The police could be searching the roads, covering vast distances from the sky, issuing warnings and alerts where necessary, watching airports and docks and sending media networks into a frenzy. All this raged through his head. Something could be happening, and nothing was happening. Because Henry hadn’t raised the alarm but had panicked instead and called Vincent Solomon. And Henry had looked into Annabel’s very blue eyes and he’d nodded.
That was four agonising hours ago. Henry had heard nothing from the world outside. Not from Solomon or from Naomi or Camilla. He’d picked up his phone a couple of dozen times, determined to do the right thing, whatever that was.
No police.
He’d put it down as many times as he’d picked it up and called no one. His hands were trembling with a kind of fear he’d never experienced.
No police.
Soon, Camilla would be home. How soon, he didn’t know.
Henry glanced anxiously at his watch again. The hands were straining to reach 4 p.m. Annabel appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘I’ve been trying Naomi’s phone all day. Nothing. What are the police doing, Dad? Ring them and demand an update.’
‘If there’s any news, they’ll call us.’ Henry closed his eyes.
Annabel collapsed into tears again. ‘I can’t stand this. I can’t deal with the waiting.’
Joel materialised behind her and turned her to him and held her in his arms. Henry looked away.
Annabel said, ‘Have you got hold of Mum yet?’
‘No. I don’t know where she is.’
Annabel untangled herself from Joel in a burst of energy. ‘Dad, she has to know, OK? Let me ring her if you can’t do it.’
The sound of a car engine sent Annabel flying to an upstairs window while Henry went into the downstairs study to look out. Camilla was climbing out of her car with multi-coloured shopping bags. She looked pleased, relaxed. Henry’s heart clattered around inside his chest and he wondered if it could take an ounce more strain.
‘It’s Mum.’
Henry could see that. Annabel’s footsteps were on the stairs now, echoed by Joel’s. The key slid inside the lock. He steadied himself against the windowsill in the study and waited. He didn’t know what to do. His heart banged a few more beats and then Camilla was in the hall, her shoes clipping the floor. He tried to brace himself. Hell and all its fury would run riot when Annabel dropped the bomb. Henry stood still, helpless and defeated.
‘It’s been a good day,’ Camilla announced. ‘Some decent stuff in the sales. They’re getting rid of winter stock. I got a lovely coat, just my colour, and half price.’
Silence.
Henry imagined Camilla slipping out of her green coat. Annabel wasn’t speaking.
‘What’s the matter with you, Annabel? Not feeling good?’
Henry closed his eyes again. He hung his head because he couldn’t bear the weight of it and clung to the windowsill for support.
After a long hesitation, Annabel said, ‘I’m OK.’
‘It has the atmosphere of a morgue in here. Have you been crying?’
If Annabel answered, Henry heard nothing.
Next question: ‘Where’s your father?’
After a hesitation, ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Is he out with the dog?’
‘No, Dad’s in. Shadow’s asleep in his bed.’
The bomb would detonate any second. Henry should move, try to stop it, or at least admit that he was listening from the nearest room. His inaction yelled guilt, but he’d lost the ability to move. His brain could produce no words or sentences. His mouth wouldn’t open.
The black secrets that he’d been hoarding for months might be about to leak like poison through the house, destroying everything. His life, his family. They’d never believe that he’d done what he’d done to protect them. All because he loved them so much. It felt like the end.
Henry’s legs began to quake. He wondered at first if there was a natural disaster in the world outside, but everything else in the room held still.
‘Henry?’
Camilla! She’d found him. Her tone was sharp and stabbed him violently.
‘Henry!’
The damn burst and a surge washed through Henry. There was no quiet build-up. A great flood of fluids gushed down his face and through his nose and out of his mouth, as he stood with his back to the room and anyone who might be in it, every system inside of him in meltdown.
***
‘Will somebody tell me what’s happened?’ Camilla’s voice ripped through the house.
Henry still had his back to the room. He was sobbing helplessly and wouldn’t part with the windowsill. Couldn’t. Camilla had approached but not touched him.
‘Annabel?’ she yelled.
After a pause, the bomb exploded in Annabel’s quiet words. ‘Naomi didn’t show up in court this morning, Mum.’
‘Oh thank goodness,’ Camilla said. She even laughed. ‘I thought something terrible had happened.’
Henry found he wasn’t breathing.
‘It has. She didn’t come home, Mum.’
A pause. ‘What’s wrong with your father?’ she said, as if he wasn’t there.
‘Did you hear what I said? Naomi –’
‘Yes, yes, I know about that. She saw sense and decided against it, and not before time. She sent me a text hours ago to say she’d gone to see that friend of hers and was skipping court.’ Camilla clicked her fingers. ‘Bushy ginger hair. The name won’t come.’
Henry began to take in air again. He wiped his face. Camilla’s words were ridiculous. He turned around slowly. Camilla was watching him in her green coat.
‘Is that what this is about Henry? About Naomi not coming home?’ A deep crease had formed between her eyebrows, but her tone was gentler now. ‘I’m confused by the drama.’
Henry nodded.
Annabel appeared in the doorway of the study. ‘But no one could get hold of her, Mum.’
