Caedmon’s Song by Peter Robinson Read Free Book Online Page B

Robin Hood’s Bay. For
the moment, she decided to explore just a short stretch of it. As she walked, she kept her eyes open for Keith McLaren, just as she had done while touring the cemetery and church. She already had a
good idea of the story she would tell him that evening, and if he did happen to see her walking around St Mary’s and the cliff-top, then her lies would gain even more credibility. She
didn’t want to run into him by accident, though.
    A narrow boardwalk ran right along the edge of the high cliffs. In places, some of the cross-boards were missing, and erosion had eaten away the land right up to the path itself. There was a
fence between the walk and the sheer drop, but even that was down here and there, and signs warned people to tread carefully and to walk in single file. It was dizzying to look down on the sea
swirling around the sharp rocks way below.
    When she got to Saltwick Nab, a long knobbly finger of rock jutting out into the sea, Martha noticed ramshackle wooden stairs and a path leading down. Slowly, she made her way to the pinkish-red
rock. It started near the base of the cliff as a big hump, then dropped so that it was hardly visible above the water for a short distance, and finally rose to another knob – rather like a
submerged camel with a long way between humps, she thought – further out to sea. There was nobody else around, so Martha sat down on the sparse grass for a rest. In the distance, between the
humps, a white tanker was slowly making its way across the horizon. Waves caught the low section of the nab sideways on and spray cascaded over it in a shower of white.
    Martha lit her second cigarette of the day. It tasted different out in the fresh, salt air. She crossed her legs and contemplated the rhythms of the sea as it swelled and slapped against the
rock. Soon, she could see the waves coming and predict how hard they would break.
    She had got the feel of the place now; so much so that she felt quite at home. There were no problems as far as she could see – except perhaps for the Australian. But even he seemed naive
and harmless enough. She could string him along over a couple of drinks, and tomorrow he’d be gone. All she had to do now was find the one she was looking for. It might take a day or two, but
she would succeed. He was close; of that there could be no doubt. Again, she felt a shiver of fear, and her confidence wavered. When the time came, she would have to summon up the nerve and do what
had to be done. She slipped her hand into the holdall and felt for her talisman. That would help her, of course – that and her guiding spirits.
    After a while, she flicked her cigarette into the sea and stood up. Fear is for the passive, she told herself. When you act, you don’t have time to feel afraid. She brushed the grass and
sand from her jeans and headed back towards the footpath.
     
12
    KIRSTEN
    The nurse popped her head around the door. ‘A visitor for you, dearie.’ Beyond her, Kirsten could make out the shoulder of the uniformed policeman sitting outside
her room. Then the door opened all the way and Sarah walked in.
    ‘Sarah! What are you doing here?’
    ‘Some welcome! Actually, it wasn’t easy. First I had to get permission from that bloody detective superintendent. And as if that wasn’t enough, I had to get past Dixon of Dock
Green out there.’ She jerked her thumb towards the door, then pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. For a long moment, she just looked at Kirsten, then she started to cry. She leaned
forward and the two of them hugged as best they could without dislodging the intravenous drip.
    ‘Come on,’ Kirsten said finally, patting her back. ‘You’re hurting my stitches.’
    Sarah moved away and managed a smile. ‘Sorry, love. I don’t know what came over me. When I think of everything you must have been through . . .’
    ‘Don’t,’ Kirsten said. The way she felt, she needed Sarah to be her usual self: outrageous,