Skin and Bones Part 2

Thirty-Eight.

'Stop the car.''What?''I mean it. Stop the car.'Craig muttered an objection, but he checked his mirrors and pulled in at the kerb. They were on the outskirts of Hastings, heading towards Bexhill. Julia opened her door a couple of inches before she felt Craig's hand on her arm.'What are you doing?''I'll get a bus back to Camber.' She glared at him until he retracted his hand.'Jesus, you're overreacting, aren't you?''Am I? What else haven't you told me, Mr Big Shot Investigative Reporter?'He looked flabbergasted. 'Where did you get that from?''Kate, at the hotel. She used to be a police officer.'He snorted. 'That makes sense. Okay, so I used to do some serious journalism, and now I don't. It's no big secret.''Kate thinks you might have ulterior motives. Perhaps you're just out to discredit the police.'Craig looked disgusted. 'That b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed my dad, remember? All I want is to get the truth. If the trail leads to bent coppers, or anyone else for that matter . . . then so be it.' He spread his hands. 'I'm gonna go where the facts take me. If you don't want to come along, fine. But I happen to think you're owed the truth as well.' He reached down and pressed the b.u.t.ton that released her seatbelt, then folded his arms and waited.Julia pushed the door open a little further, but made no move to get out.'Why didn't you tell me about Peggy?''I didn't want to load it all on you at once.''Because you knew I'd say no?'He answered with a grunt. 'Probably. It was stupid of me. You can stay in the car if you want. I'll see her on my own.'Julia nodded, then pulled the door shut. She felt cheated, but she was also conscious of a terrible fascination at the idea of meeting Peggy Forester.'All right,' she said at last. 'But from now on, you're going to be straight with me, okay?'Falcombe was two miles east of Chilton, just off the A275 between Lewes and Chailey. The oldest part of the village wasn't much bigger than its neighbour, but whereas Chilton had remained unspoilt, Falcombe had long since succ.u.mbed to the lure of expansion. Estates spread out like tree rings, from a cl.u.s.ter of post-war prefabs near the centre to insipid twenty-first-century boxes around the perimeter. The sight of the tightly packed homes gave Julia renewed appreciation for Philip Walker's crusade.Peggy Forester lived in a council estate dating back to the Fifties, about a mile from the main road. Unlike the newer developments, it was a wide street with gra.s.s verges and generous front gardens. Unfortunately the houses, set well back from the road, were little more than drab brown pebbledash shelters.Craig reduced his speed as they looked for number 88. Ignoring their right of way, a tatty old BMW emerged from a driveway and hurtled round a parked Land Rover, forcing Craig to brake sharply.'What happened to manners?' he said.Julia's murmur of a.s.sent turned into a groan as she counted off the properties. In a street of virtually identical homes, Peggy Forester's wasn't hard to miss. Sheets of hardboard had been nailed to every window, and another board covered the pane in the front door. Graffiti had been sprayed all over the wood, none of it complimentary about the occupant. The front garden was devoid of gra.s.s or shrubs, a dark b.u.mpy landscape that Julia a.s.sumed was freshly turned soil.She was wrong. The smell hit them the instant they opened the car doors.'Oh, Jesus,' said Craig, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and covering his mouth. 'What the h.e.l.l is that?'Julia was half out of the car, breathing in shallow gasps. She shook her head, her mouth clamped shut on rising bile.The entire front garden was filled with dogs.h.i.t. Dozens of t.u.r.ds, acc.u.mulated over several weeks. Some of them fresh and glistening, some dry and crumbling, some a mouldering paste. Sc.r.a.ps of plastic lay trapped in the muck, indicating that many people were bagging them up and then throwing them in the garden. There were also half a dozen little white bundles that Julia identified as soiled disposable nappies, planted in the excrement like obscene bulbs. A larger shape caught her eye, rotting and pulpy with a suggestion of fur. She pointed and made a questioning sound.'Maybe a fox?' said Craig, twisting away in revulsion. 'We'll try round the back.'They got in the car and sped off, Craig opening the windows once they were clear of the house.'You don't seriously think she's living there?' Julia said.'As far as I know.''That's appalling. No matter what Carl did, how can anyone treat his mother like that?''The tabloids love to stir up a frenzy, then they skip along to the next story. This is what they leave in their wake.'He navigated a route that brought them roughly parallel to Forester's road. They parked outside another row of grim council houses.'Are you sure you're up for this?' he said.'I'll give it a try. How are we going to get in?''I don't know. There's usually a twitten or something.'There was, but it was narrow, and overgrown with brambles and nettles. It took them a few minutes to pick their way to the point where they guessed they were level with Forester's back garden. It was bordered by a thick hedge, at least eight or nine feet high, that had obviously gone untended for years. Buried deep within it was a rusty iron gate. Craig reached out and tested it, then brushed the metal flakes from his hand.'We can probably force it open.' He looked at Julia. 'Unless you'd rather go back to the car?'She shook her head. 'Not now I've come this far. But you're going first.''Fair enough.' He began wrenching the gate back and forth, breaking off the foliage that blocked its path. Once he'd created a big enough gap, he knelt down and wriggled through. Julia watched him, unimpressed.'I must be mad,' she muttered. 'What if she's got a dog?''No sign of one,' Craig called back. 'You'll be all right. There's plenty of room now.'Her resolve wavered briefly as she crouched down, imagining how Kate would react if she could see her now. Turning sideways, she eased herself between the gate and the hedge in awkward crablike steps, wincing as a stray branch clawed at her hair.On the other side Craig was waiting to help her up, and they both plucked leaves and twigs from their clothes. Peggy's back garden was a jungle of weeds and long gra.s.s. A crumbling concrete path led to the back door, which was half glazed and intact. There were no boards over the rear windows, and as Julia looked up she glimpsed movement in the kitchen.They heard a lock turning, and the door opened. Carl Forester's mother was small and wiry, dressed in jogging pants and a faded grey sweatshirt. She had greying brown hair in wild curls and a mean face with a raw, mottled complexion. Julia could feel the hostility radiating from her.'Get off my place! This is mine!' she yelled. Her voice was slurred and indistinct. She tottered as she spoke.'Mrs Forester?' Craig took a couple of steps forward. The woman turned slightly, raising her arm. She was brandishing a bread knife.'Leave me alone! Go away!'Craig motioned to Julia to stay where she was, then dug in his pockets and produced a roll of notes.'Mrs Forester, it's all right. I've brought the money you're owed.'Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'Money?''From the newspaper. You remember they did an article about you.'They could see her searching her memory. She looked confused, but slightly less suspicious. 