by Roberta Kray
Harry stared at him. He could feel the blood draining from his face.
Deacon’s eyes avoided his. His gaze dropped down to the table. ‘She can’t remember much after that – it was the shock, I suppose.’
The words choked out from the depths of Harry’s throat. ‘My God.’
‘By the time Sharon got downstairs it was too late. She should have rung for an ambulance but Christ knows what went through that crazy head of hers. She couldn’t have saved Theresa but she should still have made the call. No one could have blamed Grace. It was just an accident, a terrible accident. But instead Sharon decided to try and cover it up.’
‘Her or Jimmy Keppell?’ Harry hissed angrily. ‘It was his bloody gun.’
‘I don’t suppose either of them were thinking straight – or overjoyed at the prospect of having to explain why a ten-year-old girl was lying dead on the kitchen floor.’
‘So they decided to take matters into their own hands?’
Deacon nodded. ‘They panicked. Keppell was in possession of an illegal firearm, a gun that had been used to kill a child. He was looking at jail time. Sharon may have been trying to protect Grace, or even Jimmy, but it was probably herself she was really taking care of. She was never the most altruistic of women. She must have seen the future flashing before her: what Michael would do, how the police would respond, how she’d be judged. And let’s face it, she would have been judged. She’d have been well and truly crucified. Having sex with her gangster lover while her daughter played with his gun downstairs? It wouldn’t have gone down too well in a courtroom. And the tabloids would have had a field day. You can imagine the headlines.’
‘And so Keppell …’
‘Yes, he took Theresa away. He buried her on Hampstead Heath.’
Harry thumped his fist down on the table. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ One of the patrolling screws looked over his shoulder and stared at him. Harry glared back. Being on the wrong side of authority was becoming uncomfortably familiar these days. He leaned closer to Deacon, his voice tight and low. ‘But why would he do that? Putting conscience aside – I’m sure the bastard doesn’t have one – why would he take the risk? What if someone had seen Theresa? How the hell were they going to explain that?’
‘They must have decided that the gamble was worth taking. She’d never been there before; there was nothing to really connect the two girls. And she’d used the alley, so unless one of the neighbours had been in their own back yard—’
‘No one would have noticed her.’
‘Quite.’
Harry was silent for a while, struggling with the immensity of what he’d just heard. It was too much to take in. He thought of all the lies Ellen had told him, of the lie she had lived for the past twenty years. Still, she had been honest about one thing at least – Keppell had been determined to keep her quiet. He remembered the black car mounting the pavement in Berry Square and shuddered. Harry understood now why he’d been so determined to prevent the truth from coming out.
‘So Michael didn’t … didn’t abuse her?’
‘No,’ Deacon said. ‘That was just a story. Michael had his faults but he tried his best to be a good father. And that was another major problem for Sharon and her boyfriend. They couldn’t rely on Grace to keep quiet. What if she told him what had happened? They decided there was no choice but to make Grace disappear as well.’
Harry nodded. It was all making sense in a twisted, deranged, disgusting kind of way. Then he suddenly recalled what Joan had said to the police, about how it was Sharon who’d produced a gun. A terrible thought occurred to him. ‘Was it a Glock?’
Deacon looked bemused. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Keppell’s gun,’ Harry said quickly. ‘Was it a small Glock pistol?’
‘I’ve no idea. Does it matter?’
Harry knew it did. Maybe Sharon had kept the gun for all these years. It was possible. She might not have trusted Keppell to get rid of it. Or, more likely, she hadn’t trusted Keppell full stop. She could have kept it for her own protection and if that was the case then she’d been shot by the same gun that killed Theresa Neal …
Harry felt sick to his stomach. He thought of all the suffering, all the pain and misery, that had ensued from one dreadful decision made over twenty years ago: Theresa Neal’s parents had never known the circumstances of their daughter’s death, Curzon had been silenced, Ellen had been forced to live a lie, Joan Sewell’s grief had soured into bitterness and Michael Harper – innocent of the abuse he’d been accused of – had been hounded into an early grave. And the legacy didn’t stop there; now Sharon’s two sons had been left without a mother too.
Still dazed by what he had heard Harry hunched forward, his face twisted with shock and bewilderment. ‘So what happens next? What am I supposed to do?’
Deacon shrugged. ‘She asked me to tell you the truth.’
‘And does she expect me to take that truth to the police?’
‘That’s up to you.’
Harry shook his head. He was not sure what good, if any, would come from revealing this particular horror.
‘Take your time,’ Deacon said. ‘Think it over.’ He got to his feet and nodded at one of the screws. Then he looked again at Harry. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Harry, taken aback by this abrupt withdrawal, stood up too. ‘Is that it?’ His surprise was promptly superseded by a feeling of resentment. A huge responsibility had just been passed to him and the burden felt too great, too overwhelming.
Deacon gave a soft smile. ‘She trusts you. She knows you’ll do whatever’s right.’
Outside the gate, Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets and gazed along the grey stone wall encircling the jail. He thought of all the prisons that people built for themselves and for others. He thought of Ellen and an ache rolled through his chest.
Perhaps silence was the best way forward. Without her corroboration the truth could only ever be hearsay. Nothing could be proved. And Jimmy Keppell, the only other surviving witness, was already facing a life sentence – one way or another he would get his just reward. Yes, he should keep quiet. Or should he? There were the Neals to consider – surely they deserved to know exactly how and why their daughter had died. And then there was Michael Harper too. His reputation had been ruined. Perhaps, even in death, a man deserved some justice.
She knows you’ll do whatever’s right.
The snow drifted down and settled on his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw a flash of red. He quickly turned his head but there was no one there.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
&nb
sp; Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
