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Only an oval of face is visible, putty colored, grayish in patches, a respirator lolling half in, half out of the mouth.

Elin’s heart is hammering as she zooms in to the blurred lens of the mask, the man’s eyes open in a glassy death stare.

A wetsuit hood, slightly askew, is compressing his features, but any doubts Elin might have about the man’s identity are countered by the glimpse of a dark beard.

Seth.

Her stomach lurches as her mind trawls up the few words they’d exchanged. They hadn’t spoken much—he’d seemed awkward dealing with the emotions swirling around Bea’s death, but her overall impression was of vitality, of strength. Someone in the prime of life. It’s almost impossible to reconcile that image with this one.

Two members of the same group dead in as many days. What are the chances?

“You recognize him too?” Tom mutters.

“Yes. He’s one of the group... Bea, the woman who fell. Seth’s her sister’s boyfriend.” Elin belatedly picks up on the “too.” “You remember him from yesterday?”

“Not exactly. I’ll be honest, when you and I spoke, I knew you’d been chatting to Seth, but that wasn’t the first time I’d seen him. We’d already met. He’s actually been to the retreat a fair bit.”

“A regular guest?”

“Not sure if I’d describe it like that. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Seth’s father owns the island.” A pause. “Ronan Delaney. Not something many people know. The retreat is leased to a hotel chain, so he’s not really involved in the day-to-day.”

“I didn’t know.” Why had none of the Leger family mentioned it? Surely it would have come up when they’d spoken? “When Seth comes to the island, does he usually dive?”

“Yes, and that’s what I find so odd, that he’d be out there on his own, get himself into this situation,” Tom replies, a bead of water running from his hair down his cheek. “Experienced divers have the protocol drilled into them—you never dive alone. Seth knows that, usually takes either an instructor or a friend with him.” He swallows hard. “I also don’t like how he’s positioned down there, on his side. After an accident a body usually settles cylinder first, following the heaviest part of the body.”

He hesitates, as if finding it hard to get his words out or debating whether to say something.

“Is there something else?” Elin gently prompts.

Tom nods. “The valve on his air cylinder has been switched off.”

“That would cut the air supply?”

“Yes.” He flinches. “He’d have suffocated.”

“Is it possible to do that yourself, accidentally?” Steed asks, still looking at the image.

“No, I don’t think so, and even if it had, he could have corrected it.”

Elin picks apart his words, his tone, a cold bead of realization settling in her chest. He’s not saying it explicitly, but she’s getting the gist.

“And his hood...” Tom reaches for the phone, scrolls, then hands it back to her. “It’s like it’s been pulled back.”

Elin looks down at the image. There’s nothing natural about the pinches and creases in the fabric. Someone or something has had ahold of it.