by Julie Thomas
‘Shot the dog. The beautiful wife is next.’
Vinnie shook the notebook.
‘Not if you want this. Here it is, Lane. The original. Let her go.’
‘Where’s my muscle?’ Lane asked.
‘He sprang a leak. He’s fertilising my Cab Sav.’
Lane shook his head. ‘You clever arsehole. I’ve clearly underestimated you, Vinnie. You take after your father. You could have a great career as a criminal, and I could make you very rich.’
Vinnie glared at him. He could taste years of resentment and betrayal – it tasted like acid.
‘You’ve no beef with her. Let her go. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.’
Lane frowned and shook his head again. He was playing for time. ‘You know I can’t do that. It’s time for your family to pay –’
The rage had started to build inside Vinnie from his first sight of Lane and now it boiled over. ‘Pay? Fuck you, you bastard! We lost our whole lives because of you and your murdering son. Well, not anymore. It’s time to fight.’
As he yelled he walked forward, clenched his fist around the notebook and drew his elbow back into his stomach. He knew Anna was watching, and he knew she would understand. She read the gesture instantly, and jerked her elbows backwards into Lane’s gut.
The double blow winded him, and he dropped the gun.
She spun around, stomped on his instep and thrust her knee hard up into his groin. ‘From beautiful wife!’ she screamed at him.
He bent over double in agony. ‘Ahh! You bitch!’
Vinnie sprang forward and grabbed a wine bottle by the neck. He hit Lane over the head with the bottle, then punched him on the side of the face with his closed fist.
‘That’s for my father!’ he yelled.
Lane dropped to his knees.
‘Run!’ Vinnie called to Anna. ‘Call the police. Get Gabby and as many of the pickers as you can. Fermentation room.’
He ran across the courtyard and up the three steps to the fermentation room. Anna tore her gaze from Lane’s straightening figure and sprinted in the opposite direction towards the house. As she passed Lane’s gun, she kicked it away under a pallet of bottles.
The natural light in the fermentation room was almost gone. Vinnie hit the switch as he entered, and harsh, artificial light flooded the scene. He crossed the wet floor, put the gun in his belt and started to climb the steel steps to the one vat that still contained must. This was a highly dangerous option, but it was the only one that offered revenge.
Lane reached the foot of the steps as Vinnie moved off onto the gantry. Vinnie took the notebook from his pocket and held it out over the liquid.
‘Come on you sick, murdering bastard,’ he called down. ‘You want us, you come and get us.’
Lane pulled himself up the steps and, as he reached the top, Vinnie flicked the notebook over his head and onto the floor as he kicked Lane in the face. Lane’s head jerked back, but he grasped Vinnie’s ankle in one hand and pulled him towards the ladder. Vinnie fell backwards, seized the side of the tank on the way down and battled back to his feet. Lane hauled himself onto the gantry and the two bodies met, fists flying.
Lane was six inches taller and was punching from above, but he was older and nowhere near as muscular as Vinnie, and his blows glanced off Vinnie’s shoulders. Both men grunted with the effort. Try as he might, though, Vinnie couldn’t land a substantial hit – Lane was just too tall.
The metal floor was slippery and they both lost their balance and hit the tank as they slid down. For a moment they stared at each other, naked loathing on both faces. Lane snatched at the gun in Vinnie’s belt, but Vinnie countered and bashed Lane’s forearm against the metal. The gun flew from his grasp and into the must.
‘Contaminate my wine?’ Vinnie panted. ‘I don’t think so.’
He pushed himself off Lane’s chest and stood up. As Lane started to rise, Vinnie swung for him, but Lane blocked the punch and twisted his arm, wrenching his shoulder.
Lane hissed in his ear: ‘Fuck your vinegar piss! There’s something I haven’t told you –’
Vinnie jerked himself away, breathing deeply to combat the rising CO2 and the pain in his body.
‘What would I want to know from you?’ He spat out the last word.
Lane smiled slowly and wiped the blood and juice from his own face. ‘I saw your stupid father die, before I put the gun in his hand.’
