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  "Alex!" Tom called again, reaching out to him with an open hand. Alex stared hard at him, blinking rapidly with his lower lip visibly trembling. Was it an attempt to clear the rain or salt spray from his eyes or was he crying? Tom couldn't tell.

  "I'm so sorry," Hart said, sobbing. His shoulders appeared to constrict, his hands coming together before him. "I–I'm so sorry … It wasn't my fault." His jaw was slack, his upper body seemed to sag down to his right and he teetered. Tom wondered if he was about to collapse.

  "Alex, please come towards me!"

  Tom slowly took a couple of steps forward.

  "I'm so sorry," Hart mumbled, almost inaudible now, but the wind carried his words directly to Tom. Hart clamped his eyes shut, attempting to shut out the world.

  "Alex, please listen to me," Tom said, chancing a glance at the fence and calculating whether he could make it after all. He caught sight of Tamara in the corner of his eye and cast a sideways glance in her direction. She had both hands holding firmly onto Julia Rose, stopping her from coming forward. Looking back at Hart, he implored him, "Alex, I need you to come towards me. Please. I don't want you to fall. No one wants you to fall."

  "It hurts so much," Hart said, opening his eyes and looking straight at Tom. He didn't seem to register Tom's presence at all, staring through him and into the darkness of the storm. "It has to end. I'm so sorry."

  "Alex!" Tom barked at him now, using a tone far more aggressive and trying to grab his attention. It worked and Hart's eyes grew wide, focussing on Tom. "Alex, step towards me or you'll fall. I don't want you to die, Alex."

  He held Tom's gaze, ignoring the offered hand. He slowly swayed from side to side, making little attempt to brace himself against the wind.

  "Alex. Can you hear me? I'm here to help. I have to get you to safety."

  Hart maintained Tom's gaze, appearing to register the words. He slowly nodded and Tom took that as tacit encouragement, inching forward. He was barely half a metre from the wire of the fence now, Hart less than that on the other side. Tom held the eye contact, desperate to maintain their connection. He only stopped his advance when he felt the wire of the fence pressing into his abdomen. Hart's mouth was open, his jaw slack and he was crying. Tom reached out, if Hart did likewise, he would be able to take hold and he was confident he'd have him.

  Alex Hart closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the sobbing subsided and Tom kept his hand extended to him. Opening his eyes, Hart lifted his right hand slowly towards Tom's.

  "That's it, Alex. I've got you," Tom said, offering him an encouraging smile despite the stinging rain lashing against his face. "Take my hand! It will be okay, I promise you."

  Hart met Tom's eye, his proximity to Tom's grasp tantalisingly close.

  "I'm so sorry," Hart said, shaking his head. "I–I'm so sorry …"

  "Don't worry about that now, Alex. Take my hand. It will be okay," Tom called reassuringly, nodding towards his outstretched hand. "Just take my hand …"

  A gust of wind blew across them, momentarily knocking Tom off balance, and in the blink of an eye Alex Hart was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Julia Rose held the cup of tea before her in both hands, the plume of steam rising past her face which was given over to a thousand-yard stare. Tamara placed a blanket around her shoulders and drew it around her front but Rose didn't react, continuing to stare straight ahead at some far-off point on the other side of the room. Tamara pulled out a chair and sat down. They'd returned to the station leaving Cassie to marshal the uniformed presence, close off Beeston Hill, and await the coming of dawn when the investigation team would comb the area for the inevitable independent inquiry. Any death where the police were present, particularly when involving a suspect, would need to be referred to another constabulary to carry out an investigation.

  Tamara sat forward, elbows resting on her knees. Tom perched himself on the edge of a nearby table. They were in the refectory, no one else was present, the shutters pulled down over the serving hatch until the day shift came in. Tom glanced up at the clock; it was approaching midnight now. Julia Rose hadn't said a word since she watched Alex Hart fall from the cliff and disappear into the foaming mass of dark water below.

