miranda be part of it– whatever it was– too?
What about Holly? She was one of them. A Grant. But that moment of doubt passed instantly. I was sure I could trust her, and I had to get to her first, explain what had happened. Ensure she believed me.
It had been almost nine thirty when I saw the stag. The hours had blurred together since I’d been in the pub earlier. I kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other, glad of my coat and gloves and hat but longing to be somewhere warm. That stuffy museum room at the visitors’ centre with its electric heater would be perfect. I wondered if I was still in shock. I had seen a woman shot dead in front of me. At one point, trudging through the fog, I felt as if I must actually be dreaming. Or dead. Maybe I had died in the car crash and this was hell: a cold, colourless place where I would walk alone along this road for ever.
But then I saw it. A light up ahead. A house, then another one. Then there were street lights, shining through the gloom, and before long I was heading past the village hall and the little shop and the tiny lake, its surface licked by mist, and then I was heading back down the hill to the Bay Inn.
