Just like that, as if she consulted with the police on a daily basis.
She had to admire the man’s style. He’d caught her half asleep and begging for caffeine, her brain not fully operational. Otherwise, there was no way in hell she would have agreed.
The fact was, he had told her a young girl had been killed and that hit a little too close to home. Right after speaking with Gregson, she had tried calling the old number she had for Megan but it had rung out, adding to her stress. Her sister had never been an easy person to pin down, she thought with the habitual sense of sadness. Still, she was the only family Anna had left.
She was clinging onto the fact that neither she nor Megan could be called ‘girls’ any more. Passing the threshold of late twenties and edging dangerously close to thirty put them well past girlhood and she was sure Gregson had said it was a girl who had been killed.
Hadn’t he?
Still, she worried. Surely, he would have told her if the girl had been Megan. They had a duty to inform next of kin.
Didn’t they?
Nearing the causeway entrance, she frowned at the line of cars standing stationary despite the clear road ahead across the channel. She wound her window down as a man she recognised as Rob Fowler headed towards her car with a clipboard.
“Morning, Miss. I just need to take some details before I can allow you to cross.” He was using his official voice, Anna noted with a slight curve of full lips and she tipped down tinted aviators to meet his distracted gaze.
“Rob? Red suits you,” she referred to the bright red coastguard volunteer jacket he wore on his broad shoulders. His name was embroidered in fancy gold lettering on the breast pocket.
Rob’s tired face registered surprise before he flashed a broad, toothy grin which transformed him from an average-looking man, to a downright attractive one.
“Anna! It’s been a hell of a long time. Where have you been hiding yourself?” He greeted her like the old friend that she was and leaned in closer. Anyone who had shared a couple of sloppy teenage kisses and more than a few underage drinks could definitely be called an old friend.
“Durham,” she answered. “I’m living there now, teaching at the university.”
“I heard you’d done well for yourself. Should I be calling you Doctor Taylor now?” He wiggled his eyebrows, brown eyes twinkling.
“It’ll always be Anna to you,” she smiled. The reunion over, she jerked her head towards the island. “I heard there’s been some trouble. Anyone I know?”
She kept her voice casual, but she held her breath.
“I doubt you’d know her, bit after your time. Young lass called Lucy found dead up at the Priory.” He looked back towards the island, his face abruptly serious.
Anna let out the long, silent breath she’d been holding and felt relief surge because the girl wasn’t Megan. Guilt followed quickly because she knew some other family would be suffering instead.
Rob cleared his throat and turned back to her. “I’ve been given instructions to take down name, number plate and purpose for being on the island before I can let you cross, Anna. So, ah…” he cleared his throat again awkwardly. “Are you visiting your sister?”
Anna watched sympathy pass briefly over his expressive face and chose not to feel embarrassed by it.
“No.” She paused and strove for calm. “Mark’s loaned me the cottage.” She thought of her childhood home, now owned by an old friend. “I’m actually here on official business, Rob. I’ve been engaged by the police as a consultant.”
“Right,” Rob’s eyes widened in blatant curiosity as he scribbled something down on his clipboard. “Guess we’ll be seeing more of you, Anna.”
“I guess so,” she turned the ignition on again now the road was clear ahead, the cars having either u-turned back towards the mainland or driven on towards the island.
“Safe crossing, Anna.” Rob gave an arm signal to his fellow traffic marshal to indicate she had been given the go-ahead.
As she passed, her smile widened and she slowed to wave to the marshal she recognised as Mark Bowers. As well as being the island’s resident historian and part-time coastguard, he had been her teenage idol. He was an attractive, scholarly man who looked out of place in the sporty red jacket and khaki waterproofs. She remembered him in his usual garb of cream twill trousers and shirt, the forearms always tanned from long hours spent outdoors searching the land for clues to the past. He sent her a blank look before his lined face broke into a smile and she noticed then that he looked older than the man she remembered. Then again, she was older too. She gave a couple of short toots of the horn as she passed him and promised herself that she would pay a proper visit to her old mentor.