Fatal Witness (Detective Erika Foster #7) (34)

It was insane that she thought she could run. Even now, two days later, the police must know her location. Britain was a small place… Vicky was now in a very quiet corner of the country, but her journey must have been caught on camera. She should have stayed in London, faced her fear, and spoken up… No, shouted loudly from the rooftops.

But Vicky knew how these things went. Who listens to a woman shouting? He’d threatened her, and he’d already proven that he could get away with it all. In her old life, the time before she stumbled upon all the horror, Vicky had seen the world in simplistic terms; bad people pay for their mistakes, and the good people win the day. If you remained honest and did the right thing, then all would be well. She used to judge the women who kept quiet about sexual assault. She was ashamed to admit that a part of her looked down on the ones who were too scared to report a man for assault, and then he came along. It frightened her. To speak up would be perilous. She would have to put her head up over the parapet and risk her life, and she was ashamed to acknowledge that she didn’t have it in her. And this fear was rolled in with anger. Why was it her job to speak up and risk everything? He was the evil one. She hadn’t done anything, but it was up to her to make it right? No. No. No. Let me live my life, leave me alone, she thought. He had the confidence to kill Sophia in her bed… beautiful Sophia… knowing she would be the one to find her. What reaction was he hoping for? She ran. She couldn’t keep her food down. Terror was a constant companion. What else was he capable of?

Vicky stopped walking, and leant over. The smell of the salty air, and the sunlight glistening off the slimy fronds of seaweed on a rock, activated a powerful nausea. She heaved and retched, her stomach contracting painfully. Two long strands of hot bile hung from her mouth, and the wind caught them. There was nothing left in her stomach to purge.

‘Oh, Victoria, darling!’ said Cilla, turning back when she heard her retching. She rushed over, pulling out a packet of tissues from her pocket. ‘Did you eat something dicey?’ She pulled one out and Vicky took it, wiping her mouth. She managed to catch her breath and straighten up. Tears were running from her eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Cilla, looking up at her with concern. Vicky retched again, and she kept the tissue clamped over her mouth. Did Cilla really think this was to do with dodgy food? To be fair, she hadn’t told Cilla anything, yet. But she must have an idea… She was still in touch with lots of people back in London. Surely Sophia’s death would be part of the local gossip?

‘I just want to keep walking,’ she said.

‘This is the perfect place to do that,’ said Cilla with a smile. ‘Look. Beach for miles. Sometimes I just walk and walk, and I think that if I keep going I’ll fall off the end of the earth.’ She checked her watch. ‘I have to go back soon, though. Colin and Ray will be here soon.’

Vicky took a deep breath and swallowed, still feeling a flutter in her diaphragm that might suddenly lurch back into retching again.

‘I’ll carry on walking, if that’s okay?’

Cilla hesitated and the wind changed direction, blowing her hair across her face.

‘They know their way around the house, and where I keep the spare key.’

‘No. Please, go and see to your guests. The fresh air will do me good.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Vicky. The thought that guests would be arriving made the situation seem all the more crazy. Colin and Ray lived in London, and they still worked at Goldsmith’s Drama Academy. It would be highly likely that they’d heard something. How was she going to deal with it? She would have to come clean with Cilla, and then where could she run to?

‘Take Nutmeg with you,’ said Cilla, leaning down to ruffle Nutmeg’s big wet head. ‘He’d love to have a longer walk, wouldn’t you?’ She looked up at Vicky with the dog’s baleful eyes in silent agreement.

Vicky carried on walking, with Nutmeg loping along ahead, sniffing at the sand dunes at the edge of the beach, and breaking into a trot to chase after the groups of seagulls basking in the sun. She glanced back a couple of times as Cilla grew smaller, walking towards the house, which was now a dot on top of the misty cliff.

Why doesn’t Cilla question me more? thought Vicky. If someone turned up at my door, unannounced, I’d be more curious… Or does she know already? She tried to push the thought down deep to the back of her mind.

The straps of her backpack were rubbing at her shoulders through her thin coat. Vicky walked to the edge of the water and watched the waves for a moment. The sea was growing rougher, and a cluster of gunmetal grey clouds were starting to form at the horizon. She looked back and couldn’t see Cilla. Nutmeg came loping up and stood patiently beside her as she stared out over the water. She sloughed off the backpack and opened the straps. He nuzzled closer and tried to push his head inside the bag.

‘No. Sorry, no dog biscuits in here,’ she said, gently pushing his head away. She reached down into the bag, under the clothes, and her hand closed over the metal hard drive. The salt water would work quickly to destroy the data. Vicky did the backpack up and put it back on. She looked up and down the vast expanse of the beach. The tide would soon be coming in. Cilla’s house was the only building for miles. Trying not to think about it anymore, Vicky pitched back on her heels and then put everything into an overarm throw. The hard drive soared high in an arc, and landed with a soft splash in the choppy waters.