by CJ Carver
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gustav lean forward a fraction, past Sophie, and look at him. Dan swallowed. Gave a nod. Gustav leaned back.
Four of them, childhood friends. Now three.
‘Please stand,’ the minister bade the congregation.
Dan let the ceremony wash over him. He stood and prayed, sang and listened to the music. He felt numb and hollow. Infinitely sad.
After seeing Lucy in hospital, after being debriefed by Police Scotland and Philip Denton in London, he’d talked with Mac who, given half a chance, would have liked to kick him squarely in the balls for endangering his DC. If the man didn’t realise he was in love with Lucy, then maybe it was time someone told him, but when Dan saw them arrive at the crematorium together, hand in hand, it seemed things had finally been resolved.
The concluding hymn was sung. The minister said the last words. Dan watched the committal take place, and then Christopher’s coffin was obscured by curtains closing around it. Sophie wiped her eyes. Gustav cleared his throat and held Sophie’s hand.
Jenny had wanted to come but when Dan explained why it was probably a good thing if she stayed at home, she’d seen the sense of it. ‘I’ll send him a prayer,’ she told Dan. ‘You too.’
When he’d eventually arrived home, he’d expected the cold shoulder. Maybe a demand for divorce. Instead he’d found his home bright and welcoming with a fire blazing in the sitting room and what smelled like slow-cooked beef in the oven. His favourite.
He’d gone into the kitchen, where Mischa was in his baby carrier and Aimee at the table colouring in a colouring book of horses. After greeting the children, he’d taken Jenny into the hall. He said, ‘I know it’s not much, but I saw it and thought of you.’
He passed her a jewellery box.
She gave him a sideways look. Untied the ribbon and gently raised the lid.
Inside was an enamel and silver pendant in the shape of a white heather.
‘Dan,’ she said, lifting it up. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘White heather brings luck and protection.’
‘How appropriate.’ Her voice was dry but her eyes were warm.
‘It also signifies one’s wishes will come true.’
He took a deep breath. Looked her in the eyes. ‘What do you wish for?’
He hadn’t needed to say more. She knew him well enough that those five words covered a great swathe of meaning.
‘I wish . . .’ She thought a little longer. ‘For you to be happy. But me too. I know I can’t stop you going on mad missions. It’s who you are. I realise that. I also realise that these were exceptional circumstances and that I had to go somewhere safe. Yes, I hated it, but yes, it was necessary. That said, I really don’t want anything like it to happen again, especially with two children . . .’ She sighed. ‘But I can’t stop you doing something you love any more than you can stop me from getting my private pilot’s licence.’
He blinked. ‘What?’
‘A client of mine has offered to teach me how to fly.’ Her eyes had flashed wickedly for a moment. ‘Just think of the perks! You’ll be able to hire me at a brilliantly exorbitant rate to fly you across the Channel any time you want.’
He was a very lucky man, he thought now. Very lucky indeed.
He watched the row in front of him leave. People around them started to get to their feet. As Sophie made to rise, he said, ‘Wait.’
He didn’t look at her.
He felt Sophie look at Gustav, but Gustav was staring straight ahead, his skin pale. He didn’t move either.
They sat together, the three of them, as the rest of the congregation filed outside.
Finally, the room was empty.
‘It’s time.’ Dan led the way through the double doors, followed by Sophie and Gustav.
As soon as he stepped outside, he saw them. Two men in jeans and wind breakers next to a beech tree on the right. Two more stationed at the car park’s exit on the left.
A stiff breeze lifted Sophie’s hair so it blew around her face. Leaves rustled around their feet.
Gustav said, ‘Goodbye, Sophie.’
His footsteps were clipped on the paving as he walked away.
There was a long silence. Dan didn’t look at Sophie, nor did she look at him.
‘How did you know?’ she asked.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
‘The only people,’ Dan said, ‘who were aware of my affair were in the firm. And Jenny would never have told you.’
‘No,’ Sophie agreed. ‘She wouldn’t.’
‘And nor would I.’
‘No.’
Silence.
‘And to think I thought I covered it up so well. I didn’t think you’d realised.’
‘I didn’t,’ he admitted. ‘Not until later.’
‘Me and my big mouth.’
One of the men made to move towards them but Dan held up a hand. Wait. The man stopped.
‘So, you’re not with the HMIC.’
‘No.’
‘Did we cross paths when I worked for the firm?’
‘Yes. But you wouldn’t remember.’
Another memory lost to him. No point in belabouring the point. His memory was what it was.
‘You had Joanna Loxton follow me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t trust your dad not to have told you something. He was a wily old fox, wasn’t he? He’d set up that newspaper ad with Dad . . . what if he’d done the same with you? I wanted to know what you were up to. I didn’t want you putting two and two together . . .’ She took a breath. ‘And just so you know, I didn’t have any idea that Bao Zhi killed poor Connor.’
Dan stared straight ahead as he spoke.
‘You put a tracker on my car.’
‘Correct.’
‘You got me pulled in at Hanover Airport. Set the BND on Didrika Weber.’
‘Dan, I was trying to fucking protect you.’
