Free The Wave at Hanging Rock: A Psychological Mystery and Suspense Thriller by Gregg Dunnett Page A

beach was a thin strip of dirty yellow sand and pebbles, a black line of damp seaweed marking the highest point the water had lapped at an hour or so earlier. There were a few people walking on the beach, and one or two huddled around picnics, mostly families from the campsite. My eyes followed the beach south to where it abruptly met black rocks and above them low orange cliffs. These features curved away out of sight as the coastline took a turn to the south, low green hills visible falling into the sea beyond.  
    “We could explore a bit more here,” I said suddenly. “For all we know there might be better waves somewhere. Better than Town Beach.”
    Darren’s eyes followed my gaze southwards, and when he spoke he sounded alarmed. “No, we can’t go there. You’re not allowed to go there.”  
    “I know you can’t go there,” I said, irritated. I’d been looking at the estate which hugged the coast to the south of Town Beach. It was private land, some wealthy landowner had miles of it all fenced off. Even the coastal footpath took a detour inland to go around the estate.
    “Everyone knows you can’t go there,” Darren said again. “It’s private.”
    “Alright Darren,” I said. “I didn’t mean inside the estate alright? I meant, I dunno, like further away, beyond the estate.”
    “But how would we get there, it’s miles…” Darren started to say until John cut him off.
    “Shut it Darren, you’ve made your point.”  
    Darren closed his mouth and watched John nervously. I knew how he felt.
    John had his eyes looking southwards as well now, where the cliffs at the end of Town Beach disappeared around the small headland.  

    “It can’t really be that private can it? Not to locals like us.” John said.

    I almost protested again. I hadn’t meant exploring inside the estate, but then the truth was I hadn’t not meant it either. I’d lived there a couple of years by then, and the three of us had already explored pretty much everywhere else. We knew Town Beach backwards, we’d walked every step of the cliff path to the north, we knew all the coves and the caves, and where it was best to jump from the cliffs into the water at high tide. But up to then we’d always kept away from the estate to the south. But it was probably only ever a matter of time. If I hadn’t known that before, it was pretty clear from the look on John’s face now.

    John’s rod tip suddenly jumped down, and without hesitation he scooped it up and gave it a sharp upward jerk, then held it in both his hands, feet widely planted. The tip went still and we watched in suspense as nothing happened for a few seconds, then it bent right over and John grabbed the handle of the reel and began to turn it and wind the line in. We never bothered with playing the fish or nothing like that, we’d just use all our strength to pull it in. Darren and I leaned over the handrail watching the water below as whatever was on John’s hook was drawn closer to the pier. He was panting with effort by the time we saw a grey shape underwater pulling the line first one way then the other, then it broke clear of the surface and hung there like wet washing on a line, just giving an occasional flap. It was a big flattie, a really good size to catch from the pier. He hoisted it over the handrail and jumped on it with his knife, severing its spinal cord before removing the hook so that it hardly flapped at all. There was no triumphalism in John’s voice when he spoke.
    “I guess that proves it boys. Alive crabs are the best.”

    It was probably just luck that made that fish choose the living crab that day, but maybe things would have worked out different if it had gone for the dead one. I don’t know, but I do know that over the next few years, a lot of crabs suffered because of that fish.

twelve

      IT WAS ONLY a few hours after Natalie reported Jim missing that the police found the car.

    Two officers from the Devon and Cornwall police drove