Stepping to the side to get more of a profile view of the cliff, she spots a small ledge a few feet below the bolt.
The chill settles deeper in her chest.
Definitely wide enough for Seth to have stood there, asked Bea for help, and when she did, reaching down a hand, he’d pulled her to her death.
The more Elin turns it over in her mind, the more plausible it becomes. Bea, perhaps tipsy, judgment impaired, would have gone to his aid, not picked up on anything awry.
She shakes her head. If it is the case, then it’s clever. Not an accident at all, but murder. Ingenious as an idea—the perfect murder being one that doesn’t appear to be a murder.
But for what motive?
Given the timing, it has to be linked to Seth’s death, but what did Bea have to do with Seth?
No way of knowing, not at this point, but whatever it was, it still leaves questions. Something like this needs planning. If Seth was involved, how did he transport the climbing equipment, and where is it now? A carabiner, yes, but the rest—harness, ropes—was bulky, would have drawn attention at that time of night.
It’s unlikely that he’d have dumped anything in the water, risked it washing up at the retreat. More plausible is that he’s stashed it somewhere close by. Not so close as to be noticed when the crime scene was examined, but equally not too far away; he’d have been under pressure to get back to the villa before he was missed.
She doubts he’d have hidden anything on the side closest to the retreat, so that leaves the left-hand side, where the cliff curves around to the next cove.
Picking her way along the cliff, she scours the rocky face for suitable hiding places.
Nothing obvious, until she notices a large hollow in the rock, about a yard wide, stretching from foot level to just below head height. Ducking her head, she squeezes inside. The space is shallow, extending back only a few yards; barely wide enough to turn.
Tamping down a growing feeling of claustrophobia, Elin looks for any natural hiding places, but the walls reveal nothing but barnacles, lumpy protrusions of rock.
After giving it another once-over, she squeezes out of the hollow to start again.
She follows the cliff face around until she comes to another opening, similar in size to the last, but narrower. Once inside, she glimpses it right away: a small opening about half a foot above the bottom.
Crouching on her haunches, Elin slips on a pair of gloves, pushes her hand inside.
Her fingertips touch something. A crinkling sound.
Burrowing her hands in farther, adrenaline rushes through her chest as her fingers grasp a plastic bag, something solid inside.
44
One sharp tug and thin coils of brown and green rope spill from the bag and onto the ground. Sitting half exposed beneath is a metal harness.
Elin stares, not surprised but aghast at what this means: not only the cementing of her theory but how carefully planned it was.
Bea’s death was no accident.
That makes it even more likely that her death and Seth’s are linked. Most depressingly, the motive is probably drugs.
Senseless deaths over a senseless poison.
After taking several photographs, she roughly pushes the rope and bag back into the hollow.
Too heavy to carry alone across the rocks; she’ll have to come back for it.
Outside, Elin peels off her gloves. Wiping her clammy fingers on her trousers, she starts walking across the rocks toward the beach.
She’s only gone a few yards when she hears something. A faint noise, from above her.
Tipping up her head, she glances around, but the rocks, the cliff above, are deserted. Despite that, Elin has the strange sensation that she’s not alone.
With every step she takes, her unease grows.
She’s about to pick up her pace when there’s a flash of movement above her.
It seems to be coming from the rock itself, or rather, a part of it: a small boulder, careering in her direction.
Elin’s almost surprised at first—she feels a cool detachment, as if she’s watching it fall toward someone else, observing with an almost scientific interest as the boulder bounces against the rock face, tiny fragments of stone splintering with a skittering sound.
She stands, motionless, still expecting it to ping off at an angle, veer away from her.
But it doesn’t.
The boulder keeps falling.
Time seems to stand still, each pivot and jerk, as the rock ricochets off the limestone and tumbles, taking place in an agonizing kind of slow motion.
The hairs on the back of her neck lift, but her legs won’t move, won’t do as her brain is instructing.
Move. Move.
45
We can’t stay here.” Jo stands up from the sofa. “First Bea, now Seth.” The muscles in her arms are taut with tension as she paces the room.