  The coastguard had been called immediately, but there's no way they'd be able to get close enough to the cliffs to search for Hart; the gale forces wind associated with the storm as well as the tidal surge swiftly put paid to any rescue attempt. They would remain out there, searching as best they could but everyone knew, even if they wouldn't say it openly, that Alex Hart was dead. With luck they could retrieve his body from the water at sunrise but even that was not a given.

  Tom cast an eye over Julia Rose. Her hair was drying slowly now they were safely indoors, but she was still a bedraggled figure. There was a fresh cut across her eyebrow, above her left eye. The paramedic crew who'd examined her when they came down from the cliff top staunched the flow of blood and secured the skin in place with several sterilised medical strips. The cut was shallow and not deemed to be too serious.

  "What happened tonight, Julia?" Tamara asked gently. For a moment both Tom and Tamara thought the question hadn't landed, Julia's expression remained vacant, staring ahead. Then she blinked, her lips parting slightly, and she slowly turned to Tamara.

  "I–I was worried about him … about Alex."

  Tamara leaned in closer, drawing Julia's eyes to her own.

  "So … you went to see him?"

  She nodded. "He didn't react well when I saw him the other day. I was concerned I'd made matters worse by coming, rather than better." She shook her head, her fingers curling around her cup more as she straightened her back. "Alex … is quite a complicated man."

  "But you care for him."

  Julia looked deeply into Tamara's eyes, tears welling, but she blinked them away and lifted her cup to her mouth with trembling hands. Tamara glanced at Tom and he took a breath, allowing Julia the space to sip at the sweet tea he'd given her before asking his question.

  "You went to his house?" She glanced sideways at him and nodded. "And what did you find when you arrived."

  She opened her mouth fully to draw breath, the intake of air stuttering on its way in. Her brow furrowed as she sought to remember the detail.

  "There was no answer when I knocked – at the front – and so I went around the back." She closed her eyes tightly, pursing her lips.

  "Take your time," Tom said softly.

  She smiled weakly in his direction and nodded. "The back door to the kitchen was wide open, which was odd because it was raining and had been for an hour or two." She tilted her head to one side, running her tongue along the top of her lower lip. "There were no lights on … the house was in darkness but I went in. By that point I was fearing the worst …"

  "What did you think might be going on?" Tom asked.

  She shrugged. "I–I don't know really, just that it wasn't right, you know?" She looked between them, Tamara smiled supportively. Tom was watching her intently now, keen to understand how they ended up at Beeston cliffs.

  "Go on," Tamara urged her.

  "The place was a tip – really untidy – even more so than it had been on my last visit. Alex … clearly wasn't taking care of himself and as I walked through the house – calling to him – I started to think maybe he'd done what he'd threatened to do …"

  "Which was?"

  She stared at Tom blankly, obviously reticent to say the words. "I thought – what with all the pressure he was under – that he might have … taken his own life."

  "What made you think that, tonight especially?"

  Julia sighed. "After I spoke with your detective constable, I went for a long walk before heading back to my lodgings. The owners … they were talking about it. It was all over the news about Alex and Billy and this whole thing in Kristiansand—"

  "You don't seem surprised?" Tamara asked.

  She shook her head. "No, well DC Collet spoke about it to me, but I was shocked to see i
t on the news like that. I mean, he said you weren't sure either of them had done it."

  Tom exchanged a look with Tamara whose eyebrows knitted together momentarily.

  "Anyway, I wanted to make sure he was all right. I had visions of reporters and paparazzi chasing him across West Runton … so I went to see him, but he wasn't there."

  "He'd already gone over to Beeston Hill?" Tom asked.

  "Yes. He'd left a note in his house. I read it … and knew where to look for him."

  "What did it say?" Tamara asked.

  Julia turned the corners of her mouth down and slowly shook her head. "That he was sorry," she said, lifting herself upright and adjusting her seating position as if she was numbing out. "That … he wished it could have been different, that no one would have been hurt … and that none of it had happened—"

  "None of what had happened?" Tom asked.

  "I genuinely don't know … his illness maybe?" She looked at Tamara, frowning deeply. "How he treated me … others … I don't know. It didn't say."

