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One sharp tug and thin coils of brown and green rope spill from the bag and onto the ground. Sitting half exposed beneath is a metal harness.

Elin stares, not surprised but aghast at what this means: not only the cementing of her theory but how carefully planned it was.

Bea’s death was no accident.

That makes it even more likely that her death and Seth’s are linked. Most depressingly, the motive is probably drugs.

Senseless deaths over a senseless poison.

After taking several photographs, she roughly pushes the rope and bag back into the hollow.

Too heavy to carry alone across the rocks; she’ll have to come back for it.

Outside, Elin peels off her gloves. Wiping her clammy fingers on her trousers, she starts walking across the rocks toward the beach.

She’s only gone a few yards when she hears something. A faint noise, from above her.

Tipping up her head, she glances around, but the rocks, the cliff above, are deserted. Despite that, Elin has the strange sensation that she’s not alone.

With every step she takes, her unease grows.

She’s about to pick up her pace when there’s a flash of movement above her.

It seems to be coming from the rock itself, or rather, a part of it: a small boulder, careering in her direction.

Elin’s almost surprised at first—she feels a cool detachment, as if she’s watching it fall toward someone else, observing with an almost scientific interest as the boulder bounces against the rock face, tiny fragments of stone splintering with a skittering sound.

She stands, motionless, still expecting it to ping off at an angle, veer away from her.

But it doesn’t.

The boulder keeps falling.

Time seems to stand still, each pivot and jerk, as the rock ricochets off the limestone and tumbles, taking place in an agonizing kind of slow motion.

The hairs on the back of her neck lift, but her legs won’t move, won’t do as her brain is instructing.

Move. Move.