The Crossing Places

'Free to disrupt the henge dig?'

'Disrupt!' The fire is definitely back in Cathbad's eyes.

'We were trying to save it! Erik understood that. He wasn't like the rest of those…' He pauses for an epithet strong enough. 'Those… civil servants. He understood that the site was holy, sacred to the place and to the sea. It wasn't about carbon dating and crap like that. It was about being at one with the natural world.'

Nelson cuts in again. Ruth can tell he stopped listening at about the word 'holy'. 'And when the dig finished?'

'Life went on.'

'You went on being a postman?'

'No. I got another job.'

'Where?'

'At the university. I still work there.'

Nelson looks at Ruth who stares at him blankly. All these years, Cathbad has been working beside her at the university. Did Erik know?

'Doing what?'

'Lab assistant. My first degree was in chemistry.'

'Did you hear about the disappearance of Lucy Downey?'

"I think so. There was a lot in the papers, wasn't there?'

'And Scarlet Henderson?'

'Who? Oh, the little girl who went missing recently. I heard about it, yes. Look Inspector…' Suddenly his voice changes and he draws himself up in the wizard's chair.

'What's all this about? You've got nothing that links me to these girls. This is police harassment.'

'No,' says Nelson mildly, 'just routine enquiries.'

"I won't say anything more without a solicitor present.'

Ruth expects Nelson to argue (something along the lines that only guilty men need solicitors) but instead he stands up, hitting his head on a dream-catcher. 'Thank you for your time, Mr Malone. Just one thing. Can I have a sample of your handwriting?'

'My handwriting?'

'Yes. For our enquiries.'

Cathbad looks as if he is about to refuse but then he slowly gets up and goes to a filing cabinet which is sitting incongruously in a corner of the caravan. He unlocks a drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper. Ruth wonders why a man living in a caravan full of dream-catchers would also have a locked filing cabinet.

Nelson looks down at the writing and, just for a second, his face darkens. Ruth sees his jaw muscles clench and wonders what's coming. But instead Nelson smoothes out the paper and says in a bland, social voice, 'Thank you very much, Mr Malone. Good day.'

'Goodbye,' says Ruth weakly. Cathbad ignores her.

Ruth and Nelson scrunch away over the shingle. The fishermen are still sitting on the harbour wall. The tide is coming in, bringing with it a heady, briny smell and a host of seagulls, calling and crying overhead.

'Well?' says Nelson at last, 'what do you think?'

"I can't believe he works at the university.'

'Why not? It's full of weirdos, that place.'

Ruth can't tell if he is joking or not. 'It's just… if Erik knew, he didn't tell me.'

Nelson looks at her. 'Are you close then, you and this Erik bloke?'

'Yes,' says Ruth, rather defiantly.

'He's coming to England soon, isn't he?'

'Next week.'

'I'll look forward to meeting him.'

Ruth smiles. 'He said the same about you.'

Nelson grunts sceptically. They have almost reached their cars, which are still on dry land although the water is lapping round some unfortunate vehicles parked lower down.

'It'll play havoc with their suspension,' says Nelson.

'What about his writing?' asks Ruth. In reply, Nelson hands her the piece of paper. It seems to be a poem entitled 'In praise of James Agar'.

'Who's James Agar?' she asks.

'Bastard who killed a policeman.'

'Oh.' She begins to see why Cathbad chose this particular piece of paper. She glances down the lines. The handwriting is extravagant, full of swirls and loops. It is nothing like the writing in the Lucy Downey letters.

'It's not the same,' she says.

'Doesn't mean he's off the hook.'

'Do you suspect him then?'

Nelson pauses, one hand on his car door. 'I'm not ruling him out,' he says at last. 'He's a slippery character. He was in the area at the time and he knows all about that mystic stuff. He's clever too, and he's got something to hide. Why was that cabinet locked? I'm going to come back with a search warrant.'

'Will you get one?'

'Probably not. He was right when he said I had nothing on him. That's why I say he's clever.'

Not quite knowing why she says it, Ruth volunteers, 'Erik says he has magic powers.'

This time Nelson laughs out loud. 'Magic powers!

Nothing magic about him that a kick up the arse won't cure.' He gets into his car but pauses before putting the key in the ignition. 'Mind you,' he says, 'he did get one thing right. I am a Scorpio.'

CHAPTER 9

As Ruth turns into New Road she sees a familiar red sports car parked in front of her house. Shona often explains that her car is a penis substitute and, like the real thing, is often unreliable. Ruth hasn't seen Shona since before Christmas and wonders what new dramas she will have to report. She quite enjoys Shona's love life – second hand, she wouldn't want to live it herself, just as she wouldn't drive a scarlet Mazda. Fat chance of either, she thinks, as she parks behind Shona's car – number plate: FAB 1.

Shona, huddled up in a sheepskin coat, is standing looking out over the Saltmarsh. Dark clouds are gathering over the sea, which gives the whole place an ominous feel.

Shadows race over the mudflats and the seagulls are flying inland, sure sign of a storm to come.

'Jesus, Ruth,' says Shona, "I don't know how you can live here. This place gives me the creeps.'

"I like it,' says Ruth mildly. "I like being able to look right out to the horizon, with nothing in the way.'

'No people, no shops, no Italian restaurants.' Shona shudders. 'It wouldn't do for me.'

'No,' agrees Ruth. 'Do you want some lunch?'

In the cottage they are greeted ecstatically by Flint. Ruth goes into the kitchen and arranges cheese, pate and salami on a plate. Shona sits at the table by the window, talking.

'I'm definitely going to end it with Liam. He says he loves me but he's obviously never going to leave Anne.

Now she's got to have an operation and he can't do anything to upset her. I bet it's just a tummy tuck, anything to avoid making a decision. It was awful on New Year's Eve. Liam kept shoving me into cupboards and saying he loved me and trying to feel me up, then next minute he was back with his arm round Anne talking about their extension.

And Phil kept asking me if I'd got a bloke yet.

Wanker. Just because I wouldn't go to bed with him. And Phil's awful wife telling me that I'd got a mauve aura.

Bloody cheek, I hate mauve; it clashes with my hair.'

She pauses to eat a piece of bread, shaking out her red gold hair so that it shimmers in the dim afternoon light.

Ruth wonders what it must be like to be so beautiful.

Exhausting, to judge from what Shona says. Yet it must be exciting too – imagine if every man you met wanted to go to bed with you. Briefly, she flicks through a mental card index of the men in her life: Phil, Erik, her students, Ed next door, David, Harry Nelson. She can't really imagine any of them panting with desire for her. The thought is absurd and oddly disturbing-

'Ruth!'

'What?'

"I was asking what you did on New Year's Eve.'

'Oh, well, I had a cold, like I told you, so I decided to stay home but next door were having a party and the music was so loud that I gave in and went round.'

'Did you? What was it like?'

'Pretty boring. My neighbour kept asking annoying questions about archaeology.'

'Anyone interesting or were they all smug marrieds?'

'Mostly couples. There was another neighbour, David, the bird warden.'

'Oh.' Shona perks up at the thought of an unattached man. Unconsciously she rakes her fingers through her hair so that it falls more seductively across her face. 'What was he like?'

Ruth considers. 'OK. Quiet. Interesting, though a bit obsessive about birds.'