Skin and Bones (26 page)

It was like losing them all over again. Julia felt blank. Anaesthetised.
When she spoke, it was a shock to hear the words come out. It sounded
like no one she knew.

'Do we go to the police?'

'I doubt they'll be able to find evidence of foul play.'

'They might at least take the idea of a second killer seriously.'

Craig looked at his watch. 'We should have reported the break-in
straight away. Then there's the question of Peggy Forester. As soon as
we admit to seeing her, they're going to take a very close look at us.'

Julia was still smarting from Craig's suggestion that her father could
have prevented the massacre; now his slightly condescending tone
only increased her irritation.

'Don't forget the hotel fire,' she said acidly. 'Not to mention your
car accident.'

He frowned. 'What are you getting at?'

'Well, you weren't straight with me about your past, or about seeing
Peggy Forester. I'm starting to wonder what else you've been holding
back.'

'He drove straight at me,' he said angrily. 'The car ended up in a
ditch. When I found you on the beach, my clothes were soaked,
remember? I had cuts on my hand and my head. I didn't bloody
invent it.'

'I'm not saying it didn't happen,' she countered. 'But how am I to
know if the killer caused it, or something else?'

Now he looked mystified. 'Like what?'

'You tell me. Maybe you weren't concentrating.' She met his eye,
wanting to measure his reaction very carefully. 'Maybe you'd been
drinking.'

When she was alone again, Vanessa rested back on the bed and assessed
the situation. She had never seen Toby so shocked, so furious, but to
his credit he'd kept his temper in check. She'd cautioned that he
would gain nothing from confronting George while he was angry. She
half expected him to ignore the advice, but he had left quietly, without
announcing his presence in the house. Soon Vilner would leave too,
and perhaps George would update her on their meeting.

Then again, perhaps he wouldn't.

While she waited, she reflected on how easy it was to light a touch
paper, but how difficult to predict the consequences. Perhaps, when
he came up to see her, she would tell George what she had done.

Then again, perhaps she wouldn't.

The accusation seemed to deflate him. Craig's shoulders dropped. His
gaze turned inward, dark with self-loathing.

'You're right,' he said quietly. 'I haven't been honest with you.'

He stood up and walked to the window, as if he needed to put
some physical distance between them before he could explain. Julia
waited, still angry and now a tiny bit afraid of what he might reveal.

'Years ago, I had quite a serious drink problem. It started when I
was doing the investigative work. Stress of the job, I suppose. I was
missing deadlines, picking fights with people, generally behaving like
a twat. The turning point came when I had a run-in with the police.'

Julia thought of Kate's warning about him. 'What happened?'

'I had a good lead about a bent copper. A senior detective in the
Met, taking backhanders from some major villains. I was putting
the story together when I got a visit from his sergeant. He was adamant
that his boss was completely straight, that someone was trying to fit him
up. He appealed to me to let it go. He was very plausible, very friendly,
with only the merest hint of a threat. I told him I'd consider it.'

He turned away from her. 'The next day I got pulled over and
breathalysed. I was way over the limit, ended up with a year's ban.'

'You think it was down to this sergeant?'

'I never knew for sure. But I took the coward's way out and dropped
the story. After that I had no stomach for my job. The kids were
little, and Nina was threatening to kick me out. I managed to stop
drinking and make a new start, and after that I didn't touch a drop
for years.'

He turned back to her. 'Then Dad was killed, and I found
out about Nina's affair, and I hit the bottle again.'

Julia nodded. 'I thought I could smell it in the car.'

'I had a mouthful of Scotch when we stopped at your parents'
cottage. A bit more when I dropped you off . . .' He shrugged. 'But
the accident happened just as I described it. Alcohol wasn't a factor.'

'It must have been on your mind when we discussed whether to
go to the police?'

'Yeah, I suppose it was, although my main concern was how they'd
view our visit to Peggy Forester.'

He sounded genuine enough, but Julia had reached the point where
she was no longer sure of anything.

'Did you ever find out what happened to the policeman?'

'The senior one was definitely bent, but he retired early and skipped
off to Spain. Never faced justice. His faithful sergeant is now a detective
inspector, working here in Sussex.' Craig laughed. 'And if you think
that sounds like a disaster, wait till you hear about the mess I'm in now.'