‘But –’
Again Lane snorted.
‘All these years you thought he killed himself. All that shame and betrayal. You even came to my father and apologised! I made Bert write the note, and then I –’
Vinnie let out a primeval scream and launched himself at Lane’s waist. The momentum drove both men sideways. They teetered for a moment against the rim of the tank. Lane resisted and tried to push Vinnie away, but both sets of feet gave way and they toppled in, still clinging to each other.
They were sensations he recognised, cold, wet and sticky, followed by the overpowering smell and lack of oxygen. Lane grasped at him and hung on, not in anger now, in desperation. Vinnie landed a weak punch, peeled Lane’s clawing fingers off his arms and kicked off the big man’s flailing body. He flung himself at the smooth steel side, reached up with his hands and gripped the rim. Take a deep breath and hold on. The voice came from somewhere inside.
Out in the middle of the tank Lane fought against the viscous liquid and choked as the CO2 enveloped him. ‘Help me! Vinnie!’ The more he writhed, the more rapidly he sank.
Vinnie tried to pull himself above the cloud of gas, but his hands slipped and he had to scramble to get his hold back. The pain in his lungs was agonising, and he tried again to gasp some air. Hold on, they won’t be long. They better not be; he didn’t have long.
At the same moment that Anna and Gabby reached the entrance to the fermentation room, Peter Harper sprinted up the steps, followed by DC Ruwhiu.
‘Anna!’ Harper exclaimed.
She stopped in her tracks. ‘Good God! Peter!’
Gabby looked from one to the other in complete bewilderment.
‘What are you –’ Anna asked.
‘Lane, he knows about –’
She pointed inside. ‘He’s here. Vinnie ran, Lane’s chasing him.’
Gabby looked towards the tank. ‘Get the ladder!’
As she indicated the ladder against the wall, Ruwhiu reached it. Gabby ran to the tank and started to climb, Harper just behind her. Ruwhiu handed the ladder to Anna, who handed it to Harper, who handed it up to Gabby, who hooked it over the rim of the tank.
‘Get me that plunger,’ Gabby barked.
The desperation in her voice was clear. She pointed to a metal plunger hanging from a hook on the wall. Ruwhiu retrieved it and handed it up the chain to her.
‘Dom, can you hear me?’ Gabby called out. ‘I’ve got the plunger. Reach out, grab the plunger.’
Vinnie was losing consciousness. His body felt numb and his mind was wandering. The bitter juice splashed into his mouth and stung his eyes. He could see the metal rod coming towards him, a silver shape amidst all the red must – there and then gone, there and then gone. Something else shimmered in the distance – two blue eyes and brown curly hair. Where was Anna? Wasn’t she the last thing he was supposed to see as he died? All he could hear was a line from Jesus Christ Superstar about sinking in a puddle, or was it a pool, of wine?
Gabby clambered over the edge and held onto the side of the ladder. She stretched the plunger out until it just bumped Vinnie on the shoulder.
His fingers slipped off the rim and he clutched the rod, almost an involuntary gesture.
‘Yes, that’s right. Come on, Dom. Nearly there!’ Gabby called.
He wrapped his arm around the plunger, and she pulled him through the must to the ladder. He could see her now, the eyes, the freckles, the ponytail, the vision swimming in front of his eyes. Was it the Angel of Death or were they coming to rescue him?
S
he looked back at Harper and Ruwhiu, who stood on the gantry above her. ‘He can’t climb. He’s got nothing left. Help me haul him up.’
Harper leaned past her and seized Vinnie’s shirt. He rose up out of the must, his hands running along, but not gripping, the sides of the ladder. As soon as the men could get a decent grip on him, Gabby ducked sideways and they hoisted him up and over the rim. He fell onto the gantry, sucking in deep breaths of oxygen and coughing up must.
Harper knelt down beside him. ‘Where’s Lane?’ he asked gently.
Vinnie pointed towards the tank and spat out skins. Gabby clambered over the edge and back onto the framework. Like Vinnie, she dripped with red juice.
