The English Boys (26 page)

It was not until years later that Hugh stumbled upon a different version of the story. Noel kept a shelf of leather-bound books in which he wrote impressions of his life. They were not diaries, per se, but notes, perhaps for a future autobiography. One day, Hugh began slipping them out of the study to read. It was quite enlightening, in more ways than one. Noel, though reticent and even gruff in the presence of his son, was quite forthcoming in his memoirs. It was some months after Hugh had first begun to read the journals that he discovered a section about his grandfather's death that weekend in Hampshire.

Garrett's asked me for money,
Noel had written.
His father has refused his request for another bailout and decided to take a hard line with him.
Noel, too, had refused Garrett's request. He didn't want to sully their relationship with financial obligations that might never be repaid. And as much as he enjoyed a weekend in the country, if Garrett was forced to sell his property and find something more on his level, Noel would still have other friends who could extend such offers in his stead.

Garrett had been furious, according to Noel's account, and a wicked argument ensued. The only reason Noel had not left Hampshire in the middle of the weekend was because his father-in-law especially asked him to stay. When the old man was shot, Noel knew at once that it hadn't been an accident. Yet he refused to say as much to the police.

Hugh had read this with a great deal of interest. Was his father afraid of Garrett? Did he think turning him in would spark an angry confrontation that would result in his own death? The truth, however, when Hugh finally read it in his father's own words, was chilling:
As much as I cared for Richard, alerting the authorities to the true nature of the shooting would have ruined my career. I didn't want to be known as the actor who had a murderer in the family. I believed, too, that Caroline's portion of the inheritance would be beneficial to Hugh one day, and therefore I made the best decision I could on the spur of the moment.

The Montgomery Curse was not, as Hugh had once believed, a series of misfortunes that befell their family. The curse was that a Montgomery would do what a Montgomery must if someone stood in his way. Tamsyn, like Lizzie Marsden before her and Chief Inspector Murray after, was an impediment to the future Hugh had planned for himself. He had no choice but to remove any obstacle that threatened his well-being. Tamsyn had been that obstacle, and he had killed her without remorse.

Now, it was done. Tamsyn lay in front of him, lifeless. Hugh wrapped the knife in a plastic bin liner and went to dispose of it. There were drops of blood on his coat, but in the frenzy that would ensue, no one would notice. When he came back and crouched over her body again, he would get covered in blood anyway.

For one hollow moment before he screamed for help, he let himself bask in the glow of success. Tamsyn didn't have to die, but she, like any other obstacle he faced, had now been dealt with. Like her, he had gambled it all in a single moment. And the odds, as far as he was concerned, were that everything would go his way from that moment on.

Thirty-Six

Daniel stood under an
ancient yew tree at the graveyard some distance from the group of mourners and lit a cigarette. His resolve not to smoke had evaporated in the aftermath of Hugh's death, along with much of his desire to keep on living. He knew he was not welcome. He knew, too, that he should hate him for everything he'd done, but ever since Hugh died, he had been wracked with an emptiness he'd never known before. That first night, after he had been released from the hospital without being charged, he had dulled the pain of being shot by drinking half a bottle of Scotch. It was impossible to reconcile the Hugh who had murdered three people with the friend he had loved so much. Daniel remembered their juvenile antics at school; the long, lazy holidays spent in Gloucestershire messing about in the village; the years when they were making homes in London and settling into their careers. Every good memory he possessed, it seemed, included Hugh, and losing that part of his life was as painful as losing Tamsyn, if not more so. It had occurred to him that she had been his first attempt at independence from Hugh, as though the friendship, unbeknownst to him, had somehow begun to erode. Standing here now, watching Noel and Caroline Ashley-Hunt with friends and relatives—including, damn him, Marc Hayley—Daniel felt completely at sea. Carey hadn't answered his calls. Tamsyn and Hugh were dead. His career, which had once meant so much to him, felt stifling. He was overdue to report to the set of his next film, but he dreaded it with his entire being.

The vicar intoned a final prayer and even from a distance, Daniel knew it was over. Police kept the paparazzi from the scene, but they raised their cameras from a distance hoping for a cover shot. The crowd began to disperse, peeling themselves away from the fresh mound of plowed earth and leaning on one another for support. Caroline looked particularly fragile. For one brief second, Daniel caught Noel's eye, and then the elder Ashley-Hunt turned his back and took his wife's arm. Even after everyone had gone—the family, to what would likely be a long seclusion; friends to various pubs for a fortifying drink; the vicar to check his schedule for the next item on his checklist—Daniel lingered, feeling empty. He couldn't approach Hugh's grave. He would see it one day when he could bear it, but just now the wounds were too fresh.

He thought of Tamsyn's daughter, and of what explanations might be given to her for what had happened. He tapped his mobile. There was no one but Carey with whom he could discuss the tragedy, but she hadn't returned his calls. If he hadn't confronted Hugh on his own, none of this would have happened. He was in limbo, as a Catholic would define it: literally, the edge of Hell.

