Valentina gestured to a chair. ‘Sit, please.’ She gave Kaz a hesitant smile. ‘I will tell Oliver that you are here. Help yourself to a drink.’
Left alone, Kaz poured a small glass from a pitcher of orange juice and drifted out of the terrace doors and over to the balustrade. Clear water lapped on a small pebble beach below, stirred by passing boats and the wake of the ferries. Nothing else moved in the gardens on either side of the building.
Devlin was somewhere out there. Kaz fingered the phone in her pocket. In most households a visiting daughter would not have been kept waiting in an ante-room while her father was asked if he wanted to see her. In most households a daughter didn’t arrive with the intention of accusing her father of murder. Kaz’s shoulders sagged a little. Even now, she didn’t have to do this.
Minutes passed. Kaz finished her juice and looked at her watch. Her father would know by now that she was here. A boat skimmed close to the shore. The wash made choppy waves on the tiny beach. Oliver was taking his time, deciding if he would see her. Would he really refuse?
There was a sound behind her. She spun round. Valentina was coming back. The woman was smiling. Somehow it made her face look even more haggard. ‘Oliver is in his studio. Would you like to come up?’
It was shady in the lee of the garage block, but Devlin could feel sweat on his back. He was standing downwind of an enormous urn of pink lilies. The heavy scent caught in his throat. The urge to reconnoitre was another hard habit to break. Restless, once the two women had disappeared from view, he’d penetrated further into the outbuildings, towards the back of the villa. More than half his mind was with Kaz in the house. Not a good move, but he just couldn’t help it. He took out his phone, to make sure it was still on, then stuck it back in the pocket of his jeans. Should he go back and wait near the car? Or take a longer look around?
Curiosity won. Once Oliver knew that Kaz was here, the surprise card had been played. Secrecy didn’t really matter. Even so, he moved cautiously out of the shade.
Ahead of him was a small, squat tower, built of yellowing brick. It looked as if it was older than the villa. An exterior staircase led up to a door at the top. Devlin walked round it, and found two heavy doors, big enough to take a cart, on the other side. Some sort of storage tower?
The doors at ground level didn’t look as if they’d been opened in years, but there were new windows under the roof and they were all open. Intrigued, Devlin went back to the steps and began to climb.
The door at the top had been fastened on the outside by the simple expedient of stuffing a metal rod through the handle. Devlin took it out and shoved it in his pocket. The door swung inwards silently. The familiar smell of oil paint came to meet him. A quick burst of panic flared, before reason reasserted itself. Unlikely that anyone would be locking Oliver Kessel into his own studio. So what was going on here?
Inside the door was a small hallway and another set of steps. The walls and the treads were freshly plastered and painted white. A high, narrow window gave a glittering view over the lake.
Devlin waited for a moment, listening. There was a small scraping noise from above, then a silence that sounded like someone holding their breath. Devlin hesitated, then propped open the door behind him with a doorstop shaped like a shell, that he found in the hallway. He turned back to the inner stair.
‘Katarina. Such a surprise. How lovely to see you.’
Oliver was leaning elegantly, hands propped behind him, on a high stool in the centre of the room. Relaxed, casual, the great man at leisure in his studio, in front of his easel. Kaz halted a few feet away from him. She couldn’t make herself go any further. Valentina had opened the door and ushered her through, then left them.
She was alone with her father.
Every muscle in her body tensed. She felt as if she were standing on the tips of her toes, even though she knew her feet were flat on the floor. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say, just trusted to the moment. Now she was here, there was only one thing she could say. Only one question capable of being asked. She had to get the words out, before they choked her. This man …
‘You must know why I’m here.’ Her voice came out in a harsh croak. ‘I want to know how my daughter died.’
‘Katarina!’
His face was a masterpiece of control – no expression, except maybe a hint of concerned bewilderment, but she got what she was looking for in his eyes – a tiny flicker of fear. Relief flooded through her, followed by searing pain.
It’s all true.
‘My dear.’ He was leaning forward. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened to you? You know how Jamie died –’
‘I know what you wanted me to believe, what you set up for me to believe. Jamie didn’t die in a car crash. She died here, after you abducted her.’ She took a step closer and then another. ‘How did my little girl die?’
He reared back as she approached, swaying slightly, eyes widening. ‘Katarina, you clearly don’t know what you’re saying. This is wild talk. You need help –’
‘I know everything. About Jeff and Phil and the child you had killed in Jamie’s place – Sally Ann Cheska. Did you even know her name?’