'All f.u.c.king lies.''I know. The man who wrote it was fired.''f.u.c.king should have been.''They still you owe you a fee,' Craig said, showing her the money. 'Here it is. A hundred pounds.'Peggy Forester blinked a few times, her brain working so furiously they could almost hear the cogs turning. Then she put the knife on the draining board and nodded. Held out her hand.'Give it here.'Craig approached cautiously. 'We have to come in, I'm afraid. You need to sign a receipt.'The woman eyed him, as if she didn't understand. Craig stopped a couple of feet from her. She thrust out her hand. 'Give it.''I can't do that, Mrs Forester. You have to sign for it.'There was a stand-off for maybe thirty seconds. Craig held her gaze, showing no fear, offering no possibility of a compromise. Moving closer, Julia saw her face was a ma.s.s of broken blood vessels. Her eyes were milky and restless. Her hands shook as if under someone else's control.Craig looked at his watch. He gave the tiniest of shrugs, turning to Julia as if preparing to depart.A flash of panic showed in Peggy's eyes. 'Come on, then,' she said. 'Get it over with.'The killer was either very lucky or very unlucky. He couldn't decide which. A few minutes either way could have made all the difference.The VW Golf had pa.s.sed him while he was still planning his approach. He watched them pull up outside her house. Saw the man get out and realised it must be Craig Walker. It took him slightly longer to identify the woman, and at first he couldn't believe it was really her. He didn't want to believe it.He sat very still, controlling his reaction. He watched them recoil at the state of the garden. When they got back in their car he dared to think he'd had a lucky escape, but he didn't entirely believe it. They wouldn't give up this easily.He got out and explored on foot. He soon found the overgrown path that ran along the back, and sure enough, he could hear them thrashing through the weeds. He moved back, well out of sight, and reflected on his luck. If he had acted perhaps ten, fifteen minutes earlier, there would be no one for them to talk to.On the other hand, he might have left the house and walked straight into them. That would have been a catastrophe.He returned to the car and drove it round the corner, parking at a safe distance from the Golf. He wanted to see them when they came out. Perhaps something in their body language would hint at what they'd discovered.Peggy Forester stood back to let them enter, then shut and locked the back door. The kitchen was a small square room with hideous green units that might have been the originals from the Fifties. The floor was brown lino, cracked and split with age. There was a small Formica table and two chairs. A coffee mug and a half-empty bottle of supermarket-brand vodka sat on the table. An old saucer doubled as an ashtray, overflowing with b.u.t.ts.The kitchen's inner door was shut, so they couldn't see any more of the house. Julia shivered. She felt claustrophobic and frightened. The room wasn't big enough for three adults, especially when one of them reeked of alcohol and had a knife within reach.But Craig admired the room with the relaxed enthusiasm of an estate agent at a viewing. 'Nice kitchen,' he said without a trace of irony.Peggy grunted. 'It's my place.' Then she turned her head and muttered, as if to someone standing behind her.Julia exchanged a glance with Craig, whose eyes briefly widened. He indicated the chairs but Julia shook her head. She felt safer standing.'Why don't you sit down, Peggy,' he said, taking the other seat for himself. 'Terrible mess out the front,' he added conversationally.'Never go out there,' she said. 'Not safe.''You mean you're you're not safe?' Craig asked. not safe?' Craig asked.'Not safe anywhere. Only here. I don't go nowhere.'Julia couldn't help shrinking back as Peggy crossed the room. Thankfully she'd left the knife on the draining board. She poured some vodka into the mug and slurped it down.Craig produced a sheet of paper and smoothed it out on the table. It was filled with text and had two dotted lines at the bottom for a signatory and a witness.'I don't suppose you get many visitors?' he said.'Eh?''People coming to see you. Carl's friends, for instance. Do they visit you?'Peggy's eyes narrowed hatefully, perhaps at the mention of her son's name, or perhaps because she'd deduced what Craig was doing. Her hands twisted together, working out her agitation. Her left leg was juddering to the same tempo as her hands.'Don't see no one,' she said. 'Got my money?''Yes, a hundred pounds.'She nodded hungrily.Craig said, 'What if I gave you two hundred?'She nodded again. 'Two hundred.''Yes, but I need you to tell me something. Something about Carl.''I don't know nothing. Told the police. That f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.' She tottered to her feet, searching for the knife. Craig gently took her arms, easing her back down.'It's all right, Peggy. We're not the police.''f.u.c.king police. Hate 'em.''I'm sure you do. I want to know about Carl's friend. The one who helped him on January nineteenth. Do you understand what I mean?'Her eyes roved the room, anxious not to make contact with him. Didn't know him.''You didn't know the other man?''What other man?'Craig exchanged a glance with Julia. The conversation had the rhythm of a comedy routine, but no one was laughing.'Are you talking about Carl?' he asked, confused.'Little b.a.s.t.a.r.d stole from me. Always thieving. Tried to make him learn. He was mine. You're allowed to hit 'em if they're yours. To make 'em learn.' She grabbed the mug and drank greedily. A dribble of alcohol ran down her chin and she caught it with her hand. Then she licked her palm like a child with an ice cream.Craig suppressed a shudder. He turned to Julia: What now? What now?On impulse she said, 'Mrs Forester, did Carl have a motorbike?' Peggy reacted as if she hadn't known Julia was in the room. She scrutinised her closely, deciding if she posed a threat.'It wasn't his. Too nice for him. I said he must've stole it.'Julia stared at Craig. Her heart was thumping so loudly she imagined he could hear it. She had to moisten her lips before she dared speak again.'He stole a motorbike?''He said it was a lend. Giving it a ride.''Who lent it to him, can you remember?''Said it was secret. Thieving little b.a.s.t.a.r.d.''Why was it a secret?' asked Craig.'Wasn't allowed to tell. Said he'd kill me.' She took another mouthful of neat vodka, swallowing it as though it were water.Craig was frowning, trying to make sense of what she'd said. 'Carl threatened to kill you?'She spat with disgust. Craig recoiled from the fine spray of vodka.'Not Carl,' she said.Julia understood. 'You mean the other man?' she said. 'Carl's friend would kill you. Is that what Carl told you?''Said he'd come here. In the night. Said he'd kill me.''And did you tell this to the police?' Craig asked.Peggy addressed Julia as if she hadn't heard him. 'f.u.c.king police. Saying I made him wrong. I stuck my knife in her.' Her eyes glittered with pleasure. 'Serves her right. b.i.t.c.h copper.''Mrs Forester, what about the other man? Why did he tell Carl he'd kill you?'''Cause he could. He could do anything, Carl said.' She raised the mug, then stopped and looked directly at Julia. 'Carl said he was the Devil.'

Thirty-Nine.