He lost track of how long he stood there. Certainly long enough to intensify the throbbing in his leg. Tired from the exertion, he looked at his watch. Another difficult task lay ahead. He had to go to Scotland Yard soon to give a final statement regarding the case. He would probably face some difficulty with Inspector Murray, who hadn't wanted them to meddle, and they were certain to want more information about how he and Carey had come to be in Hugh's house. He would shoulder responsibility for everything. It was the least he could do.

The sun was hot, a welcome change from most of the last month, when it had rained almost incessantly. After a moment, he took his leave and walked to his car, the warmth radiating through the dappled leaves onto his back.

Scotland Yard looked more imposing than usual, if only because Daniel loathed having to relive everything. He'd started awake each night since Hugh died, sweating and panicked, and had come to the decision to leave London for a while to rethink his life. His bags were already packed. This would be the final hurdle. He forced himself to open the door and went up to the desk to speak to a sergeant.

“Daniel Richardson,” he said to the officer at the desk. “Here to see DCI Murray.”

The constable looked at him long and hard for a moment and consulted his computer before replying. “DCI Murray was killed this week in the line of duty. Your appointment today is with Detective Chief Inspector Michael Hardwicke, who has taken over the Burke case.”

Daniel was stunned. He had avoided the news, with its endless loops of sensationalist stories rehashing Hugh's death. He was shown into a room with a table and hard metal chairs. He pulled out a chair, wondering how everything had turned out like this and wishing Carey was sitting beside him. They had come to rely on each other, or so he had thought. A few minutes later, a young sergeant came in and closed the door behind him.

“May I?” he said, putting his hand on a chair. “I'm Detective Sergeant Ennis. I worked with Chief Inspector Murray.”

Daniel nodded. “Of course.”

“I'm not really here in an official capacity,” the sergeant said, sitting at the table opposite Daniel. “Inspector Hardwicke has been detained, so I thought I would stop in. How's the leg?”

Daniel shrugged. “It'll heal. Fortunately, he missed a major artery. What happened to Inspector Murray?”

“You don't know?” Ennis paused. “He was strangled in his car. From his notes, he was investigating Hugh. It's clear that Hugh got to him first.”

“I'm sorry,” Daniel said, stunned. “He was a good man.”

“He was probably the best detective I'll ever work with,” Ennis answered. “He had a dog … ”

“A dog?”

“A pup, really. He asked me to get it for him a couple of weeks ago. I had to go back to his house to get the poor fellow.”

Daniel looked at him for a moment and realized that Ennis was struggling almost as much as he was. The sergeant stood and went over to the counter, where there was a pot of coffee. He poured two cups and brought them back to the table.

“For lack of anything better,” he said, placing one in front of Daniel.

“Thanks.”

Ennis took his seat and tasted the coffee. “He was an unusual man, Murray. He lost himself after his wife died, from what I hear. Buried himself in his work. He didn't really talk things out, about cases, I mean. He was a thinker who ruminated over every little detail. He was a talented detective. I don't know why I'm even telling you this.”

“It must have been a shock.”

“I wish I'd had longer to learn from him.” Ennis drank the last of the coffee and crumpled the cup in his hand. “You might be interested to know that Carey Burke was here.”

“She was?” Daniel sat up in his chair. He might be able to see her, he thought. Ennis dashed that hope immediately.

“She's left London, I'm afraid.” He consulted his watch. “She took the train back to Wales about an hour ago.”

Daniel set down his cup. He felt even worse knowing he had missed her.

“I told her something I think you should know too. We uncovered the source of the death threat that Ashley-Hunt received a few days before the wedding.”

“I'd forgotten about that,” Daniel said, leaning forward. “If Hugh was the killer, who would have sent him a death threat?”

“A family friend of the Burkes' … Nick Oliver. Do you know him?”

“Oliver?” Daniel repeated, stunned. “Yes, I met him. But why would he have threatened Hugh? He wasn't close to Tamsyn.”

“It was a manipulation on his part. If he could scare Tamsyn and Carey into thinking there was a true threat to Ashley-Hunt, they might have come back to Wales. He was fixated on Carey, wanting their relationship to be more than it was. He had no idea what was going on between Hugh and Tamsyn. The police picked him up yesterday. He was released on a caution.”

Daniel shook his head. “What a bloody mess. It's hard to believe that Hugh was capable of killing someone, but I think it's almost worse that Tamsyn was.”

“According to Miss Burke's journals, she had been plotting to kill Hugh for a very long time,” Ennis said. “She didn't realize how dangerous Hugh really was. If she'd tried to make him think her child was his, it would have fueled the fire.”

“He told me the minute he saw the photos that he knew that Emma was Marc Hayley's child.”

“Yes. And it happens to be true,” Ennis answered. “A DNA test was done two days ago. The results were positive.”

“What will happen to her, then?” Daniel asked. “The Burkes won't lose her, will they?”