  "Was it addressed to you?" Tamara asked. She shook her head, staring into her lap. "How did you know where to go?"

  Julia lifted her head, frowning. "Alex had talked about … about ending it all from time to time. I never thought he actually meant it, he just wanted the pain to stop and sometimes … he thought that would be the best way. Beeston Bump was his go-to place – he'd walk out there late at night under the light of the moon and stare at the sea, picturing the peace he'd find below." A painful smile glimpsed her face, her words catching in her throat. "And even when the weather was terrible, he'd listen to the waves crashing against the cliffs … it was his release." She looked at both of them in turn. "For a while he used to harm himself – a long time ago, back when we were together – and the pain, the sharp pain it caused him he described as his release. He came to view the sea in the same way; watching, listening to it … the thought that the water could carry his pain away." She sat back, nursing her cup and staring at the liquid. She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, "So yes, I knew where he would be."

  "And you found him at the top of Beeston Hill?" Tamara asked.

  "Yes. I knew he'd be there and when I approached him … I could see in his face that this time was different." Her eyes darted to Tom. "I tried to speak to him, but he immediately flared up at me. I–It was like he didn't recognise me at all. He backed away towards the cliff edge and I reached out and grabbed him, taking as strong a hold of him as I could, begging him not to do what I thought he was planning to do."

  "How did he react?" Tom asked.

  A solitary tear ran from the corner of her eye but she didn't appear to notice.

  "He lashed out at me." Her voice cracked as she spoke. "Trying to free himself but I clung on to him, dragging him back from the fence." She looked at Tamara. "Alex is so slight now – I probably weigh more than him. I managed to drag him back, it was hard because he resisted so much, and the ground was slippery what with the rain and all … and he kept on lashing out at me …"

  "Is that how your face was cut?" Tom asked, pointing to her eyebrow. Julia reached up, tentatively touching the area of the wound and probing with her fingertips as if it was the first time she'd been aware of it. Lowering her hand, she nodded.

  "Alex was screaming at me … calling me all manner of names, much of it I couldn't understand." Her voice dropped away. "That's when I called you, Inspector," she said, glancing sideways at Tom. "He's gone, isn't he? Alex?"

  Tom read the despair in her eyes as she sought for any glimmer of hope that he might provide. He couldn't lie to her; it wouldn't be fair.

  "They will keep looking," he said. It was all he could offer her. She held his gaze and he knew that she'd already accepted the reality; Alex Hart wasn't coming back.

  The doors opened and they turned to see Eric's arrival with Tim Hendry at his side. He rushed past Eric and hurried to Julia's side, dropping to his haunches and clasping her outstretched hand with both of his own.

  "Jules, I'm so sorry," he said, freeing one hand and placing the flat of his palm against her right cheek. She leaned into him at the feel of his touch. He glanced furtively at Tom and Tamara before meeting Julia's eye. "How awful for you to have witnessed that."

  "He's gone, Tim. Alex is really gone …" Her head sank and the repressed emotion of the night flowed from her. Hendry took the cup of tea from her and placed it on the table, allowing Julia to fall forward into his embrace.

  Tamara exchanged a look with Tom and the two of them stepped away to give them a moment alone. Without family in the area it had been Tim Hendry whom Julia had asked for when they suggested calling someone to support her. Aside from Alex, Tim was the only person she was acquainted with. Tom dispatched Eric to find him when they'd left Beeston Hill. Eric lingered in the background and Tom silently requested he keep an eye on the two of them as he and Tamara walked to the far side of the room.

  "Do you think the news report was the final straw for him?" Tamara asked Tom as he watched Tim Hendry comforting the crumpled form of Julia Rose, clinging to him and openly weeping.

  "That it was all too much for him?" He shrugged. "Maybe he couldn't handle it and the pressure led to a psychotic episode, I don't know. Something wasn't right." He glanced sideways at her and mock grimaced. "Perhaps."

  "What was that he shouted at you – Black Sheep or something, wasn't it?"

