One by One (2 page)

‘What is it?'

He put down the phone. ‘The line's dead.'

The others had come out into the hallway now. Charlie grabbed the phone from Crispin and tried dialling himself with precisely the same result. ‘Someone must have cut the wires,' he said shakily.

I could hear my heart beating rapidly in my chest and I followed the advice my therapist always gave me by silently telling myself to stay calm and take slow, deep breaths. But how the hell was I meant to keep calm when I was trapped in a house with a dead body and four other people who were all suspects in her murder?

‘I'm scared,' said Marla.

I took a long, deep breath, then another, but it wasn't making me any calmer and I could feel the panic bubbling away inside me like the contents of a slowly boiling kettle. ‘There must be some way off this island,' I said. ‘Surely you can't just rely on your man Pat to come and pick you up, Charlie? What if the two of you had an argument?'

‘I've got a RIB – an inflatable boat – down in the boathouse near the jetty for emergencies. We can all get across in that. But it's best to wait until the morning. The crossing to the mainland can be pretty hairy at night.'

‘No way,' said Marla. ‘I want off this place. Right now.'

‘Look, it's too risky. We'd do better to stay here now. All the bedrooms have got locks on so no one's going to be able to hurt any of you. And if it makes anyone feel safer they can take a kitchen knife up to bed with them. There are plenty to go round.' Charlie sighed. ‘Please. It's the best way.'

The room was silent while we digested this suggestion. Like Marla, my gut feeling was to get off the island as soon as possible, but I didn't like the idea of doing it at night in a glorified dinghy. Plus I didn't want to go out into the night just in case I was wrong and the killer wasn't one of us but a stranger waiting for us in the darkness. ‘OK, let's stay here,' I said, and there were murmurs of agreement from Luke and Crispin.

Marla sighed. ‘All right, but I want a knife, and if it's any of you who's the killer, you won't find me such an easy target.'

‘No one's killing anyone tonight,' said Charlie, trying to keep tempers calm.

There was a slight smell of decay out in the hallway, and straight away I knew what it was. ‘We're going to have to move Louise,' I said. ‘We can't leave her sitting in a chair in the living room.'

‘The police will be pissed off if we move the body,' said Crispin. ‘They don't like…'

‘I don't give a shit what they like. I'm not leaving her like that. Is there anywhere we can store her?'

‘We could use the woodshed,' said Charlie. ‘It's just round the side of the house. There's room there.'

I nodded slowly. ‘Let's do it, then. Have we got anything to wrap her in?'

It was awful going back in the lounge and looking at Louise again. She'd been so alive only a few hours ago, and what was so terrifying was that it could just as easily have been me. I'm not the kind of person who fears death. On a few occasions these past years, when the guilt's been weighing me down, I've actually embraced the thought of it. But that was when it was still only a vague, distant presence. Now it lay taunting me with all its terrible power, and it was taking all my self-control to deal with it.

Luke and Crispin lifted Louise gently out of the chair and wrapped her in a double bed sheet. Marla was standing in the doorway sobbing silently while Charlie stood watching the scene, his face pale, although I noticed that his hands were steady. Could he have killed Louise? Easily. He had to be the most likely suspect. The question of why was harder to answer, though. If his plan was to get rid of the other people involved in the Rachel Skinner murder, wouldn't it have been far easier simply to poison our food or drink? Then we'd all be out of his hair at the same time, instead of which we were now all on our guard and his opportunity to pick off the rest of us was severely diminished.

So maybe he'd killed Louise for another reason. Or maybe it hadn't been Charlie at all.

Then who could it be?

I didn't want to think too much about that particular question, so instead I waited while the men took the body out. Then, with a grunted goodnight to the others, I climbed the staircase to my room, a long, sharp carving knife gripped in my fist, ready to begin the long wait until morning.

