by Lee Weeks
‘How’s Jeanie?’
‘She’s gone in to be operated on now. Nicola got away from here. I don’t know whether she made it.’
‘She got away. Carmichael could have shot her, apparently, but he didn’t. He chose to let her go. I don’t know why. She’s unlikely to get far. They’ll arrest her when the plane touches down in Berlin, hopefully.’
‘Is Martingale in custody?’
‘Killed himself . . . couldn’t face it. He set fire to himself.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Why do you sound like you’re running?’
‘I’m bouncing a baby and trying to keep Christa from realizing she doesn’t know me and bursting into tears. Noel’s just run in to be with Jeanie.’
‘Ebb . . . left holding the baby.’
‘Don’t think it suits me, Sarge.’
‘Yeah, can’t see me having a big family either. I’ll be a Saturday dad, I suppose. See you back here when you can.’
‘Noel shouldn’t be long, Sarge.’
Christa started to wail.
‘What did you do?’
‘I made the mistake of looking at her.’
Carter laughed. He sat in the police car outside Martingale’s house, watching the fire crews finish damping it down. He switched on the engine and drove to a home improvement store on the way back from Hampstead.
He rang the doorbell and waited for Cabrina’s father to come to the door.
‘Hello, Theo. Okay?’
Theo nodded. He looked at Dan like he had come to ask his daughter out on a first date.
‘I want Cabrina to come home.’
Theo nodded. ‘And for Christ’s sake take that damn buggy blocking up my hallway.’
‘Will she come . . . do you think?’
‘Maybe . . . Cabrina?’ He turned and called down the hallway. ‘You have a visitor.’
She didn’t hurry towards him; she took her time; she wasn’t smiling. Oh God . . . it had all been for nothing. He should feel a fool but he was beyond that now. In fact Carter felt like a teenager again when he saw her. He had a terrible urge to cry. When she reached him she put her hands either side of his face and looked really hard into his eyes: he’d forgotten how hers made him melt. Any minute she’s going to say it, ‘Just go . . . Sorry,’ thought Carter.
‘What took you so long?’
‘Pink or blue?’ He held up the paint pots.
‘Purple.’
Chapter 81
Bridget heard the bike coming as she finished chopping wood. She watched Carmichael park it in the barn and go inside the house. He found the young girl Anna feeding one of the lambs with a bottle of milk in the kitchen. Rusty got out of his basket to come over and say hello. Carmichael bent down to pet him.
‘You made it then? Good boy.’
‘And you made it then?’ Bridget came into the house. ‘Are you staying?’ He nodded. ‘Then Anna can sleep with me in the spare room. No problem,’ Bridget said and smiled. He nodded again. ‘You need a rest,’ she said and left him in the lounge.
Carmichael unzipped his bag, took out the photo of Louise and Sophie and phoned Ebony.
Ebony was waiting in arrivals at the airport. Tina had phoned her and asked her to pick her up. She saw her walking towards her.
‘Where have you been, Teen? The canteen said you were sick and then asked for holiday leave? What’s happening?’
‘I went to Poland. I was supposed to be having some work done but you know, when it came to it, I thought, fuck it. Men either like me as I am or fuck them. Besides, I was frightened I wouldn’t make it back in time to buy stuff in for Christmas and I knew if I left it to you we’d be eating beans on toast.’
Ebony stepped aside to take Carmichael’s call.
‘Hello, Carmichael. You back at the farm?’
‘Yes. Did you have an officer injured?’
‘Yes, Jeanie. She’s alright; she’ll make it.’ Ebony listened to Carmichael. He sounded distant: calm, spent. She spoke: ‘I don’t know how things will go but I want to say thank you to you.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You cleared your name.’
‘The kid okay?’
‘Yes . . . being brought back to consciousness. Thank you for what you did . . . what you didn’t do.’
‘I couldn’t kill her.’
‘Yeah . . . I heard. I couldn’t have either. Her life expectancy is not good. A sample of her hair shows that she’s on a large dose of anti-rejection drugs. Martingale had a heart condition. He was a carrier for it. It doesn’t always get passed on. Nikki must have had it. He must have sought out the perfect match. As it happened, Chrissie had inherited the heart condition too. And as her other organs began to fail, they came for Adam . . .’ She heard him breathing. She knew where he would be standing. By the side of the fire, looking at the photo of Louise and Sophie. ‘They found Justin de Lange: following the trail of Mr Hart. His fingerprints matched the set on Tanya and the print left by Sophie’s bed.’
