Chapter 48 Kate

48 KATE

NOW

She sits on a sun lounger by the edge of the sea, the bar to her right and the outdoor pool behind her. The weather has turned again, the evening sun shining brightly despite bruise-black clouds gathering on the horizon. Thunder and lightning are forecast for tonight.

Police are chatting with the resort staff outside the restaurant, and in the distance more police boats are arriving at Emerald Island. The resort is divided now into guests who are clearly trying to tune out the police presence and make the most of their stay, and the guests who are pissed at having their expensive, once-in-a-lifetime holiday interrupted by a corpse. Usually, the outdoor pool is occupied by half a dozen guests, but now it is as bustling as a Roman bath. The bar is heaving, too, the quiet of the last week replaced now with laughter and partying. Kate watches the scene mildly, aware of the strange effects that mortality can create in otherwise dull individuals. Experiencing a death, especially a traumatic death, can prompt a sudden rashness.

Often, the experience is not easy to see. Right now, she’s afraid for her life.

The uneasiness she felt about confronting Rob Marlowe is quietly modulating into recognition that she may not leave this place alive. She’s worried for her cats, and her garden, but after the list of things that may or may not be attended to in the event of her death is a question: Has it all been worth it? She is almost half a century old; not quite old enough to write off a dramatic life change, an overhaul. What would she change, if she gets the chance to survive all of this?

She would like to have someone in her life again, she thinks. To come home at night to another human being, give them a kiss, share a meal. And a bed. To wake up in the middle of the night not to the sound of a cat purring, but to a person. To hear the words I love you , to feel them rest inside her.

She watches two police officers walk along the beach, both in distinctive blue uniforms, the gold-edged crests of their authority beaming at their breasts. Two women have also been moving through the crowd in the bar, chatting with the guests informally—plainclothes detectives, Kate thinks, pleased that they’re women.

One of them approaches her. She’s about thirty-five, her black hair pulled back into a neat bun, a white shirt and black trousers. A wedding ring. She smiles at Kate.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Detective Sergeant Rasheed. I’d like to chat with you for a moment, if that’s OK?”

Kate takes off her sunglasses and fixes her kimono across her cleavage, quickly conscious of how she looks. “Of course. Pull up a chair.”

Detective Sergeant Rasheed moves a sun lounger a little closer and sits on the edge.

“Better weather now, no?” she says, raising a hand to block out the sun from her eyes.

“It definitely is,” Kate says. “Though I quite liked the rain. It was refreshing.”

“Have you been on the island long?”

“Since Thursday,” Kate says, and Detective Sergeant Rasheed pulls out a notebook and writes this down.

“And your name?”

“Kate Miller,” she says. “I’m English, though I live in Wales.”

“In the UK,” Detective Sergeant Rasheed says. “You’ll know that one of the guests sadly passed away recently. Antoni Caballé. You knew him?”

Kate frowns. “I chatted with him the first day after I arrived. He seemed to be a nice man.”

“Can I ask what you talked about?”

“I believe we talked about the reason he was here. To celebrate with his nephew, Salvador, who was planning to go to university. He said he was a widower. He also mentioned that he liked to kayak out to Emerald Island. He told me I should rent a glass-bottomed kayak as the water was so clear.”

Detective Sergeant Rasheed takes an interest in that, nodding and writing it down. “Do you think he might have kayaked across?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“Did he mention anyone here on the island?” she says. “Any people he was planning to see?”

Kate feels a tightness in her chest. She doesn’t want to mention Camilla. And the truth is, Antoni didn’t mention that. But sooner or later, the police will discover that he slept with Camilla the night before he died. That she was one of the last people to see him alive.

“No, he didn’t,” she says. “I had a panic attack on the boat, so our conversation was mostly about how I was feeling after that.”

“I’m sorry you had a panic attack. Do you know what caused it?”

More tightness in her chest. “No,” she says, smiling. “Just one of those things.”

The detective nods, writing this down. Kate opens her mouth, seized by an urge to spill all her suspicions about Rob to the detective. The words almost tumble from her lips, unbidden. We think Rob might also have killed six people twenty-two years ago . But an inner voice says that the detective won’t believe her, that her admission will be taken for something else—a signal that she is implicated, somehow, and so she stops.

“Was he murdered?” she asks. “Antoni?”

“I’m afraid I’m not able to share such information,” the detective says. Camilla’s words ring in Kate’s ears. The local police won’t do anything .

“We may decide to interview you again,” Detective Sergeant Rasheed says. “Which villa are you staying in?”

“Villa two,” Kate says. “I’m glad to help.”

Detective Sergeant Rasheed smiles, rising to her feet. Kate watches as she heads back to the bar. What happens , she thinks, if they decide Camilla’s a suspect?

As she watches Detective Sergeant Rasheed approach another group of guests, she sees Rob, with his familiar swagger, heading to the bar. Not a care in the world. He will care , she thinks, eyeing him coolly. He will care tonight.

WHEN SHE RETURNS TO HER villa, the door is open.

Kate steps inside, glancing around, jumping a little when someone appears in the kitchen.

“Good day,” Rafi says. “I’m just replenishing your minibar. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

“It’s fine,” Kate tells him, slipping off her sandals. “I spoke to Detective Sergeant Rasheed just now,” she adds. “I suppose they’re interviewing the staff, as well as the guests.”

He nods. “Yes. Even the staff who are not here. So far, it seems nobody saw anything suspicious. Maybe he slipped and banged his head.”

“Maybe,” she says, catching sight of something in the living room—the bouquet of roses she dumped in the waste bin has reappeared, arranged in a tall white vase. She stiffens.

“Rafi?” she calls. “I don’t mean to be a pain, but could I ask you to take these roses away?”

He steps out of the kitchen and glances at the arrangement. “Ah, apologies. I thought you would want them on display. I will remove them, this is no problem.”

He crosses the living room and lifts the vase with gloved hands. “You are allergic?” he asks.

Kate nods. It’s much simpler than giving him the full backstory.

“I don’t know why she didn’t give them to you herself,” Rafi says as he heads into the kitchen. “Sending them all the way from Malé! Must have been very expensive.”

Kate stares after him. “Who sent them from Malé, Rafi?”

“Malé?” Rafi says, brightening. “I believe there was a problem with the florist on Malé. They closed down very suddenly, but we did not want to disappoint our guests.”

She narrows her eyes, trying to follow. “So… you provided the roses?”

“My brother-in-law was happy to assist. But we had to retake payment from the customer and extend apologies from the other florist. And roses, of course, are difficult to keep fresh in this climate. It took a while to fetch them for you. But we managed in the end. I was pleased to deliver your beautiful roses personally.”

“Thank you,” she says. “But I mean, who paid for them? Originally? Did the florist pass on that information?”

Her meaning dawns on him. “Oh, I see. Yes, the payment had to be diverted to the resort, so we contacted the bank to check the details. I believe it was your friend from villa six. Miss Darcy.”