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.
34
A hive of activity surrounds the water sports shack as Elin approaches; staff and guests milling around a half-empty rack of paddleboards.
Steed stands next to Farrah, off to the side, sweat already glistening on his forehead.
Farrah gestures in front of her. “Tom, whom you met before, is probably the best person to speak to about a boat. He’s just finishing up with some guests.”
Tom is striding up the beach, bookended by two guests, a paddleboard under each arm. Thick stripes of zinc stick mark his face, warrior-style. His blue rash guard is speckled with salt stains, the material stretched thin against the hard musculature of his body.
“So you’ve spoken to the Control Room?” Steed says quietly.
“Yep. They’ve created another incident log.”
“Thoughts?” His feet sink in the soft sand, spilling over his shoes.
“Interesting timing, but not much more to go on. Sounds like he was upset after the wedding got canned.”
Steed looks at her uneasily. They watch in silence as Tom reaches them, hauls the boards up onto the rack. After murmuring something to the guests, he turns. “Farrah said you wanted to go and take a look at the bag we spotted?”
Elin nods. “How far is it from here?”
Tom screws up his face. Fine creases appear in the zinc across his nose. “Minutes by boat, but obviously longer to swim. Fifteen minutes or so.” He pauses. “You want to go now?”