Not surprisingly, I barely slept a wink that night. For a long, long time I lay under the covers, the knife next to me, listening for anything that sounded out of place, determined not to be caught out by the murderer. The bedroom door was locked, as was the window, but I still didn't feel safe. Locks can be picked. If Charlie was the killer, he might have spare keys. I managed to push a small chest of drawers in front of the door to slow down any advance, but it was hardly foolproof.

In the end, though, even the fear gave way to exhaustion and I drifted off sometime around dawn, awaking with a start at 9.16. I felt like crap but there was a real sense of relief too. I mean, if nothing else, I was still alive. Sunlight drifted in through the narrow gap in the curtains and I pulled them open, squinting against the brightness. I don't normally smoke first thing in the morning but I made an exception today and had a cigarette out the window. The wind had picked up substantially and, even with the shelter provided by the rock, it was still powerful enough to make me shiver. It wasn't going to be the easiest crossing in a RIB but, quite frankly, I was prepared to take on a tsunami if it meant getting away from here.

When I'd dressed and moved the chest of drawers back roughly to its original position, I picked up the knife and unlocked the door, stepping out onto the narrow landing. All the bedroom doors were closed but I could hear the sound of talking coming from downstairs.

There was a large bay window above the staircase affording a view across the sea towards the rugged crags of the mainland a couple of miles distant and, for a good few seconds, I stood staring out. Whitecaps appeared in the swirling water, but the view still comforted me. In the gleam of a bright new day, home seemed so much closer than it had done in those grim early hours when I'd discovered Louise's body.

The voices downstairs belonged to Crispin and Marla. They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee from a cafetière. There were empty plates in front of them and it was clear they'd made themselves breakfast. They were sitting quite close together as well – too close together for two people who hadn't seen each other in twenty years, and I immediately felt a pang of jealousy. I was also surprised by how relaxed they looked considering what had happened the previous night, and they didn't appear to have armed themselves with knives.

They both looked up as I came in, giving me the same tight, sympathetic smiles of people who knew they were meant to be feeling very emotional about what had happened, but who weren't quite able to manage it.

‘Hey, Karen, how are you?' asked Crispin. ‘Do you fancy a coffee? It's freshly brewed.'

I nodded and sat down, putting my knife down on the table but well within reach as I poured myself a cup from the cafetière.

Marla looked at the knife but didn't say anything. ‘Did you sleep OK?' she asked.

‘As well as can be expected. Where are the other two?'

Marla shrugged. ‘We haven't seen them yet. I suspect they're still in bed.'

‘Marla and I have been talking,' said Crispin, watching me carefully. He looked more relaxed and less tired this morning, as if he'd slept well.

I couldn't help feeling there was something about the two of them that didn't feel right, but I didn't say anything and waited for him to continue.

‘We've decided that as soon as we get to the mainland we go straight to the police and tell them the truth about what happened back in 1994 with Rachel. I know it means we're all going to get in a lot of trouble – especially after everything that happened to Corridge – but I can't see how we can avoid it now that Louise's dead. The longer we put off the inevitable, the worse it's going to be.'

‘The thing is,' added Marla, ‘the three of us aren't as involved as Charlie and Luke. I mean, remember it was Charlie who said we had to cover Rachel's murder up? And remember how insistent he was about the whole thing?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I remember.' And I did. I remembered everything about that day. The terrible shock of seeing a dead body for the first time, made all the worse by the fact that it was someone I knew, and by the gruesome manner of her death. Then the nausea. Seeing Rachel lying naked on the futon mattress with her head a gruesome claret pulp, the blood caking her blonde hair, the smell in the hot, airless room almost unbearable, made me throw up immediately. And finally the fraught meeting in the house's poky little kitchen as the six of us tried to come to terms with what we'd just seen, while we worked out what to do. Luke was in a state of near-catatonic shock. He'd been the one in bed with her at the time and now he was staring straight ahead, mumbling to himself, tiny flecks of blood still peppering his face. Louise was crying hysterically, saying we had to call the police. It was harder to remember how I felt myself. I think I must have been totally shocked too. The whole incident had seemed so surreal. Things like that just didn't happen in my life. I hadn't known what the hell to do.

