Page 50 of She Saw What He Did

‘Someone’s got to protect the residents from this murderer,’ he grinned.

‘Quiet you lot,’ yelled Farmer Brown. ‘I can’t hear a blessed thing.’

The pub quietened as the big screen flashed on the news. It was strange to see Laslow Island on the television.

‘Hey, isn’t that you in the background, Craig?’ yelled someone.

‘Yeah, I did see something going on. Didn’t realise it was the BBC.’

Cheryl watched mesmerised, barely able to take her eyes from the screen.

‘You don’t think it’s someone we know, do you Scott?’ she said quietly.

He shook his head.

‘Why would anyone here murder a stranger on the island? Anyway, I’ll take care of you.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ she said with a wink.

‘I hope the press don’t come back,’ said Craig.

‘I don’t care about the press,’ said Cheryl. ‘I just want them to find the murderer.’

*

Sparrow clicked on his phone and watched the news. He hadn’t expected it to be headline news. He waited anxiously for a photo of his features to flash onto the screen, even while knowing it wasn’t possible. As it became clear that no one had identified the killer or the victim, his heart began to slow and his breathing returned to normal. He grabbed the serviette that sat by his discarded sandwich and wiped the sweat from his forehead. All the same, it was now news and he could have done without that. Damn it. He’d convinced himself the body was resting at the bottom of the ocean. He looked at his phone nervously to see if they had contacted him but there was nothing. He needed that money. He was in far too deep now. He forced himself to breathe slowly and then calmly went over everything in his head. He’d burnt the shirt, shorts and trainers he’d worn that day. He still had the gun, but he’d cleaned it of prints and he always had a pair of gloves with him should he need to use it. He hoped to God he wouldn’t. One dead man was enough and that haunted him. He’d had nightmares every night. How had he got himself into this mess? He should have used some common sense. That kind of money doesn’t come easily. He was startled out of his reverie by the piercing screams of a child two seats ahead of him. He hated the ferry, all bloody two hours of it. He glared at the parents before turning back to his phone. He scrolled into it and read the BBC news, reassuring himself that he was quite safe. There was no way to connect the murder with him. He had to keep his nerve and make his plans. Time was precious. He didn’t have time to panic. He couldn’t make any mistakes. Most importantly no one must ever be able to identify him as the murderer. He forced himself not to think of those who were paying him the seventy thousand. He didn’t want to even imagine who he was dealing with. He only knew that if they were going to kill him, then they would have done it by now. No, they probably figured he had enough on his plate. They’d simply send that damning file to the police. He’d forced himself to watch it. The whole thing had been horrific, like some X-rated slasher movie. It had made him feel sick. He’d been a bloody fool and now he was paying the price. These were shady people, of that he had no doubt. He needed more cartridges for the gun. He needed protection. He had no idea who the hell would come after him next. Whoever sent the guy on the beach would be after the box. He exhaled and forced himself to think clearly. There were a few places he could get cartridges. The important thing was to get the money and get the hell out of here and to South America where the police couldn’t touch him. As soon as he knew when the box was to be delivered, he would book his ticket. He couldn’t help wondering what the hell was in that box. It was obviously worth a hell of a lot if the government wanted it. Sparrow wasn’t interested in politics. Why would he be? But something in that box interested some high official. Probably it was blood diamonds or something like that. He shrugged. What did he care? He had time and his plan had to be airtight, and he was going to make absolutely sure it was. His phone bleeped. It was a withheld number.

‘Hello,’ he said dubiously.

‘We’ll give you twenty thousand up front. Take it or leave it.’

Sparrow cursed under his breath. Damn it. He’d hoped for more. Still, that would get him to South America. It was a damn sight more than he had now.

‘I’ll take it,’ he said.

‘The money will be in locker 3b on the quay.’

Sparrow checked his watch. He’d just make it. He’d feel a lot happier having the money in his hands.

’We’ll be in touch.’

The phone went dead. He rubbed at his chin. He had everything under control. There was nothing to worry about.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The once peaceful Laslow Island had become a hive of activity with morbidly curious tourists flocking to see the scene of the crime.

‘I need a murder every week,’ Craig joked as his boat-hire business boomed. Weis maintained regular contact with Ellen and she started to wonder if there was more to it than the murder investigation. She felt flattered, nevertheless.

It was Monday morning. No one had come forward to identify the body and there had been no reports of a missing person.

‘It’s as though he didn’t exist,’ Weis had said.

Ryan interviewed many of the islanders in the hope of finding a lead. Everyone seemed to have come to terms with the murder and were going about their lives as normal. Some islanders were even cashing in on the publicity by offering guided tours of the island and the post office shop even sold special edition ‘Laslow Fudge’. Ellen spent hours making notes and trying to piece together the murder and trying to understand what could have been the motive.

The Spanish holiday she had discussed with Peter seemed to have been forgotten. Peter spent more and more time on St Calico’s where his friend was renovating a hotel. Ellen began looking at jobs again and found herself falling back into the humdrum life of the island. It was harder now. She’d had a taste of what it was to be in the thick of it and she wanted more.

Scott drummed his fingers on the desk and suddenly said, ‘Do you reckon we should have guns?’

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