  Tom smiled wryly. "Shuck."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Black Shuck," Tom repeated, turning to face her and reading her puzzled expression. "I think he was hallucinating. It's a figure from folklore. Black Shuck – a massive, terrifying hound who prowls the fields and hills of north Norfolk. It's said that should you be unfortunate enough to set eyes on the beast then it is a precursor to death."

  Tamara exhaled deeply, raising her eyebrows. "Cheery thought."

  The hint of a smile crossed Tom's face. "Apparently – following a holiday hereabouts – the legend inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to write his Hound of the Baskervilles.

  "He should come back here," Tamara said out of the corner of her mouth. "Plenty more where that one came from."

  Cassie entered, acknowledging Eric and then seeing the two of them to her right. She came to join them, Eric did likewise.

  "Well, I guess that's that then," Cassie said.

  "What's what?" Tom asked.

  "Well, it's over isn't it? Mystery solved."

  Tom raised his eyebrows, taking a deep breath and looking at Tamara who winced.

  "I'm not so sure," he said.

  Cassie frowned. "It follows though, right? A prime suspect in multiple murders – on the verge of discovery – can't see a way out and commits suicide rather than face the music. What's not to like?"

  Tamara inclined her head to one side. "Did your Norwegian contact come back to you yet regarding the DNA we sent across?"

  Cassie replied through gritted teeth. "Inconclusive. They couldn't match either sample to the victim, but that doesn't mean it wasn't Alex Hart."

  Tom's face wrinkled in thought. "Therefore, it follows that it could just as easily be William Cannell though, doesn't it?"

  Cassie scratched the side of her head, looking between the two senior ranks. Tamara was concentrating hard. She levelled her eyes at Cassie.

  "You think it was Alex Hart?"

  Cassie nodded. Tamara looked at Eric who shrugged, indicating he wasn't sure.

  "What about you, Tom?"

  "Hart would certainly make it neat and tidy."

  "I like neat and tidy," Tamara said, pursing her lips.

  "You'd never guess from the inside of your house," Tom replied. They all smiled. "But … tonight …" He looked over to where Julia had recovered her composure and Tim Hendry had taken Tamara's vacated seat, still holding Julia's hand in a supportive grip. "Have we secured Hart's house?"

  "Yes," Eric said. "Uniform are there and will stay until we tell them otherwise."

  "Make sure they
don't touch anything," Tom said. Eric nodded and Tom flicked his hand towards Tim Hendry and Julia Rose. "Make sure they get home safely, would you? Then get yourself off home; plenty to do in the morning." Eric nodded to all three of them and crossed the room. "You too, Cass. Get yourself home and get some sleep."

  "Okay. Night you two," Cassie said, turning to leave.

  "What do you expect to find at Hart's house?" Tamara asked.

  Tom's eyebrows met briefly at the bridge of his nose. "Answers. I expect to find answers."

  It was approaching one in the morning by the time Tom arrived home. The worst of the storm had passed them by now, the wind was still gusting but the rainfall was sporadic and light in stark contrast to what they'd faced earlier. Usually when he arrived home, irrespective of the time, he was met by Russell – Saffy's terrier – almost as soon as he set foot in the hallway. But not this night. The dog had no desire to go for his late-night mooch around the garden, no doubt put off by the deluge earlier in the night. Tom was happily able to creep upstairs to bed. He'd looked in on Saffy, snuggling up with her current favourite: Santa Paws, a cuddly stuffed pug with a Santa hat stitched on, her favourite despite it being late summer – and kissed her forehead gently, before making his way quietly into the bedroom he shared with Alice. He was pleasantly surprised to find Alice asleep in their bed. With Saffy in her own, which made a change, he hoped they might have turned a corner.

  Saffy was still coming to terms with the loss of her father and no one really knew how long that would take for her to process, or how the trauma would manifest itself. Alice had slept in with her daughter every night for nigh on two months and now, although she was called through more nights than not, the gap was certainly widening. Alice had mumbled something as he'd slipped between the sheets they used instead of a duvet in the hot sticky nights of this summer, but she hadn't woken and he'd drifted off into a restless sleep.