Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (28 page)

Is
it possible I have been wrong about him all these years?

Hannah
drops her towel and keys a safe distance from the water’s edge, then splashes
out ahead of me, thigh-deep now, surprisingly keen on surfing given her total
lack of sportiness at school. Though of course her father has been bringing her
here every summer since she was six, so she’s a surfing expert compared to me. Today
she’s left her glasses in the car to avoid losing or breaking them, which means
I have to wave to get her attention once we’re more than a few feet apart.

‘Look,’ she shouts back at me, pointing out to
sea. ‘Is that Denzil?’

My
surf board still tucked under my arm, I shield my eyes and stare in that
direction. It’s Denzil, all right. I would know that mop of tawny hair anywhere.
But it won’t be easy to reach him. He is already far out past the body boarders,
lying face-down on an electric-blue surfboard, paddling hard to reach the
bigger breakers beyond the shelf.

‘I’ll
get him for you,’ Hannah shouts.

‘No,
it’s fine. I can wait.’

But
she can’t hear me over the noise of the tide.

‘What?’

She turns, waist-high in the rolling waves, shielding
her eyes and grimacing myopically at the shadowy figures of other surfers
between us. It’s clear she can’t see me.

‘Ellie,
where are you?’ she shouts.

‘Over here.’

I wave, and she grins, finally spotting me. She
waves back, but keeps stubbornly pushing out, holding her board under one arm. ‘Come
on, you wuss. It’s not that cold.’

I follow, wading slowly into deeper water, my
board an awkward weight under my arm that keeps dancing to be free, to swim on
the waves.

Staring out across the ocean, I try to envisage
America somewhere out there beyond the hazy blue line of the horizon. How far
away is the US from this exact point on the Cornish coast? Three thousand
miles? Maybe more? I imagine a woman standing on an Atlantic beach in the
United States, surfboard in hand, looking out to sea and wondering …

I can’t see Denzil anymore. I can’t see anyone
nearby, actually. The water is very deep now, and the waves are hitting me
side-on as I keep swimming out to sea. Hannah surfs past me with a triumphant
shout, half-crouched on her board, an absolute natural in the water.

I
turn to face the ocean, pulling myself up onto the slippery board.

The
first really big wave takes me by surprise. It always does, even when I’ve been
steeling myself for it. I make a complete mess of it, slide off the board and dip
down under the salty water.

The next wave, I’m ready for it.

I
manage a few exhilarating seconds of wobbling ride, feet planted maybe not
quite far enough apart, knees slightly bent, arms spread wide, before the wave
gets the better of me.

The board tips, and I overbalance with it, fail
to regain an upright stance, and end up falling …

I survive the cold plunge, but the feeling is
horribly familiar. Like being in deep over your head, and not being able to do
a damn thing about it.

A
hand grabs at my shoulder and helps me back to the surface.

‘Thanks,’
I splutter.

It’s
Denzil, treading water next to me, his own board floating beside us. ‘No
problem,’ he says, but his eyes are wary. He slicks wet hair back from his
forehead. ‘How are you, Ellie?’

‘Still
alive.’

He
does not smile. ‘I heard about Dick Laney’s arrest. It’s bullshit.’

‘The
police seem to think he did it.’

‘What
do they know?’ The sun is bouncing off the choppy water all around us, making
it hard to look him in the face. But I can feel the hostility coming off him in
waves. ‘When you rang, you said you wanted to talk to me.’

‘Not
in the ocean though.’

Reluctantly,
Denzil glances back at the shore. We are both treading water now, just out of
our depth. ‘So, what, you want to go up the beach? Dry off and grab a coffee?’

‘Later,’
I say. ‘Let’s surf first.’

He
smiles then, looking relieved. Like he’s had a stay of execution. ‘Yeah, let’s
surf.’