In all the long months of planning and preparation, he'd only been unlucky twice. That was how he saw it. He hadn't made mistakes. He hadn't f.u.c.ked up. He'd been unlucky.The first incident, he'd dealt with it promptly and effectively. It was old news now. He barely gave it a thought.The second incident, he'd needed to visit Forester at home. Some important last-minute instructions. He made sure the mother was out on one of her extended drinking sessions, but still he'd worn a suit and carried a briefcase. He had a cover story ready, in case Peggy walked in on them. Carl, dumbf.u.c.k that he was, couldn't see why one was necessary.'So I don't have to kill her, remember?'Just as he was finishing up she blundered in, p.i.s.sed and incoherent and bleeding from the nose. She'd got into a fight with two men over a game of darts and been thrown out of the pub.He introduced himself as an insurance salesman. Could he interest her in a life policy at a modest monthly premium? Peggy went ballistic, accusing him of trying to take advantage of her dimwitted son. At this, Carl had scowled angrily and said nothing.After screaming at him for letting a stranger into the house, Peggy slapped her son's face hard enough to leave a handprint on his cheek, while Carl just stood there and took it. Too scared and stupid to fight back. The next time they met, Carl was sporting a black eye and a split lip. But he swore he'd kept to the story. And Peggy had swallowed it.Even so, there was a slim chance she would remember him. If she did, she might be able to identify him. And that made her a threat.He'd been there about fifteen minutes when he saw movement in his rear-view mirror. Walker and Trent emerged from the footpath and crossed the road towards their car. It was difficult to read their mood at this distance, but he thought the woman looked a bit shaky, a bit unsteady on her feet. In contrast, Walker seemed fired up, as though it had been a successful visit.So what had Peggy given them?He sat very still and waited until they had driven past. Then he made sure he had what he needed, and opened his door.Time to find out.They didn't talk much on the way back. Squeezing through the hedge, Craig tore his shirt and swore loudly enough to set a dog barking further down the block.When he got in the car he looked uncharacteristically sombre. 'I've spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like, meeting the mother of the man who killed my father. I thought I would hate her, but really I just felt sorry for her.''What was all that about a newspaper owing her money?''I made it up. I knew she'd be reluctant to talk.''You know she'll just spend it on booze.''Yeah, and do you know what?' he said. 'I don't blame her.' He started the car and pulled away. 'We'll get some lunch, shall we?'She didn't argue, although the encounter with Peggy Forester had sapped her strength. She wanted to stand in the shower and scrub away every trace of the visit.They decided on the Half Moon in Plumpton, tucked away on a quiet country road. It was the kind of place her parents had loved, Julia thought sadly, thinking of all the major family occasions they'd celebrated with a meal in a cosy Suss.e.x pub.As she got out of the Golf, a sudden cramp in her stomach made her gasp. She doubled over, retching a couple of times. Craig hurried round to her and tentatively rubbed her back.'Are you all right?''Fine,' she managed, still coughing. She straightened up, her vision distorted by tears, and forced a smile. 'Just need to rest for a while.''Do you want me to take you home?'She shook her head, hoping he wouldn't see how tempted she was.'Let's see how I feel after we've eaten.'He went in the same way as Walker and the woman. There were no other options.First he waited a minute or two, watching for movement at the neighbour's windows. He held a mobile phone to his ear in case anyone came along the path. When he'd decided it was clear, he took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and put them on. He pushed open the gate and scurried towards the house, keeping low so Peggy wouldn't see him.Pressed tight against the wall, he ducked beneath her kitchen window, then reached out and tapped lightly on the back door: the kind of noise a cat would make. Even if she didn't have a cat, she was bound to be curious.He heard her muttering as she unlocked the door. As soon as it opened he sprang up and launched himself into the house, shoving Peggy in the chest. She stumbled backwards, yelping in surprise. A half-smoked cigarette fell from her mouth. She struck the table and fell to the floor. A bottle of vodka toppled over and began slopping out its contents. Perfect.Peggy was still too shocked to scream, but he didn't have long. He pushed the door shut with his heel and grabbed her arms as she floundered, trying to grip the table and get to her feet. He kicked her in the stomach, just hard enough to knock the wind from her.She made a groaning sound. Her head was flopping loosely on her neck, eyes wild and disorientated. She was drunk, he realised. She couldn't make sense of what was happening.Even better.He knelt on her chest and pinned her arms to the floor. Put his face close to hers and watched carefully as her eyes swam into focus. They were wide with incomprehension, but they contained no recognition. She didn't remember him. Maybe he was in the clear.'Those visitors,' he said. 'What did they want?'She blinked several times. 'Money,' she said, perhaps thinking he was here to steal from her. 'Hundred quid. You can have it.'He shook his head. Pressed his knee harder. 'What did you tell them?''Nothing. Told 'em nothing.''You're lying. They asked you about Carl. Tell me.''They wanted to know about the bike. I said it wasn't his.''A bike?' For a second he was genuinely confused. 'What sort of bike?''Someone gave him a lend. Noisy f.u.c.king thing. Green, it was.'Then it clicked. The Kawasaki. On one occasion he'd brought it down to try it out over the fields. He'd let Carl take it for a ride, and the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d had disappeared for nearly an hour. He claimed he'd just taken it round the country lanes, but he must have gone home and showed it to his mother. And now Walker and Julia Trent knew about it.One slip-up and you're finished.'No,' he said aloud. He wasn't going to let that happen.Craig ordered a cheddar ploughman's and a pint of Harveys bitter; Julia had soup and sparkling water. She found a vacant table and sat down. Combined with last night's dream, Peggy Forester's reference to the Devil was resonating powerfully in her mind. When she lifted the visor, was it the shock of recognition that had caused her to recoil, or something far worse?She jumped as Craig touched her arm. 'What's wrong?''Nothing,' she said. 'Just a silly idea.''What?'She shook her head. She couldn't tell him. Instead she said, 'Even if Peggy told the police what she just told us, they'd still dismiss it. They'd a.s.sume it was Carl who threatened to kill her.''Maybe. But we're not the police. We know there was someone else involved, and Peggy Forester has just confirmed it.'Julia pulled a face. 'I wouldn't go that far. Even if what she said is true, we're no closer to identifying who this man is.'Craig grudgingly a.s.sented, then took a long drink of beer.'Still, it gives us some leverage with Matheson, don't you think?'Peggy Forester just stared at him. Sobering quickly, but still too befuddled to know what was going on.He grabbed her arms and half lifted her, yanking her upright until she was on her knees. Then he used all his strength to slam her head against the edge of the table. She hit it high on the skull with a thick, heavy sound. Her eyes rolled up in her head and blood gushed from the wound. When he let go she dropped like a dead weight, collapsing into the puddle of vodka around the table.He plucked up the cigarette, saw it was still alight. He turned and examined the room. The kitchen window was open a couple of inches. The ledge was thick with grime. It was home to a bottle of washingup liquid and a small army of dead flies.He removed the key from the back door, then returned his attention to Peggy. She was unconscious. Not dead. That was better, really, for his purposes. But the next bit was tricky. He needed her to stay unconscious. He needed to be sure.The floor was obviously uneven, for the vodka had spread in an arc, a little finger jutting out towards the hallway. Careful not to tread in it, he reached over and picked up the bottle. He poured the rest of the alcohol over Peggy's shoulders and hair.Then he stepped back as far as he could and tossed the cigarette on to her body. It landed in the crook of her neck, disappearing in the folds of her sweatshirt. He'd a.s.sumed it would ignite the alcohol with an almost clear flame, like a sambuca or a Christmas pudding. But nothing happened.s.h.i.t. He'd have to rethink. Perhaps light a match.And then he saw something which made him smile. A tendril of grey smoke emerged from the sweatshirt. Then another, slow and sinuous. Then several at the same time. Fascinated, he took a couple of steps closer. He could see little yellow flames blinking in and out of existence within her clothing. The sweatshirt was melting, turning black. And still Peggy lay immobile.He realised he was going to have to stay and watch. Not just to make sure the fire took hold, but because it was so absorbing. How many times did you get the chance to see someone burned alive?It took a few minutes for the fire to get going, and by then it had burned through to her skin. The vodka on the floor ignited, scorching the cheap linoleum and producing foul-smelling smoke. He retreated to the door, covering his mouth with his hand. It was almost time to leave.He left the kitchen window open a fraction, partly to draw in oxygen for the fire. He took the key, stepped into the back garden and locked the door behind him. Then he slipped the key through the window and dropped it on to the ledge.He retraced his route through the hedge and along the footpath. He was back at his car, sipping from a bottle of Evian, when he saw a plume of smoke rising over the rooftops.It was another ten minutes before a fire engine thundered past. His car shook in its slipstream.'Hurry up, lads,' he muttered. 'You'll miss the barbecue.'