‘You and Christopher were in it together. He wanted the money to buy back the estate, and you because . . . well, you like being spoilt.’
‘I certainly do,’ she sighed. ‘To my detriment.’
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Dan saw she was wearing Gustav’s diamond earrings.
She said, ‘Christopher wanted to ask you to join us in selling Snowbank, but I told him you’d say no. You’re too upstanding. Too principled.’
‘What about Gustav?’
‘He refused. He said it was immoral.’
‘You had an affair with him to stop him giving you away.’
She was silent, pursing her lips before she spoke.
‘Yes. I told him we weren’t going ahead with the sale, but I was never sure he believed me. Keeping him close meant he’d stay loyal.’
‘And my dad?’
‘I thought Arne had killed him. Not Anneke, the mad bitch.’
Dan looked at the men, waiting patiently. ‘You put a listening device inside Christopher’s car.’
‘I was worried for him. Jasmine and Bao Zhi were incredibly slippery. Ruthless too. I didn’t trust them an inch. They kept tabs on Murray Peterson in case he stepped out of line. Bao Zhi followed him to the pub. I’m sorry your friend Lucy got caught in the crossfire but he was convinced Murray had told her everything . . . Psychopathic bastard.’
‘Who you were doing business with.’
She opened her palms. ‘Come on, Dan. I tried my best to safeguard you! Every step, every inch of the way.’
‘By using Sirius Thiele?’ His voice rose a little. ‘Jesus, Sophie, did you have to go that far?’
She rounded on him. ‘You wouldn’t stop, Dan! You were like a fucking dog with a bone. You kept plugging away and I knew that unless I did something serious, you’d get to the bottom of it and ruin it all. Nobody was meant to get hurt. We were going to sell Snowbank, make a nice packet, and then Christopher could have his precious Glenallen and Nick and I could buy our ocean-going y
acht and sail around the world . . .’ She paused, closing her eyes.
‘Nobody was going to get hurt?’ he repeated disbelievingly. ‘What do you think the Chinese pharma company were going to do with Snowbank? Use it to save the world?’
‘Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious. They’re already engineering genes like you wouldn’t believe. Snowbank’s just one of many projects flying around.’
Dan felt part of his soul fall away. ‘This whole thing was concocted by you, wasn’t it? Without you, Christopher would never have known how to contact the Chinese pharma company, let alone organise such a deal.’
He looked at her, his childhood friend who he’d laughed with, played with and shared glasses of Ribena with. He had to force himself to harden his heart.
‘You told Sirius to kill Christopher.’
She stared straight ahead.
‘You wanted Christopher dead because he was the only person who knew you were involved in the sale of Snowbank.’
She turned to him, her eyes vivid and bright. ‘It’s all conjecture, you know.’
Dan gave the men a nod. Two started forward. The other two shifted on their feet. One reached round to the base of his spine as though he had an itch, but Dan knew he was checking his weapon.
‘I’ll send you a postcard,’ she murmured. She turned and rose on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She smelled of rose and ginger. Sweet and bitter.
He watched her walk away, her black stilettos clipping, her cashmere coat swaying with her hips. He saw the men approach, saw her greet them. The men stepped into position on either side of her. Escorted her to an unmarked grey Volvo. She climbed into the back where another man waited. The door closed.
He watched the Volvo move off. Watched another car fall in behind. He thought he saw Sophie wave her fingers at him through the rear window but he couldn’t be sure.
Four friends. Now two.
EPILOGUE
Sam wheeled Dougie and his pushchair up the hill to the local Costcutter. She needed milk, bread and bleach. She also needed some fresh air.
Seagulls reeled above her, their calls echoing around the stone cottages. Such a foreign sound compared to what she was used to. It smelled different here too. Of salt and seaweed, and fried chips.
It was good being able to walk down the street without being stared at. As the wife as well as the daughter-in-law of two of the most newsworthy people in the country – if not the world right now –she hadn’t been able to open her curtains in Duncaid without seeing a dozen cameras pointed at her.
It had been Lucy’s idea to move out of the area for a bit, and at first she hadn’t been sure. She was Duncaid born and bred. All her relatives were in town, along with all her friends, but although the idea had been frightening, the appeal of starting again had become more attractive with each day that passed.
Not that she was running away or anything. She hadn’t changed her name and she certainly wasn’t going to cover up or lie about her past, but this way she had more control and could tell people what had happened in her own way rather than have them gossip behind her back, staring at her and pointing a finger. That’s her, the wife.
Besides, she may well move back to Scotland after a while but for the moment, it was just a relief to be herself with her little boy. The cottage she’d rented was tiny but what it lacked in space was made up for by the view of the sea. She could sit in the garden for hours looking at it, and even though she hadn’t been here long, she’d begun to feel that the future may not be as bleak as she’d once thought. She’d even started to look at getting a job locally and had an interview lined up with Yorkshire Cozy Cottages with a view to housekeeping the local properties on their books.