It’s roughly an
hour later when I hear Hannah calling my name. The water is rocking me gently,
and the sun still feels warm through my wetsuit, even though the time must be
heading towards half past five. I look round, lying face-down on my surf board
as I wait for a bigger wave, and see her standing in the shallows, chatting to
her friend Alex.

She
waves, and points significantly up the beach.

Turning
my head lazily, I see two familiar figures heading down the beach from the car
park.

Tris and Connor.

I push up on my
elbows, swearing under my breath. What the hell are they doing here?

Both
men are wearing wetsuits – Connor’s flopping down from the waist –
and carrying surfboards. I am shocked by the way my body responds to the sight
of the two brothers. It’s a visceral reaction: all my muscles instinctively constrict,
my nipples stiffening against the wet board, a disturbing cross between fear
and intense desire. Both men look sexy in wetsuits, Tris dark and powerfully
muscular, Connor tall and lithe. Dr Quick would have a field-day with this
physical response, I think. Meanwhile my face is burning, and I have to get it
under control.

The
tide is out, and it’s a long walk over pebbles and wet sand from the car park
to the water’s edge, so I have a few minutes before they arrive.

Denzil,
surfing a little way from me, has seen them too. He meets my gaze but says
nothing, then strikes further out to sea.

I
catch the flash of his electric-blue board, then he disappears between surging wave
crests.

I
can’t blame him for swimming in the opposite direction. Last time he saw Tris,
Denzil got knocked to the ground and taken away by the police. I only hope this
won’t stop him from talking to me. Being on the beach has been wonderfully relaxing
after the traumatic events of the past few weeks, but the real reason I came all
the way out to Widemouth Bay is to speak to Denzil.

I turn slowly and paddle for shore, letting the
waves carry me forward every few yards. By the time I get there, the two men
have almost reached the water.

Hannah
says goodbye to Alex, then splashes out of the shallows towards the brothers,
dropping her board a few metres short of the incoming tide. Hair dripping down
her neck where it’s escaped from her ponytail, she embraces Tris
affectionately. ‘How are you? I suppose you know about Dick Laney? Such a
surprise, but I’m pleased they don’t suspect you anymore.’ She turns and hugs
Connor as well. ‘You must be relieved that it’s all over too.’

Connor does not reply to that. He studies me grimly
as I wade out of the sea towards them, dragging my surf board after me. ‘Well,
well, this is a surprise. I didn’t know you two would be here.’ He glances round
at his brother. ‘Did you?’

‘Of course not,’ Tris says, and half turns
away, shielding his eyes as he looks out to sea.

He’s
lying, and we both know it. I sent Tris a text after work, telling him we were
going to Widemouth to catch the afternoon sun. But I’m not going to admit that
any more than he is.

 
‘Denzil is here too,’ Hannah comments
innocently, then squints before pointing out his distant figure on the rolling waves.
‘See?’

Tris stiffens, and Connor turns to stare out to
sea, his feet rooted in the sand, legs far apart, the surf board leaning
against his hip. I can practically smell the testosterone in the air, like hot
tar. Both men are tense, giving little away.

Hannah
asks eagerly, ‘So, are you two coming in? I was just about to head out again.
We could go together. It’s not bad today. The waves could be a little higher,
but I’m not complaining. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to surf in
ages.’ She smiles at me. ‘It was Ellie’s idea, of course.’

I
tense, worried she is about to tell them how I arranged to meet Denzil here for
a chat. But my friend is smarter than that, of course.

‘I’m
celebrating the end of my night shifts,’ Hannah tells them blithely, ‘and Ellie’s
celebrating the end of this horrible business with the killings. And then we
bumped into Denzil. Now you’re both here. If anyone happened to bring a
barbecue and some sausages, we could stay after sunset and make a beach party
of it.’ She grins at them both. ‘A beach barbecue. Now I know summer’s finally here.’

‘We
won’t be staying long,’ Connor says flatly.

‘Oh.’

I pull Tris aside while Hannah is trying valiantly
to engage Connor in conversation. He’s looking withdrawn, though that’s hardly
a surprise. ‘I’m sorry the police questioned you. Again.’

