Epilogue
Barbara Adcott kept still for the obligatory photograph and waited while her passport was checked, concentrating on breathing normally, keeping her eye on the passport control officer, a slight smile curving her lips.
‘Are you here for business or pleasure?’ The officer’s eyes flicked from the photograph on the passport to the attractive brunette standing in front of him.
‘A bit of both,’ Barbara said, increasing the intensity of her smile. ‘I’ve been moving about a bit recently. I’m planning to settle here permanently if things work out.’
‘Have a good stay and good luck.’ With a nod, the officer shut Barbara’s passport and handed it back to her.
A taxi took her to her central Toronto hotel. Within minutes she’d checked in and was shown to her luxurious fifth-floor room where floor-to-ceiling windows gave a stunning view of the city. ‘Very nice,’ she said, handing the porter a folded five-dollar bill.
Leaving her luggage where it was, she moved to the window and stared out. Toronto had been a good choice. Big enough to get lost in, big enough to offer her opportunities. Her reflection in the window made her smile. It was surprising how different she looked with short dark hair, she had to look twice sometimes. Reaching a hand up, she tucked a strand behind her ear and stared through her reflection to the city below.
The flicker of regret that she’d felt on and off since that clifftop drama sparked into flame again. Could she have done it any differently? As soon as she’d let the words out about killing Matt Peters, she’d regretted them, but they weren’t words she could take back. For all their lies and deception, even taking into account Joanne’s career choice, both she and Megan were law-abiding decent people. They wouldn’t have been able to let it go.
The realisation she’d made a huge mistake was immediate, as was her response. She was used to thinking on her feet, to making snap decisions to deal with potential threats so she hadn’t hesitated, running from the car, the plan forming in her head as she moved.
The view of Toronto faded as her eyes filled. Resting her forehead on the cold window, she shut her eyes, feeling hot tears run down her cheeks. Had Joanne and Megan realised that she hadn’t jumped with them? Letting their hands go at the last moment, she’d thrown herself backwards for safety, hugging the cold wet ground as raindrops bounced off her skin. The wind whistled in her ears. If they’d called out as they fell, she wouldn’t have heard and she was glad. She wouldn’t have wanted to hear their last words, to know if they were aware that she’d lied one last time. Anyway, at that stage it was too late for words.
It had been such a risky strategy, her daring made her gasp even now, two months after the fact. With a glance around to make sure the coast was still clear, she’d scrabbled to her feet, left her clothes where they were and run, naked, back to the car. There was an old rug in the boot. She’d dragged it around her wet body and jumped into the driver’s seat.
Beth had sat shivering, partly from the cold, more from what she’d just done. It wasn’t sensible to stay there but it was several minutes before she was able to shake off the numbness. Then she did, because it was done, and she needed to make sure it hadn’t been done in vain. Leaning over the passenger seat, she’d searched for a moment, her eyes narrowing when she’d found what she was looking for, one of Joanne’s long blonde hairs.
With it clutched in her hand, Beth had checked outside to ensure she was still alone in the car park and hurried from her car into the back seat of Megan’s, the wind grabbing at the thin blanket and whipping it around her as she moved. Inside, she leaned forward and placed the blonde hair on the passenger seat and pulled a hair from her head to lay on the headrest behind. She opened and closed the seatbelt, touched the window, opened the door and dashed back to her own car. That should give them enough evidence that they’d all travelled there together. There would be none of Joanne’s fingerprints in the car, but that couldn’t be helped. The lone hair would have to suffice.
With a last glance at Megan’s car, Beth had reversed quickly and driven from the car park.
There was only one place she could go. Joanne’s house. With the weather as it was, nobody was going to discover their clothes for a few hours. They’d identify Megan first from her car, but it would take longer to place Beth and Joanne. She guessed she’d be safe in Joanne’s house for a night anyway. And getting in would be easy, after all, she’d done it before.
In Royal Tunbridge Wells, she’d found parking a short distance from the laneway she needed to access. The blanket covered her but it would have drawn attention she didn’t want or need, so she snuggled down in her seat and waited for darkness and the quiet of night.
It took only minutes to get to the back gateway, her bare feet slipping on the mossy ground, biting her lip to stop the automatic squeal of disgust when she walked on something live and gelatinous.
The crowbar she’d used to lever the window open was still where she’d dropped it and she was soon inside. She couldn’t resist a grin and cheer of satisfaction, but the woo hoo echoed in the silent house, her grin fading on the first tiny flicker of regret and the sudden almost overwhelming sense of loss.
She’d padded upstairs, pulled on a pair of pyjamas, and set about preparing for her future, keeping herself busy, refusing to dwell on what had been done… what she had done.
Finding a suitcase, she opened it on the floor of the spare bedroom and stared at the array of clothes hanging on stands or piled on the bed. She was lucky for although Joanne had been inches taller, they’d been the same build and into the case went trousers she could turn up, shirts, skirts, underwear and a couple of Joanne’s less-revealing dresses. A couple of jumpers, a jacket and she was set. Joanne had slightly bigger feet than Beth but she found a couple of flat pairs of shoes that would do for a while. Lastly, because she couldn’t resist, she added a pair of Joanne’s precious Louboutin shoes. With a quick check to make sure she’d everything she needed, Beth shut the case.