George felt drained by his encounter with Vilner. Again he thought
of Toby's suggestion on Tuesday. Pack a case, jump on a plane to
Antigua. Leave it all behind: Vilner, Kendrick . . . Vanessa.

No. He couldn't leave Vanessa behind.

When he looked in on her, she was sound asleep. That was good.
He could spare her the details of his encounter with Vilner. No sense
burdening her.

Ten per cent was an outrageous demand. Vilner didn't have the
evidence to justify it, but he knew, as George did, that the media
wouldn't give a damn about evidence or the lack of it. Neither would
Craig Walker, come to that.

He wondered if that was part of Vilner's game plan. Use Craig and
Julia Trent as his mouthpiece, enabling him to stay in the background.
That's how I would do it, he thought. Join forces with my enemy's enemy.

That got him wondering if he should employ a similar tactic. In
admitting that he'd kept information back from Kendrick, Vilner had
made a serious error. No doubt he assumed George wouldn't rat on
him to Kendrick, for fear of weakening his own position. But George
knew that when the problems were stacking up, you dealt with them
one at a time. You prioritised. First defuse Vilner's threat, then worry
about where it leaves you with Kendrick.

But it was a big step, not to be taken lightly.

Sleep on it, he decided at last. Speak to Kendrick tomorrow.

Julia decided she needed coffee. Refusing Craig's offer to make it for
her, she went into the kitchen. Craig followed and hovered tentatively
in the doorway.

'His name is Sullivan,' he said. 'I spotted him in one of the news
broadcasts. Figured he owed me a favour.'

'That's how you got the report?'

'And the address of your hotel,' he admitted glumly. 'But it was a
risky strategy from the start. I saw him yesterday, and told him what
had happened this week. I thought it would convince him that there
was a second killer. It turned out he didn't need convincing.'

Julia, rinsing the cafetière under the tap, stopped what she was
doing. 'He agrees there was a second killer?'

'Yes. But he thinks it's me,' Craig said. Blunt and bitter.

Julia couldn't quite mask her shock. She opened a drawer, took out
a dishcloth and began drying the cafetière. Of course he wasn't the
killer. She saw the killer this morning, in her parents' house. Craig
had been right behind her. He couldn't be in two places at once.

Unless there was more than one person involved . . .

Her train of thought must have been obvious to Craig. He said,
'It's not me. If you believe nothing else I've said, you must believe
that.'

Julia didn't feel ready to comment. 'But you think Sullivan is
George's inside man?'

'It would explain a lot. He's exactly the kind of lowlife who'd end
up on Matheson's payroll.'

He said nothing more, just leaned against the doorframe and
watched as she spooned coffee into the cafetière. His presence didn't
make her uneasy, as she might have expected, and she realised her
gut instinct was to believe him. Then she thought of the other terrible
insight she'd had about him, and decided now was as good a time as
any to confront him.

'You resent me, don't you?' she said. 'You wish Carl had killed me
outside the village shop.'

Toby was steaming with rage on his way back to London, and that
rage was reflected in his driving. He chopped in and out of lanes, tailgated
the cars in front, and in Streatham he jumped a queue by
moving into the opposite carriageway and driving through a pedestrian
crossing on the wrong side of the road. He raced away to a
barrage of horns and flashing headlights, and knew he was perilously
close to doing something he would regret.

On one level he could appreciate the need to calm down, but at
the same time he'd never before had to contend with such devastating
betrayal. He tried persuading himself that Vanessa was confused, that
somehow she had misinterpreted the situation, but in his heart he
didn't believe it. He knew how his uncle operated. Time and again
George had made deals and not said a word until the papers were
signed, even though, as a director, Toby should have been entitled to
prior knowledge.

So this latest revelation couldn't be dismissed. George was intent
on selling the business from under his nose. Giving away his birthright.

Toby had to prevent it, somehow. He had to find a way to fight
back.

And he would.

'It was Sullivan who first planted the idea in my head,' Craig said.
'The first time we met up, he told me Dad was shot twice. He said
Carl had gone back to . . . finish the job.' He swallowed. 'He was
taunting me that Dad only died because of you.'

'I suppose it's true,' said Julia. Feeling the prickle of tears, she kept
her back to him so he wouldn't see them. The kettle boiled, and she
poured hot water into the cafetière.

