INT. FERRY TERMINAL - NIGHT

INT. FERRY TERMINAL - CAIRN ISLAND SERVICE - NIGHT

A bleak waiting room. Plastic seats. Overhead fluorescents with a flicker problem nobody has fixed. JUSTICE ADAEZE OKONKWO (58, reading glasses, an economy-class coat she wears like armour) sits alone with a small travel bag and a sealed envelope on the seat beside her.

She has read the letter inside four times. She is not going to read it again.

The FERRY OPERATOR (60s, waterproof jacket, indifferent) appears at a hatch.

FERRY OPERATOR Cairn crossing? Last one tonight.

ADAEZE Yes.

FERRY OPERATOR Weather's coming in. Might be rough.

ADAEZE I know.

FERRY OPERATOR (noting her bag) How long you staying?

ADAEZE I don't know yet.

He gives her a LOOK - the look of a man who has transported enough troubled people to a remote island to know when not to ask follow-up questions. He nods and disappears.

Adaeze picks up the envelope. Puts it back down. Picks it up again.

INSERT - THE LETTER: "Justice Okonkwo. Marcus Vane is dead. The police have found nothing. You are named in his final journal. If you wish to understand why, come alone. There is a house key in the envelope. You will need it. - A friend of Marcus Vane's (and not entirely yours)"

BACK TO SCENE:

Adaeze folds the letter. Stands. Lifts her bag.

ADAEZE (to no one) You should have left me out of this, Marcus.

The fluorescent light flickers twice and goes out.

She walks toward the dock.