by Chris Ewan
Connor shook his head, as if the memory confounded him. ‘Russell got away from me and raced along the pontoon. I tried to catch up to him but by then he’d grabbed an oar and swung it at the back of Dad’s head. One strike, and Dad was gone.’ He paused and raised his eyes to the rafters, as if communing with the stars beyond. Then he looked back at Renner, a grim expression on his face. ‘We had a mess to clean up. I know Russell always thought it might have been different if he hadn’t run back to get me. If he’d fetched you instead, Mike.’
Renner lifted his gun to his face, mashing the cold metal against his cheek.
Was this Miller’s moment? He tried loosening his hand from Lloyd’s grip but she squeezed his fingers tight.
‘So you hid their bodies here,’ she put in, snagging Connor’s attention. ‘You buried them together.’
‘Russell insisted on it. He was always the sentimental type. I would have dumped them in the water. It was all they deserved, frankly. And it would have fitted with the rumours that went round after they vanished. But Russell wouldn’t agree to it. Here he was, having just killed Dad, babbling on about needing somewhere to visit him. I had to make a decision. I had to contain the situation.’
There was a splash of water and the flap of wings out on the lake. Connor whirled towards the blackened waters.
‘What happened next?’ Lloyd asked him. Her tone was tough and demanding, almost as if Connor was in an interview room with her at the local station.
‘Oh,’ he said, waving a hand, ‘I sent Russell in here to find something to cover Mum and Dad with. No real need. It was dark and we were hardly overlooked. But I thought it would give him time to calm down so I might convince him to ditch them overboard. He came up with the idea of putting them in here instead. Of building his stupid shrine. You’d taught him to build dens, hadn’t you, Mike? He worked at this one for days.’
Renner steadily lowered the gun from his face. ‘I can’t believe you never told me.’
‘But look at you now, Mike. This was years ago and see how it’s affecting you. It was already difficult enough for me to stop Russell from handing himself in to the police. If he’d seen the look you have in your eyes now . . .’ Connor shook his head. ‘Sorry, but it had to be this way. And I had to let Russell bury them here. I shouldn’t have agreed to it, but I did. Because it was Russell. Because he was special. Because we’d always indulged him and it was what he expected in life. What he expects still.’
‘But it bothered him, didn’t it?’ Miller put in. ‘It ate away at him.’
Miller had some understanding of how it would work. He was a man who knew what it was like to have a burden of guilt gnaw at you for years.
Connor sneered, pinning him with the torch beam again.
‘Russell was weak. He felt the need to confide in someone. He thought it would lessen his guilt. He even asked for therapy, though naturally I said no. I didn’t know what he might say. I think you know yourself by now that the truth is an infection. It spreads, no matter what you do. Better never to let the infection out, wouldn’t you agree?’
He held the torch on Miller’s face for several seconds more.
‘I’d very much like to get back all the money you’ve extorted from me. But I suppose I’m going to have to settle for killing you instead, then finding and killing your precious Melanie.’
He smiled thinly before glancing at Renner once again. ‘You should probably know, Mike, that Russell asked me right at the beginning if we could tell you. Can you imagine? I told him he was insane.’
‘You could have trusted me.’
‘No, I don’t think so. You were loyal to Dad. You would have walked out on us and thrown us to the wolves. We needed you then, Mike. Just like we need you today. And, over time, I think, you’ve come to respect me perhaps even more than Dad. Look at what we’ve built together.’ He shrugged. ‘Plus, I don’t think I need to remind you that there are things I know about you, Mike. So many unpleasant tasks you’ve helped take care of over the years.’
‘Like killing my wife,’ Miller said. ‘Like killing Anna Brooks.’
‘And trying to kill me,’ Kate added.
‘Oh, don’t hold that against Mike.’ Lane rolled the hand with the torch in it, whipping the beam around. ‘Or me, for that matter. It was Russell again. His stupid need to offload. First, there was Anna. I know he told her about Mum and Dad because she came to me for money. And I paid her a little, at first. But then she got greedy and I refused to pay any more, and all of a sudden, she accused Russell of rape. She tried to apply pressure. Too much pressure, for her.’
