The bulky rig on his back meant they’d had to place him on his side, and at first glance you’d think he was sleeping if it wasn’t for the pale color of his face, the stiffening limbs.
Elin crouches down beside him, the boat rocking slightly with the movement.
Tom reaches out, points. “Here,” he says quickly. “This is the valve I mentioned, it’s definitely been switched off. Like I said, he could have switched it back on, unless . . .” He gestures to the hood, his hand now trembling slightly.
Elin looks at where he’s pointing. This close, the puckering on the hood she’d glimpsed in the photo Tom had taken earlier underwater is clear, slight indentations visible in the fabric.
Her eyes shift between the valve and the hood.
She swallows. They tell a story, an awful one, and she blinks, unable to stop herself from picturing it: Seth struggling underwater, air no longer free flowing, a hand weighing him down . . .
“There’s something else,” Steed murmurs, moving closer. “Look, here, at the corner of his mouth. To the left of the respirator.”
A fine, powdery residue.
It’s been smeared by submersion in the water but is still visible. Some kind of chalk? It’s impossible to tell until it’s analyzed, but it bothers her.
Steed’s looking up and down the body. “Can’t see it anywhere else.”
Elin nods. She can taste bile, bitter in her mouth.
Everything’s telling her that this was no accident.
Seth has been murdered. His life brutally snuffed out beneath the water.
40
Elin closes the door of the shack behind her, slipping her phone back in her pocket. “The DCI thinks we should get forensic PMs carried out now we’ve got two bodies.”
Steed nods. “Pretty clear that Delaney wasn’t out there on a jolly.” He tugs at the tarpaulin so it sits flat against the floor of the shack. “Possible pickup spot?”
Water from Seth’s body and the tarpaulin is tracking across the dusty floor in a messy line. “Given what we know about his record, it’s plausible. Tom said he’s been out here fairly regularly.” Opening the door of the shack, she lets Steed out in front of her before pulling it closed.
“On his father’s island, though . . . risky move.” He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the water.
“Maybe rewards too big to refuse. Perhaps he got in over his head.” Elin hesitates. “What are your thoughts on timing?”
“So soon after Bea Leger’s death?”
“Yes, and someone in the same party. Together with the whole surprise thing, the questions over someone leaving the villa . . .” She shakes her head. “I think we need to speak to the girlfriend now.”
Steed’s eyes flick back to the shack. “What about the body?”
“Ideally someone should stay, but I’m comfortable with locking the shack up, leaving it be. I think it’s best if you come with. Another pair of eyes will be helpful.”
“You want me to let Delaney’s family know on the way?”
“Please.” But as she imagines his father’s reaction, her mind rubs up against her doubt of a moment ago.
Would Seth really traffic drugs on his father’s island?
The question inevitably leads to another: If Seth was willing to do that, exactly what kind of person is his father?
Ronan Delaney, a highly successful property entrepreneur, is one of the most respected figures in the international development and construction industry. Throughout his career, he’s constructed award-winning buildings across the UK and in Europe. Delaney is a patron of the Rainbow Foundation, which seeks to engage people from disadvantaged and minority communities in politics and civil society.
As they walk across the beach, Elin keeps scrolling through the feature on Ronan Delaney. Below the first few paragraphs of text is a glossy, corporate shot: Ronan in a white shirt, open at the neck.
“Looks like Seth, doesn’t he?” Steed says, peering over her shoulder.
“He does.” While Ronan’s hair is speckled with gray, the resemblance to Seth is clear: the same strong features and broad frame. Yet one thing is different. Although Ronan’s expression is neutral, just a hint of a smile, his eyes give off something she hadn’t expected after meeting Seth—vulnerability.
She needs to know more.
Reaching the steps leading up to the main lodge, Elin lingers. “One sec,” she says. “I want to check something.” She adds the name of the retreat to Ronan’s in the search bar.