Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Jessie...”
“It's the truth, Ma'am! I swear!”
David spoke with a well-practiced tone. “She wouldn't lie to you, Em.”
The room went quiet. Why was every conversation with these people like having an argument with an answering machine?
“If I get the run around from one more person on this island, I am going to lose it.” Emma made a straight line, past David and Jessie, to the front door.
“Em, where the Hell are you going?”
“I'm going to the cannery. Go back to bed.”
The paved road to the cannery was a luxury after the streets of the village. It began with little houses on either side, but quickly became a country road braced by overgrown tussocks. Here and there a fern would burst out of a crack or a pothole. In places sheltered by rocks or small ravines stunted pines twisted outward and up. The night wind blew down from the mountain, rolling pebbles and buckthorn leaves along with it. She felt gravel crunch under her feet, then realized the road was covered in tiny crabs. She tried to walk around them for a minute, then gave up. No doubt in the morning the sea wind would clear away the creatures and other debris and scrub the road with salt.
The cannery was visible from the edge of the village, half a mile away. Emma could see the outline of a building against the dark gray of sky, ocean, rock, and field. She tilted her head and tried to see it better. Something wasn't right. It took a few seconds to realize there were no lights. Even at night an industrial facility should have some lighting. Only the angular profile showed that it was a man-made structure. The smell that had lingered in the village was stronger here, like melted plastic dripping onto skin.
Up ahead the road followed the curve of the rocky shore as it jutted into the sea. At the neck of this tiny peninsula trampled grass and vehicle ruts made a shortcut. Emma followed the road that twisted along the water's edge.
On the fringe of this spit of land, the night wind reached the warm sea air. The battle sent up plumes and spray. Emma was almost used to it now. She pulled her coat tighter around her neck and hurried through the gray. A gust of wind grabbed her before she could brace herself against it.
The wind whipped around and attacked from the wrong direction, knocking her off balance. Then it circled around and blew harder than before toward the sea. The wind caught the edge of her coat like a sail and pulled. Emma fell over onto the rocky margin between the road and the cliff overlooking the sea. Had she rolled or staggered two feet to the side she would have lost her footing at the spot where the cliff dipped vertically to the water line.
She grabbed the mud and vegetation like she was cleaving to the handholds on the side of a mountain. She turned to present the smallest profile to the wind and stood up. In the corner of her eye, she saw someone in the distance, toward the cannery and walking away from her. She tried to focus in the dim light but lost track of the tiny figure on the dark background of grass and rock.
She stopped and listened a short distance from the cannery gate. She could hear the crunch of feet on gravel from somewhere on the premises. She walked around the front of the building. There was no side.
The façade was the only part that remained of the large square building. The rest was in a heap of torn and twisted metal, dusted with pebbles of pulverized concrete. Her feet crunched on the debris as she walked closer. When she got within a few feet she saw that much of the material was charred.
Emma turned around and took in the area. There was a dock, intact but empty. Sheets of metal had been dragged from the pile of rubble and strewn across the open space between the building and the storm wall. Smaller outbuildings remained intact, though it was not clear how long it had been since they were maintained. Most things on the island looked abandoned to the untrained eye.
The gravel crunching sound came again from somewhere uphill. She sprinted around the perimeter of the rubble, paying no regard to the needles and claws of metal that reached out to her in the pitch blackness. On the far side of the building the silhouette of a man was standing or walking, facing toward her or away from her. It was impossible to say. She called out in a panting voice that projected little in the way of authority.
“Hello? Police!”
“What?”
“I said police. Who are you?”
“Steve White.”
“Steve?”
“That's what I said.”
“Did I see you just now, outside the gate?”
Steve looked back at the cannery gate. “I guess so. Don’t see anybody else around.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I'm sorry, you said you're the police?”
“Right. I didn't know it was you. It could have been anyone out here.”
“Like who?”
“I don't know, Steve. You tell me.”
“You want me to tell you, who might be here right now?”
Emma felt reason oozing between her fingers and out of her grasp. “Let's start over. How are you feeling?”
“Fine... I take it you're Ned's new second.”
“I… What?” She waited for Steve to tell her he was joking. “No. No, this is not happening.”
“Alright, so you're the new police officer, but you're not working with Ned?” She couldn’t see his face, but his voice lowered.
“No, I mean… Please tell me you remember meeting me last night.”
“Uh... I remember.”
“Are you lying to me?”
The shadow in front of her was silent. Emma was only mostly sure she hadn’t gone completely insane.
“OK. You know what? Fine. I'm PC Emma Cambourne. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Now, would you mind telling me what you're doing wandering around a... No. First