‘And Helen Knight?’ Kate asked. ‘I saw her here with Russell. That’s why they were arguing, wasn’t it? He showed her this place. He told her what he’d done. And she can’t have reacted the way he wanted. She wouldn’t absolve him. I knew Helen. She’d have told him to tell the police. So he killed her.’
‘Well, now.’ Connor weaved the torch through the air some more, looping spirals in the dark. ‘That’s not quite how it happened. Young Helen came to me, too, you see. She approached me first.’
‘Helen wouldn’t blackmail anyone. She wasn’t like that.’
‘No, she wasn’t. She came to tell me that Russell needed to own up to what had happened. That she was going to help him.’ Connor twirled his finger next to his temple. ‘Loopy. You’ll appreciate there was no way I could allow it. Not after all this time.’
He flicked the torch beam at Kate, seeming to enjoy the disgust on her face.
‘You killed Helen.’
‘There we go. You cracked the big mystery. But really, she as good as killed herself, the poor girl.’
And right then, Miller understood it fully for the first time. He understood why Lane had sent Wade to kill his wife and daughter. He knew why he’d set Renner and Wade on Kate and why he’d had them pursue the ghost of Anna Brooks throughout Europe. It wasn’t only about protecting Russell. It wasn’t even about the money Miller had been taking him for. It was also about eradicating anyone Russell might have confided in. It was about burying the truth.
‘You sicken me,’ Kate told him.
‘Oh, I sicken myself. Quite regularly. But I get over it. I’m sorry to say you won’t have that opportunity.’
Lloyd was growing tired of Connor’s performance. She swore under her breath.
‘Problem, DS Lloyd?’
‘Yes, I have a problem. If what you say about your brother is even halfway true, it was an accident when he killed your father. He didn’t have intent to murder. He hit him once. A single blow. To protect your mother. Even hiding the bodies, concealing what had happened . . . It never warranted this. Not all of it.’
‘See?’ Lane wagged a finger. ‘An infection. The truth begins to spread. But I can tell you the rest now, I suppose, because then Mike will shoot you, and you’ll have no way to spread the disease. The lake will swallow it up. I’ve learned from the mistakes I made with Helen’s body.’
‘It was you.’ Miller felt even more certain the moment the words were spoken. ‘You killed your parents. It wasn’t Russell at all.’
Connor’s eyes glinted. ‘You expect me to tell you that?’
‘We deserve the truth,’ Kate said. ‘Helen deserved the truth.’
‘You deserve nothing. And neither did she. But Mike? Well, Mike should probably know it all. So, look, Dad was dead, and that was all on Russell I’m afraid, but Mum wasn’t . . . quite. But she was so nearly gone already and she’d seen Russell hit Dad. She would have told someone about it. You know that, Mike. She was weak, like him. And she was the one who’d cheated. She was the one to blame. So I told Russell to run in here and I finished it. Finished her.’ He shone the torchlight on his hand, as if marvelling at what it was capable of. ‘I had to smother the infection before it could begin. You’ll understand that better than anyone, Mike. You’re the best I know at containing a situation. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you’d been there.’
But he wouldn’t have. Miller could see that, even if Connor couldn’t. Because Renner was blinking, lips twitching, looking blearily around the boathouse and out towards the lake, as if he was caught in a trap he couldn’t see a way out of. The wash of light from Connor’s torch was dim at the edges, but Miller could glimpse the dampness in his eyes. He could read the emotion in his face.
It wasn’t rage or anger or disgust. It was something Miller recognised because he’d suffered from it himself for so long. It was heartache. It was grief.
It was love.
But not for Connor. Not any more.
‘No,’ Renner muttered, lifting his gun. ‘No, see, that’s where you’re wrong.’
And he shot Connor in the side of the head.
