The service was moving. The final piece of music to be played was ‘Ave Maria’. Kate wasn’t religious, but as she sat and listened to the beautiful, haunting melody she understood how important it was for Malcolm and Sheila to have Caitlyn’s remains blessed, and for her to be buried under the watchful eye of a higher power.
As the final notes were played, Caitlyn’s coffin was slowly carried back down the aisle and out to the graveyard. Kate wiped a tear away, and saw Tristan do the same.
Sheila and Malcolm had asked that they be left for a final private moment with Caitlyn when the coffin was laid to rest, and as the congregation filed out, Kate overheard many of the mourners say the wake would be in the local pub.
They chose to wait for Sheila and Malcolm at the front of the graveyard.
‘What happens to Peter now?’ asked Jake, breaking the silence.
‘He’s in the hospital wing at Great Barwell, but he’s going to make a full recovery,’ said Kate. ‘And he’ll be assessed to see if he’s fit to stand trial for the murder of Dr Baxter.’
‘And hopefully Caitlyn,’ said Tristan.
Paul Adler had been taken into custody shortly after Caitlyn’s remains were identified. The police had raided both his home and the chemist, and they had found more evidence of his connection with Peter Conway, and photos of other young women. The discovery of Caitlyn’s body, and the subsequent reporting of the case on TV, had led to other women coming forward with stories of abuse. It was a positive development, but only the beginning.
‘Is Joseph going to be put in the same mental hospital as . . . Peter?’ asked Jake.
‘No. There were originally plans to,’ said Kate, ‘but the police thought it better that they separate them.’
Had Jake been about to say ‘Dad’ and then stopped himself? No – when they had to talk about him, they referred to him as ‘Peter’. She wondered if Joseph Castle-Meads would ever be declared fit enough to stand trial. His family had swooped in with the best lawyers and used their connections. The press wouldn’t get the field day they were hoping for, on an establishment figure like Tarquin Castle-Meads and his son.
As they waited by the gate of the churchyard, a man and a woman approached them. They were well dressed and appeared to be in their fifties. The camera slung around the man’s neck alerted Kate that they were local press.
‘Kate Marshall, can we have a moment?’ the woman asked, a tiny Dictaphone poised in her hand.
‘Sorry, no,’ said Kate.
‘I’m after a comment, that’s all,’ the woman went on. ‘As you may have seen, Tarquin Castle-Meads QC and his wife are coming back to the UK to deal with the news that their son is the serial killer of four young women and had hatched this bizarre plot to recreate the Nine Elms Cannibal killings. Several news outlets have recalled that Tarquin Castle-Meads criticised your relationship with Peter Conway during the original Nine Elms Cannibal trial. Does it feel like justice for you, that he is now forced to face up to his son being a serial killer?’ She held her Dictaphone under Kate’s nose, eyes wide and eager.
Kate thought back to all the times people had spoken out against her. She could give this journalist a juicy quote and get even. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to move on.
‘No comment,’ she said.
‘How about Enid Conway? The police are struggling to find evidence to charge her with. Do you know how she communicated with Peter in Great Barwell? And how do you feel now that your de facto mother-in-law will probably remain a free woman?’
Kate resisted the urge to change the subject and relive the story of how Enid was fished out of Portsmouth harbour like a drowned rat. The story had given her great satisfaction, and a good laugh, but she chose to take the high road again.
‘Sorry. No comment.’
‘And finally, how do you feel now that Peter Conway, the Nine Elms Cannibal, lives to fight another day? He’ll soon be discharged from hospital, back into the care of Great Barwell.’
Kate had so many feelings: of guilt, of dread and fear. She would never wish death on anyone, but it would have been a huge release if Peter Conway had died.
‘No comment,’ said Kate. She didn’t see Sheila and Malcolm walk up to their group, still tearful after saying goodbye to Caitlyn.
‘Go on, shoo,’ said Malcolm to the journalists, and they reluctantly moved off and left them alone.
‘I know we’ve said it so many times, but thank you, Kate, and you too, Tristan,’ said Sheila, embracing them both. ‘Just for me to know that she’s been laid to rest, and I can come and sit by her grave and talk to her . . . ’ She began to tear up.
‘If we can ever do anything for you,’ said Malcolm. ‘Was that journalist from the local rag bothering you?’
‘No. I’ve had worse,’ said Kate.
