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Elin tries hard not to balk and she knows that when it comes, her smile is forced.

Seth’s father.

He gives a quick nod of greeting, and this close, Elin understands why she didn’t recognize him at first; there’s a marked contrast to the photograph she saw online.

It’s not the clothes—the white shirt and linen trousers look as expensive as they did in the picture—but there’s a rumpled, tired air about him. His silver hair is ruffled, his face creased with lines. Grief does this to people. Sucks the life from them, both mentally and physically.

Ronan extends a hand, the wristband of an expensive watch glinting under the spotlight overhead.

She reciprocates. “DS Elin Warner. Good to meet you.”

Steed then introduces himself, but Ronan’s eyes skim over him, come back to rest on Elin. “You’re the one who found Seth, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Elin says gently.

“I was just asking Farrah if he’d”—he swallows hard—“if you’d taken him away yet. I was in Devon anyway, for work. I wanted to see him.” Struggling to maintain his composure, he looks to the floor.

Elin exchanges a glance with Steed. This is always the worry in a situation like this; a bereaved relative taking matters into their own hands, not realizing what the reality of the situation might be. “It’s better you wait,” she says carefully. “Until we’re at the mortuary.”

He shakes his head. “But I want to see him, with my own eyes.”

“Really, it’s better if you wait.” Steed’s tone is more forceful than hers.

Ronan meets his gaze and Elin senses him weighing Steed up, seeing if he can push him further. Finally he nods. “I just can’t understand it.” He looks bewildered. “Why someone would want to hurt Seth. Everyone liked him.”

“That’s what we’ve gathered,” Steed says delicately, “but his girlfriend, Jo, did mention that recently he’d received threatening emails. Nasty stuff, from what she said.”

Ronan doesn’t miss a beat. “Par for the course when you’re the son of someone like me. You piss people off just by existing. I get approached all the time, demands for money, conspiracy theorists sure they’ve got something on you. It’s not unusual.”

Steed looks up from his notebook. “We’re also aware that he had a criminal record. You don’t have any reason to suspect that he might still be involved in any—”

Ronan cuts him off. “All that’s stopped. Seth had cleaned up his act, did a lot of philanthropic work. Prison... it changed his mindset, made him realize how short life is. He was determined not to waste it messing around, especially with drugs.” He turns the conversation back to them. “So when are we going to get some answers about what happened to my son?”

“It’s only day one, so it’s very much early days for the investigation,” Elin says carefully. “There’s an incident on the mainland that is delaying our usual process.” Hearing the shakiness in her voice, she suppresses it. The last thing she needs is him working out that something bigger is afoot before she’s briefed Farrah. “We’ll come back to you when we have more information.”

Nodding, Ronan shifts his attention to Farrah. “I’m going to work from here for the time being. Can I use one of the meeting rooms?”

“Of course. The reception team will let you know which ones are available.”

“Thank you.” Saying goodbye, he gets to his feet.

Once he’s out of earshot, Farrah shakes her head. “Sorry, no idea he was coming.”

“Is he sticking around?”

“Yes.” Her expression is worried. “He says he came here for Seth, but I get the sense he’s also keeping an eye on things. Stuff’s been leaked on social media, as you can imagine.”

“That might make what I’m about to say a bit more complicated.” Elin decides not to sugarcoat it. “I think Bea’s and Seth’s deaths might be linked to another case. While I don’t want to alarm you, I think there’s every possibility that whoever is doing this is planning something else.”

Farrah inhales sharply.

Elin’s body tightens in response to the sound: a reflection of Farrah’s fear magnifying hers, which up until now she’d kept in check. “Please, we need to keep this under wraps. If staff or any remaining guests pick up on what’s going on...”

Her words hit home. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting...” Farrah composes herself. “What do you need me to do?”

“Get the remaining guests together as quickly as you can, ready for evacuation once it’s safe to do so. How many do you think are left?”

“Not a lot. More staff than guests.” Farrah pauses. “At last count, fifteen, I believe. I can rope in staff to help, start to knock on doors if we can’t get ahold of people.”

“Good. Is there a large enough space to put everyone together?”

“Maybe the event room behind the restaurant. It’s big enough.” She glances around her. “But what am I meant to tell them? We’re going to get questions.”

Elin hesitates. In her peripheral vision, she watches Ronan walking to the back of the room. “All you need to say is that there’s been an incident, and for their safety, it’s imperative they follow our instructions. Once everyone’s together, I’ll speak to them, try to ward off any trouble. In the meantime, talk to key members of staff and brief them about the plan.”

“That makes sense.” Farrah tries to inject some energy into her tone, but it’s belied by the viselike grip she now has on her radio; her knuckles are laced with white.

Elin places a hand on her arm. “Look, it’ll be okay. Really.”

“I just...” Farrah’s lip trembles, the panicky tone edging back into her voice. “It’s not just this. I wanted to speak to you about something.” Farrah glances at Steed. “In private...”

“Of course—” Elin breaks off, her phone loudly trilling. DS Johnson. “Sorry, I need to get this. Can we chat in a minute?”

Farrah nods, tries to smile, but Elin catches the slight tremor of her lip.