'I'm very proud of him,' said Craig. 'I'm proud he helped to save
you. And I know it's totally irrational, but part of me does feel bitter
about it. If you hadn't gone running across the green, if you hadn't
needed
saving, he might be alive today. And I've found that hard to
deal with.'

'It wasn't exactly easy for me,' Julia reminded him. 'You don't have
a monopoly on grief. Or regret.'

She poured the coffee and quickly set the cafetière down. Put a
hand over her mouth as tears ran down her cheeks. Her shoulders
twitched with each silent sob. She heard Craig take a step into the
kitchen.

'It was never personal,' he said, 'And once I met you I realised what
a stupid notion it was. My father did absolutely the right thing.'

She felt his hands gently grip her arms and turn her to face him.
There were tears in his eyes and a sorrow on his face that matched
hers. Dismissing the last of her doubts, she stepped into his embrace.
The feel of his body, his strength and his warmth, made her heart
beat faster.

They stood like this for a long time, then parted just enough
to look into each other's eyes. Julia felt her cheeks reddening, a
slow bloom of heat that didn't stop at her face but spread deliciously
through her body. He reached out and cupped the back of her head,
pulled her close and guided her mouth towards his, their eyes still
locked together, solemn and scared and hungry.

She'd always thought all that stuff about fireworks was a lot of
nonsense, the type of thing you only found in romantic fiction. But
after so much time on her own, after so many difficult weeks without
any real intimacy or affection, the first touch of his lips against hers
was like an explosion. It felt like breaking into sunshine after a year
in a freezer. It made her feel complete when she hadn't even known
she was broken.

It was a perfect moment. One of those all too rare occasions when
he acted without any thought whatsoever. He simply did what he felt
was right.

A perfect moment, and it ended with a phone call. His mobile,
bleeping from inside his jacket.

They broke apart, both a little awed and embarrassed. Craig fumbled
for the phone, read the display and felt his stomach contract. Even
as he took a step backwards, Julia read his expression and busied herself
with the coffee.

'Nina?'

'Craig. The police are here.'

Her words blasted the air from his lungs.
The killer had targeted
his family
.

'Are the kids all right?'

'They're fine. I picked them up from school.' There was a rustle of
movement down the line, and when she spoke next her voice was
lower, almost a whisper. 'The police want to talk to you about Abby
Clark. She's gone missing.'

'But I talked to her yesterday morning.'

'That's what Abby's friend told them. She seems to think Abby was
working on something for you.'

Another shock, this one even greater. He glanced at Julia and saw
her looking in his direction, reacting to the horror on his face. He
was still reeling when Nina said, 'Where are you?'

'Chilton.' He answered too quickly, the lie automatic. Easier than
explaining the truth.

'No, you're not. I rang there first.' A beat of silence. Then she hissed:
'You're with her, aren't you? Julia Trent?'

'Nina, listen, this isn't—'

'Well, that didn't take you long, did it? After all the bullshit you
gave me.'

'It's not like that.' He looked at Julia again. 'Tell the police I'll be
there as soon as I can.'

'What's happened?' said Julia. Inside her emotions were in turmoil.
She didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that the kiss
had been interrupted.

'Abby's gone missing. The police want to interview me.'

'There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.'

He gave her a sharp look. 'Remember what we said about coincidence?
Besides, Abby's a journalist. She's never incommunicado. No.
This is because of me, because of what I asked her to do.'

'You don't know that,' she said, but he was in no mood to be
placated.

'If she thinks she's on to a big story, she'll take risks. When
she rang yesterday she was really excited. Not just about Vilner. She
mentioned someone else.' He searched his memory. 'Kendrick, I think
she said.'

'Who's he?'

'No idea. That's what she was trying to find out.' Again he was lost
to her, gazing into the middle distance.

'Why did you lie to Nina?'

'I don't know,' he said grimly. 'Yet another disaster.' By 'another'
she couldn't help wondering if he meant the intimacy they had shared.

She accompanied him to the front door, where he gave her a quick,
impersonal peck on the cheek.

'Be extra careful, won't you? There's no telling what he'll do next.'

She nodded. Watching him hurry away, Julia felt a sudden conviction
that she would never see him again, and the fleeting vision of
happiness she had experienced this afternoon crumbled like a castle
built from dry, brittle sand.