Page 34

DAY 3

32

Elin jerks awake the next morning after a broken, fitful sleep. Despite the bright glare of the sunshine flooding the room, fragments of a dream are lingering: flashes of her running through woodland in darkness, brambles snagging on her face, clothes...

“Hey,” Will says, and lays an arm across her stomach. “You’re okay. Just a dream.”

“Horrible. One of those hyperreal ones.” She waits for her breathing to settle. “I’m probably just on edge, first proper case back, the Twitter thing, all the talk of the island.” Tipping her head to meet his gaze, she says: “Sorry for going on about it last night.”

Reaching up a hand, he brushes a hair away from her face. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been so touchy. The island’s past... it’s a bit of a sore point.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Press, mainly. At the launch, even though we had reassurances from journalists that coverage would only be about the retreat, some of them snuck in references to the Creacher murders, the old school.”

“But I shouldn’t have pushed the point. I think sometimes...” Elin stops, finding it hard to say the words. “Sometimes I struggle with your relationship with Farrah. Makes me see what I’m missing.”

“Isaac?”

“Yeah. It hurts, that we’re still not close, and then finding out that Dad’s been in touch with him and not me.” Her throat thickens. “The whole coward thing, for him, has clearly stuck.”

Will pulls her closer. “Don’t let it inside your head. His bad parenting. What kind of father would blame their kid because she froze when she saw something traumatic?”

“I know, but part of me still thinks that what he said will trip me up, that something will happen here, and I’ll freeze.”

“Elin, if you’re having those thoughts, then maybe you’re not ready—” He stops. A knock at the door. Neither of them makes a move to get up. Elin snuggles in closer.

Will groans. “I get the hint. I’ll go.” Gently dislodging her, he hauls himself out of bed and pulls on a T-shirt, making his way to the door.

A low murmur of voices.

When he comes back into the room a few minutes later, his expression is somber. “It’s Farrah. A guest is missing, from the villa on the islet. Someone called Rob Tooley.”

—

The cleaner found his room disturbed?” Elin probes, trying to cut through the hurried jumble of what Farrah’s saying.

“Yes. Rob’s friend asked her to go in early, he’s been trying to get hold of him since last night. No sign of Rob anywhere on the islet and the cleaner says the room’s in chaos. Looks like the bed hasn’t been slept in either. Friend was worried because of the circumstances of the holiday.” Farrah pushes closed the front door with her foot. “He was meant to be here on honeymoon on the private islet, but the wedding was called off a few weeks before. He decided to do the honeymoon alone.”

“So the friend was concerned about his state of mind?”

“Seems that way.”

Elin nods. Someone going missing after an emotional trauma of that magnitude doesn’t bode well, only magnified by the fact that it’s happened so quickly after Bea Leger...

She doesn’t like it. “I’ll come now.” Pulling out her phone, she texts Steed. Just had report that a guest is missing. Will keep you posted. She turns to Will. “I’ll call you.”

Although Will nods in reply, his face impassive, she senses the underlying tension. She knows what he’s thinking about—guilty as he does so: His baby, the retreat. The award.