The Split - Sharon Bolton Page 0,98
was when she lived in Cambridge and I’m worried for her safety. Please tell us where you think she is.’
‘Several miles up the coast by now.’ Ralph speaks as though the words are being dragged from him.
‘Where’s she going?’
‘Bird Island.’ Ralph frowns at one of the computer screens. ‘She’s due back towards the end of the week.’
Delilah says, ‘We have to go after her.’
‘I’m afraid we do,’ Skye tells Nigel. ‘Can you organise a boat for us?’
‘I don’t recommend anyone else setting out for Bird today.’ Ralph is leaning over one of the monitors now. ‘The weather’s taken a turn. I’ve been trying to get Flick on the radio, persuade her to turn around. And I can’t seem to find her on radar.’
The harbour master joins him at the monitor.
‘Is she alone?’ Joe asks.
‘I think she took Jack with her,’ Ralph says. ‘At least I hope she did. I didn’t see them leave though.’
‘She’s not with Jack,’ Brindle says. ‘I saw him a while back, when that other chap was here.’
Skye looks up. ‘What other chap?’
‘I’ll try her now.’ Nigel turns to the radio.
‘Can I see her room?’ Joe asks.
‘Why?’ asks Brindle.
His mother gets to her feet and holds up her warrant card. ‘What part of wanted in connection with murder do you people not understand? Now, show my son to Miss Lloyd’s room – take me while you’re at it – and answer Superintendent McNair’s question. What other chap?’
* * *
Felicity’s room is small and feels even smaller when Joe, his mother, Susan Brindle and Skye are squeezed inside it. The neatness is familiar, as is the white dressing gown hanging on the back of the door, but the photograph by the bed is new; a shot of Felicity standing amidst towering columns of ice. Again, she looks happy.
‘And you didn’t ask his name?’ Skye is saying.
‘He was very cagey.’ The station chief sounds defensive. ‘And he scarpered pretty quickly.’
The window looks inland. A short stretch of green meadow dotted with red flowers gives way to a massive slope of rock and scree, its peak shrouded in mist.
‘What exactly is it you’re looking for?’ Brindle asks.
‘What’s going on?’
Joe glances back to see a man of about his own age, an inch or so shorter, but of a stockier build, with fair hair and bright blue eyes.
‘Jack, these people are looking for Felicity,’ Brindle says.
The newcomer’s blue eyes linger on Joe. ‘Popular woman this morning.’
‘Can you help?’ Brindle asks him.
‘Why?’ The man called Jack speaks directly to Joe. ‘Why do you need to see her?’
‘They’re police,’ the station chief tells him, in a hushed voice.
Jack’s face clouds over. ‘Is that other bloke with you?’
‘Very good question,’ Skye mutters.
‘Close the door, please, I need to work in peace,’ Delilah says. ‘Superintendent, can you keep these people outside?’
‘Have you authority to be here?’ Jack takes a step into the room.
‘Is this where she was going?’ Joe has spotted the chart on the desk, a circle drawn around Bird Island. He glances over the Post-it notes, the weather forecasts, the journey times, the shopping lists.
‘Outside,’ Delilah points to the corridor.
‘They’re saying Felicity’s killed someone,’ Brindle says.
Jack sneers. ‘Bullshit.’
‘We didn’t say that,’ Joe says. ‘We said “wanted in connection with murder”. Now, if you want to help, answer some questions. Is there a locked cupboard in this room? Or a locker somewhere that she had access to? Anywhere she could keep stuff she didn’t want anyone else to see?’
Two mystified and hostile faces look back at him.
‘Felicity adopts orphan penguins in breeding season,’ Jack says. ‘She wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘That’s a point,’ Susan Brindle says. ‘Where are they?’
‘My room,’ Jack tells her. ‘Making a hell of a racket.’
‘Does she have a private locker?’ Delilah almost yells.
‘She has a locker in the boot room,’ Jack says. ‘She gave me the key to it this morning. No dead bodies that I could see. Just climbing gear, some diving equipment and a packet of butterscotch.’
* * *
It doesn’t take long to search Felicity’s room and other than clear evidence that she’s left for Bird Island, they find nothing that can help. They return to the harbour master’s office as he’s finishing a telephone call. By this time, raindrops are splashing against the windows.
Ralph, the boat man, is at the radio. ‘King Edward Point to Felicity, come in, Felicity.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t understand why the tracker on the RIB isn’t working. She wouldn’t have disabled it.’
‘All the visitors are going back to the ship,’ Nigel