And then Charlie had taken over, rallying the troops, saying we couldn't go to the police, that we'd all be in trouble…

Crispin lowered his voice to barely a whisper and leaned forward in his chair. ‘In hindsight, we can see how he pushed us to do things, and because of the way he acted back then it's possible – maybe even probable – that he committed Rachel's murder himself and was using us to help cover his tracks.'

‘I still don't see why Charlie would have killed Rachel,' I said. ‘He and Rachel both lived in the same house as me and, apart from that time when Corridge came round and beat him up – which, yes, he was very upset about – they got on fine.'

‘It doesn't matter whether he had a motive or not.' Crispin shrugged. ‘As far as I can recall none of us had any real motive to kill her, but she still ended up dead. The fact is Charlie was the driving force of the cover-up. It was his idea to set up Danny Corridge for the murder. And Luke played a big part too. He was the one who stole Corridge's car, and it was him and Charlie who got rid of the body. All we three did was keep quiet about something we should have spoken up about.'

‘We were young,' said Marla. ‘That counts in our favour.'

I looked at them both. ‘You guys really have been talking, haven't you?' The thing was, I didn't like it. It was as if they were a team, and everyone else was on the outside of it. They were asking me to be a part of whatever they had planned but the fact remained I didn't entirely trust them. And now that they'd laid their cards on the table, it scared me. ‘I hate the idea of going to jail for a crime I didn't commit, and I hate the idea of the whole world hating us for what we did to Corridge.'

‘Ditto,' said Crispin. ‘I was going to Thailand next week to start a new life. The last thing I need is a criminal record and an angry public, but we've got no choice. This thing's gone way out of control.'

And that, of course, was the decider for me. This had to end.

‘OK,' I said. ‘I'm in.'

*

There was no point hanging round the island now and it was with a heavy heart that I left Crispin and Marla in the kitchen and went upstairs to rouse Charlie. I tried to imagine what my family and work colleagues – what few good friends I had – would say when our terrible secret came out into the open. My mum would disown me. I'd lose my job. My liberty. I'd lose everything. And yet finally perhaps I'd be able to start making amends for what I'd done. I'd be able to wipe the slate clean, and start again.

I stopped at Luke's door and put my ear against the wood but couldn't hear anything, then continued on to Charlie's door at the end of the landing. Still holding the knife in my hand, I knocked hard and called his name.

Nothing.

I knocked again, and this time when I called his name, it was near enough a shout.

Instinctively, I tried the handle and, as the door clicked open, I experienced that now all-too-familiar feeling of dread.

The bedroom was empty, with the bed roughly made and the curtains open, and I felt an immediate sense of relief. There was a small en suite attached and I poked my head inside. The large power shower unit was completely dry so it didn't look like he'd used it this morning. Frowning as I left the room, I knocked hard on Luke's door, and almost immediately got a grunted, exhausted response telling me to hold on.

A few seconds later he came to the door, looking dishevelled, still wearing the boxers from the previous night.

I asked him if he'd heard anything from Charlie this morning. ‘He's gone missing.'

Luke rubbed his eyes and shook his head. ‘No, nothing. I've been flat out.'

Marla and Crispin had come up the stairs now and I told them what I'd just told Luke. ‘How long have you guys been up for?'

‘I was up at eight,' said Luke.

‘And I was about ten minutes after that,' said Marla. ‘Charlie hasn't shown his face during that time.'

I looked at my watch. ‘It's almost ten o'clock now, so he's been gone a hell of a long time.'

Marla gave a decisive nod. ‘He said the inflatable was down in the boathouse. Let's go down there ourselves and take it.'

Luke frowned. ‘We're not planning on leaving Charlie on the island, are we?'

‘Why not? He was the one who get us into this mess.'

‘He clearly left his room voluntarily,' I said. ‘The curtains are open, the bed's half-made, and there are no signs of a struggle.'