Forty.

They stretched lunch out to well over an hour, and by the time they left the pub Julia felt physically refreshed and in far better spirits. The jitters didn't set in until they were a mile or so out from Chilton, and it suddenly struck her that they were about to confront the man who might have masterminded the slaughter on 19 January.'Tell me about George Matheson,' she said.'The cla.s.sic self-made man,' Craig said. 'Came from an ordinary middle-cla.s.s family. Not academically brilliant, but very bright, very tough. They reckon you could never get one over on him. Had a lot of luck, as well. Moved into property at the right time, got out of equities before the stock market dived.''Good at reading the future, or inside knowledge?''Bit of both, I imagine. In interviews he's always boasting about his instinct. When he buys a company, he doesn't care about all the due diligence and formal paperwork. He visits the premises, talks to the staff on the shop floor. If he gets a good feel about the place, he'll buy it regardless of what the balance sheet says.''And it's always worked?''Not so much lately. There are rumours that he's overreached himself. He's sold off quite a few a.s.sets in the past few years, mainly to help prop up the core business, but there are signs that it hasn't worked.''Hence the planning application?'Craig nodded. 'Twenty or thirty million in the coffers, I guess that's going to ease the financial pressure.'Julia mulled it over. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. Was Matheson desperate enough to countenance ma.s.s murder for that money?'What about his wife?''Vanessa. They've been married for thirty years. She comes from one of those old families with oodles of cla.s.s but no money. He was the bit of rough who went out and made a fortune. She gave him the respectability and the contacts he needed on his way up.''Sounds like a good match.''By all accounts it's a pretty empty relationship these days,' said Craig. 'Whether he's got someone on the side, I've no idea.''Do they have children?''No. They tried for years, according to one article I read. But there was some kind of problem. Of course the fertility treatment wasn't as sophisticated as it is now.''That's sad.'He gave her a sharp look. 'You feel sorry for him?''In that respect, yes.' She matched his disdain. 'We don't know he's done anything wrong. Let's not prejudge, eh?''All right,' he said. But he sounded a little grumpy, and once again she wondered if it was a mistake to get involved. Did she really have the appet.i.te for this?Tall wrought-iron gates barred their entrance to the property. Craig pulled up alongside an intercom and pressed the b.u.t.ton. After a few seconds a gruff male voice said, 'Yes?''Craig Walker, to see George Matheson.'There was a pause. The speaker clicked off and the gates began to move apart.'Was that a servant, or the man himself?' Julia said, as they drove along a winding gravel drive.'I'm not sure if he has any servants,' Craig said. 'Apparently they live quite frugally.''Really?' Frugal wasn't the word she'd use to describe the stunning white mansion gliding into view behind a screen of immaculately trimmed poplars.Craig heard her intake of breath and said, 'Parts of it date back to the fifteenth century. Something like eighteen rooms, plus a pool, tennis court and a couple of acres of formal gardens.'They parked next to a brand-new Jaguar saloon. Julia shut her eyes for a moment, steadying her nerves.As she got out, George Matheson emerged on to the grand portico. He was taller than she'd expected, six feet or thereabouts, but a little stooped. He had thick grey hair and unruly eyebrows, framing strong features and a ruddy complexion. He looked more like a retired builder than a wealthy entrepreneur.At first she was concentrating so hard on walking without any sign of impairment that she failed to register the confusion on Matheson's face. It was only when she reached the steps she saw him staring at her as though she were a ghost.He looks terrified, she thought. But the insight did little to ease her own anxiety.'This is Julia Trent,' said Craig as he walked up the steps.'Yes. I, ah . . . yes.' George shook hands with Craig, then abruptly turned before Julia had time to offer her hand.Leading them inside, he indicated where they could hang their coats and then strode across a vast entrance hall. The walls boasted a tasteful selection of oil paintings, mostly landscapes, some preciouslooking urns and an imposing grandfather clock in the corner. Julia had a moment to admire the wide double staircase and galleried landing, before they entered an equally vast living room. This time the artwork was mostly watercolours and a few pencil drawings: all figurative, probably originals, probably very valuable.Sensing movement in her peripheral vision, she turned to see a man in a black suit step away from one of the immense sash windows. He was about as tall as George, with a slender but powerful physique and close-cropped fair hair. He was good-looking in a slightly coa.r.s.e way, with a large nose and well-defined cheekbones. His skin was taut but blotchy, with traces of acne scars beneath both ears. His eyes narrowed, emanating hostility.'This is James Vilner,' said George. 'He's, uh, an a.s.sociate of mine.'Vilner nodded curtly, but he didn't say a word in greeting. He directed his gaze at each of them in turn, then resumed his position at the window. The sight of his broad back and apparent indifference sent a chill through her. The effect was somehow more intimidating than if he'd marched up and stood looking over their shoulders.George indicated a haphazard selection of sofas and chairs, and asked if they wanted a drink.'Just had lunch,' said Craig.Julia also declined, and caught Matheson's relief. He kept s.n.a.t.c.hing furtive glances at her, his eyes feasting on her body as if mentally undressing her. Not ogling her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she realised. Trying to picture her wounds.'You seem to have made a remarkable recovery,' he blurted when she caught him at it.'Thank you.'He turned his attention to Craig. 'And can I offer my condolences. As far as I'm concerned, your father's campaign was never personal. I bore him no ill will, and I'm sure he felt the same.'Craig nodded slowly. 'I guess I owe you an apology, as well. What I said about the development was never intended to be made public.'At first George looked gratified, then grimly amused. 'But you stand by your comments?''I'm here to see if you can change my mind.''And how would I do that?''Give me a cast-iron commitment that there'll be no second application. You'll guarantee the land around Chilton won't be developed under any circ.u.mstances.'George gave a little bark of laughter, and shook his head regretfully. Julia glanced at Vilner, sensing that he had absorbed every word.'That's asking the impossible,' George said, his gaze also flickering towards Vilner. 'No one can predict the future. It's quite feasible that, in time, opinions will change.''So you do intend to make a fresh application?''I don't necessarily intend anything of the sort,' George said. Julia thought she detected a degree of emphasis on the I I, but Craig didn't seem to pick up on it.'You know the police have completed the preliminary report?' he said.George shook his head, but his eyes slid away. 'What's that got to do with anything?''It's a whitewash,' Craig declared. 