Cold Grave by Craig Robertson Page B

and eating into their bones. Tony paddled them quietly towards the island while Rachel tried to stop her teeth from chattering.
    They’d stolen through their bedroom window and across the lawn where Tony freed the rowing boat from the wooden stake that it was attached to. He let Rachel sit down in the back of the little boat before carefully joining her. There were no oars but he had liberated a kayak-style paddle from the darkened dining room and used it to push them silently from the shore and onto the lake. As he did so, it struck him that the boat was placed there more for decoration than practical use and it might not be entirely sound. He swallowed his reservations down, letting them settle on top of the three glasses of whisky that were stopping him from worrying and reasoned they would find out soon enough.
    Tony’s camera bag lay on the floor of the boat and he was much more worried for its safety than theirs. They could always swim for it if the worst happened but the bag wasn’t going to save his cameras from the murky depths of the lake. It also contained a torch and flash guns that they were going to need when – if – they got to Inchmahome. Rachel looked at the lake. Maybe for the first time, she understood his sgriob , her sense of anticipation was tingling just as much as his.
    Something flew just over their heads but neither of them could see what it was; they just felt the rush of air and saw the silent shadow slip into the gloom. They were over halfway now and there was no turning back. As Tony propelled them forward, Inchmahome rose out of the mist and darkness and emerged menacingly before them. More by memory than sight, he headed for the right-hand side of the island, knowing that was where the small jetty was with the boathouse behind it. Rachel turned as they got nearer, causing the boat to wobble, as she desperately sought a closer look at the place that had filled her thoughts for so long.
    Finally, Tony lifted the paddle onto his knees and let the boat glide soundlessly for the remaining yards to the jetty. When they drew parallel to the little wooden platform, he reached for the camera bag and hauled it safely onto the jetty first before scrambling out of the boat and helping Rachel to do the same. He kept the torch switched off until they were past the boathouse and shielded by it and the trees. Even then, he used it only intermittently – just enough for Rachel to be able to lead the way to the crime scene.
    She’d never been there before but had seen enough aerial shots and online maps to know where to take them. The ground was hard with frost beneath their feet and it crunched as they walked, frozen leaves crackling and brittle twigs snapping, the noise echoing off the remains of the priory walls and sounding big in the still night. No one could possibly hear them from the shore, even if anyone was still awake, but they moved without speaking, the enormity of the place suffocating them.
    They wound their way through the ancient arches, taking a haunting tourist trail past the south wall of the priory church, then the cloister with the remnants of its warming house and kitchen. Whatever ghosts still lingered there were whispering at them from the shadows and following them past the chapter house and towards the darkest corner of the island.
    Rachel slowed to a halt and waited till Tony was by her side. She stretched out her arm and he followed her point with the beam of the torch.
    ‘There,’ she whispered.
    It was an unremarkable spot compared to the dramatic ruins they had just passed through, an ordinary junction of low wall and frozen ground. They both stood and contemplated it in silence, the intervening nineteen years slipping away before their eyes. Slowly, Rachel knelt and traced the air with her hands, drawing shapes of where the girl’s body had been discovered years before.
    ‘She was on her back here,’ she said, both her father’s words and Bobby Heneghan’s coming