‘Could be any number of reasons for that. She’s fine,’ Camilla said with confidence.
While Camilla was facing Annabel, her attention diverted, Henry signalled to Annabel to say no more. Pleaded with her with his eyes and his hands to drop it.
Annabel, confused, hesitated and looked between the two of them. Then she nodded and settled her eyes on Camilla and tried to smile. All the air leaked out of Henry and he felt horribly limp. Camilla turned to him and began to remove her coat.
‘Clean up your face before dinner, Henry. Much ado about absolutely nothing. Dear me!’
And with that, she marched through the hall and bounced up the stairs with her colourful shopping bags, while no one else moved.
***
‘Members of the jury, all twelve of you – you’ve heard the evidence given on both sides. You’ve heard the witnesses being examined, cross examined and re-examined by both the prosecution and the defence lawyers. You’ve heard the closing arguments from both sides in regards to this case. Daniel Stone has maintained a plea of not guilty throughout and now the responsibility will be discharged to you to deliberate the evidence that’s been presented and arrive at a verdict. It is not for the jury to consider points of law. I will guide you through the matters of law if necessary. Instead, it is for the jury to consider the evidence that’s been presented and for each of you to ask yourselves the most solemn question, which must in turn result in an answer: what and who do you believe?
‘So do you believe the prosecution, who have attempted to prove that Daniel Stone and his deceased brother, Nathan, were at war long before Nathan died. That central to their feud was Naomi Hamilton, a young woman who married Nathan some eighteen months ago and ultimately ended up in that car with him on that fateful day? That Daniel Stone has been investing heavily in a relationship with Naomi that no one else knew about and that he somehow felt compelled to stop his brother from having any further involvement in Naomi’s life? Question – did Daniel take calculated steps to interfere with Nathan’s car
, rendering it dangerous to drive, which, in turn, led to catastrophe and the untimely death of his brother?
‘Or do you believe the defence who state that Daniel was a loving son and brother. That he was going about his life, training to be a doctor, serving the community in which he lived? Do you accept that the defendant, who refuses to describe his relationship with Naomi Hamilton as secret, has conducted the relationship in the way he did in the interests of deflecting media interest and protecting their right to privacy? Question: Are you persuaded by the argument that the defendant had nothing whatsoever to do with the death of his brother and had neither interfered with the vehicle in any way nor wished his brother any harm? That the blood, irrefutably Daniel’s, had somehow been planted by someone else?’ He paused. Ran his eyes over the jury, all twelve of them.
‘These are the questions you must consider. Please remember it is not for the defence to prove innocence, but rather for the prosecution to prove beyond all reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty. Now, there are very few things we know beyond doubt which is why the key word ‘reasonable’ is inserted into that phrase. Please use reason in your deliberations. Take as long as you need. I will now ask you to retire to consider your verdict.’
***
Henry withdrew to the treehouse again at two minutes to six. Camilla was preparing dinner while Henry was sick with anxiety. The minutes were slithering by and Solomon had demanded a conference shortly after six. So he’d escaped the house and stumbled through the garden.
Henry knew there’d been no mistake with Naomi. He knew how adamant she’d been about fighting for Dan. So he knew she was in trouble.
There’d been an initial spark of hope, naturally. A flash of relief that Naomi really had changed her mind and diverted to Siobhan’s. Followed by the crash. Of course she hadn’t! Someone had used her phone to contact Camilla, someone who’d discovered that Naomi had a friend called Siobhan. Or maybe he already knew without asking. Henry still hadn’t ruled out Solomon’s involvement. At this point, he was prepared to trust no one.
He was sitting in the murky light of the treehouse chewing his thoughts over, waiting for his heartrate to come down when his phone vibrated in his hand.
Solomon!
He looked down.
But it wasn’t Solomon. The name staring up at him said, Naomi.
***
Cars were congregating behind Solomon’s in the waste ground of the old mill. It was unpleasantly cold and Solomon’s only protection was his suit jacket. At 17:59, agitated and eager to harvest whatever information had been gathered, Solomon climbed out of his car and waited for the others to do likewise.
They stood in clumps of twos and threes, his disciples.
‘OK, time’s short, what do you have?’
There was a lot of head shaking and shuffling of feet and Solomon felt as though his stomach was churning over a pool of acid.
‘Talk to me.’
Charlie cleared her throat. ‘I went down to Suede and made some calls from outside the club. They opened up when I told them who I was. The boss wasn’t there. He’s gone to Vegas to marry his third wife. The three guys I quizzed didn’t know a thing about a disappearance. It’s nothing to do with Tony or his boys. Trust me.’
Trust her? Laughable, but Solomon made no comment. He nodded, then his eyes shifted to Damien Carter.
‘I dug out a few druggies. They said they didn’t know nothing. When I twisted their arms up their back, I got some info out of them about their suppliers. I followed up all the leads. Dead ends everywhere.’
Solomon moved on to Beresford and then the rest of the crew in turn. Quincy’s contribution stirred the most interest. Quincy wasn’t his real name, but not all the players knew each other well or how each one earned a living. Some preferred to maintain a very low profile and were nervous in settings like this, where they were exposed to each other. Trust didn’t exist. Not really. Only Solomon knew them all intimately well. Quincy was a QC, hence the nickname. He was wearing a long wool coat with the collar up.