Regardless of whether she eventually returned to live in Duncaid or settled elsewhere, she would have to tell her son one day. Her mum advised her to start telling parts of the story as early as possible so that it would become a comfortable part of his life even if he didn’t fully understand it. Then he wouldn’t have a horrible shock when he was older, and she wouldn’t spend her life dreading that the truth would come out. Because of course it would. It was too big, too horrendous to hide from.
She hadn’t seen Gordon since his arrest. She blamed him for everything. If he hadn’t told Christopher about Snowbank, Christopher would still be working on his strong rice and Connor would be alive. Jasmine would never have come into their lives and she and Christopher would have grown old together, been buried together. Except, of course, she would have died before him because tests had shown that she had what was now known as the Snowbank gene. She’d be lucky to make it to her sixties and there was nothing she could do about it.
Except live her life as well as she could. Bring up her boy as best she could. And keep her head high and her shoulders back, because for all his faults, Christopher had been a good man. After all, he’d made the ultimate sacrifice, dying to save another person’s life, and she was going to make sure that his son would grow up being proud of him.
The sun came out as she passed the Friendly Bean Café. Life was about moving forward. Since she’d relocated, she could feel how much stronger she was. How she could hold Christopher and Connor close, keep her memories of them vivid and clear without drowning in them.
In the distance she could see a fishing boat and a yacht in full sail. They ducked and bobbed on the ocean and like her, they were moving forward.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. However, the science behind Project Snowbank came from researchers at King’s College London, who recently announced they have developed a way of testing how well, or badly, your body is ageing. They say the test could help predict when a person will die, and identify those at high-risk of dementia and Alzheimer’s. The team said looking at ‘biological age’ is more useful than using a date of birth.
The test uses a process called RNA-profiling and looks at 150 genes that are activated in healthy 65-year-olds in the blood, brain and muscle. From the age of 40 onwards, you can apparently use this to give you guidance on how well you’re ageing. Or not, as the case may be.
The wide-ranging consequences got me thinking. What would you do if you discovered that although you appeared fit and healthy at sixty, you were in fact biologically aged 80? Would you spend your pension travelling the world? Cancel your life insurance? The ramifications were far more complex than I first realised, and became one of the main themes in the story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Angela Harper, Scenes of Crime Officer, for her expert input on forensic evidence and a variety of police practices and methods in the UK, and also Peter Hinrichs, Polizeihaupkommissar a.D., for allowing me to badger him across the airwaves about police procedures in Germany.
I was introduced to the idea of Project Snowbank by the remarkable Professor Randall Smith, whose insights made a deep impression on me. His keen interest in older people and social care, ageing and maintaining dignity in later life sparked the inspiration for this book.
I am incredibly lucky to have a family of scientists on hand who I can go to with some crazy story ideas and they help me make it all real: Patrick Seed, Christina Seed, Dr Janet Seed and Professor Michael Seed. You really are my brainstorming gurus and I can’t thank you enough for your creative contributions as well as all the cake.
I owe thanks to Peter and Geraldine Wolstencroft for giving me the idea of setting the book partly in Scotland and for filling in any gaps. RIP, Peter. You’re very much missed.
To Jo Brandie, landlord of The Fiddichside Inn, I was so sorry you died before you could see yourself in print. You’re a local legend and I only hope the fishing’s as good where you are.
Thanks also to my editor, Katherine Armstrong, not just for her professional, perceptive eye, but for the title. Zaffre continue to be a publishing dream to this author, and I would like to give heartfelt thanks for all their support. I am truly proud to be part of the Zaffre team.
As is
customary in these cases, I must now say that any mistakes that remain will be my own.
Always grateful thanks to Rowan Lawton, my agent, and Steve Ayres for their continued and much appreciated support. Thanks to Tai Lichtensteiger for drinks in her beautiful apartment which, quite unplanned, took centre stage in Chapter Ten.
Thanks to all the bloggers and reviewers out there for your enthusiasm, and also for finding me a plethora of new readers. You’ve been fantastic.
Lastly, a massive thanks to my readers. I hope more than anything that you enjoy this novel, because I wrote it for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CJ Carver is a half-English, half-Kiwi author living just outside Bath. CJ lived in Australia for ten years before taking up long-distance rallies, including London to Saigon, London to Cape Town and 14,000 miles on the Inca Trail. CJ’s books have been published in the UK and the USA and have been translated into several languages. CJ’s first novel, Blood Junction, won the CWA Debut Dagger Award and was voted as one of the best mystery books of the year by Publisher’s Weekly.
www.cjcarver.com / @C_J_Carver
Also by CJ Carver
The Forrester and Davies series
Spare Me the Truth
Tell Me A Lie
The India Kane series
Blood Junction
Black Tide
The Jay McCaulay series
Gone Without Trace
Back With Vengeance
The Honest Assassin
Other novels
Dead Heat
Beneath the Snow
Have you read the first book in the Forrester and Davies series?
THREE STRANGERS. COUNTLESS SECRETS. ONE DEADLY TRUTH.
THE SPY
In the grip of amnesia, Dan Forrester believes he’s just an ordinary man. Until a stranger approaches him with a startling revelation – and a explosive request . . .
