Kissed a Sad Goodbye

ALTHOUGH LEWIS HAD KEPT HIS ROOM above the stable, he had for several years shared a bathroom on the second floor with William.

That evening, after tea, he’d finished his bath and had just stepped from the tub when he heard the door open behind him. William, come to patch things up at last, he thought as he reached for his towel, but when he glanced up at the mirror he saw nothing but the fog from his bath. “It’s taken you long enough,” he said, determined to make light of it, for they had been avoiding one another all day.

Then he heard hoarse breathing close by, and arms went round him, pinning him hard with his knees against the cast-iron tub.

“Hasn’t it?” said Freddie, and Lewis felt him fumbling against him, and then came a searing pain.

For an instant, he didn’t understand what was happening. Then, as Freddie thrust against him, he began to struggle with all the strength of his rage and humiliation. Freddie tightened his grasp, hissing, “You’ll do what I want, boy. I saw her leave this morning—I know what you’ve been—”

The door opened and Lewis wrenched himself round, but he couldn’t free himself from Freddie’s grip.

William stood in the doorway.

And Freddie smiled. “You know all about it, don’t you, William? You learned it at school. And if you know what’s good for you … and your little cause … you’ll bugger off … now.”

William stood frozen, white-faced with shock, his hand raised, his lips parted in protest.

Then he met Lewis’s eyes—and turned away. The door clicked shut behind him.

GORDON STOOD OUTSIDE THE CALL BOX at Mudchute Station, staring at the smudged card he’d found in his trouser pocket. Gemma had given it to him the first time she’d come to his flat—it seemed ages ago, not a mere five days—and she’d scribbled her mobile number on the back.

He’d already provided the police with enough information to damn his father—would he make things even worse by ringing her now? But as he turned away, he saw again Lewis’s face as he had sped off in the car, and an urgency that made his stomach feel hollow drove him back to the phone.

When Gemma answered, he said without preamble, “Lewis didn’t kill Annabelle.”

“Gordon?”

“All the time I thought he’d killed her, he was thinking the same about me. And when he realized it wasn’t me, he said—it didn’t make sense.…”

“Go on,” said Gemma, her voice tense.

“He said …” Gordon paused, struggling to remember the exact words. “He said he should have known … and then something about not letting him get away with it again. Then he drove off.… He looked … I’m afraid he’ll do something crazy.…”

“Gordon?”

He didn’t answer. Without warning, the pieces had come together in a way he hadn’t thought possible, and he felt a surge of anger so intense it left him shaking.

“Gordon?”

Realizing he was still holding the receiver to his ear, he said, “I have to go,” and aimed the phone at the cradle as he turned away.

He reached his flat in minutes and took the stairs three at a time, startling Sam into a volley of barking when he burst through the door. “It’s all right, boy,” he said automatically. But he knew nothing was all right unless he could make it so.

Dropping to his knees, he dug under the bed until his fingers touched the smooth wood of the box stored there, a gift from his father on his twenty-first birthday, one of the few possessions he had carted from place to place over the years. He slid it free and clicked up the latches.