‘I’ve been in touch with a few contacts in the prison service.’
‘Go on.’
‘I got the names of a few releases in the last month. People are often desperate when they leave prison. You’d imagine they’d be glad to be out, but lots of them have nowhere to go and reoffend pretty quickly. They’re back inside within weeks sometimes. The figures are staggering.’
‘Spare us,’ Solomon said. ‘Anything to report?’
‘Just names,’ Quincy said, producing a fragment of paper from his pocket. ‘Only ones that seemed interesting.’
‘OK.’
‘Forest Bank, Category B prison, released two brothers within a few weeks of each other recently. Geoff and Lionel Moss. Mid to late forties. Done for ramming and robbing ATM machines. Familiar with either of them?’
Solomon shook his head.
‘Then there’s Strangeways. Category A.’
‘I know Strangeways. Cut to the names,’ Solomon said, tone tight with impatience. He’d visited his father in Strangeways more times than he cared to think about.
Quincy returned to his scrap. ‘OK, Dale Dawson came out of there last month. Armed robber. Did five jewellers before he was caught. Been banged up since the late nineties. Then there’s Reggie Janes, drug dealer. Mick Wallis, convicted paedophile and Lenny Richards, also known as The Clown. Used to –’
‘Reggie Janes. I know that name.’
‘Me too,’ Charlie piped up and Solomon held up a hand. He wouldn’t allow her to speak.
A few silent moments passed. The evening was growing chilly. Dark clouds bruised the sky.
‘Thank you for your work. I’ll contact you if I need to.’
That was it. Class dismissed. Solomon commanded Charlie to stay. One look and she got the message. She loitered, examining her nails while the others filled the cars. Engines purred and the cars began to slide and manoeuvre until the area was clear apart from the two cars of the two remaining people.
Solomon eyed his sister. He couldn’t shake the loss of respect since her failure. She’d have to do something spectacular to earn it back. She hadn’t, yet.
‘Why is that name familiar – Reggie Janes?’
Charlie looked smug, which meant she was about to provide the answer.
‘Think about it. Released from Strangeways.’
‘I’m in no mood for games.’
Charlie smiled broadly. All a game to her. No worries in her head. ‘He shared a cell with Dad.’
Of course he did! Solomon refused to satisfy her by saying the words out loud. His expression remained impassive.
‘Find out what he’s been doing since he came out. Find out where he is and where he lives and how he earns money.’
She didn’t move. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Look into the rest of the names.’
‘You didn’t take notes.’
‘They’re up here,’ he said, tapping the side of his head.
His phone was ringing in his trouser pocket, right leg. He turned his back on Charlie and climbed into his car and pulled his phone in front of him. It was Henry Hamilton calling.
***
‘I said I’d call you,’ Solomon’s tone was cold. Charlie had slid inside her car and flicked on the engine. She waved as she drove away. Her expression told him that she was desperate to know who he was talking to. Solomon turned his back on her.
‘He’s contacted,’ Henry blurted out.
‘Who?’
‘The man who has Naomi. He rang me on her phone.’
Henry sounded out of breath. Solomon took a moment to absorb his message.
‘What did he say exactly?’
‘He said she’s fine. He wants two million for her safe return.’
‘Did you speak to her, hear her voice?’
‘Yes, he put her on. She told me not to worry. Not to worry!’ Henry repeated with emphasis, as if it was the most outlandish suggest
ion ever uttered. Solomon could hear the emotion, dense in Henry’s throat. ‘That’s all she managed to say before he told me the amount again and then hung up.’
‘Where is he? Where is she?’
‘He didn’t say, just said he’d call back.’
‘What was his voice like?’
‘Ordinary. Quiet. No accent, particularly. Your average bloke.’
‘No average bloke pulls a stunt like that. Any background noises? Anything noteworthy?’
‘No.’ Silence a moment. Solomon allowed thinking space. ‘No, nothing at all.’
Solomon touched his hair and ran a hand down his face. The swamp of acid in his stomach was simmering now. ‘Camilla?’
‘She has no idea. The guy texted her from Naomi’s phone, posing as Naomi.’
‘Awfully thoughtful of him.’
‘He won’t want police involvement either. He just wants the money, and quickly if I’m not mistaken.’
‘I’ll be paying,’ Solomon said.
‘No, I’m her father, I should –’
‘I’m paying,’ Solomon said again. ‘Hold your nerve, Henry. Don’t crack. When he calls with instructions, you call me. He’ll get his money. Then I’ll make sure he never walks again.’
Solomon switched his phone off and climbed inside his car.
15
The only colour in the dungeon was inside Naomi’s head. When she closed her eyes, she could see pictures, with concentration, of Dan across bleached sands radiating a relaxed smile, the sky and sea filling the backdrop in glorious blues. It was in another life, that scene, when days were full and short. When secrecy bound her to Dan and limited the time they spent together. When the anticipation of a late-night meeting invited the most delicious tingling sensation that crept over her skin and injected her with life.
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