‘He’s gone under,’ she panted. ‘Only hope would be to drain the must. But he won’t have survived this long …’ Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at them.
Harper nodded, and he and Ruwhiu helped Vinnie to his feet.
‘Do it,’ he ordered. ‘Make sure.’
As Vinnie and Anna walked slowly across the courtyard, his arm around her shoulders, a dog whimpered somewhere close in the darkness. They stopped.
‘Merlot,’ Vinnie called urgently. ‘Come here, boy. Come to Daddy.’
Merlot limped out from the vehicle shed, his tail wagging slowly. Vinnie went down on one knee and the dog wobbled over to him.
‘There, there, boy. Let me see. Good boy.’
He cradled the dog and gently examined the hole in his hindquarter. Merlot turned and tried to lick him. Anna knelt and stroked his head, and Merlot licked her fingers.
‘That’s my good boy,’ she said softly.
Vinnie looked up at her. ‘It’s a flesh wound, more of a graze.’
Anna put her face down and kissed the dog and rubbed his ears. ‘Oh, thank God! You were such a brave boy, growling at the bad man. Yes, you were.’
She looked up at Vinnie. ‘Well, the vet’s up there, drinking our wine, so he may as well patch Merlot up while he’s here,’ she said.
Vinnie grinned at her and wiped juice from his face with his hand. ‘A house call! Let me take a shower before you tell him. I don’t really want everyone to know I’ve taken a swim in the Malbec.’
Twenty minutes later, Anna was standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the party in full swing in the illuminated garden below. She turned as Vinnie came into the room. He had showered and changed. As they embraced, he enveloped her and held her tight.
‘I could have lost you,’ she murmured.
He kissed the top of her head and buried his face in her hair. ‘No chance. I’m not that easy to misplace.’
So much had changed in a matter of moments and she felt overwhelmed, but still his humour could make her smile.
She waited a moment, then pulled back and grinned up at him. ‘Dear Lord in heaven, we’ve got some explaining to do to Gabby!’ she said.
‘You think?’
Harper appeared in the doorway. As Vinnie turned towards him he felt a tickle of dread in the back of his exhausted mind. Peter wasn’t just there to warn them, to save them from Norman. Marcus would find out where his father had died, and how and why. Their beloved Rocky Bay was no longer safe.
‘Come in, Peter. Nice to see you again.’
Harper walked across to join them. ‘Just wanted to tell you the ambulance is here. They’ll take the bodies away. I’ve called CID –’
‘But they’ll accept self-defence, won’t they?’
The sudden fear in Anna’s voice was plain to both men.
Harper smiled reassuringly. ‘Absolutely. I just wish I’d got here earlier,’ he said. ‘We’ll all need to go across to the Auckland station –’
Anna touched his arm. ‘Tonight? He’s been through so much, and we have a garden full of confused, but unsuspecting, guests. And Mary’s here.’
Harper nodded. He and Vinnie exchanged a glance loaded with understanding.
‘Tomorrow will be fine; we’ll face it all tomorrow. I, for one, want to taste this famous wine of yours!’
Vinnie broke into a relieved grin. ‘Wouldn’t mind a drop myself.’
PART FIVE
CHOCOLATE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MELISSA LANE
Eventually two undertakers presented the correct documentation and were allowed to collect Steven Carter’s body. The mortuary workers asked no questions and helped them load the corpse into their hearse.
Melissa Lane waited for the arrival of her husband’s remains. She was tense and filled with a diffused anger that swung from Vinnie to Marcus to Norman and back to the bloody justice system. Then the practical details took over from her grief and she became determined to give her husband a good funeral. He hadn’t been an easy man to live with, but he had provided well and kept his business life away from their home – except, she had to admit, for the last months. Her daughter was long dead, now her husband was dead and her son was in prison: the ‘business’ had all but destroyed her family.
When she faced the world it would be as the widow of an important man who had died of a heart attack while gardening at home. No one but she, Marcus, Tom and the ‘family’ undertakers knew about the trip to New Zealand, and that was the way it would stay.