'Julia wasn't shot by Carl Forester. There was another man there. Dressed in motorcycle leathers and a full-face helmet. He killed Carl and made it look like suicide. He got away before the police arrived.'George's mouth tightened. There was another darting look at Vilner, and it struck Julia that perhaps George found the other man's presence just as unnerving as they did. But if so, why was he here?Then she realised Vilner had turned and was staring right at her.'Is this correct?' George asked.Julia nodded. 'Yes.'Vilner spoke for the first time. 'What did the police say?''They didn't . . . they thought-''That you'd imagined it?' George answered for her.Her shoulders dropped and she turned away, determined not to let him rile her.'We've just spoken to Peggy Forester,' said Craig, drawing their attention away from Julia. 'Carl had befriended someone, but he wouldn't tell his mother who. According to him, this friend said he'd kill her if she ever found out about him.''And Peggy confirmed the friend had a motorbike.'George waited a second, then forced a laugh. 'And you regard that as proof of your theory? The woman's a hopeless alcoholic, isn't she?''She was lucid enough this morning,' said Craig.Vilner took a few steps towards them. His eyes were still narrowed, unreadable. 'So what are you after, really?' he demanded.George raised a hand to quieten him. 'Whatever it is, I don't think this meeting will achieve anything.'Emboldened by the knowledge that Vilner could be held in check, Julia said, 'What happened at the farm?'George looked taken aback. 'I beg your pardon?''The report mentions an incident, a couple of years ago. Carl a.s.saulted the farmer's wife.''Laura Caplan, yes,' said George. He cleared his throat. 'Carl let himself into the house. He had a selection of her underwear spread out on the kitchen table. When Laura walked in she found him masturbating over them. Her daughter also witnessed it. They were very distressed.''He was sacked as a result?''Yes. Of course, the police told me they think it was a factor in . . . in what he did.' He shifted in his seat. 'Believe me, I've examined my conscience on many an occasion since then, and I'm absolutely certain I was right to fire him.''Why didn't the Caplans go to the police?''It was awkward. Carl had worked for me and for them for several years. For most of that time he'd been a satisfactory employee. We all agreed losing his job was punishment enough.''And I daresay you wanted to avoid the bad publicity?' Craig said.'In fact, it was Laura Caplan who made the final decision. For Megan's sake.' He shut his eyes for a second. 'Not that it did either of them any good, ultimately.''How is Megan now?' Julia asked.'On the Glasgow coma scale she scores seven, from which I understand she may survive and she may not. If she does, she may have serious brain damage, or she may not. We just don't know.'As if that sombre note seemed a suitable place to conclude, he stood up. 'I understand how bitter you must both feel, but I'm afraid these allegations are ludicrous. I don't accept for a minute that Forester collaborated with anyone, and neither do the police.' To Julia, he added, 'I'm sure there's some other explanation for what you believe you saw.'She didn't respond. Having kept her emotions in check for this long, she wasn't about to be goaded into tears. She got up and nodded at Craig to let it go. In her a.s.sessment the encounter had ended in a draw, which considering they were on hostile territory was a reasonably good result.Walking to the door, she sensed Vilner's gaze on her, his stillness crowding the room like an oppressive weight. She felt her legs go weak and prayed they wouldn't buckle beneath her.George accompanied them back across the hall. This time there were no handshakes, no pleasantries.'It would be hypocritical of me to wish you luck,' he said as he opened the door. 'I can only say, I hope you know what you're doing.'

Forty-One.

Julia felt little relief as the front door shut behind them. If anything, the crawling sensation of being watched intensified as she headed for the car. Checking behind her, she saw no one at the ground-floor windows.Then she looked up, and gave a start.'What is it?' said Craig.She shook her head, spoke in a low voice. 'Upstairs window.'Craig reached the Golf and took a casual glance at the house.'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.'A ghostly figure stood at a window on the first floor. She wore a white gown and a sort of cowl over her hair. Her face was so pale it glowed, her dark eyes burning with intensity. She was staring straight at Julia, and when she saw them looking she gave no reaction. She didn't smile, or flinch, or turn away.Julia got in the car and slammed her door shut. 'Who is that?''I think it's his wife. I saw her on 19 January.'Julia shivered and hugged herself. 'At first I thought it was . . . I don't know. Not human.'Craig grunted. He started the engine, then paused, his brow furrowed.'I hope you know what you're doing,' he quoted. 'Does that sound like a threat to you?''Maybe, but right now I couldn't care less. I just want to get out of here.'Vilner didn't wait for George to return to the drawing room, or whatever the h.e.l.l it was called. He strode into the hall and caught George in a pose of utter despair, his forehead resting against the door as if he'd just tried to ram it.'I'm leaving too,' Vilner said.George sprang up, fighting a losing battle to conceal how stunned he was. Not the only losing battle in his life right now, Vilner suspected. By contrast, he thought he'd concealed his own reaction pretty well.'You'll be briefing Kendrick?' George said.'That's right.''I could make it worth your while to give him an abridged version.'Vilner stared at him. A grin slowly lit up his face. 'Uh uh,' he said. 'I only back winners.'George winced, exactly as if it had been a physical slap in the face. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that,' he said. 'It's a good offer, and I'm only making it once.''Don't waste your time, George,' a voice rang out. Thin and reedy, but projected with real determination. Vilner turned to see Vanessa Matheson at the top of the stairs. It was the first time he had seen her in the flesh, and she was nothing like the photos, most of which were years out of date. She looked terrifying: a gaunt spectre, so thin and light she was virtually floating above them. Her small black eyes drilled contempt right through him.Vilner summoned a smile for her as he pulled the front door open. 'Good advice,' he said to George. 'I'd say you've got enough problems at the moment.'He left without another word. Crossing the driveway, he reached for his mobile, then thought better of it. Phones were a risky form of communication, and mobiles were especially vulnerable. His conversation with Kendrick would have to wait.Neither of them spoke as they drove along Hurst Lane. At the fork in the road Julia glanced along the track that led to the farm. There was a dark green Land Rover parked about a hundred yards away. She felt sure she'd seen it somewhere else today.She considered mentioning it to Craig, but thought better of it. For one thing, it would initiate a conversation when what she craved was silence. And after being spooked by George's wife, she didn't want him to think she was paranoid.They reached the village proper, where the day's contingent of tourists seemed to be packing up and leaving. It was almost four o'clock, the sun low in the sky, long shadows stretching like fingers across the green.'I'm sorry you've got to drive me back,' Julia said, as Craig gave a slightly wistful glance at the Old Schoolhouse.'It's the least I can do,' he said.They followed a minibus past the shop and round the bend. Spotting a vacant parking bay outside her parents' cottage, Julia said, 'Can we stop a minute? I'd like to check on the house.''Sure.' Craig pulled in. 