With night almost set in, the long strip lights above them are the only illumination. The artificial light thrown out is unforgiving, picking out the dark shadows settling beneath people’s eyes, livid streaks of sunburn.
“How did it go?” Steed says, as she stops beside him.
“Not great. How about you?”
“Okay. Seth . . . nothing disturbed there.” He pauses. “But I was right, we weren’t the first to get in there since the Outward Bound days. I found newspapers dated from last year, and this, tucked at the back. Pre-LUMEN. Copies of a plan.” Removing a folded piece of paper from his bag, Steed passes it to her. “Looks like an alternative development for the island.” His finger hovers over a penciled box on the top right. Elin leans in. Written in pencil is a proposal to have the site protected, a formal conservation designation as a Site of Special Scientific Interest.
“This SSSI thing came up when I read that article about Porter Jackson complaining about the development. . . .”
Steed’s still looking at the plan. “There’s also a name, Christopher someone . . . can’t make out the rest.”
She examines the neat lettering, something stirring in her head, but she can’t quite grasp what it is. “Anything else?”
“A case study about the impact of this kind of development on the ecosystem, wildlife . . . data on energy usage, habitat disruption . . .”
“Maybe they were planning some kind of exposé on the retreat.”
“Looks likely.” He shrugs. “Sorry it’s not more helpful. I was hoping it would kick up something else.”
“It’s fine.” Elin takes a breath. “Right, I’m going to make an attempt to reassure everyone. Take it you haven’t heard about backup?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve spoken to them. Good and bad news. I’ll start with the good, but not actually sure if it deserves that classification . . . phone data is back from Bea Leger. Verifies what the water sports guy told you. She made several calls the night she arrived on the island. One to what we know is her sister’s phone and one to an unknown number. I’ve tried it, but it’s dead. I’ve asked for any data we have on the number.”
“A burner?”
“Probably, and the sister was right. The memory card was taken from her phone. It’s been used several times since Bea Leger’s body was found.”
“Chances are it’s the killer. Info deletion exercise.”
“Seems that way.” Steed shrugs. “But finding out whose phone it was put into might be a needle in the proverbial haystack.”
“And the bad news?”
“I spoke to Anna on my way back from the beach. You must have been on the phone . . . she tried to get ahold of you.” He hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with what he’s about to say. “There’s been another tweet, Elin.”
It takes a moment for her mind to catch up with what he’s saying. “Another one?”
“Yes.” He looks troubled. “Anna called because this time, there’s a photo of you . . .”
“But there was a photo in the other one.” His tone of voice unnerves her: not the casual, genuine reassurances of the past few days, but something more forced. He’s frightened for her.
“No, this is different.” He fumbles for his phone. “Anna’s taken a screenshot. Look.”
Steed passes her his phone. Elin stares at the tweet.
For a split second, it feels like her heart has stopped beating.
She immediately understands why he was so hesitant to tell her.
It’s not just that they’ve done the same thing as before—they’ve etched out hollows for her eyes—but it’s what the backdrop of the image tells her.
The photograph was taken the day she arrived at the retreat, standing by the yoga pavilion.
Whoever is sending these tweets is here, on the island, with her.
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Moments from the last few days flash through her mind. Her alone at the back of the lodge, the person searching, the cliff fall . . .
Had she been in real danger?
Steed takes the phone back. “I reckon someone’s trying to warn you off, that’s all.”
“But if that’s the case, why aren’t they targeting you too?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know,” he says eventually.
Elin’s mind starts spiraling: What if it’s not the killer who’s sending them? Could it be the same troll who’d sent similar things during the Hayler case? Hayler himself? It’s not implausible. He’s never been found. Zimmerman? She thought she recognized him . . .