He shrugs. ‘They treated me quite well,
actually. They were just being thorough. If it was you who was missing, I’d
want to see everyone in the village questioned like that.’

‘But they still haven’t found Jenny,’ I tell
him.

‘Not yet.’

Something in his voice makes me think he knows
more than he’s telling. ‘You have an idea where she might be?’

‘Christ,
no,’ He looks shocked.

‘Sorry.’
I hesitate. ‘Perhaps they’ll be able to get something out of Dick Laney. I hope
so. He must be keeping her somewhere, don’t you think? In some building they
haven’t thought to search yet.’

At the same time, I can’t believe that Dick
Laney, however annoying he’s been at times, is a serial killer. The police
might as well have arrested my own dad.

For the first time, I wonder if my dad was ever
on their list of suspects. But of course he was. Ben Blackwood must have been
at the top of their list. Most women who are murdered are killed by someone who
knows them intimately, usually their husband or partner. And this whole
business started with my mother’s murder.

Could
my father have killed his own wife?

I
don’t want to consider that question, though of course I must. If only to be
able to dismiss it as a possibility. Perhaps my parents had fallen out of love.
Perhaps she had started seeing someone else, and he wanted revenge. I remember
how hard he hit me that day in the caravan, his sudden anger taking me by
surprise. Yet he has always had a temper.

Tris
is staring out to sea. I get the feeling he’s avoiding my gaze too. But I can
feel the heat from his body. We are as bad as each other.

‘I expect you’re right. I hope the police are out
there now, looking for her. They need to find her soon. Unless …’ He tails off
into silence.

‘Unless
she’s already dead.’

‘Exactly.’
His tone is clipped, terse. ‘Do you think Dick Laney’s the right man? The
killer?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Who is, then?’

His dark eyes come back to mine, his brows
drawn sharply together, and again I feel that sense of unease. ‘I don’t know,’
he says automatically, but his voice is empty and I don’t believe him. ‘That’s
up to the police to find out.’

I
nod, then say quietly, ‘Why did you tell Connor that I broke into the farm?
That I found the photograph and asked you about it?’

He
stares at me.

Hannah
has grabbed Connor by the hand and is dragging him into the sea with her usual
exuberance. ‘Come on, we’re missing the big waves.’

‘Hang
on.’ Connor glances back at us, his expression unreadable, then stops to draw
his wetsuit up over his shoulders.

Expertly,
Hannah fixes the zip for him, then the two stride out together, carrying their surf
boards under their arms, soon reaching the point where the beach shelf becomes
pebbly and steep, then dips abruptly, the water suddenly so deep you are forced
to swim or drown.

‘Well?’
I ask Tris, still waiting for an answer.

‘I
didn’t want to tell him,’ he says, watching his brother with Hannah. ‘But he
made me distrust you.’

‘How?’

‘Connor
said you were sick in the head. That you had told the police to arrest me
because I was the one who killed both those women.’

‘And
you believed him?’

He
struggles for a moment. ‘Yes.’

‘I
see,’ I say. ‘And if the police don’t manage to work out who the real killer is?’

‘Then I guess Jenny’s body is going to be the
next one they find.’ His voice is so low, I almost miss the last few words.

Tris
turns away and splashes out into the water.

Shocked,
I stumble after him through the warm shallows, forgetting to watch my footing
on the stones hidden under the creamy, churning water, and nearly fall several
times.

I
try not to let it affect me, but I’m both horrified and deeply hurt by what I
just heard. I know Connor thinks I’m losing my mind. But how the hell could
Tris believe I would ever do such a thing to him, ever behave in such a way?

Perhaps
he thinks I’m mad too.

Or
is Tris lying to put me off the scent? There was something in his face.
Something he’s not telling me. He made that conversation with Connor sound so
plausible, and yet …

What does he know?