'Do you want me to come with you?'Julia was searching her handbag for the right set of keys. It was tempting to say yes, but if she didn't find the courage to go in alone now, it would be even harder next time.'No, I'll be fine.'She got out of the car. Despite the fine weather, the temperature was rapidly falling. Could be in for a frost tonight, she thought, glancing at the row of cottages, their chimney pots and TV aerials silhouetted against an indigo sky. Light poured from the homes on each side, while the dark windows of her parents' house resembled missing teeth.She slotted the key in the lock, picturing the night in December when she had found them dead. Her hand trembled until she got the better of it. She turned the key and thought: Peggy Forester's road.That's where she had seen the Land Rover. Or one very like it.She went inside and turned on the light. Waited a moment, just as she had done two months ago. The house felt empty, abandoned, but still she called, 'h.e.l.lo?' As if her mother might call out from the kitchen 'In here!' and she'd go in to find Mum rolling pastry while her father fetched vegetables from the garden for the evening meal, and they could celebrate that nothing bad had happened because someone had found a way to roll back time . . .Not going to happen.She sniffed. The air felt stale and clammy. It was over a week since Neil had last checked on it, just before he returned to Cheshire. One of the neighbours had a key, but only for emergencies. In the living room the wallpaper was beginning to curl away from the corners, and she could smell the fusty, organic aroma of mould spores. If they didn't do something with the house soon it would be uninhabitable.Before attempting the stairs, she rested for a minute. Without fully realising it, she had been putting on a front for Craig, and it was only now she appreciated how much it was taking out of her.The next challenge was more emotional than physical: venturing into her parents' bedroom for the first time since their deaths. She could barely bring herself to look at the bed, but a large leatherbound diary on her father's bedside table caught her attention. For over forty years he had faithfully recorded the minutiae of his daily life, and there were whole boxes of them in the spare room, along with stacks of paperwork that would, sooner rather than later, need to be sorted out.She picked up the diary and wiped dust off the cover with her elbow. She suddenly had a very clear recollection of herself as a child, going to kiss him goodnight as he sat at his desk. Sometimes she would read a little at his shoulder, frowning to make sense of his elegant squiggles, and once she had asked what he was doing. 'Capturing all the precious moments, so they're never forgotten,' he had told her. She had considered this, and asked, 'How do you know what's precious?'Now she recalled his sad, wise reply: 'When enough years have pa.s.sed, everything is precious.'The Scotch was concealed in the rear footwell, behind the driver's seat. It sang to him the instant Julia went inside. He tried to ignore it, but held out for less than a minute.One swig. Not even a full mouthful. That couldn't hurt. He'd had, what, a couple of pints at lunchtime? Still below the limit.Craig wiped his mouth, savoured the burning in his throat, then found the Extra Strong Mints in the glove compartment and popped a couple into his mouth. Couldn't risk Julia smelling it on his breath.He waited a couple more minutes, and was debating whether to have another sip when Julia emerged from the house. When she got in the car, he saw she was holding a diary.She looked at him and sniffed. He thought he was busted, until he noticed the tears running down her face.'You okay?' Without thinking, he reached out towards her. His fingers had almost touched her cheek when she twisted away. He withdrew his hand as though it had been burned.'I'm fine.' She sniffed again. 'Why?''You're crying.'She rubbed her cheeks, looking slightly incredulous, as though she hadn't been aware of it. Feeling embarra.s.sed for her, he started the car and checked over his shoulder before pulling out. It had been a long, stressful day for both of them, but at least it was nearly over.After Vilner left, George wearily climbed the stairs to join his wife. He was only fifty-six, but most of the time lately he felt about a hundred. He wondered if Toby was right. Perhaps he should take himself off to Antigua for a few months. To h.e.l.l with the business, and Kendrick, and the rest of them. If it all fell apart while he was away, did it really matter? He had nothing left to prove, and scarcely anyone to prove it to.Vanessa watched him approach. She was gripping the banister, shaking with the effort of remaining upright. Still she had this compulsion to push herself to the limit, no matter the toll it took on her. He didn't know whether to feel admiration or pity. He had tried both, and both had been met with scorn.'How are you?''Dying,' she said. 'What's your excuse?'He offered his arm, and she took it grudgingly. More and more now she was confined to her room, and he had arranged for private nurses to help care for her. Her doctor had suggested a hospice might be more comfortable for her last days or weeks, but Vanessa was adamant that she wanted to stay at home.He helped her into bed, trying not to feel aggrieved by her intervention with Vilner. It was humiliating that she'd witnessed just how sordid his professional life had become.Once she was settled, he sat beside her and recounted the visit, not sparing her any of the details. It felt surprisingly good to unburden himself: a sign that the bond between them, stretched thin by time and neglect, nonetheless remained. She was all he had left, and soon she would be gone.'Vilner's presence has backfired,' he said. 'Now Kendrick will know exactly what type of trouble we're in.'Vanessa ignored the veiled criticism of her decision. 'Do you believe their story?''That's hardly the point. Julia Trent believes it, and clearly she's convinced Walker. How much longer before other people start to fall for it?'Her eyelids slipped shut, and she was silent for a long time. Perhaps mulling over the problem, or perhaps asleep. Reaching under the covers, he found her hand and wrapped it in his. It felt no bigger than a child's. The image brought tears to his eyes, imagining how it might have been to sit here as a father, reading a bedtime story in a room filled with toys and games instead of monitors and morphine.Vanessa's eyes snapped open. She saw the tears and looked away, as if to spare him further indignity.'If the allegations are true, do you think Kendrick had something to do with it?'George sighed. 'I don't even want to think about that.''You'll have to warn Toby. It's not fair to leave him exposed.''But can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?''You let him take a copy of the report,' she reminded him.He considered a moment. He went to ask her a question, but her eyes had closed and the tone of her breathing had changed. This time she was asleep, and she needed it. She needed to be left alone.Just go, a voice in his head urged him. Run away now. Before it all gets a lot worse.But he knew he wouldn't.

Forty-Two.

