that cut the island off from the Kent mainland. There was nothing to protect the house from the salt-laden sea breeze that tugged at our clothes and blew my hair into confusion – no trees, no shrubs, no other houses in sight. There was nothing around us but the vastness of the sky filled with the whirling flight of the plovers and harriers that thrived in the wetlands.
It took Mila Walsh a few seconds to make sense of what she saw when she answered the door. I suppose it was hard for her to place me when I was so out of context. She was wearing ancient jeans and an oversized white shirt and flat sandals: her off-duty look, I guessed.
‘Sergeant Kerrigan. What are you doing here?’
‘Following up on a few things. Can we come in?’ I didn’t wait for her to answer but pushed the door wide open and trooped into the hall followed by Liv, Derwent, Pettifer, Georgia, Pete Belcott and Kev Cox carrying a toolbox full of forensic kit. Behind us, outside the house, two other forensic investigators were pulling on protective shoe covers. We were there in force and it was designed to intimidate her.
‘You can’t just come in here. You have to take off your shoes.’ Her hands fluttered helplessly. ‘You can’t be in here, all of you.’
‘I’m afraid we have to be.’
‘Mila? What’s going on?’ A man emerged from the back of the house. He had huge, rough hands that were coated in something white and dusty, and his arms were muscled and scarred. He had a deep tan, as if he spent a lot of time out of doors. His hair and beard were longer than they had been in the picture I’d seen of him in a magazine, but still a gleaming silver-grey.
‘Harry Parr?’ I checked.
‘Yes?’ He turned round blue eyes on me.
‘We’re Metropolitan Police detectives.’ I showed them the paperwork as most of the others fanned out through the house, beginning to work room by room. ‘We’ve got a warrant to search this address.’
‘Why? What are you looking for?’ His voice was a low rumble.
‘Tools,’ Derwent said. ‘Cutting tools.’
‘Plenty of them out in the studio,’ Harry said with an attempt at a laugh.
‘Stop it, Harry,’ Mila snapped. ‘Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything.’
I sat with them in the small living room, the two of them perched on a mid-century daybed covered in white leather, holding hands in silence. The murmur of conversation made Mila flinch from time to time, and I watched her eyes darting around the room as she licked her lips nervously, chewing off her lipstick, fidgeting with her hair. Harry sat still with his eyes closed and a half-smile on his face, meditating. I used the time to admire a huge abstract painting over the fireplace and a giant bit of driftwood that filled the hearth. Otherwise the room was bare, like Mila’s London home. I was sitting in a plywood chair that curved around me and was surprisingly comfortable. It looked like a classic Danish design, in keeping with the spare artist’s aesthetic the couple favoured. One big window faced on to flat fields and the infinite sky. Somewhere beyond the horizon, invisible, was the sea.
Footsteps rustled through the hall and I looked up to see Derwent and Kev, who waved an evidence bag at me, triumphant.
‘I’ve swabbed a few of the saws and cutting tools out in the studio and then did a quick Kastle-Meyer test. I got a positive reaction for blood from three of them so far. We’ll take the lot.’
Harry opened his eyes and blinked as Mila began to cry.
‘I do cut myself sometimes,’ he said mildly. ‘When I’m working.’
Kev gave him a little bow. ‘We’ll test for DNA. There’s very little that’s visible to the naked eye but it’s enough for our purposes.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Mila Walsh and Harry Parr, you are both under arrest for the murder of Paige Hargreaves. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘Harry,’ Mila said, dissolving into tears. ‘Harry.’
‘It’s all right, my darling.’ He leaned his head against hers, his eyes closed again. Then he made a quick, furtive movement, palming something from his pocket, and I was too far away to reach him, and too slow.
‘Watch him!’
Before the words were properly out of my mouth