“I didn’t like losing you as a friend.”
“Yes. Well. There it is.” Kerra thought, What now? They could hardly pick up where they’d left off in the pre-Santo days. Too much had occurred, and the reality of Santo’s death still had to be dealt with. His death and the means of it hung between them even now. It was the great unspoken and it would remain so, as long as there was the slightest possibility that Madlyn Angarrack was involved.
Madlyn herself seemed to understand this because she next said, “I’m frightened about what happened to him. I was angry and hurt. Other people knew I was angry and hurt. I didn’t keep it to myself…what he’d done. My father knew. My brother knew. Other people knew. Will Mendick. Jago Reeth. One of them, you see…Someone might have hurt him, but I didn’t want that. I never wanted that.”
Kerra felt a tingle of apprehension along her spine. She said, “Someone might have hurt Santo to get revenge on your behalf?”
“I never wanted…But now that I know-” Her hands balled into fists. Kerra saw her fingernails-those nicely clipped crescents-dig into her palms, as if telling her she had said enough.
Kerra said slowly, “Madlyn, do you know who killed Santo?”
“No!” There was a rise to Madlyn’s voice, suggesting that what she’d come to say had not yet been said.
“But you do know something, don’t you. What?”
“It’s only that…Will Mendick came round last night. You know him, yes?”
“That bloke from the grocery. I know who he is. What about him, then?”
“He thought…I’d spoken to him, you see. Like I said before. He was one of the people I told about Santo and what happened. Not everything, but enough. And Will…” It seemed that Madlyn couldn’t finish. She twisted her hands in the hem of her pinny and looked generally miserable. “I didn’t know he fancied me,” she concluded.
“You’re telling me he did something to Santo because he fancied you? To…to get even with Santo on your behalf?”
“He said he sorted him. He…I don’t think he did more than that.”
“He and Santo were friendly. It wouldn’t have been impossible for him to get to Santo’s climbing kit, Madlyn.”
“I can’t think he actually…He wouldn’t have.”
“Have you told the police?”
“I didn’t know, you see. Not till last night. And if I’d known…If I’d known that he’d even planned it or thought about it…I didn’t want Santo hurt. Or if I wanted him hurt, I wanted him hurt, not hurt. D’you know what I mean? Hurt inside, the way I was hurt. And now I’m afraid…” She was making a real mess of her pinny. She’d balled it up and got it hopelessly wrinkled. Casvelyn of Cornwall was not going to like that.
“You think that Will Mendick killed him for you,” Kerra said.
“Someone. P’rhaps. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t ask…I didn’t tell…”
Kerra saw why the girl had come to her, finally. The knowledge dawned upon her and with the dawning came a fuller understanding of who Madlyn was. Perhaps it was the central shift within her that had come about because of Alan. She didn’t know. But she did feel different about Madlyn at long last, and she could see things from Madlyn’s perspective. She rose from her place opposite the other girl and sat at her side. She thought about taking her hand, but she didn’t. Too abrupt, she thought. Too soon.
She said, “Madlyn, you must listen to me. I don’t believe you had anything to do with what happened to Santo. There was a time when I might have done and I probably did, but it wasn’t real. Do you understand? What happened to Santo wasn’t your fault.”
“But I said to people-”
“What you said to people. But I doubt you ever said that you wanted him to die.”
Madlyn began to cry. Whether it was from grief too long withheld or from relief, Kerra could not tell. “D’you believe that?” Madlyn asked her.
“I absolutely believe it,” Kerra said.
IN THE INGLENOOK OF the Salthouse Inn’s bar, Selevan waited for Jago Reeth in something of a lather, which was unusual for him. He’d phoned his mate at LiquidEarth and asked could they meet at the Salthouse earlier than normal. He needed to talk to him. Jago was good about the matter. He didn’t ask could they talk on the phone. Instead, he said, ’Course, that’s what makes mates mates, eh? He’d give the word to Lew and set out directly, soon as he could. Lew was a decent bloke about things deemed emergencies. He could be there in…say, half an hour?
Selevan said that would do him fine. It would mean a wait and he didn’t want to wait, but he could hardly expect a miracle from Jago. LiquidEarth was some distance from the Salthouse Inn and Jago couldn’t exactly beam himself there. So Selevan finished his business at Sea Dreams, packed up the car with everything he would need for the coming trip he’d be taking, and set out for the inn.
He knew he’d carried things as far as he could, and it was time to bring it all to a conclusion, so he’d gone into Tammy’s cramped little bedroom, and from the cupboard he’d taken her canvas rucksack, which she’d first brought with her from Africa. She hadn’t needed it then and she certainly didn’t need it now, because her possessions were few and pathetic. So it was the matter of a moment only to remove them from the chest of drawers: a few pairs of knickers of the overlarge sort an old lady might wear, a few pairs of tights, four vests because the girl was so flat in the chest that she didn’t even require a brassiere, two jerseys, and several skirts. There were no trousers. Tammy did not wear trousers. Everything she possessed was black, except the knickers and the vests. These were white.
He’d scooped up her books next. She had more books than clothes and these comprised mostly philosophy and the lives of saints. She had journals as well. Her writing within them was the one thing about her that he hadn’t monitored, and Selevan was rather proud about this since during her stay with him the girl had done nothing to hide them from him. Despite her parents’ wishes in the matter, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to read her girlish thoughts and fantasies.
She had nothing else except a few toiletries, the clothes she was currently wearing, and whatever she had in her shoulder bag. That wouldn’t include her passport, since he’d taken it from her upon her arrival. “And don’t let her keep her bloody passport,” her father had intoned from Africa once he’d put her on the plane. “She’s likely to run off if she has it.”
She could have her passport now, Selevan decided. He went to fetch it from the spot where he’d hidden it, beneath the liner of the dirty clothes bin. It wasn’t there. She must have found it straightaway, he realised. The little vixen had probably been carrying it round for ages. And she had been carrying it on her person as well, since he had regularly gone through her bag for contraband. Well, she’d always been a step ahead of everyone, hadn’t she?
Selevan had made a final stab that day at bringing her parents round. Ignoring the cost and the fact that he could ill afford it, he’d rung Sally Joy and David in Africa and he’d felt them out on the matter of Tammy. He’d said to David, “Listen here, lad, at the end of the day, kids got to follow their own path. Let’s s’pose it was some ruffian she decided she was in love with, eh? More you argue against it, more you forbid her seeing the bloke, more she’s going to want to do it. It’s simple psycho-whachamacallit thingummybob. Nothing more or less’n that.”
“She’s won you over, hasn’t she?” David had demanded. In the background, Selevan could hear Sally Joy wailing, “What? What’s happened? Is that your father? What’s she done?”
“I’m not saying she’s done anything,” Selevan said.
But David went on, as if Selevan hadn’t spoken. “I’d hardly think it was possible for her to do it, all things considered. It’s not as if your own kids were ever able to make you see reason, were they.”