‘Hey, hurry up, you lazy lot,’ Hannah is
shouting, beckoning us to join them. It’s hard to hear her over the incoming rush
and spray of the tide. She’s pointing out to sea. ‘Look.’

The wind is up, stronger than before, and
gigantic rollers are starting to rise majestically out of the distant grey-blue
haze.

Tris stops, waist-high in the water, buffeted
by the waves. He turns, unsmiling, and holds out his hand. ‘Coming?’

We ride the waves as
a group for the next half hour, our line staggered, surfing a few metres away
from each other for safety. Smashing into another surfer on the way in is not
only embarrassing, it’s also dangerous. People are injured or die every year
because of accidents like that. We rise up on the surge, then hang onto each
roller for as long as we can, riding in on the white crests and paddling into
the shallows afterwards, or falling under the wave to resurface as soon as the
swell has passed.

I
keep an eye on Denzil, surfing alone to my left, his resentment almost
palpable, and swim over to him as soon as I get the chance.

‘Denzil?’

He
turns to stare at me, clinging onto his board. ‘You didn’t tell me you were
bringing the Taylors.’

‘I’m
sorry about that. I didn’t know they would show up.’ Or not both of them,
anyway. ‘Can we talk?’

Denzil
does not look very friendly now, the welcome gone out of his face. But he does
not tell me to get lost either. ‘What about?’

‘Jenny
Crofter, for starters.’

‘I
don’t know anything about the woman. Except that she’s missing.’

‘When
I spoke to her about you, she remembered you from school.’ I hate how easily
I’ve slipped into referring to Jenny in the past tense. Like her death is a
fait accompli
, a done deal.

He
shrugs. ‘So what?’

I
tread water, using my board to keep afloat, looking at him steadily. Dangerous
though it is, I want to test a theory.

‘I
haven’t forgotten how you came at me after the memorial service,’ I say softly.
‘You wanted to do me some damage that day, I could see it in your eyes. Is that
how you felt about being arrested? Murderous?’

‘No,’
he says angrily.

‘Though
of course the police were always there, keeping tabs on me. So you couldn’t get
anywhere near me. But Jenny wasn’t being watched. She was an easier target,
wasn’t she?’

We
bob up and down on the water for a moment as he digests that.

‘All
right,’ he begins reluctantly, ‘I’ll give you that. I was out of order at the
church. I was high, I wasn’t thinking straight. But don’t try and twist that shit
into making me out to be some kind of sick psycho. I’ve never hurt a woman in
my life and I wouldn’t have started with you.’

‘You
would never have got the chance,’ I tell him.

Denzil
looks suddenly uneasy. Frowning, he gazes past me to where the others are
catching a late wave. ‘I don’t know anything about Jenny Crofter. Perhaps you’re
asking the wrong man.’

‘Meaning?’

He
says nothing for a moment, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he shakes his head
and turns his back on me, beginning a measured front crawl out to sea.

‘Forget
it, Ellie,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘And don’t ever fucking call me again. We’re
done.’

I swim slowly back over to the others. By the
time I reach them, they have returned from the shallows and are waiting for
another big roller. Hannah is shouting something, waving her arm, but over the
noise of the water I can’t hear what she’s saying. She’s on the far left of our
line, near the body boarders’ section, just where the flagged area ends. Tris is
closest to me, his wet hair slicked back, staring out to sea. Connor is close too,
a few yards further on, lying flat and well-balanced on his board, head turned
in my direction as though to shield his eyes from the sun glare.

The waves grow higher as we paddle slowly
forward, waiting for the next promising big roller. The water is choppy out here
near the protective edge of the bay, but we stay in formation. Then a vicious side
wind hits our line, and I watch as their bobbing heads disappear, then reappear,
then disappear again, the sunlight dazzling.

These
sets of smaller waves are surprisingly powerful. I have to turtle roll several
times to avoid being swept back to shore, holding tight to the board under the rush
of white water, then rolling back on top as soon as the wave has passed.