*
For the first time in his life, Mike Renner didn’t make any effort to cover up a crime. He didn’t attempt to run or to silence the witnesses. He let go of his revolver as soon as Connor fell, his sole focus being on grabbing the torch that was tumbling from Connor’s hand, ducking behind the sideboard and scrabbling into the tunnel.
Alone in the musty silence, the din of the gunshot reverberating in his head, the torch beam slanted across the ground, he reached out his hand to the mound of earth where Diane was buried.
Finally, Renner had his answer. He’d found the woman he’d loved.
And with Connor dead, it would all unravel now anyway. He had so many crimes to answer for. So many offences that went far beyond betraying his best friend by falling for his wife.
*
‘What do we do?’ Kate whispered. She was backing away from Connor’s body, blocking the sight of his bloodied head with her splayed fingers.
Miller didn’t answer. He was busy crabbing sideways, snatching up his backpack.
Lloyd had been quick to make a grab for Renner’s gun and now she was holding it in a two-handed grip with the muzzle pointed towards the hole he’d crawled through. She looked as if she knew what she was doing. She looked as if she’d shoot if she had to.
Kate stooped for Miller’s torch, throwing light on the tunnel opening, the beam trembling against the timber planks.
‘I’ll call it in.’ Lloyd reached into her jacket, removing her phone. But she didn’t begin to dial. Not yet. ‘I have to get a team here. We’ll have to sift through everything Lane said. It changes things for his brother. Changes a hell of a lot of things, really.’
‘For us, too?’ Kate asked.
Miller tugged on her arm, trying to drag her away, but Kate resisted.
‘Maybe. It’s too early to say.’
‘We’re leaving,’ Miller told her. ‘There’s nothing for us here now.’
‘No, you’ll wait.’ Lloyd swung the revolver towards them, her arm extended, a sweaty gleam on her face. ‘You’ll have to run through it all. You’ll have to give statements. You know I can’t leave you out of it.’
‘So don’t. But we won’t be here.’
‘I have a gun.’
‘So do I.’ He withdrew the SIG from his backpack, turning it in his fist as if he hadn’t the faintest clue how it had got there. ‘But I don’t plan to use it and you really don’t want to shoot us. Right now, you’re a winner. You have a big success on your hands. We led you to this. We’re giving it to you. The truth, all wrapped up. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
Lloyd wet her lip. She glanced back towards the tunnel opening.
Was Renner weeping in there? It sounded that way to Miller.
‘Two questions,’ Lloyd said. ‘Will you answer them for me?’
‘Depends on what they are.’
‘The fire at your house – I want to know, did you find your wife and Anna dead and see it as an opportunity? Were you the one who set the blaze?’
‘You honestly believe I’m capable of that?’
‘I’ve wondered.’
‘Then stop. The fire was already raging. Wade set it. Wade killed them. I couldn’t get in the house. I tried. I tried everything I could. Believe me.’
Lloyd watched him carefully, weighing his words. Maybe she did believe him. It was hard to tell from her reaction. But then she sighed and shook her head and beckoned to Kate.
‘Give me that torch. I’m going to need it if I’m sticking around here on my own.’
Kate hesitated, looking between Miller and Lloyd until Miller snatched the torch from her and stepped forwards to pass it across. He held Lloyd’s eye for a beat, then turned and caught Kate’s hand and guided her towards the open door and the waiting lake.
Kate was almost outside ahead of him when he paused and looked back, tugging on her arm. Lloyd was switching her attention between Miller and the tunnel opening, the torch clamped beneath her elbow, tapping the lighted display of her phone with her thumb.
‘What was the other question?’ he asked her. ‘You said there were two.’
‘Melanie.’ Lloyd’s thumb hovered over the phone. ‘How is she? Is she well?’
‘She’s alive.’
‘And happy?’
Miller considered it.
‘She will be. She’s been lost a long time. Both of us have been. I’m hoping now this is over we can find our way back to each other again.’
‘So go to her.’ Lloyd made the call and raised the phone to her ear. ‘Get away from here and hide. It’s what you do best, I think.’
