Part 35 (1/2)

'Okay.'

Sarah fetched her a cigarette, but didn't f.u.c.k off. Instead she stood next to her at the stern stern? The flat end smoking too: that was another wonderful moment for Zoe, knowing she'd dragged a convert kicking and screaming down Nicotine Lane. But she was glad of the company. Funny thing about seasickness: it ironed out the minor things in life, like your future, and made you glad for what comforts there were.

'He says it's just a chunk of rock.'

'He what?'

'Jed. He says, for a chunk of rock, it's mighty popular.'

'Since when?'

Sarah shrugged. Then, because Zoe wasn't looking, added, 'He's not sure. He's only been hiring out this past year. But he says before then, there used to be helicopters going over. He swears he saw one land there once.'

'And the locals don't ask questions?'

'Hey. Do you think he's the only one made a bob out of it?'

They both turned as Jed shouted something from the wheelhouse. He was pointing towards the island, which had got a lot closer very quickly. 'I think he's taking us in,' Sarah said.

'Dry land,' Zoe said with feeling.

'Wet rock.'

'Just so long as it's stable.'

'The luck I've had lately,' Sarah told her, 'it'll probably turn out an active volcano.'

Jed dropped them in what looked like a natural harbour, though a flight of steps had been fas.h.i.+oned out of the rock. Zoe felt them buckle beneath her as she stepped off the d.a.m.ned boat, unless it was her knees doing that; it was too early to tell. It was up to Sarah to extract promises from Jed as to when he'd be back; more importantly, she extracted the cheque Zoe had written him . . . He seemed to accept this as a legitimate business tactic, rather than an indication of mistrust.

'Don't see why he can't just b.l.o.o.d.y wait,' Zoe said sourly.

'If he's found, it could cause him problems.'

'Heaven forbid he should have problems,' Zoe muttered. But she was starting to feel better; feel the difference between the fresh air you got on land and the kind on sea. She reached for a cigarette to put this hypothesis to the test.

'Should you be doing that?'

'Most doctors smoke.'

'I meant, won't it give us away? The smoke? The smell?'

'I was never a boy scout,' Zoe said. 'I failed the medical.' And just so it wouldn't look like she was surrendering the initiative because she'd had the good sense to feel nauseated on the water, lit up anyway.

At the top of the steps they surveyed what they could of the island. True, it was greener than it looked from the water, but what life clung to what soil there was must have had a h.e.l.lish, hard-scrabble existence. Zoe pointed out what was pretty clearly a track.

'Follow the yellow brick road?'

'Might as well,' Sarah said. 'I'm pretty sure we're not in Kansas any more.'

It was, anyway, the obvious way to go.

Twelve minutes later they found the first body, face-up a matter of yards from what looked like some kind of farmhouse, an old stone bungalow built into a dip in the rock, so their heads were more or less level with its roof. The body was, or had been, holding an apple. Zoe had little doubt his death had been violent he was too young to have just keeled over, and anyway, she had the distinct impression people who did that did it face first. Still, she wasn't about to roll him over to check. Middle of nowhere, she didn't fancy mucking about with a corpse.

'Another one,' Sarah said.

'A what?'

'Another body.'

She didn't mean another one apart from this, Zoe realized: she just meant this. 'I guess your Michael's been here.'

'I guess.'

She sounded disconnected. Zoe didn't want her coming apart: not here, not now. She reached into her shoulder bag and took out the small silver gun she'd shown Sarah earlier. 'You want to stay out here?'

'Why, where are you going?'

Zoe pointed to the farmhouse. Bungalow. Whatever. It seemed to be crouching: a little bit of atmosphere went a long way. Although she'd already done so once that morning, she checked the gun again now, checked it was loaded . . . Actually, she'd never fired a bullet, though Joe had insisted she practise squeezing the trigger, so she'd know the proper way if things ever came to the crunch. He'd been an expert, of course. Not that he'd done it himself. Always leave the chamber under the hammer empty, he'd told her. Case of accidents. Thanks, Joe.

'I'm coming with you.'

'Okay.'

Okay because Zoe had no way of knowing whether it was more dangerous inside the building than out.

With Zoe leading, they approached the door. Before they'd found the body, everything had been quiet; now, it seemed to Zoe, the island was full of noises the wind s.h.i.+fting loose pebbles, straining through knotty tussocks of gra.s.s; the waves beating at the rocky edges all around them . . . She wondered how far Jed was; whether, if she fired her small pistol in the air, he'd hear and come back to fetch them. Even being seasick might be preferable to staying here, and finding whatever there was to be found. But she was already pus.h.i.+ng open the heavy wooden door as she had that thought, so she filed the notion away in that part of her mind labelled Instant Regrets.

There are those who claim they can tell when a house is empty. Zoe felt the air, colder inside, wrap itself around her as she entered, but it offered no clues about occupation. Empty, maybe. Or there were people here being very quiet. Time would tell.

It told. There was somebody indeed being very quiet in the first room Zoee entered: a room off the hall just to the side of the staircase, leading down, that she was ignoring for now. The room was a kitchen: obvious for its fittings, the oven, the sink still stacked with dirty dishes . . . The person being very quiet was dead. Obvious for the stain on his chest, like a map of one of the larger continents; deep black fading to red against the blue cotton background of his T-s.h.i.+rt. Shot, Zoe thought. She could feel a numbness creeping through her body, a paralysis mixed of shock and fear, but her mind was still going about its business coldly enough. This man had been shot. He was now dead. But so far n.o.body had shot Zoe or Sarah, so things were going pretty well, considering.

Behind her she heard Sarah's breathing catch, then give; behind that, a deeper noise, like an angry buzzing insect somewhere way overhead. Then it faded.

'You okay?'

' I thought . . .'

'You thought it was Michael?'

Sarah nodded.

'But it isn't?'

Sarah shook her head.

And are you glad or disappointed? Zoe wondered. But didn't ask.

She looked back to the body, which seemed to be growing smaller. A trick of perspective. Above it, a stainless steel draining board; above that, a window showing the view out back to be the same as it was out front. Nothing those eyes would see again.

'Shall we check for a pulse?'