The drive back was slow and fraught. There was no easy route across country, and almost immediately they became entangled in a mix of school-run and early commuter traffic.'Don't know why they call it the rush hour,' Craig grumbled. 'It starts at three and lasts till eight.''Overpopulation,' said Julia. The irony wasn't lost on either of them.'He won't give up. A few years from now there'll be housing estates all round Chilton.''Don't be a pessimist.' She thought about George's comment: I don't I don't necessarily intend anything of the sort necessarily intend anything of the sort. Had she detected the emphasis on I I, or was it her imagination?Craig said, 'What did you make of him?''I'm not sure. I think he already knew about the police report. His initial surprise was because we've we've got a copy, but he was faking his reaction to the content.' got a copy, but he was faking his reaction to the content.''I thought so, too. I wonder how he got hold of it.''Same way you did, I suppose. A connection in the police.''That's a worrying thought,' Craig said.'I didn't realise you were going to tell him about the second killer.''I wanted to see how he reacted.''He seemed genuinely upset when he was talking about the Caplans. That would be quite a challenge to feign, if he was the one who killed them.'Craig scowled. 'I'm not suggesting he did it himself. He'll have hired someone.''What? A hit man?''Yeah.''Then why involve Carl? Why not just get the hit man to kill everyone?''Because it raises too many unanswered questions. Sooner or later the police would discover that Matheson had the perfect motive. This way the answer was served to them on a plate. Some maladjusted loner with a grudge goes on the rampage and then kills himself. A nice tidy conclusion. No need to look any further. No need to think about who benefits.'She considered this for a moment. She had a feeling they were thinking the same thing. Then Craig said, 'That other guy. Vilner.'Julia gripped the diary close, worrying at a loose flap of leather in the corner. He sent her a look. Testing the water before he said it.'Could it have been him?'She didn't answer for a long time. They were approaching the small town of Battle. Ahead of them the traffic was slowing again, a chain of red lights flashing in the darkness.'Maybe,' she said.As they drove into Battle, Craig suggested they stop and grab a drink. He got the feeling Julia only agreed out of politeness.They found a tea room still open on the High Street, close to the abbey. Craig ordered coffee and a bacon sandwich; Julia a pot of tea. When she got up to use the toilet, Craig asked if he could borrow her mobile. 'The person I'm calling is avoiding me,' he explained.He looked up the number on his own phone and dialled it on Julia's. While it rang, he looked around the cafe. It was a small, tidy place, picturebook pretty and slightly twee, but exactly in keeping with its location. And it wasn't licensed, which was probably a good thing.Abby picked up with an uncertain 'h.e.l.lo?''You haven't been answering my calls.''Craig, I'm really sorry. I didn't-''I know, I know. Your editor talked you into it, you had no idea of the trouble it would cause, blah blah blah. That's not why I called. I need a favour.'There was a pause while Abby registered that she'd been forgiven, albeit with strings attached. In the background he could hear soft music, then a woman's voice. He heard Abby draw away from the phone and mention his name.'Okay,' she said to him. 'What is it?''Will you find out everything you can about a man called James Vilner? He's in his late thirties, supposedly some kind of businessman.''Supposedly?''If he's in business, it's likely to be of the illegal variety.' He gave her a brief description. 'He has a Northern accent, but I imagine he's based in London or the South East.''And what's your interest in him?'Craig smiled to himself. He didn't have to tell her, but he knew the truth would be a great motivator. 'He's an a.s.sociate of George Matheson's.'Another pause. When Abby spoke, she made a bad job of concealing her interest. 'Can I use what I find?''I wouldn't expect anything else.'Abby winced. 'I suppose I deserve that. I'll get started on it tonight.'The killer saw them park and set off on foot. He was glad of the chance to stop and regroup. He could see all manner of opportunities opening up, but to exploit them fully he had to do some preparation.He drove back to the petrol station he'd just pa.s.sed and bought fuel. Then he returned to the car park and pulled up in sight of Walker's Golf. There was a supermarket adjoining the car park. It took him less than five minutes to buy what he needed.He drank some water and ate a cheese and pickle sandwich. The bread was dry and the cheese was sweaty, but he didn't care. He had brought chocolate as well. He needed calories. There was still a lot to do. He felt tired but elated. It had been a long and busy day, but an extremely productive one.While he waited, he listened to the radio. Top story on the local news was a serious fire at the home of 'Chilton spree killer Carl Forester'. Unconfirmed reports of a body found in the gutted building, though no word yet as to its ident.i.ty.When the bulletin ended, the DJ and his sidekick took it upon themselves to speculate further. A tragic accident, they surmised. Or suicide. Peggy Forester was a lonely woman, an alcoholic, despised by the whole community. Who could blame her if she had taken her own life?The killer listened and laughed. Listened and laughed.They were in the cafe twenty minutes or so. Craig told her he'd asked his journalist friend to make some checks on James Vilner, which she agreed was a good idea. After that they said very little. Just kept exchanging tired smiles.Walking back to the car, he called his wife. Unconsciously Julia drifted to the other side of the pavement, giving him a little more privacy. At first he sounded cold and stilted, then his whole body and tone was transformed, and she guessed the phone had been pa.s.sed to his children. There was something heart-rending about the way he pumped so much vitality and affection into his voice, as if that could compensate for his absence.Then Nina again. Craig kept nodding and saying, 'Yes. Yes.' Julia guessed he was being harangued about something. Finally he said, 'No, I haven't forgotten tomorrow. I'll be there.'He slipped the phone into his jacket. 'Nina's away on business tomorrow night, so I'm staying over.''I'll bet your children can't wait till you're back for good.'He said something she couldn't decipher, then shook his head and turned away. It took a couple of seconds for the truth to dawn on her.'Oh G.o.d. I'm so slow on the uptake.' She laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.'My fault,' he said. 'We've separated. That's the real reason I'm at my dad's.''With everything you've been through, it must have put a lot of strain on the marriage.'He gave a sarcastic laugh. 'That, and the fact she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g someone else.''Oh.' She looked down. 'I'm sorry.''It happens, doesn't it? Probably my fault as much as hers.'They reached the Golf. Away from the streetlights, the sky was studded with stars. Craig unlocked, but made no move to get in. They stared at each other across the roof of the car.'So what does Nina think about all this?''What? My quest to find the truth?' He let out a hollow laugh. 'She thinks I'm on a fool's errand. And I'm starting to wonder if she's right.''You're not suggesting we should give up?''I don't know. You should, perhaps.' He shrugged, then examined her face as if seeing it for the first time. 'You look even worse than I feel.'Julia smiled. 'You say the nicest things.'There was a moment's silence, both of them suddenly a little selfconscious. Then Julia shook her head. Opened her door.'Come on, we're both exhausted. Let's get going.'The traffic thinned out as they moved east, into more remote countryside, then turned south towards the coast. Julia found her eyes growing heavy. Several times she jerked awake as her head b.u.mped against the window.It was nearly six-thirty when the Golf turned into the hotel car park. The farewell was hurried and slightly awkward. No definite statement of intent or arrangements for the future; merely an exchange of mobile numbers and an agreement to speak again soon.'Thanks for coming with me,' Craig said, but there was more disappointment than grat.i.tude in his voice, as if her presence had in some way fallen short of his expectations.Is that it? Julia found herself asking as she got out of the car. She felt an odd sense of loss, a sense that something worthwhile had been abandoned too early, without a struggle. Even though she had far more doubts about a Matheson conspiracy than Craig, it still saddened her to think their quest for the truth might be over almost before it had begun. Julia found herself asking as she got out of the car. She felt an odd sense of loss, a sense that something worthwhile had been abandoned too early, without a struggle. Even though she had far more doubts about a Matheson conspiracy than Craig, it still saddened her to think their quest for the truth might be over almost before it had begun.

Forty-Three.

