Page 50

Gasping, panting, Lucy’s friends pull her up the beach. Once they’re out of danger, they collapse on to the sand.
Noemie coughs up seawater. Bee dry-heaves. Tommo stares in disbelief.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy moans. ‘I just had to remind myself. I just had to see what it was like.’
They help her into the car. Tommo starts the engine, putting the heaters on full blast.
‘It’s not that cold,’ Lucy whispers. ‘Not really. Back in the hospital, I heard people talking. About Billie and Fin. One to three hours, they said. In water that cold, one to three. And for smaller children, like Fin …’
She swallows. ‘Daniel was wearing an immersion suit, a really good one. We bought them for the kids, too. That one-to-three hours thing is for someone without any protection. Immersion suits like ours, they’ll protect you atleast twice as long. Atleast. The distress call came in around lunchtime. Which means they’ve been in the water …’ She shakes her head. ‘Can you believe I don’t even know what time it is?’
‘It’s just gone midnight,’ Tommo says.
Lucy shivers, shudders. Feels cold water leak down her spine.
‘What happened?’ Bee asks softly. ‘At the hospital. What did he say when you saw him?’
Lucy leans her head against the rest. She recalls her husband, wrapped in that heated inflatable; the detective using all his strength to pin him down. She knows her arrival triggered Daniel’s reaction, but she can’t explain it. She can’t explain any of this. ‘They’re not gone,’ she says again. ‘Billie and Fin. They’re alive.’
Tommo flicks on the headlights. The sea reveals itself, a wide-open wound. They turn in a circle and retreat across the sand. Back on the coastal road, they head towards Mortis Point. Twice along the peninsula’s twisting lane they have to stop and clear debris. When they pull on to the drive at Wild Ridge, the headlamps illuminate a figure crouched on the front step.
SEVENTEEN
1
With Daniel Locke sedated and officers posted outside his room, Abraham has no reason to remain at the hospital. Before he leaves, he calls Mike Kowalski, his deputy SIO.
‘It’s starting to feel like you’re avoiding us,’ Mike says.
‘What’s going on with the family liaison officer?’
‘Trying to find someone with capacity. Is Lucy Locke still at the hospital?’
‘Waiting on X-rays.’
‘She’sinjured now?’
‘She recruited her ex to sail her out to the search area. Lucky to have made it back.’
‘Jesus. What can you say?’
Tell her she deserves every fucking thing she gets.
‘What’s the latest from the coastguard?’ Abraham asks.
‘This storm’s breaking all records. We’ve got harbours up and down the coast in lockdown. Even the RNLI are having trouble.’
‘What about the helicopter?’
‘Last I heard, it was flying back to St Athan to refuel. They’ll make a call later on whether they can send it back out. I’m not hopeful. Crew wants to go but it isn’t their shout.’
‘She showed me a video,’ Abraham says. ‘Of the boy.’
‘The seven-year-old?’
‘Fin Locke. I never saw …’
In Abraham’s nearly thirty years on the force, Mike Kowalski is the closest he’s come to a friend. They don’t go drinking because Abraham doesn’t drink, but they’ve formed a bond of sorts. It’s OK if, for a moment, he cannot speak.