At the end of the pier stood the old ferry terminal, a dilapidated weatherboard structure that had been abandoned and condemned a decade earlier when a state-of-the-art terminal was built around the corner in Elk Harbour. The waves and salty air had stained the walls of the building pale green, and its roof was Jackson Pollocked with bird shit.

The woman, along with the other officers, walked out to the terminal and disappeared inside.

This must have been why Bobbi was called here. Nothing good. Abby stared hard at the scene, actively storing each detail in her mind so she might compare notes with her later. There was a black museum in the dark stillness behind Abby’s eyes – and one behind most people’s eyes, she guessed – whose shelves were lined with Ann Rule and John Berendt, and whose walls were decorated with crime scene photos and portraits of serial killers.

‘—shouldn’t be here,’ a stern voice said, cutting through her thoughts. Abby had been so engrossed that she hadn’t noticed a police constable approach. He had one hand on his hip, the other on his holstered firearm. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘I…’

‘You need to leave,’ he said.

‘What happened here?’ she asked.

The constable’s shaggy black eyebrows lifted into arches.

‘Nothing good,’ he said.

He stood his ground and glared at her. Abby nodded, climbed back down the stone steps and onto the beach, leaving the crime scene behind her. She turned and jogged inland. She forgot all about what Lori had told her, and left feeling quietly thrilled.

When she made it back to the top of Harvill Hill Road, she turned and looked over the water. The island ferry was coming in.

9

THE WIDOW

The Island Ferry docked at Elk Harbour in Belport at twenty-five minutes after midday. The doors opened, lowering into a ramp, and spat the Lexus out like a dislodged chunk of meat. Kate and Fisher followed the road up and over the promenade, towards the town proper.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been back here,’ Fisher said, watching swatches of coastal woodland pass by the window. ‘I don’t know why anyone would live out here all year round. The isolation would drive me crazy.’

‘I’ve thought about it before,’ Kate admitted. ‘Every summer, the last weekend of our holiday, it’s all I can think about, actually. More for Mia than anything else. Kids grow up too fast nowadays. I always thought a childhood on the island would be simple, and humble, and…’

‘What?’

‘I was going to say, safe.’

‘Mm,’ he said. ‘I used to think that too.’

They reached Bay Street, which was usually packed with tourists. Today, like the rest of Belport, it was grey.