Craig was aware of conflicting emotions as he watched Julia disappear into the hotel. Disappointment that the day had ended on such an unsatisfactory note, and also frustration that Julia hadn't embraced his theories about the ma.s.sacre. Considering he was just about the only person who believed in her and not to mention that he had very good reason to resent her he thought she might have been a little more appreciative of his support.And yet, in spite of that, he also felt despondent at the thought of her walking away from the investigation. It was perplexing. He'd been quite prepared to carry the fight alone before Julia had entered the picture. Why should it be any different now? Almost without thinking, he reached for the bottle in the footwell. With the coffee and a sandwich in his system, another mouthful wouldn't do any harm. He glanced at the hotel, made sure no one was looking, and tipped the bottle back once, then again. The giddy hit of energy was desperately welcome.He turned left out of the car park. By now the roads were almost deserted, whereas back home in Crawley it would still be gridlock. He found himself wondering if he could convince Nina to move out this way, then remembered that they had separated. If things stayed as they were, he could live anywhere he wanted.Alone.The flare of headlights in his rear-view mirror jolted his attention back to the road. A car was suddenly riding on his b.u.mper, then it swerved across the centre line and raced past. It was high and square, some sort of jeep. Must be doing at least seventy.'Boy racer,' he muttered in disgust, forgetting that Nina often levelled the same charge at him. He watched as the driver feathered the brakes on a tight left-hand bend and disappeared from sight. Glancing at the dashboard, he saw his own speed was around forty miles an hour: well below the limit.He accelerated slightly, but was careful to stay within the bounds of his visibility. There was no street lighting out here. The road ahead was a pale narrow ribbon, twisting and turning across the featureless landscape. Darkness pressed against his windows, making him feel isolated and exposed.This is all a mistake, he decided, experiencing a sudden longing for light and warmth and family. He should be at home, working to save his marriage, not chasing round the country trying to prove some ridiculous theory.Once again, Kate was lying in wait. Knowing how exhausted she looked, Julia was expecting to be scolded for overdoing it. Instead Kate's first words were: 'Peggy Forester's dead.''What? She can't-' Julia just stopped herself from blurting out: We visited her this morning. We visited her this morning.'There was a fire at her house,' Kate went on. 'They found a body inside. Too badly burned to identify, but they think it's her. Good riddance, I say.''When was this?''Sometime this afternoon. Why?'Julia shook her head. 'No reason.'Now came the appraisal. Kate frowned. 'Do you want me to call a doctor?''What?''You look like you're about to flake out. The way you're going, you'll end up back in hospital. Or worse,' she added darkly.Julia was too weary to argue. 'I'll get an early night.'She made it to the stairs and gripped the banister, stifling the pain because Kate was still watching. A throbbing headache had started up, and her vision swam in and out of focus. Kate's right, she told herself. I do need to see a doctor.Somehow she made it to her room, where she dropped her father's diary on the bed and collapsed next to it, staring at the battered cover but seeing something quite different.The grimy, claustrophobic kitchen. The vodka. The cigarettes. Peggy's inebriation and erratic behaviour. Accident or suicide. It had to be one or the other, didn't it?But that idea niggled at her, along with something else. Something she couldn't pin down.Coincidence. Wasn't it a terrible coincidence? It also meant they were probably the last people to see her alive. That in itself had all kinds of implications, but right now she was too tired to work out what they were. Her last memory was of kicking off her shoes, shuffling a little to get comfortable and closing her eyes, telling herself she would just rest for a minute or two.Once Craig started thinking about Tom and Maddie, he couldn't stop. He knew he was becoming maudlin and sentimental, but fears about their safety kept crowding in. Today he'd met Matheson and James Vilner. He'd seen the nature of the people he was up against. What was he playing at?There was a right-hand bend ahead, a couple of hundred yards away. He couldn't see the angle yet, but it looked to be tight. There was a large, unlit building on the inside corner, obscuring his view of any oncoming traffic. A barn, he guessed, probably a store for winter feed. There was a fence running along the perimeter to his right, and some distant ghostly blobs that might have been sheep or cattle.The fields to his left were unfenced, but separated from the road by a ditch. His headlights picked out tall reeds and the dark shimmer of water.He was less than a hundred yards away, shifting to third gear, when the car burst into view. A familiar shape: high and square, some sort of jeep. And coming right at him. Straddling the centre line, it straightened out of the corner but made no effort to move over. It was gaining speed, its main beams high and blinding, filling his windscreen with light.Craig reacted on pure instinct. Wrenched the steering hard left and sent the Golf b.u.mping across the narrow verge. He stamped on the brake, but the wheels had already lost traction on the wet gra.s.s. The bonnet tipped forward and he felt a choking pain across his torso as the seatbelt reeled him in. His head smashed against the side window and he blacked out.

Forty-Four.

Julia was woken by noise: loud, urgent, indistinct. Her mind scrambled to process the sounds. While still emerging from sleep she'd heard smashing gla.s.s, thumping feet, and screams. She'd heard people screaming.Now she was awake, and people were still screaming. She could hear running, doors slamming, and over it all an alarm was blaring, high-pitched and insistent, drilling through her brain. She had a feeling it was still early in the evening, that she hadn't slept long. She felt groggy and nauseous and confused. If it was a dream, why hadn't the noises stopped?If it wasn't a dream, what was it?None of it made sense until she pulled in a breath and felt the tickle of smoke in her nostrils.There was a fire. She had to get out.But when she went to act on that impulse, nothing happened. It felt as though a fast-acting concrete had been poured on to her body. She tried frantically to make her limbs obey. She could feel her muscles tense and relax, tense and relax, but it did no good. She couldn't move. She was going to lie here, conscious but immobile, and burn to death.Craig was cold. Freezing cold. Icy water seeping through his jeans. Something warmer trickling in his hair.He opened his eyes to utter darkness. He thought he'd gone blind. Quelling a rush of panic, he blinked a few times and moved his head. It hurt. There was a powerful throbbing just above his right ear. A hot tearing pain at the base of his skull, as though someone had tried to rip his head off.Gradually his vision adjusted to the dark. The first thing he saw was the spent airbag, draped over the steering wheel like a monstrous condom. The Golf had nosedived into the ditch, and all the front windows had shattered. He was in muddy water up to his waist, chips of gla.s.s sprinkled on the surface like diamonds.He flexed his leg muscles, tentatively lifting and twisting his feet. To his relief, he didn't seem to have any broken bones. He tried turning the ignition off, but the steering column must have distorted, jamming the key. He had to settle for wrenching the rest of the keys free. His other hand plunged into the water and groped for the seatbelt catch. He felt his ribs protest as the belt released and his body pitched forward. He grabbed the doorframe and swore as grains of gla.s.s punctured his skin.Next he tried opening the door. It moved a couple of inches, then jammed. Either it had met resistance in the ditch, or the frame was buckled. Using his elbow to sweep the frame clear of gla.s.s, he levered himself into a crouching position on the seat. As he did the car shifted slightly, sliding a few inches deeper into the muddy water. With a sudden irrational vision of the whole car going under, he reached out of the driver's window, g