The Crossing Places

Ruth laughs. 'Exactly. Phil, on the other hand, thinks it's all coincidence pending geophysics reports and radiocarbon dating.'

'What do you think?'

Ruth pauses. She realises that Erik never once asked her this question.

'I think they're connected,' she says at last. 'The first Iron Age body marks the beginning of the marsh, the causeway leads almost straight to the henge which marks the point where the marsh became tidal. I don't know about the Spenwell bones but they must mark a boundary of some sort. Boundaries are important. Even now, look how important it is that we keep things in their proper place. "Keep your distance" people say. I think prehistoric people knew how to keep their distance.'

'You were always keen on your own space,' says Peter, slightly bitterly.

Ruth looks at him. 'This isn't about me.'

'Isn't it?'

They have reached the first buried post.

Peter pats the oak stump meditatively. 'Will you have to uproot the posts?'

'Erik doesn't want to.'

'I remember all that fuss when we dug up the henge. The druids tying themselves to the posts and the police dragging them away.'

'Yes.' Ruth remembers it too. Vividly. 'The only thing is… we did find out a hell of a lot about the henge by excavating. The type of axe used to chop the wood down, for example. We even found some of the rope used to tow it.'

'Honeysuckle rope wasn't it?'

'You've got a good memory.'

'I remember everything about that summer.'

Seeing Peter looking at her intently, Ruth avoids his gaze. She stares at the sea, where the waves are breaking a long way out, white against the grey. A stone skims past her, jumping once, twice, three times.

Ruth turns to look at Peter who grins, flexing his arm.

'You were always good at that,' says Ruth.

'It's a man thing.'

They are silent for a moment, watching the waves come closer and closer to their feet. There is always the temptation, thinks Ruth, to stay just a little bit too long, to stand on the water's edge until the spray actually gets you. And it's not always the wave you expect, the spectacular breakers hurling themselves against the shore. Sometimes it's the sneaky waves, the ones that come from nowhere, sucking the sand away from your feet; sometimes it's these waves that take you by surprise.

'Peter,' says Ruth at last, 'why are you here?'

'I told you, to research my book.'

Ruth continues to look at him. The wind is whipping the sand up into a storm. It flies in their faces, like a fine gritty rain. Ruth rubs her eyes, tasting salt in the air. Peter, too, brushes sand out of his eyes. When he looks back at Ruth, his eyes are red.

'Victoria and I, we've split up. I suppose I… I just wanted to come back.'

Ruth takes a deep breath that is almost a sigh. Somehow, she thinks, she had known this all along. 'I'm sorry,' she says. 'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'I don't know.' Peter speaks into the wind so it is hard for her to catch his words. 'I suppose I wanted everything to be like it was before.'

After a few minutes, they turn round and walk back towards the house.

Halfway back, it starts to rain; sharp, horizontal rain that seems to sting their faces. Ruth has her head down and doesn't realise that they have drifted right, northwards, until she sees the hide in front of her. She has never seen this hide before, although she remembers it from the map. It is on a shingle spit, almost at the tide mark. You would need to be an extremely determined bird-watcher, she thinks, to venture this far across the marsh.

'Ruth!'

Blinded by rain, Ruth looks up to see David standing by the hide holding a plastic bag which looks as though it contains litter. She remembers Nelson shouting at his subordinate to bag up the litter from another hide, the first time she met him.

'Hallo,' says Ruth. 'Clearing up?'

'Yes.' David's face is dark. 'They never learn. There are notices everywhere and still they leave their crap all over the place.'

Ruth tuts sympathetically and introduces Peter, who comes forward to shake hands.

'David is the warden of the bird sanctuary,' she says though she does not explain who Peter is.

'Must be an interesting job,' says Peter.

'It is,' says David with sudden animation. 'This is a wonderful place for birds, especially in winter.'

'I came here years ago, for a dig,' says Peter, 'but I've never really got it out of my system. It's so lonely and so peaceful.'

David looks curiously from Ruth to Peter and then he says, 'I saw a police car outside your house, Ruth.'

'Yes,' Ruth sighs. 'You know I'm helping the police with an investigation, with the forensic side.'

'Ruth's cat was killed,' Peter cuts in, to Ruth's annoyance.

'The police think it might be significant.'

Now David looks really shocked. 'Your cat was killed?

How?'

Frowning at Peter, Ruth says shortly, 'Her throat was cut. They think it could be linked to the investigation.'

'My God. How awful!' David makes a gesture as if to touch Ruth's arm but doesn't quite make contact.

'Yes, well, I was upset. I was… fond of her.'

'Of course you were. She was company.' He says it like he knows the importance of company.

'Yes, she was.'

They stand there awkwardly for a few minutes, in the rain, and then Ruth says, 'We'd better be getting back.'

'Yes,' says David, squinting towards the horizon. 'The tide's coming in.'

'I nearly drowned once on these mudflats,' says Peter chattily. 'Got cut off by the tide.'

'Easy to do,' says David. 'The tide comes in faster than a galloping horse, they say.'

'Let's gallop off then,' says Ruth. She is fed up with both of them.

As they trudge away, Peter says, 'Funny chap. Do you know him well?'

'Not really. I've only really spoken to him in the last few months. Which is why' – she glares at Peter – 'I don't want him to know all my business.'

Peter laughs. 'I was only being friendly. Remember that, Ruth? Friendly?'

Ruth is about to retort when her phone rings. For some reason she knows it will be Nelson.

It is a text, short and to the point. Have arrested Malone. His prints on letters. HN.

CHAPTER 15

'We've got to do something,' says Erik. 'The police haven't got a suspect so they're trying to frame Cathbad. We can't let them get away with it.'

'Apparently his fingerprints were on the letters,' says Ruth cautiously.

'Fingerprints, huh! You think they can't fake evidence?

You think they aren't capable of that?'

Ruth says nothing and Erik gets up to pace angrily around the tiny office. They are at the university. Term has started and Ruth has a student consultation in ten minutes.

However, Erik, who has been ranting against the police for the last half hour, shows no sign of leaving.

'What have the letters got to do with anything, anyway?

Writing a letter doesn't make him a murderer. There's nothing that links him to that little girl. Nothing.'

Ruth thinks back to the photo in the Hendersons'

kitchen. She now knows that there is something that links Cathbad to the Hendersons, something definitely tangible.

Does this make him a murderer? His fingerprints were on the letters. Does this make him the author? Ruth thinks about the letters. Cathbad knows about mythology, he knows about archaeology, he is fanatically interested in the Saltmarsh. She has to admit he is a likely candidate. But why would he do it? Is he really capable of killing a little girl and taunting the police with clues? And Lucy Downey?

Could he have killed her too?

'I don't know,' she says, 'I don't know any more than you.'

This isn't quite true. After receiving his text, Ruth rang Nelson. His phone was switched off but he rang her later that evening. Peter had finally gone home and she was once again trying to work.

Nelson sounded excited, almost jubilant. 'Turned out we had his prints on file. He'd been arrested a few times before, demonstrations, that sort of thing. That's why I tested again. We got a match an hour ago. And we've got a link to Scarlet.'