‘You must be pleased with that article in the Guardian? It was difficult for us to read, but it showed you for what you are, a great private detective. And you too, lad,’ he added to Tristan.
Sheila opened her handbag. ‘We wanted to give you both this,’ she said, handing Kate an envelope.
Kate opened it. It contained a cheque for £5,000.
‘We can’t take this,’ she said.
‘It’s from the Victims of Crime Fund, from the government . . . for Caitlyn’s death,’ said Sheila. ‘We would like you and Tristan to have it, for your expenses, and also in the hope that you’ll carry on doing what you’re doing. You were our last hope, and your detective work found our little girl.’
‘Please, take it, and put it to good use,’ said Malcolm.
They all hugged again, and Malcolm and Sheila left.
Kate, Tristan and Jake hung back for a moment. As they made their way to the car, the sun broke through the clouds.
Jake held Kate’s hand. ‘No one knows me here,’ he said.
‘I’ll take what I can get. You’ll soon be a grown man and won’t want to hold my hand.’ Kate smiled.
‘Who fancies fish and chips?’ asked Tristan.
‘Me, me, me!’ cried Jake. ‘I love that chip shop in Ashdean.’
‘We’re miles from Ashdean,’ said Kate.
‘Let’s find one close by,’ said Jake. ‘But can we go to the one in Ashdean when I come back to stay in two weeks?’ Jake had asked if he could stay with Kate more often, and Glenda had agreed.
‘Of course,’ said Kate as they got in the car.
‘Right, let’s find the nearest fish and chip shop. We also need to celebrate officially being professional private investigators,’ said Tristan.
Kate nodded and smiled. She was scared about the future, and how in the coming years Jake would deal with being the son of Peter Conway, and the trauma of what he’d been through. But for now, she had all she wanted. Jake was by her side, he was safe and happy, and they were going to get fish and chips.
Kate promised herself she would hold onto this feeling of happiness, and remember that the light always triumphed over darkness.
A LETTER FROM ROB
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read the first book in my new crime series. If you did enjoy Nine Elms, I would be very grateful if you could tell your friends and family. A word-of-mouth recommendation is incredibly powerful, and it helps me reach out to new readers. Your endorsement makes a big difference! You could also write a product review. It needn’t be long, just a few words, but this also helps new readers find one of my books for the first time.
The UK seaside town of Ashdean, its University, and its inhabitants are fictitious, as is Thurlow Bay, where Kate Marshall lives on the clifftop. If you would like to look up the location on a UK map, I imagine Ashdean occupying a place on the south coast of England, next to a beautiful town called Budleigh Salterton. Great Barwell psychiatric hospital is also fictitious. The other locations used are real, but as with all fiction, I’ll hope you forgive me for using a little dramatic licence.
To find out more about me, or to send me a message, you can check out m
y website www.robertbryndza.com.
Kate Marshall will return shortly, for another gripping murder investigation in Shadow Sands. Until then . . .
Robert Bryndza
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’m extremely lucky to work with my fantastic UK publishers at Sphere. Thank you to Cath Burke, Thalia Proctor, Sarah Shrubb and all the team for your enthusiasm for this new series, and here’s to many more books.
Thank you to my editor, Charlotte Herscher. Working with you is a real joy and I learnt so much from you. Thank you for pushing me to make Nine Elms the best it could be.
Thank you also to all my readers and publishers around the world. I’ve had the good fortune to travel to so many new places to meet my readers, and the foreign publishers who publish my books with so much care and passion. I hope I get to visit many more of you in the future!
Thank you to my brilliant agent, Amy Tannenbaum Gottlieb, and the equally brilliant team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency.
Thank you to Maminko Vierka. I wouldn’t be a successful writer without your help, love and support.
And a huge thank you to my husband, Ján, the love of my life, best friend and truth canyon You believed in me every step of the way, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I’m so happy to be able to share our success together.
And lastly, thank you to the readers and book bloggers. When I started out, it was you who were there reading and championing my books. Word of mouth is the most powerful form of advertising, and I will never forget that readers and so many wonderful book bloggers are the most important people. I hope you enjoyed Nine Elms. There are lots more books to come, and I hope you stay with me for the ride!
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Nine Elms: The thrilling first book in a brand-new, electrifying crime series (Kate Marshall 1) Page 34