“No,” he agreed. “Hers is a shadow murder.”
She turned to look at him. “Do you know who done it, husband?”
Acton tilted his head. “Unfortunately, there are a variety of possibilities. She knew too much.”
She noted that he hadn’t answered the question, and decided to cast a line. “Gabriel wanted to drive her home, yesterday. At the time, I thought that he wanted to protect her, but now I’m not so sure—he’s a hard one to read.”
He contemplated his hands for a moment. “I suppose it hardly matters.”
But Doyle turned to face the altar again. “No—murder always matters. That should be my motto, I think; I’ll take up embroidery, whilst I’m sittin’ at home, starin’ at the walls.”
“You can do research,” he suggested gently, taking her hand in his. “And help out with my docket. We’ll be stretched very thin, after all.”
“Or I could go to Trestles, and get a start on my tinned kale. I could enlist your mother to swing a scythe.”
He offered a small smile. “As appealing as that sounds, I should stay in town, until this unpleasantness is settled.”
She quirked her mouth at this euphemism, and took the opportunity to give him a mild scolding—mild, because she knew he was in a repentant frame of mind already, sitting here beside her, and anyways, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t said to him a million times before. “You were sailin’ a little too close to the wind, my friend. Let this be a lesson, and recall that if you wind up in prison, the conjugal visits will be few and far between.”
“Point well-taken.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Not to mention that all the stupid fuss about the stupid succession will have been for nothin’.”
“That would be a shame,” he agreed.
She couldn’t resist her own small smile. “Although it was almost worth it—to see Savoie turn all those stiff-rumps upside-down. And you have to admit, it’s all very symmetrical—the ACC was going to use Savoie to discredit you, in the same way that you were usin’ Savoie to discredit Sir Stephen. Savoie is everybody’s favorite false flag.”
“Symmetrical, indeed.”
He offered nothing more, but Doyle was suddenly alert, because there was something—something underlying what he’d said about Savoie—
“May I take you home?”
Lifting her head, she sighed. “Not as yet; I thought I’d say a rosary for Harding.”
There was a pause, whilst she could feel his surprise. “Dr. Harding?”
“The very same. I’m supposed to forgive him, you know—it’s in the rules.”
There was a small pause. “All right. Do you mind if I stay?”
“You may. Shall I say one for your father, too? I’m game, if you are.”
There was another small pause. “You may suit yourself.”
“And Morgan Percy—I suppose she should make the list.”
He brushed a gentle, admonitory hand across her back. “We may be here all night, and you need your rest.”
Doyle shifted her bulky body to kneel, and pulled out her mother’s rosary. “Small enough price to pay, I think. It’s a long journey, through eternity.”
He made no reply, but stayed by her side as the shadows lengthened, and the beads slipped through her fingers, one-by-one.
EPILOGUE
As he walked away at a steady pace, he checked his electronics. Good, all was quiet at home. Best to get back quickly; he didn’t like to be away from her, especially now that she was near term. Perhaps he could convince her to stay abed tomorrow; he’d asked her physician about the broken blood vessel in her left eye, and had been assured that this was a routine side effect. Still and all, it was worrying.
As he left through the park’s gate, he took one last, backward glance. The Santero lay dead on the pathway behind him, a small caliber gunshot wound to the back of his head. His murder would be chalked up to the as-yet-unsolved Maguire murders; it would be a simple thing to come to the conclusion that the vigilante killer was unhappy that this particular informant had been allowed his freedom.
He took a quick glance around, before he unlocked his car. At this time of night, there were no potential witnesses, and any trace of his presence would be carefully erased from the CCTV cameras. The Santero’s death meant that the man would not be available to testify at trial, but this was just as well; the scandal would have taken a terrible toll, and those who’d perpetrated the corruption rig had been satisfactorily sidelined. Besides, it was important that he not have the spotlight, just now. The financial district murders were about to come to a boil.
No; it was more important that the Santero be buried and gone—he knew about Kathleen, and so he could not be allowed to live.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
EPILOGUE
Murder in Shadow (The Doyle and Acton Murder Series Book 6) Page 25