They put the coffin in the front room and opened the lid for her to take a look, then suggested it be closed again as he had been in storage for some time. His travelling under an alias had meant there had been a delay in finding him. She touched his forehead. His skin was hard and waxy, his body looked smaller and his face was shrunken. She leaned closer and clipped a lock of his hair, then whispered: ‘Goodbye, my sweet.’ Then she straightened up and nodded to the men standing over by the wall.
Marcus Lane sat in his cell and wrote a letter to his mother. He’d had a phone conversation with her, during which she had told him what had happened to his father. All she knew was what the police had said about Steven Carter: he had gone swimming at a surf beach on Waiheke Island and had drowned. She knew that was untrue. Norman wasn’t there for a holiday, and he would never have gone swimming – he hated beaches.
Marcus felt as though someone had stuck a knife in his heart and twisted it. They had had a tumultuous relationship, but Marcus had secretly adored and respected his father. As soon as he had heard about his father’s death, he had made an immediate request for compassionate leave to attend the funeral. Now his mind was a fierce mêlée of emotions: fury, guilt, grief and frustration. He should be there for her, and he should be running the family business …
‘Lane.’
He looked up. The deputy governor and a senior guard stood on the other side of his cell door.
He got to his feet and dropped the pen. ‘Yes, sir.’
The deputy governor nodded and the cell door slid back.
‘I have some news for you.’
‘About my request?’
Marcus hated how hopeful his voice sounded, how dependant he was on these men for his happiness. It was a clear indication of how much of his edge he had lost.
The men stepped inside the cell. ‘You have been a model prisoner, and it is your father. Request granted. You will be escorted by two guards and will have to wear handcuffs.’
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you, sir.’
The funeral was at All Hallows Church in Twickenham. It was a big service, with lots of flowers and mourners, a choir and speeches from friends and family. Marcus spoke on behalf of his mother and thanked everyone for coming.
‘My father was acutely aware of the injustice of my conviction and worked tirelessly to secure my freedom.’ There was a murmur around the church. Marcus stared hard at them and the sound died. ‘I loved him for that. The fact that he never gave up. I know my mother will continue the fight, and when I am a free man I’ll raise a toast to Dad.’
As they walked away from the graveside service, the guards were about to direct Marcus back to the prison van when a short, middle-aged man approached them.
‘Melissa, ma
y I offer my condolences?’
She shook his extended hand. ‘Thank you, Stephen.’
‘Marcus, how are you?’ he asked.
‘Quite well, considering.’
It was Stephen Scott, Norman’s senior lawyer. The two men hadn’t met since the end of the trial, and Marcus was polite but distant.
‘Good, good, glad to hear that. Melissa, can I come and see you? I want to discuss relevant issues.’
Melissa nodded. ‘Of course. Give me a couple of days and then call.’
A week later Melissa sat at her dining room table and read her husband’s will. Everything was left to her, and then to Marcus on her death. Norman had changed his will when his son went to prison, appointing Tom McGregor as his successor until Marcus was released, and leaving the house and his fortune to Melissa if he predeceased her.
‘I have one question before we go any further, Melissa,’ Stephen Scott said, his tone quiet and reassuring.
She looked at him. For some reason she found him repulsive, reptilian and smug. ‘Which is?’
‘Where did Norman die and what was he actually doing?’
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she folded the will in half and laid it on the table. They gazed at each other.
‘What makes you think he didn’t die of a heart attack in the garden?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Instinct. And I knew Norman.’
She stared into the middle distance for a full minute. What would it take to make him disappear and never come back? Can you kill someone simply because they are odious? She was quite sure Norman would, and had.
‘Why do you want to know? Does it change anything?’ she asked.
‘It might do. If he was on business connected with Marcus it might change a great deal.’
‘How?’ Her voice was sharp.
‘Was it to do with Marcus?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he find out the identity and location of Witness A?’
‘He … might have done.’
‘Tell me about him. Did he kill Norman?’