“No, she'll stay with her grandparents. It's possible that Hayley could still be charged with rape, but that decision has yet to be made.”

Daniel sat there for a minute. “I thought I was helping, somehow. If only I hadn't bollocksed everything … ”

“Don't blame yourself,” Ennis said. “Pursuing facts in a case doesn't change them. Hugh murdered at least three times in his life, and he would have killed again.”

“You know about Lizzie Marsden?”

“We believe that's how Inspector Murray knew Ashley-Hunt had killed Tamsyn. He was pursuing a new theory in Lizzie Marsden's death.” Ennis tapped his finger on the table. “Hugh might have gotten away with Tamsyn's murder, but Murray was closing in. And you were getting too close with your, shall we say, informal investigation.”

“I didn't go to his house to kill him,” Daniel said. “I wanted him to turn himself in.”

“I'm not suggesting you should have taken the law into your own hands, but you did stop him from killing again. No matter what Hardwicke says, and he's liable to fall on you like a ton of bricks, you have to feel good about that.”

Daniel sighed, unconvinced, as Ennis tossed his cup in the bin, nodded, and left the room.

Two weeks later, Daniel was ensconced in a cottage in Cornwall, hundreds of miles from anyone he knew. He had been there only a short time, but already he had a routine.

The house, which he had chosen from a dozen offered him by an estate agent, was modest by any standard. It needed a coat of paint, both inside and out, and the hinges on the doors shrieked like gulls every time they were opened. There were two bedrooms, a narrow sitting room, and a kitchen so small only the most rudimentary of meals could be prepared there. In the mornings, he made coffee and then walked into the village for scones and ham and bread, and then he retreated back to the cottage, where he'd set up a makeshift writing area on the small table where he could pound on his computer for a few hours a day. An idea for a screenplay had come to him; nothing serious or thought-provoking, but surprisingly sardonic and funny, and he was pleased with the start he'd made. He had no expectations that it would be successful, but if nothing else, it kept him from thinking about all of the loss he'd experienced over the past few weeks.

A photo rested against the mantelpiece of the small fireplace, newly taken, of Carey and Emma, along with a note Carey had sent with it:
“We're all fine here, and hope that you are finding peace once again. I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. Carey.”
He took it down now and looked at it for the hundredth time, relieved that she was beginning to heal.

He had placed his career on hold. He had backed out of the new film, relying on the sympathy of the producers involved to release him from his contract due to the intense emotional upheaval that had occurred in his life. And he felt nothing but relief. He wanted to speak to no one but the middle-aged woman in the shop where he got his food and the fishermen he nodded to when he went for long rambles on the rocky beach. Behind the cottage there was a field, long and sprawling, that backed against a small wood where he sat
each afternoon, contemplating everything and nothing. At night, he lay in bed swathed in white sheets, staring out at the stars until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. It was a start. Away from the noise of London and the expectations of his family and the world, he could begin to rebuild his life one day at a time.

After lunch, he sat at the computer, engrossed in his characters, who might have borne some resemblance to himself and Hugh in better times. He scratched his chin, which he hadn't shaved for days, and pushed up the sleeves as a knock sounded upon the door. Daniel looked up, surprised. In the fortnight he'd been in Cornwall, no one had come to the house. He collected the post from Mrs. Bates at the shop where he purchased his food. His mother, who had threatened to visit, had been assured via numerous emails that he needed to get away from everything and had at last given up her repeated requests to come see him. He stood, stretching his back from the long hour he'd spent in the hard chair, and went over to the door. When he opened it, Carey stood at the threshold.

“My God!” he said, without even opening the door for her to enter. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you're all right,” she said.

“I've been worried about you too.”

“I wasn't surprised when I heard you left London.”

“There are too many memories around every corner. I couldn't take it. But what about you? Have you decided what you're going to do?”

“I can't go back,” she answered. “I can only go forward.”

His manners suddenly remembered, Daniel opened the door wider for her to come in.

Instead, she shook her head.

“It's nice out here,” she said.

“It is,” he agreed. “I was just about to take a break.”

He pulled a blanket from the back of a chair, and leaving the door open, led the way to the garden and spread it on the ground. They wouldn't talk now, he knew. It would take days, maybe weeks, before they would be able to discuss what they'd been through, but at the moment that didn't matter. She was here. He sat down on one corner of the blanket and she on another, not touching. He worried that she was too fragile for that just now. In fact, he realized with a start, he was too.

Daniel watched as Carey looked out over the wide expanse of field as if she might never move from the spot. He felt a ripple of anticipation being near her. Her dress, a cotton sheath covered in a riot of violet flowers, brought Tamsyn to mind. He supposed he would always think of them together. In a way, being with Carey would keep Tamsyn alive; for both of them, no doubt. It was a pleasant thought. He stretched out on the woolen blanket beside her and felt the warm sun on his face and breathed in the salty sea air. The first day of summer had arrived.