the other Son

Chapter 30

The argument with DCI Smith about whether it was necessary to – in every sense of the word – ship the forensics team onto the island because of a "text message, for God's sake!" was lengthy and plain ridiculous. Finally, they had part of the case solved and maybe whatever they found would lead them to the killer and DCI Smith was moaning about money and budgets and Lesza honestly couldn't care less about politics within the police force.

Innis awaited them at the harbour with two colleagues, a reduced and less cost-intensive version of the usual team. She squinted her eyes when they pulled up next to the white van.

"You're late."

Lesza smiled and buttoned his coat against the chilly breeze as he climbed out of the car. "We had to stop for coffee."

Innis looked at Sorcha with something like sympathy and pity and grabbed the sturdy cases to her feet which contained a plethora of equipment. "Let's not waste anymore time then."

While she headed to the boat from the water police – another cost that had made Smith grind his teeth – Lesza turned to Sorcha. "I want you back at the station, digging up anything you can find on these boys."

"But-" she went to protest, a defiant expression on her face.

"See, I trust Begbie to do his job but I need this done right and I know you'll find every morsel of information," he explained with his voice lowered and Sorcha rolled her eyes.

"Fine." She turned to stride back to the car, keys jingling in her hand. "I'll text you any updates."

"Thank you," Lesza told her retreating back and hurried to the boat where Innis was waiting with an impatient expression.

The passage was wet and windy and the albeit faster police boat bounced on the waves considerably more than the bigger and heavier ferry Lesza had gotten used to and he felt queasy, stomach dropping uncomfortably whenever the prow dove down into another trough. The colleagues from the water police were entirely unfazed, chatting with Innis who apparently was way more seaworthy than Lesza and merely pushed back her short hair whenever the wind pushed it into her face.

The pair of crime scene investigators were thankfully as pale around the nose as Lesza and eagerly climbed onto the dock of the small harbour once they had reached the island and the boat was securely tied to the pier.

Eanverness' mayor McParrish had volunteered to lead them to the spot the coordinates were indicating after Lesza had called him to inquire about the area where the boat was located, whether it was on dry ground and if they would be able to get there on foot. He picked them up in a small Jeep – definitely more practical than any bigger car in those small alleys – and drove them out of town and through planes of high, windswept grass.

Lesza observed the landscape rushing by outside, the aluminium cases clanking in the trunk with every dip and pothole in the dirt track. Despite the coffee he felt drained and the information they'd acquired at Balliol college was a jumbled mess in his head. He knew this was a breakthrough, the one he'd been impatiently longing for since the moment he'd seen Martin Guttman's mutilated body, but all he could think about was how eerily similar Creon Crawford and Tristan Kinlaw looked. There had to be a connection and his fingers itched to snap handcuffs around Tristan fucking Kinlaw's wrists.

And what about Audra Lowe, the girl the group had bullied so relentlessly?

He closed his eyes, smelled rain and wet tarmac and coppery blood - "Remember what you've done to her!"

Her? Audra Lowe?

Was the motive as simple as that – revenge?

He was reluctant to believe such an obvious explanation though on the other hand it made perfect sense. Revenge had driven mankind to commit murder since the beginning of time and the only questions left to be answered were who was avenging past wrongdoings and why now.

"That's as far as we'll get by car," McParrish stated and turned off the engine. There were some ponds overgrown by reed to their left and a small bay to their right.

Lesza jumped out of the Jeep and pointed at the bay. "It's there?"

McParrish nodded and zipped the jacket up all the way to his chin. "The bay was used by pirates, at least that's what legends claim. It's called Smuggler's Bay."

The tall man's tone conveyed how little he thought of the clichéd and most obvious title - although he was its master.

Innis raised her eyebrows with an ironic smirk. "Let's take a look at the pirate boat, shall we?"

Said boat was less impressive than any pirate vessel Lesza had seen in films so far but he was quite pleased by the copious amount of blood smeared onto the white tarp hidden in its belly.

McParrish cursed and smoothed his moustache with a nervous, unconscious gesture.

"Who knows about this bay?" Lesza asked him while the forensics team unpacked and went to work.

McParrish shrugged, gaze flitting to the gray horizon. "Everyone," he replied. "People come here in the summer to swim and I show it to tourists during guided hikes – they like that pirate tale."

"Do you recognize the boat?"

"No, I don't. I wouldn't step foot on it though," the mayor explained and pointed at the worn-down prow. Lesza silently agreed – one had to be suicidal to trust the boat which was pretty much falling apart at its seams. It's last duty had been grim and detestable and he wondered whether this bay had been the initial destination or if the murderer had been forced to land here because of the vessel's condition. And how did they leave? Someone picking them up with another boat? Or on foot?

"It's a secluded spot," Lesza observed and let his gaze travel in search of any buildings or signs of civilization at all.

"Eanverness is over there, way out of sight," McParrish told him and pointed south. "And there's a small fishing village up North."

"Lee," Innis called out to him and he excused himself with a smile and walked over to where she was crouching next to the boat.

Plenty of evidence bags had piled up in the short time and her colleagues were busy labelling them and collecting even more samples.

"It's human blood," Innis said. "I'll have to cross-check it with the first victim's DNA in the lab before I can tell you more."

"Anything left by the killer?"

"Fingerprints on the outboard motor, possibly DNA as well." Innis picked up one of the clear bags and held it out for him to take. "Furthermore, we found this on the tarp."

Lesza furrowed his brows and examined the gray dirt. "Sand?"

Innis shook her head and smiled smugly. "No. At first I thought it might be ash but I don't think so. It almost looks like finely ground-up stone. Or concrete dust."

The confusion must've been very obvious on his face.

"The bay is decently protected from the wind and the water didn't reach this far up the shore nevertheless I believe this substance couldn't have been here for long. The particles are very light and eventually the wind would have swept them away. Of course I'll have to test my theory before I can be a hundred percent sure."

Lesza handed the plastic bag back to her and mumbled more to himself, "The person who tipped us off left this dust."

"Possibly, yes."