No one made a statement against Handyside, including Tony Harrison. They knew he had a long reach and decided it was better to take what was coming no matter what they did. Handyside had cleaned up a lot of the problems and the Crown was happy enough that Turner, his team and Harrison were all inside. They would need to work hard to get a case against Handyside and it looked like he wouldn’t be coming back anyway. His file was available if required, but it was slipped quietly onto a shelf and the world moved on.
The public hadn’t forgotten completely about Ingrid Richter and the thousands of women trafficked across Europe though. A few astute politicians saw an opportunity to look like caring individuals and new tougher laws were put before Parliament.
In reality though, nothing changed.
Epilogue
One year later
Macallan sat on a large towel and sipped the fruit juice Jack had put into the picnic bag. She felt she was getting too much sun, pulled a soft hat onto her head and swatted a fly away from the food in the bag. They’d driven the car along the north coast of Northern Ireland and down onto the long sands near Portstewart. Jack had a week off so they were just enjoying being together. He was down at the water’s edge with Adam and their daughter, Kate, who was like a small bundle in his big, strong arms. The dog raced backwards and forwards on the sand, chasing and playing with a couple of completely uncontrollable Jack Russells.
Kate’s birth had been an easy one, and all round life was pretty good. Jack had become a real success as a writer as well as a barrister, but Macallan liked to remind him that behind every successful man was an even more successful woman. At least in his case.
The money that had come in from the book meant they were able to buy the cottage on the Antrim coast and keep the flat in Edinburgh. She felt well again, and her bad dreams were fading with time. She was still struggling over what to do with her future, but at least she had some time off to take care of Kate. Her daughter was a carbon copy of Macallan: even as a baby she looked a bit serious and the features were all her mother’s. Adam on the other hand was all Jack, and she could see a boy developing who would have his father’s passion for disfiguring his face on the rugby pitch. That was okay. The rugby pitch was fine; anything that was far away from the places she’d inhabited and visited in her dreams was fine.
‘Jack, come and get something to eat,’ she called. He waved and strode back up the beach towards her as Gnasher raced ahead, covering Macallan with sand as he skidded to a halt beside her.
Shores of Death Page 37