Part IX
Epilogue
Five Months Later
Eight a.m. in London and Jennifer Lloyd buttoned her silk blouse, tucking it into the waistband of her fitted skirt. She checked her make-up in the mirror, patted her hair. The style was softer than she was used to. Longer than before, swept back around her shoulders and tinted. She liked it, and so did a lot of other people judging by the compliments she was receiving from colleagues and friends. Colleagues who were friends. That was something new. Lloyd had become part of a team in a very real way.
Her life had changed, so it seemed only fitting that her view had, too. She’d invested in a two-bed apartment in a waterside complex next to the Thames. It was a modern place with a curved glass balcony that offered her a glimpse of Tower Bridge and, on a clear day, the dome of St Paul’s. But not this morning, because Lloyd was in a hurry, swallowing the last of her tea and popping her mug in the dishwasher before locking her apartment and pressing the call button for the elevator.
The doors parted and a silver-haired professional in a tailored suit flashed her a wolfish grin as she stepped inside. Which amused her, though not because she was attracted to him. The fact was Lloyd was seeing someone. It wasn’t a regular thing, and it was long-distance, but she had a feeling it might develop into something more. Julia Summerhayes was ten years her senior, but she was a remarkable woman: intelligent, kind, funny, but most of all, wise. It was Julia who’d helped Lloyd to understand how her perceptions had changed.
The fallout from events at the Lane estate had been complex and frenetic. They’d led to the arrest of Mike Renner on multiple serious charges, to the release of Russell Lane from prison, to the formal burials of Larry and Diane Lane in a local churchyard, and to the cremation of their son Connor, whose ashes, despite the wishes plainly expressed in his will, had been scattered by Russell from the side of a small boat over the deepest, darkest waters of Windermere.
An investigation had been launched into the failures and oversights of the UK Protected Persons Service, during which Nadine Foster had been found guilty of gross misconduct and dismissed from her role with the National Crime Agency. Foster would never work as a police officer again, but that was the least of her worries, since the Crown Prosecution Service were still considering the criminal charges she would face.
Lloyd had been called to give evidence in front of a six-person investigatory board that counted Commissioner Bennett among its members. Bennett had smiled knowingly when she’d taken her seat in the faceless meeting room in Whitehall. This was the moment he’d been waiting for; a chance for Lloyd to give voice to the many
doubts and concerns they shared, not just about the way the Protected Persons Service was being run, but about its very existence in the first place.
And yet, by the time Lloyd found herself clearing her throat and leaning towards the microphone in front of her, she’d come to realise something. Yes, there were flaws in the way the service was being operated, but when she thought of everything she’d experienced in the wake of Kate Sutherland’s disappearance, when her mind turned to the murders of Sarah Adams and Anna Brooks, to the repercussions of Connor Lane’s actions throughout Europe, and to the desperate measures Nick Adams had taken to safeguard his daughter, she had to state for the record, in clear, concise terms, that the Protected Persons Service was a highly valuable programme that did important work and that its future had to be secured, no matter the difficulties involved.
And then – to hell with the inappropriateness of the setting, or to the unmistakable distaste she could see spreading across Bennett’s skeletal face – she made a pitch to play an integral role in the future of the programme, to help guide it and shape it, with the aim of making it the best, most comprehensive scheme of its kind anywhere in the world.
Which was a little over the top, she had to admit, but her passion had impressed enough key members of the board that her proposals were taken forward for further discussion despite Commissioner Bennett’s complaints. Not long afterwards, she’d been promoted to the rank of DI and placed on permanent assignment to the National Crime Agency, with special responsibility to develop and implement a new set of rules and procedures for the handling of protected persons.
Lloyd lived for the role. She had a fresh hunger for her job, and for her life outside it. Yet there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t think of Nick Adams and Kate Sutherland, and wonder where they might be or what they might be doing.
The elevator dinged, the doors slid open and the silver-haired man in the expensive suit motioned for Lloyd to step out ahead of him. She crossed the foyer towards a bank of mailboxes to retrieve her post and found there was only one item waiting for her.