‘Hope you didn’t get there too soon. Was he still alive?’
‘He had a pulse. I don’t know how. He was covered in rats. They cut him down but he was dead before he got to hospital. You know that I need you to hand yourself in.’
‘I know. I’ll be there in the next day or so. Just have to tidy things up here.’
‘I understand.’
Carmichael put the phone down and took out Louise’s journal from his bag. It was still stained with blood. He had recovered the journal from the floor of the bedroom she had shared with Sophie at Rose Cottage. He had read most of it. He had read to the point where she said she knew he had had an affair. He had never been able to read beyond that. Today he stood at the window overlooking the yard and opened the next page.
Callum, if ever you come to read this journal I want you to know that I love you more than life itself. I love you for all your faults, your weaknesses and I was born to love you. I forgive you for being unfaithful to me. I know you did it because you have so many demons in your soul that need to be defeated, but I tell you, Callum . . . I will be by your side all along the way. For every demon that appears I will be your angel. Me and Sophie . . . we were sent to save you, Callum . . . all my love, your wife Louise.
Carmichael went outside and knelt to examine the latest in the fox’s kills: a newborn lamb dragged from its mother’s teat.
Bridget stood next to it.
‘Another dead one . . .’
‘It must be the vixen; since I killed her mate, she has to be the provider. I’ll see to it.’
Carmichael picked up the rifle and walked through the yard. Tor snorted into the air as he passed. He nuzzled into Anna’s hand as she brushed his coat and slipped him a Polo mint. He took it so gently it made Carmichael smile and shake his head; the number of times that horse had bitten him.
He climbed over the gate and turned back to see Bridget watching him. She was standing in the first rays of sunshine. She had buckets of feed in her hand, steaming in the morning air. She had taken off her hat. He paused as he climbed the gate and she stopped where she was. He had never realized how beautiful she was until that moment. She blushed and turned away smiling.
He jumped down the other side of the gate and walked upwards across the field, the grass yellow beneath the melted snow. It would return before long, this was just a little promise of spring but it was still a long way off. Everything would happen in due course.
He tracked his familiar route, keeping to the outside of the field and heading up towards his favourite place. He knew the fox would favour the far side, sheltered from the blasting wind. There the vixen would have made her home.
Silently he kept downwind of the place where he knew the fox had made a den. He steadied the gun and stood and listened. The first birdsong in weeks made him want to cry. The sun dazzled him for a moment. The breeze, still cold, brought the sound of something else. Carmichael crouched low and inched forward. Ten feet away he saw the cubs playing in t
he sunshine; beside them their mother lay on her side, resting from her feed and feeling her bones warm with the sun. Carmichael looked back down towards the farm. He heard Anna’s laughter ringing up to his ears and he smiled to himself. He didn’t realize he was crying. He closed his eyes for a second as he steadied his aim and placed the end of the barrel into his mouth.
Bridget put her hand on Tor’s neck to calm him as the sound of gunshot rang through the air. Anna stopped laughing. Bridget buried her face in Tor’s neck.
Carmichael opened his eyes and looked towards the fallen tree trunk on the mount; blinded temporarily by the low winter sun he saw the figures running towards him and heard the laughter as clear as church bells. He got to his knees and opened his arms as he looked up into Louise’s face and scooped Sophie into his arms.
Acknowledgments
My thanks and gratitude go to all the people who have helped me in writing this book: Ian Hemmings; Detective Sergeant Nick Moore; Neil Rickard; Pauline Selley; Crime Analyst Catherine Ash; the staff at Visage; Frank Pearman; Clare and Peter Selley; Graham and Sue Burton; David and Charlotte Laquiere; Viv Steer; Detective Inspector Dave Willis (retired); the officers in Murder Investigation Team 11 ( MIT11); the real Callum Carmichael and Ebony Willis for allowing me to use their names; my agent Darley Anderson and the team; my new publishing team at Simon & Schuster; finally my friends, family and ‘the boys’!
