Now it was quite dark. The wind was deceptive, blowing in gusts and swirls around the lighthouse. It was hard to tell exactly which direction it was coming from, but it was cold, so probably from the north-west. Sarah had come out with just the cardigan and soft shoes. Fran swore at her under her breath. I bet she was spoiled as a child. Above her the lighthouse beam swung, regular as a metronome. Three short flashes and a long one. It lit the outcrops of rock and reflected on the pools of water.

She found Sarah sitting by Golden Water. This was where the trumpeter swan had come to roost, where the birdwatchers from the mainland had gathered. Now the pond was empty. In a dip in the land and sheltered from the gusting wind the water was calm. Fran spotted Sarah first as the lighthouse beam moved slowly across the landscape, saw her in the flashing light like a primitive cartoon, sheets of paper flicked to bring a character to life. But here there was no movement. Sarah sat quite still. As Fran walked towards her, wellingtons squelching in the sodden ground, the clouds broke and a thin moon partly lit her way. She took off her waxed jacket and put it over Sarah’s shoulders. ‘Come back inside. You’ll freeze to death.’ And for a moment she imagined that the woman was another victim and that she’d been killed too, because she seemed quite rigid. Fran remembered the body of Angela Moore, stiff with rigor mortis. Her skin had been blue.

‘Come back inside,’ Fran said again. ‘It’s all over. Jimmy knows what happened. He’s making an arrest now.’ Stretching the truth perhaps, but she was freezing and just wanted to get back to the warm kitchen.

Then the woman turned her face to Fran and with the brown clouds rushing across the moon, and to the beat of the lighthouse beam, she began to speak. The words spilled from her mouth, the whole story told right from the beginning. Fran shivered and tried to lift Sarah again to her feet. ‘Come inside. We’ll sort it all out. We’ll help.’ And along with the cold, she felt almost excited because Sarah had confessed to her and not to Jimmy. Who’s the detective now, Jimmy Perez? This was her own moment of triumph.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Perez ran through the common room, but it was empty. He thought everyone had been embarrassed by the earlier scene and had scattered to their rooms. He stood at the foot of the stairs. The building was quiet. He couldn’t bear the thought of marching around the building, dragging them all back like recalcitrant children. After all, there’s no hurry, he thought. Where will they go? There’s no escape. They’ll come down eventually.