He still can’t be sure it was Kate, but her hand movements were familiar. In the early days, when they’d drunk too much on the narrowboat, she would stand on the bow and wave energetically at passing boats, putting her whole body into it, determined to get at least a smile in return, even from the grumpiest passers-by. It was a private joke of theirs.
He has no idea how he can reach the house. It’s also much further away than he thought. There was no way in through the main gate, which he observed from a distance, and the perimeter fence is too high and monitored by CCTV. Approaching from the sea is his only hope.
He loves Kate more than ever, will never take her for granted again. ‘We could go somewhere if you like,’ the woman in the Swindon shopping centre said. He flushes at the memory of it. One stupid moment. Her mouth tasted bitter, like yarrow.
He looks across the bay, then bends down to pluck some moist samphire shoots pushing through the sand. He’s starving, but there’s no time to forage properly. It’s up to him now. DI Hart said there was nothing more they can do, at least for the moment. If a couple who look like Rob and Kate have walked into a police station in the UK, Jake has only one option left. He glances at the boats again and starts to run towards them, wishing he were fitter, praying that he’s not already too late.
107
Kate
Kate watches as the woman in the nurse’s outfit comes towards her and Putin, studiously avoiding eye contact. Does Putin control her too? As if on cue, he pulls out the remote. But for who? He stares at the woman’s firm figure, making no effort to be subtle, before checking his phone again. The woman immediately looks up at Kate, giving the faintest nod in the direction of the main door.
Did Kate imagine it? Her stomach starts to churn. What does the woman mean? Kate heard the door lock behind them when they arrived; it clicked with a sickening finality.
The woman turns to smile at Putin, who appears surprised, flattered. It must be the first time she’s paid him any attention. The woman smiles again, coquettishly this time, and starts to walk towards him, hips swaying shamelessly as she passes close by Kate, one hand holding the clipboard across her chest, the other down by her side. Kate feels the plastic card before she sees it, brushing her hand. A card like the one Putin used to let them in.
Kate grasps it and watches as the woman continues to flirt with Putin, leaning in to whisper something to him. Men can be so weak. He momentarily turns away, as if he doesn’t want Kate to hear their exchange. And then the woman looks over his shoulder at her and mouths one word.
Jump.
108
Jake
Jake’s heart sinks as he reaches the end of the deserted beach. Both boats moored in the inlet are old and unloved. Earlier he’d seen some buoys marking lobster pots, strung along the coast like beads on a giant necklace, and he’d thought the boats might be in decent condition. He’d also expected to find a tender pulled up on the sand somewhere, hidden at the back of the beach, but he can’t see one. He’ll have to wade out.
Five minutes later, he hauls himself onto the nearest of the two dilapidated boats, checking again that there’s no one around. He’s hidden his phone and wallet behind some rocks on the beach. The water was cold and his wet trousers are heavy as he gets his bearings on board. He’s always loved boats and has long dreamt of owning one like this, maybe a Plymouth Pilot with an enclosed cuddy and dual helm positions. He’d keep it down in Cornwall.
He scans the cliffs again, where he thought he saw Kate. It’s at least a mile away, but if he can get the engine going, he can cut straight across the bay and search for a way up. He lifts the inspection hatch and peers down at a rusty, single-cylinder, ten-horsepower diesel engine. The last time he had to hotwire anything was when he lost both sets of ignition keys for the narrowboat’s ancient engine. All he needs is a piece of cable. The owner of the boat seems reassuringly untidy, like him, and Jake soon finds a rusty length in the depths of the engine bay, semi-submerged in the bilge’s oily seawater. After turning on the fuel, Jake touches one end of the cable to the starter motor, the other to the positive terminal of the twelve-volt battery, bypassing the ignition switch. A few sparks – enough contact to crank the engine. Bingo. Removing the cable, now hot, he grabs the tiller and sets a course for the cliffs.
Kate used to hate how much time he spent with his head in the engine. Maybe now she’ll think it was worth it.
109
Kate
Kate grips the card in her hand and slides off the flip-flops, trying to control her breathing. She can’t stay here a second longer. The ventilator masks, the IV tubes, the screens – she’s never going to subject herself to all that again. She’d rather die than get trapped here, in this grey torture zone between life and death. Her body might be weak, boot-marked and sore, but her mind is strong.
Jump.
The lock clicks and the door is open before she hears the first shout behind her from Putin. The woman will do her best to stop him; Kate prays that her selflessness won’t be the death of her. Kate doesn’t care about the pain that’s about to rip through her own body. The urge to escape is overwhelming, visceral.
Fresh air, blue sky. The sea stretching out before her. Kate runs as she’s never run before, ignoring the pain in her swollen ribs, forcing her legs to go faster, focusing on the sea. The sea that extends all the way to Cornwall, to where she and Jake used to camp in the drizzle, water dripping through the flysheet, their Morris Minor failing to start, just enough money for a pint in the pub across the soggy cornfield, Jake stopping to pick her stitchwort and bluebells, her cursing him, loving him.
Her chest is heaving with the effort now, and she feels nauseous, faint, but she’s got nothing to lose. It was Jake out there on the cliffs, she’s sure of it. His profile is hard to mistake. It’s why she recognised him in the CCTV footage. He looked surprised when the woman kissed him, she’ll give him that. Shocked, even, by what he was doing. It had to happen, though. She and Jake were going nowhere, not communicating, too poor and too tired and too stuck in a rut, clinging to the wreckage of their waterborne life together, taking each other down to the cold lonely depths of a world where they’d forgotten how to love. Then along came Rob. And now Jake’s come looking for her.
She keeps running, forcing her bruised body forward until there’s nothing solid beneath her feet any more. She doesn’t stop. The sea is waiting for her far below, waiting to engulf her in its salty embrace, and she is a child again, jumping from the harbour wall. For a split second she thinks about arcing her body into a swallow dive, but she’s never jumped from this height before. She’s going to die. The cliffs are too tall. Better a quick death now than a slow, wide-eyed one back there. She tries to force her hands down to her sides, keep her feet pointed as she plummets. A pencil jump, like the one that impressed the Cornish boys in Mousehole. But then the shock hits, hot fiery pain like she’s never felt before, twisting and folding her screaming body until it’s snuffed out by the smack of watery darkness.
110
Jake
Jake hears the scream before he sees the body tumbling through the air. He knows at once it’s Kate and all he can do is watch from the boat, praying that she will survive the fall. Or did she leap? She always loved to jump and these cliffs are sheer and there is water below, but she must have been desperate to risk it. A second later she hits the surface, leaning too far back but feet first.