The First Cut

“Oh no, I’m moving very slowly. First Sandsend, then Runswick Bay, now Staithes.” Sue noticed again how pronounced his Australian accent was: Staithes came out as Stythes. “I’m in no hurry,” he went on. “I might never see these places again. And the weather’s been so bloody good. Another first in England from what I’ve heard. You still in Whitby?”

“Yes.”

“Still in the same bed and breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Still get black pudding for breakfast?”

“Most days.”

Sue’s mind was working fast. She didn’t want to be noticed with him in public, for a start, and they could hardly get more public than here on the sea wall. Luckily, though, there was hardly anyone around at the moment. One or two people sat on the beach, but they were facing the sea, and two blond children, dressed identically in white shorts and blue-and-red-striped T-shirts, stood eating ice-cream cones near the Cod and Lobster. Everyone else was either in the pub, at the shops or waiting for lunch in the restaurant. The steep hill down to the village probably put a lot of older visitors off, too, Sue thought. No matter how warm it was, people so much liked to sit in their cars right beside the sea, but they couldn’t do that here. Though it was easy enough getting down to the beach, the walk back up the hill was no doubt too great a price for many to pay for a day at the seaside.

So far, no one had so much as glanced at them. The first thing to do was get Keith away somewhere off the beaten track, then she would be able to think clearly. She didn’t like the idea that was forming, forcing itself on her, but she hadn’t thought of another way out yet.

“What are your plans?” he asked.

“Well,” Sue said, “I was intending to walk along the coast to Runswick Bay, then catch the bus back to Whitby. What do you think? Is it too far?”

“No, it’s not far at all. I’ve done it myself. Nothing to it. Tell you what, if you’ve no objection, I’ll come with you. There’s an even better walk in my guidebook, though. You walk along the cliffs to Port Mulgrave, then cut back inland through some woods and circle around to the main road. That’ll take you to your bus stop, and me back to Staithes. How about it?”

“All right. Are you sure you don’t have anything else you want to do?”

“I told you, I’m on holiday. No plans, no newspapers, no television. A vacation from the world.”

Sue remembered the bit about not reading newspapers from their last meeting. It made her feel a little safer-especially as he had made no mention of Jack Grimley’s death-but there were still too many ways that someone like Keith could come across a local news story: a photo of Grimley and a request for information in some pub or café up the coast, for example; or from the newspaper used to wrap his fish and chips one evening. Perhaps someone might be watching a local news program on the TV in the lounge of his guesthouse just as he walked in to make a cup of tea. And he would remember, that was the problem. He recognized her, even in disguise, so he would surely recognize Jack Grimley, the man he had caught her staring at in the Lucky Fisherman. Then he might remember how he had thought she knew Grimley. The more she worried about what Keith knew, the more she realized she didn’t feel safe at all. Why hadn’t he gone straight up to Scotland, or taken the plane back to Oz?

Keith took her silence for hesitation. “Look, Martha,” he said, scratching his earlobe and looking out to sea. “I know I was out of order, like, before when…you know…and I’m sorry. I want you to know I’m not on the make. I just think it’d be nice to go for a walk with you. I won’t try anything. Honest.”

Sue got to her feet and brushed the sand from the back of her long skirt. She was forming a plan and a little inducement would go a long way. “It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t mean to seem so brusque with you before. It’s not that I’m a nun or anything. It was just too soon. I mean, I hardly knew you.” She smiled at him.

Keith looked surprised. “Yes, well…er…shall we be off?”

“Haven’t you got your gear?”

“Gear? Good Lord, you don’t need gear for a simple walk like this.” He looked her up and down. “You could even do it dressed like that, though I wouldn’t recommend it. No, all I’ve got is my Ordnance Survey guide.” He patted the back pocket of his jeans.

“No, I mean your stuff, your rucksack and all that.”

“It’s back at the B amp;B. I was only having a little stroll around the village. No, what you see is what you get.” He spread his arms and stood before her, tall, slim, thin-faced and ta

“What did you mean about me not being dressed right?” Sue asked.

“I was only joking really. It’s not a hard walk. It’s just that skirts tend to snag on thorns and things, and those pumps will take a hell of a beating.”

“Wait here a minute.”

Sue hurried into the public toilet, made sure that no one was around and went into a cubicle to change. First she took off her wig, scratching her head in relief when she had done so, then she put on her jeans, a dark-blue checked shirt and her trainers. Carefully, she rolled up the wig, long skirt, white blouse and cardigan and placed them in the holdall. Sometimes, she thought, it was a nuisance having to carry the damn thing everywhere with her, but it was light enough, and she could adjust the strap and carry it over her shoulder if she wanted.

She put the quilted jacket on top of everything in case it got chilly high up on the cliffs. Finally, she combed her hair in the cracked and grimy mirror above the sink and examined her makeup. It wasn’t bad. She hadn’t put too much on that morning as she had intended to be out of Whitby for the day anyway, and now there was no point in standing here and washing it all off. Someone might come. Quickly, she gave her lips a dab with a Kleenex, then dashed back outside to join Keith.

“Lead on,” she said, bowing and standing aside for him.

Keith laughed. “Are you sure you’re not a spy or an actor or something?”

“Not at all.” Sue gave him what she intended to be an enigmatic smile, and they set off.

They wound their way up by the Mission Church of St. Peter the Fisherman, then followed the signs for the Cleveland Way past some farm buildings, over a couple of stiles and right up the hill to the cliff edge. The village lay spread out below them. Even though it was a clear, warm day, smoke drifted lazily from some of the chimneys. Up on the cliff top, there was a cool breeze from the sea. Pausing for breath, Sue put on the quilted jacket she’d been carrying in her holdall.

“What have you got in that thing?” Keith asked. “Your life’s work?”

“Something like that.”

The unfenced path ran close to the edge of the cliff, and the drop was sheer. After Keith had stopped to point out Boulby cliffs further up the coast, they started walking in single file. The pathway was rough, though mostly level, and they soon got into a comfortable rhythm. Keith was talking most of the time, half turning his head to look at her. He talked about how he was loving England but still felt homesick, and about a body that had been washed up on the beach at Sandsend while he was staying there. No, he hadn’t got a good look at it. By the time he had noticed that something was happening quite a crowd had gathered and the police had arrived.

Sue realized now that she would have to kill him. He was just too much of a liability to let go free. She didn’t know how the police were progressing on the Grimley investigation, but she was sure that, without Keith, they couldn’t link her to the dead man. Keith might not have seen the body, but there was a chance he might find out who it was and, if questioned, remember that strange girl who had acted as if she recognized the man…the girl who kept changing her appearance.