Bright Air - Barry Maitland [64]
‘And Then There Were None,’ she replied. ‘The Executioners, The Skull Beneath the Skin …’
‘Er, The Magus, Lost …’ That was about the lot as far as I was concerned, but she had plenty more, all mysteries of course.
‘The Singing Sands, Evil Under the Sun, Five on a Treasure Island, The Lighthouse …’
‘You win,’ I conceded. ‘Is there a common theme?’
‘Oh yes; the presence of evil in the Great Good Place. It’s the very first story of all, the serpent in the Garden of Eden.’ She cast me a sideways look, and I wondered if that’s how she saw me now, Luce’s serpent.
‘Rattus rattus,’ I muttered. ‘Do we have a plan? I imagine all your island detectives had some kind of plan.’
‘To have a close look at the place of the accident, and to check out the Kelsos.’
‘Do we tell them we were friends of Luce’s?’
‘We may have to later, but let’s wait until we’ve had a chance to look around. There’s no reason they should know who we are.’
‘Right, stealth—good thinking.’
I turned back to the window. The view was unchanged and the hollow feeling returned to my stomach; such a vast ocean to absorb one tiny human being. One and a bit tiny human beings.
As we banked in, we got a fine view of the island, a dark crescent in the gleaming ocean, embracing a long narrow lagoon contained by the most southerly coral reef on the planet. The sun glinted off tin roofs among foliage in the low-lying land in the centre of the island, flanked by the two high peaks of Mount Lidgbird and Mount Gower to the south, and by lower hills to the north. The airstrip lay in a narrow sandy waist in the middle, and as we began our approach the pilot warned us to expect a bumpy landing. We descended, losing speed, and the plane was buffeted by surface winds channelling around the mountains. Our wheels touched the runway with a squeal, then lifted again as a gust threw the plane sideways. It corrected, skewing around, then dropped abruptly onto the deck, bounced and skidded to a halt. Everyone clapped.
We clambered out and made our way to a small building to claim our bags. There were drivers standing there holding up signs, and while we waited I idly read their messages, all displaying names of hotels, except one. I blinked with surprise at that one, which said JOSH & ANNA. The man who was holding the sign across his chest was staring directly at me, and I was immediately sure that he knew exactly who I was. I touched Anna’s arm and said, ‘We’re expected,’ and nodded at the man. Anna looked, and he stared back at her, unsmiling. He was in his early thirties, perhaps, weathered and tough.
He came towards us as the trolley with our bags arrived, and held out his hand. ‘Bob Kelso.’ He didn’t seem to need confirmation of who we were.
We loaded the bags into the back of his truck, and climbed into the front beside him. I said, ‘You seem to know who we are, Bob.’
‘Recognised your name on our guest list, Josh. Luce spoke about you. She had your picture in her wallet.’ He spoke with a soft, deliberate slowness, eyes slightly narrowed as if more used to focusing on distant waves than people. ‘We were friends.’
I felt a small jag of jealousy. Luce, not Lucy; they’d been friends. He’d seen inside her wallet. And he’d shared her last month on earth.
‘So what brings you over here?’
‘I was away in England when it happened, and I just got back. I bumped into Anna, and we thought it would be good to visit the place where Luce died. Closure, you know.’
He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he disliked that word as much as I did. I thought it best not to start asking him questions at this point, and Anna seemed to feel the same. As we drove off Bob pointed out landmarks. On our left we could see the wide sweep of the beach and lagoon, with a rim of white breakers along the line of the distant reef. To our right the road was lined by thick groves of trees among which we caught glimpses of white timber houses, and after a kilometre or so we turned into a driveway which led through the trees—kentia palms, I noticed,