Page 78

Lucy nods. When her eyes begin to fill, she thrusts out her jaw.
Creese’s face folds with empathy. ‘On occasions like these, when people are gathered in solidarity, it sometimes helps if there’s a structure – a focus, if you like. You might not want that, or you might already have something planned, but if you’d like me to say a few words, then by all means – the offer’s there. It doesn’t have to be a party political broadcast for God. I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn.’
‘Does your God allow this?’ Lucy asks. She searches Creese’s face. ‘I’m not … I genuinely want to know.’
The pastor looks out to sea before meeting her gaze. ‘Yes, He does. And sometimes that’s the most difficult thing to understand. God doesn’t always offer us answers, Lucy. In this life, we may never really know why some things have happened. But Godalwaysoffers us Himself. Whatever hardships we face, we can choose to go through them with God at our side or without Him.’
Lucy’s hands form fists. She wants to get angry with Creese, but she sees his compassion. Knows his words came from the heart. Only moments ago, she was stressing the importance of faith. Suddenly, more than anything, she wants to believe in Creese’s God.
‘I think I’d like that,’ she says finally. ‘For you to say something, I mean. But the focus needs to be on Billie and Fin. On bringing them home.’
3
The moon slides across the sky, towing a flotilla of pale reflections across the sea. More vehicles arrive. More people climb over the dunes. More tealights and candles are added to Billie and Fin’s names. Children gather seashells and create their own tributes.
Lucy finds herself supported in ways she’d never expected. But no one except the pastor mentions Daniel. Conversation is limited strictly to Billie and Fin. Stories are shared, anecdotes are told. Lucy hears tales of others thought lost to the sea and whose return was widely celebrated.
A PA system is erected on the sand. Creese’s words, when he speaks, are pitch-perfect. Climbing on to a milk crate to address the crowd, he celebrates Billie and Fin, praises the community response and thanks those present for their search efforts. There’s no hint of defeatism, no resigned inevitability. He ends with a simple prayer. To her surprise, Lucy finds herself bowing her head. When she looks up at its conclusion, Creese offers her the mic.
Taking it, Lucy surveys the candlelit faces arrayed before her. Only twenty-four hours ago, the thought of addressing such a crowd would have filled her with horror. Now, as she speaks, she finds herself strangely calm.
She echoes Creese’s gratitude. Then she turns to her message. ‘They’re alive,’ she says. ‘I know they are. And I know, too, that some of you think that’s impossible. The police didn’t mention it in their press conference, but you’ll hear soon that Billie and Fin’s immersion suits were found on our yacht.’
A mutter of dismay passes through the crowd. Lucy tries to ignore it. ‘But you’ll also learn something else. As well as our life raft, we own a small dinghy: light grey, folding hull, detachable outboard motor. We hadn’t used it in a few years, but when I checked our garage a few hours ago it wasn’t there. The only place it could have been is back on the boat. But the police, when I asked, said they didn’t find it.
‘Daniel was seven miles offshore when that Mayday was broadcast. Billie knew how to operate the outboard, but in those conditions she wouldn’t have been able to see land. If her navigation was slightly off, she and Fin could have made landfall literally anywhere along this stretch of coast. And if they weren’t in the water for long periods, like we previously thought, their chances of survival are far higher.’
She pauses, making eye contact with all those standing close. ‘The most important thing – the thing I urge you all to remember – is what I said earlier. I know, in my heart, that Billie and Fin are alive. Iknowit. So please believe in them. Please keep looking. Thank you.’
She switches off the mic. The sound of her voice is replaced with the hiss of surf, overlaid with the crackle and pop of the bonfire.
Then, from the midst of the crowd, a golden light rises. Lucy squints, unable, for a moment, to work out what she’s seeing. Abruptly, another light floats up. Two become five become twenty and then fifty. Each light is a ball of fire suspended beneath a paper lantern. Those lanterns, as they rise, reveal themselves in a profusion of pastel colours. Watching them climb into the sky, Lucy feels lighter than air, as if with the merest breath of wind she could follow.
Black sky, dusted with stars. A hundred glowing lanterns floating into it. She watches them move south over Mortis Point. As they sail higher, they begin to drift apart, forming a lazy procession of colour. There’s something ethereal about the spectacle. Something that seems to touch everyone watching.
Down on the beach, a breeze stirs the candles forming Billie and Fin’s names. The flames flicker, but none of them go out.
TWENTY-SEVEN
1
At the Texaco in Barnstaple, Abraham buys cigarettes, smoking two on the drive to Skentel. He’s got a bad feeling, getting worse – not just about Daniel and Lucy Locke, but about the whole case, and the reality of what happened to those kids.
Daniel Locke might have confessed, but he’s armed himself since with a lawyer. If the confession is retracted, what then? Some of Abraham’s higher-ups are already muttering about the wisdom of interviewing Locke so soon after his hospital release. If a retractioniscoming, doubtless the man’s questionable mental state will be the hook on which it’ll be hung. While Abraham can prove theLazy Susanwas scuttled, he can’t prove what happened onboard. And the boat, as a crime scene, is a literal washout.
Lucy Locke’s phone call this afternoon muddies the water further. Now, suddenly, there’s a missing dinghy – an obvious means of escape for Billie and Fin, but an even more obvious lifeline for any defence team trying to commute a murder charge. Lucy hasn’t offered any evidencethat the dinghy exists, but Abraham can’t prove it doesn’t. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Maybe she isn’t. There’s no registration process for a boat that size.
Daniel Locke might rue his early confession. Events since, however, have started to swing in his favour. When Abraham recalls the man’s attitude in the interview room and violent behaviour at the hospital, his hands tighten around the wheel.
I have a message. A message for that bitch. Tell her she deserves every fucking thing she gets.
Inexplicable, really. Becausethat bitchjust offered Daniel Locke a lifeline he’d be foolish not to grab with both hands.
North of Skentel, he follows the track down to Penleith Beach and parks at the end of a huge line of vehicles. From the top of the dune he sees those gathered for the vigil. A pastor from the local church is addressing them.
The man’s words are designed for comfort, but Abraham finds them anodyne; Luke Creese, it seems, is the kind of New Testament preacher who retreats almost entirely from the God of Elijah and Isaiah.
Abraham doesn’t close his eyes for the prayer. He keeps his gaze on Lucy Locke. He’s surprised to see her bow her head, even more so when she clasps her hands together. Is it an act? Was she religious before?