1
It was raining when Blake Hollow pulled into the gravel stretch of waste ground and switched off the engine of her old blue Corsa. It had done nothing but rain since she’d arrived in Cornwall two days ago to visit her parents over a long weekend.
She wasn’t sure why the bad weather still surprised her. She had spent the first eighteen years of her life in the county, and for most of those eighteen years the rain had been ever present. It was currently early winter; to expect anything less at this time of year in Cornwall would be foolish. Yet after several years of living in Manchester, which admittedly had its own fair share of rain—it was still England—Blake had grown forgetful of the pernicious Cornish damp, which spread like a virus, seeping through the skin and into the bones.
Peering through the driver door window, Blake swore under her breath, pulled the hood of her long black winter coat over her head, and climbed out of the car. Frosty raindrops stung her face as she slowly turned in a circle, taking in the gravel stretch and the overgrown hedgerows that bordered it. Hers was the only car in this makeshift visitors’ car park. The holiday season was at an end, the few tourists the village of Zennor received each summer long gone.
Blake closed her eyes for a moment and listened. Over the steady drumming of the rain, she could hear the nearby swell and crash of the ocean. She inhaled, tasting bitter sea salt at the back of her throat.
Turning away from the sounds of the ocean, she stepped through an opening in the hedgerow and onto a quiet winding road. The village stood directly before her. She had visited here once before in her youth, a day trip with her parents and brother. They had walked along the rugged cliffs and visited the ancient church of St Senara, which was believed to date back as early as the thirteenth century and contained a church pew with a carving of a beautiful mermaid borne from local legend.
Passing the small church, Blake recalled how bored she had felt that day, how annoying her little brother had been. But now, in her mid-thirties, she could appreciate the church’s architecture and presence, even if she had little faith in a higher power these days.
With a population of less than two hundred residents, Zennor was barely a village. Finding her destination took Blake just a few minutes. Opening the garden gate to the semi-detached cottage, she noted the tumble of weeds smothering the lawn, and the cracked and peeling paint of the cottage’s front door and window frames.
Reaching the door, she pressed the bell, took a step back, and waited. The rain continued to fall, seeping through the material of her coat. When no one answered, she pressed the bell again and followed it with a heavy knock on the door.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was meant to be with her mother right now, meeting her Aunt Hester for coffee in Wheal Marow. Blake’s mother had been unhappy about the sudden change of plans, complaining bitterly that she barely saw her only daughter these days. Blake had countered that her parents were always welcome in Manchester and yet they had visited just a handful of times in the sixteen years she had lived there. Mary Hollow had grumbled something about not liking the city and the conversation had come to an abrupt end.
Blake gave the hood of her coat a sharp tug then reached out to rap on the door again. Movement at the window on her left made her pause. A pale face peered through the glass. Then, like a ghost, it vanished. Moments later, deadbolt locks were pulled back and the door opened a few inches, a chain lock preventing it from going any further.
Blake peered at the frightened woman lurking in the shadows, noting her gaunt features and wary eyes.
‘Jamie Dollinger?’ Blake removed her wallet from her inside coat pocket, fished out a card, and held it up for the woman to see. ‘My name is Blake Hollow. I’m a private investigator. Our mutual friend Judy Moon mentioned you were having some trouble and wanted to see me.’
The woman stared at her uncertainly, then at Blake’s private investigator licence. Without saying a word, she shut the door, removed the chain, then opened the door again.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said in a quiet, exhausted voice. ‘Please, come in out of the rain.’
She stepped to one side, allowing Blake entry into a dimly lit hallway with a low ceiling and sparse furnishings. The woman closed the door, slid the chain lock back into place, then asked Blake to follow her.
Blake gave the chain lock a glance before being shown through a doorway on the left and into a cramped kitchen, where dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and tubs of baby milk formula sat on the counter.
‘Please sit down.’ Jamie Dollinger nodded to the small square table and plastic chairs that were squeezed into the kitchen’s right-hand corner. ‘Can I make you some tea?’
‘Coffee, if you have it. Black, no sugar.’ Blake removed her coat and slung it over the back of one of the chairs. She sat down on the hard plastic and immediately shifted to a more comfortable position.
As Jamie filled the electric kettle with water then removed two mugs from the sink and rinsed them out, Blake’s gaze returned to the tubs of baby milk formula, then shifted along the counter to where a baby monitor suddenly crackled. At the kitchen sink, Jamie’s shoulders tensed. She turned towards the monitor, holding her breath. But no more sound came from it.
‘How old is your baby?’ Blake asked.
The kettle bubbled and boiled, then clicked off. Jamie shuffled over and picked it up. Her movements were sluggish, as if she were wading through mud.
‘Three months,’ she said, adding instant coffee to the mugs, followed by hot water. To her own mug she added milk and three spoonfuls of sugar.
‘It must be exhausting, bringing her up on your own.’
Jamie froze, shot the smallest of glances in Blake’s direction, then picked up the mugs of coffee and brought them over to the table.
Blake thanked her and immediately took a sip. Jamie lowered herself into the other chair.
‘How much has Judy told you?’ she asked.
Now that she could see the woman clearly, Blake took in her haunted eyes and the dark shadows circling them, and the unwashed hair that she wore in a ponytail. She was younger than Blake, perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, but her haunted eyes aged her.
‘Judy told me you recently moved here with your daughter to escape an abusive relationship. And that you think your ex-husband might have discovered where you live.’
‘I never said that.’ Jamie’s voice was suddenly sharp and angry in the quiet. Her shoulders sank a little and she dropped her gaze to the table. ‘What I mean is, I don’t think it’s him. Only a few people know I’m here, and none of them would tell him. They know what he did to me.’
Blake sipped more coffee. The damp in her bones receded a little. ‘In that case, perhaps you could tell me in your own words about what’s been happening and why you think you need my help.’
Jamie’s neck and shoulders grew taut as she looked up at Blake with frightened eyes. She didn’t speak at first, only drew in a trembling breath. She let it out slowly, then said, ‘Someone is watching me. From my garden, at night. I think they want Charlotte. I think they want my baby.’
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