Chapter 33

33

Access to the islet is over a wooden bridge that sways as they cross it: narrow wooden planks shifting beneath Elin's feet.

She tenses. Every movement emphasizes the gaps between the planks, the glimpses of glimmering sea and rocks lurking below the surface.

"Okay?" Farrah says, a few feet ahead. "Not the easiest access, but it adds to the seclusion."

"Secluded is right. I can't even see the villa." Elin clamps her hands around the rope-style handrails to steady herself as Farrah steps off the bridge onto the islet. All she can make out is a narrow track meandering between a dense thicket of towering pines and conifers, mature oaks.

"That's how Will designed it. Total privacy from the main island."

Stepping off the bridge, Elin follows Farrah onto the track. A hundred yards or so on, the wall of foliage breaks open to reveal a larger version of their villa. The pastel blue of the exterior walls is only a shade lighter than the sky, so it seems to disappear into the sea and sky, boundaryless.

"Probably best if we put on overshoes, just in case." Elin pulls two new pairs from her bag and hands one to Farrah. After putting them on, Farrah raises a pass to the door. It opens noiselessly into a large open-plan space that is roughly zoned out—a large, low-slung bed on the right-hand side, sofas on the left.

Elin's eyes are drawn to the glass doors at the back that open out onto the wooden decking, the sea beyond. Looped rings of handholds mark the edge—a ladder to take you straight into the sea. It's an idyllic private oasis, the perfect honeymoon spot, but a huge space for one, she thinks with a pang, imagining Rob walking in alone.

As she moves farther in, it is immediately clear why the cleaner was concerned. The bed is still made, but it's the eye of the storm—the only thing not in disarray. The wardrobe door on the right is flung open, meager contents lying messy on the shelves.

A duffel bag has been upended on the floor beside the bed, books scattered around it.

Elin notices a small photo album splayed open. After carefully stepping around the books, she pulls on a pair of gloves and starts flicking through the pages.

Polaroids.

Images, mainly selfies, of two people who she assumes are Rob and the woman who was his fiancée, in the first hit of love, eyes sparkling, arms wrapped around each other.

Elin carefully scours the space—bathroom, kitchen area—and then heads out of the back door to the decking. The daybed and table and chairs in the center are undisturbed, the sea revealing nothing but blues.

"So what do you think?" Farrah says as Elin comes back inside, foot tapping the floor.

"Hard to say. No way of telling if the mess was made by him or someone else."

But glancing around again, her gaze settles on the cables snaking out of a cube-shaped multi-adapter attached to the wall. Cables, but none of the tech you'd expect to see attached to them—a phone, a laptop, maybe a camera.

A robbery gone wrong? Had Rob come back to the lodge and disturbed someone?

"Any issues with burglaries here?"

Farrah shakes her head. "Not as far as I'm aware. Do you think that's what this is?"

"It's possible. Someone could access the islet unnoticed. Particularly given the seclusion. Especially at night." Elin looks beyond Farrah to the water, unable to shake off her growing sense of unease. This isolation is beautiful, but the privacy comes at a cost. If anything happened here, no one would see or hear it.

"Is there CCTV?"

"No, but I'm starting to think that it's probably something we should consider given—" Farrah stops. "Hold on, someone's calling."

Nodding, Elin scopes the vast expanse of water beyond. Someone could go anywhere from here by boat—straight out to sea, unnoticed from the main island.

Farrah turns back, a worry line niggling her brow. "That was someone from the water sports team. Some dive equipment's missing."

Elin's pulse picks up. "Since when?"

"Apparently it was there when they locked up last night." Farrah hesitates. "They've also spotted a bag floating on the water."

"I'm going to need to take a look." Elin picks up her phone to call Steed, alarm bells ringing.

Michael Zimmerman's words are echoing in her ears: There's something rotten here.

The longer she stays, the more she can't help feeling that he's right.