When he turned back the world was black except for a single image: in midstream there was a fire licking at the outboard motor on Fleet’s boat. He stood, flapping at the flames, which leapt to his arms and head. Then the fuel tank exploded, a dull percussion which popped Dryden’s ears. The flames were in Fleet’s hair then, so he threw himself into the shimmering water.
Ruth Connor was on her knees when his body passed out to sea beneath them. They looked down through the wooden planking and, by the light now only of the moon, they saw the blackened twisted body, one arm thrown up across the eyes, revealing the ugly black zigzag of the self-inflicted scar.
48
The air, thick with the stench of seared electrics, held a hint of something else which made Dryden retch. He stood with Ruth Connor for a minute, watching the body turn languidly in the tide under the bridge until it was lost from sight. The camp lay half-lit now, the emergency generator rattling in the cold air. By reception the flashing lights of a police car punctuated the darkness. In the silver light Dryden could see fish on the outgoing tide, their dead scales still iridescent.
There was silence but Dryden wondered if he’d been deafened by the explosion. He pressed his fingers to his ears and the pressure popped. Along the bridge he heard footsteps and William Nabbs climbed up from the river- bank. He held Ruth Connor close like a child, looking out to sea.
Dryden rang DI Parlour’s mobile. ‘Hi. Yup. On the bridge down by the river. Get a boat out, quickly, there’s a body going out on the tide. We need the body. There’s no time now, I’ll be there in ten, but get a bloody boat out.’
Then he ran to the chalet. Laura sat by the window, the COMPASS on her lap where he’d left it.
There was a message again, a brutal repetition: YOU PROMISED
He leant forward to the keyboard and typed: I LIED
Then he picked up the propane heater, killed the flame, and took it outside with his torch. Three flashes into the night were answered immediately from the dunes, the Capri’s headlights suddenly blazing, swinging round like a lost lighthouse.
He had time so he walked down to the beach where there was an oil drum used to burn flotsam. He fished out a rope caked in tar and lit it with his lighter, then tossed it in with the propane heater. Looking back at the chalet, he saw the flames reflected in the sightless glass. After a minute the canister popped, a miniature mushroom cloud rising up into the night sky, sparks sizzling on the frosted sand.
The lights of Humph’s cab crept down to the foreshore. Dryden went back inside, picked Laura up, and carried her out under the moon. They pushed Boudicca down into the footwell in the passenger seat and slid Laura on to the worn plastic seating. Dryden slipped in beside her and held her.
‘The Tower?’ said Humph.
‘No. The old dining hall. The police are there. It’s over. Then we’re going home – to the boat. All of us.’
Postscript
The body of Russell Fleet was never found, but a 22-foot ketch, the Saronica, was located anchored off Scolt Head Island, North Norfolk, thirty miles along the coast. It was provisioned for a sea voyage. The burnt wreck of the dinghy was recovered, with the charred remains of an estimated ?325,000 in ?50 notes.
An inquest into the death of Chips Connor recorded a verdict of unlawful killing. Ruth Connor remained silent and refused to answer any questions relating to the death of her husband, Paul Gedney, Declan McIlroy or Joe Petulengo, or her relationship with Russell Fleet. She was interviewed on six separate occasions but never charged. The case remains open, but DI Parlour sees promotion in other, less intractable investigations. DI Reade endured an uncomfortable interview with the chief constable. He took early retirement, but not on his terms.
William Nabbs claimed to know nothing of Ruth Connor’s life before he had met her in 1984. He took a new job as manager of a marina in South Devon. He never saw Ruth Connor again. She bought Lighthouse Cottage from the new owners of the Dolphin and banked the remainder of the sale: ?975,000. Under new management the old huts were finally cleared away and a marina built in the old salt-marsh. Most of the staff faced compulsory redundancy, including Muriel Coverack.
Chips Connor was buried at Sea’s End parish church, in a plot with a view over open water.
Police interviewed Russell John Fleet at his home in Malton, North Yorkshire. He was unable to produce a passport issued in 1972 when he was eighteen. DI Parlour showed Dryden a picture: even now there was a resemblance to the identically named impostor, and of course there was the distinctive zigzag scar. Fleet had never travelled abroad but denied attempting to pervert the course of justice by selling his passport to his half- brother. He was formally cautioned, but no further action was taken.
An internal inquiry was held within North Norfolk Electricity at the failure – despite repeated attempts – to switch off the National Grid supply when ice threatened to bring down the pylons at Sea’s End. A report, subsequently published, found that severe weather conditions had made it impossible for engineers to access exterior switchgear. Automatic electronic safety systems failed owing to a huge surge in consumer demand on the night of the ice storm. Recommendations were made for design improvements to protect systems in the future from freezing rain.
Joe Petulengo’s ashes were scattered alongside Declan McIlroy’s outside the Gardeners’ Arms. Father John Martin conducted the service and Marcie Sley visits daily. In his will, Petulengo left JSK to a trust, with directions for the establishment of a workers’ co-operative. John Sley, who recovered quickly from his heart attack although he continues to take daily medication, was elected managing director.
The inquiry into abuse at St Vincent de Barfleur’s Roman Catholic Orphanage continues. A preliminary hearing is expected within three years. Whittlesea District Hospital was reprieved following a local campaign run by the town’s MP. George Lutton continues to preside over an ophthalmic clinic each Tuesday and Thursday. His private clinic was purchased by a private healthcare company for an undisclosed sum.
The Mid-Anglian Mutual Insurance Company agreed to the conversion of the forward cabin on PK