She slipped on a pair of gloves she’d found in the wardrobe. It was a sensible precaution, they’d find her fingerprints in various parts of the house, but they might be suspicious to find them on the bedside lockers. There she found what she’d been looking for – a jewellery box. Joanne had some very nice pieces and Beth knew she would need every penny to make her plan work. It didn’t take her long to go through it and remove the good stuff – the diamonds and the gold.
She left her car where it was. They’d find it out on the street and assume she’d left it there to travel with Joanne. But there was something she needed to take from it. Throwing a coat over the pyjamas, she’d opened the front door, locked the latch to ensure it didn’t shut her out, and hurried to the car. With the boot open, she’d pulled up the mat that covered the spare wheel and felt around the space, grunting when she found the packet she was searching for.
Back in the house, she’d opened it and taken out the contents. She had been honest with her friends, she’d always known there was a possibility she’d be caught someday and she wasn’t a fool, she’d made plans. In the packet was a passport and references from a now-defunct private investigation company, all in the name of Barbara Adcott. The references were a few years out of date; that wasn’t a worry, she’d come up with a cover story. More importantly, the passport was in date.
Next morning, grabbing the suitcase and her bag, she’d pulled a beanie over her hair, walked to the train station and paid cash for a ticket to Manchester. Her mind stayed blank as the train chugged along. Changing trains in London, she’d kept her eyes on the ground in front of her feet, the collar of her jacket turned up, and tried to stay in the middle of large groups of people.
It wasn’t until she’d checked into a cheap Manchester hotel in the early afternoon that she allowed herself to relax. A local supermarket had provided all she needed for the next step, and two hours later, her hair cut and dyed, she checked it against the passport photograph. She’d done a good job.
It was a few weeks before she’d managed to sell the jewellery. She’d carefully sussed out suitable shops before approaching them. With some compromise and bargaining, she was three thousand pounds better off. It wasn’t much but it was enough. Money had been the weak part of her plan, the two hundred pounds she had managed to put away wouldn’t have lasted long. It certainly wouldn’t have got her to Canada.
But now, thanks to Joanne, here she was.
Beth pushed away from the window. It was a nice hotel; she’d stay for a couple of nights before moving somewhere cheaper. Her friends’ faces came to her again as she sat with whiskey from the minibar and looked out over the lights of Toronto. She’d done them a favour, really, they’d nothing to live for. Neither had she, as Joanne had rightly pointed out, but she’d never been the type of person to give up. And she’d made it. New country, new identity.
She’d thought about a change of career, would have done so but for the final text she’d received on her phone from DS Kadam. Beth and Sunita Kadam had known each other for years, and Beth knew she’d have been stunned to hear the allegations against her. So, expecting Sunita to cut all ties, she was surprised to hear from her. Then she read the text.
The forensic team searching Arthur Lewis’ house found hundreds of pornographic photographs of young girls, among them photos of Lydia Forest. I hope this helps, good luck, Sunita.
It had indeed helped. It had made her reconsider her future. She hadn’t lied; what she’d thought had happened to Megan all those years ago had set her on this path, but what had kept her on it was getting justice for girls like Lydia. Beth was good at what she did. Being a police officer had provided her with good training and knowledge but she’d had to bend rules to get the job done. There had been a wobble when she’d learned the truth about Megan, wondering if Beth had put innocent men away. But her colleague’s text had straightened that out. Her instincts were spot on. Perhaps, here in Canada, she could carry on what had become more of a mission than a job.
Tomorrow, she had an interview with a private investigation firm and she was confident she could convince them to give her a position. They weren’t offering much money but they weren’t asking too many questions, and initially she wouldn’t be doing anything of importance. She had it all planned. First, she’d do a Private Investigator Training course, a necessary step if she wanted to apply for a Private Investigator Licence.
Once she had that, she could set up on her own and get back to what she did best. And this time, within reason, she could make her own rules and regulations. She imagined Megan sniffing the word vigilante and Joanne’s laugh as she told Beth to go for it. Their voices and laughter echoed in her head and made her smile.
Megan and Joanne… sometimes… half-awake in the middle of the night… Beth would swear she felt their hands in hers. Maybe, she wasn’t going on this new journey entirely alone. Was it a coincidence that her short dark hair was a little like Megan’s; and in Joanne’s clothes, hadn’t Beth acquired a little of her glamour?
They were dead… Beth was too… but Barbara Adcott had an exciting life ahead of her. She’d make sure she lived it for all three of them.
Acknowledgements
Grateful thanks to the Bloodhound team, in particular to the director of Bloodhound Books, Betsy Reavley, who had faith in me: Tara Lyons, Editorial and Production Manager, for getting this book organised: Heather Fitt, Publicity Manager, for ensuring it got out there, and my editor, Morgen Bailey, for making it better.
A huge thanks to readers, reviewers and bloggers who spread the word and make writing worthwhile.
Thanks to my friends and family for the ongoing support, for listening, encouraging and cheering me on.
The writing community is so supportive and I have made some good friends who are generous with their time and encouragement. Grateful thanks to the author, Leslie Bratspis, who read an early ARC and gave me editorial advice. To the author Jenny O’Brien, for your unfailing support and encouragement. To the authors Vikki Patis, Jim Ody and Pam Lecky for your friendship – thank you all.
A big thank you to Sam MacInnes of Edwards Stationery shop in Melksham who was happy to answer questions about photocopying.
I love to hear from readers – I can be contacted as follows:
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Twitter: @ValerieKeogh1
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