‘Stop!’ Oliver put a hand out, only to draw it back. ‘This is outrageous. You’re talking nonsense!’
Kaz stared, hearing the outrage and denials, but searching instead, in his expression, for evidence. And finding it.
He was playing injured surprise to perfection, but something in his posture had changed. The facade was falling in; cracking with every accusation she threw at him. A savage joy leapt horribly in her chest, as she took another pace closer.
From the pocket of her dress, her mobile phone began to warble.
The staircase came out on the edge of a circular room. There was no ceiling, just the roof of the tower, lined in wood. Light spilled in through a series of shallow windows. All of them were open, admitting the faint breeze that came off the lake to cool the air. The room appeared to be empty. Devlin took all this in, during one assessing glance. It was the furniture in the room that took his attention. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like an artist’s studio that had been miniaturised. A tiny easel, low tables holding paint and equipment. Then he got it. Not miniature, child-size. He moved slowly into the room, hands at his sides, shoulders relaxed, every sense at the stretch. When he came to the middle of the room he stopped and listened.
It was the smallest of movements, but he traced the source immediately. There was a heap of cushions piled against the curve of the wall. He made straight for them, before swinging round, at the last moment, in a ninety-degree turn.
There was a squeal and clatter.
Crouched at the end of the equipment table, dark eyes wide with alarm, her mother’s eyes, was Jamie Elmore.
Chapter Fifty-One
The child was dead, twice over. It didn’t make sense, but his eyes weren’t lying. It was Kaz’s daughter cowering in front of him.
‘Oh, shit.’ Devlin could hear Kaz’s voice, whispering in his ear. ‘What do you know about five-year-old girls?’
The little girl’s eyes had travelled up his whole height and back down again. Now they were getting wider. Any second and she was going to scream. Shoving down panic, Devlin put his finger to his lips.
The scream got swallowed, but not forgotten. The small head tilted, in a heartbreaking echo of her mother. Pulling in a shaky breath, Devlin marshalled his scattered wits.
He could do this. It was female. Pint-size but still female. Although the usual passwords, Manolo Blahnik, diamond earrings, weekend in Paris, weren’t going to work here. He’d just have to go with charm.
He hunkered down, careful to keep his distance, and tried out a smile. He got a wary, watery grimace in response.
‘You’re Jamie, aren’t you? Hi. I’m Devlin.’
‘My mummy is here?’ Heartbreaking hope lit the little face. Devlin gritted his teeth. The child was stretched so thin, even an unpromising stranger looked like salvation.
‘Yes,’ he said carefully. ‘You want to go look for her? She’s just gone to talk to your granddad.’
Bad move. The child’s lower lip trembled. ‘I’m not C’ara. And I don’t want to paint any more pictures.’
Devlin rode out the fierce stab of anger, schooling his face and body. If the kid caught even a glimmer his credibility would be fried. She’d think it was aimed at her. When he could trust himself. ‘You don’t have to paint, if you don’t want to.’
She’d shut her eyes and screwed them up tight. Maybe it was meant to make her invisible. One of them blinked open, cautious. ‘You promise? You’ll tell Grandpa?’
‘I’ll tell him. Cross my heart.’ Devlin did it, solemnly.
Oliver Kessel was 66 years old, and a genius, and the father of the woman he loved. He might still lose a few teeth when Devlin found him.
Jamie had both eyes open now, looking speculatively up at him. He held out his hand, palm up.
‘What say we go find your mummy’s car? You can sit in the back seat. I’ll go get your mom and it’ll be a big surprise.’
Jamie thought about it. ‘If I hide in the car, then no one will know I’m there. Not Grandpa, or Valentina, or Guido or anyone, except Mummy, when she comes. And you,’ she added after second. ‘But that’s cool.’
Devlin felt as if someone had pinned a medal on his chest. He turned a choke into a cough when the child fixed a beady stare on him, the exact same way her mother did.
You’re losing it, Devlin.
Hah! He’d been losing it ever since he met Kaz Elmore.
Jamie was waiting for his opinion. ‘That sounds good.’ He hustled to provide some input. ‘There’s a rug. You could hide under the rug.’
She was getting to her feet. ‘We’ll go now,’ she decided.
Devlin looked towards the staircase. Narrow and steep. Not a good place to meet someone else coming up. The faster they got out of here, the better. ‘You think it would be okay if I carried you down to the car?’
She thought, head on one side. ‘I won’t be too heavy? Mummy says I’m heavy.’
‘You won’t be for me. I’m a big kind of guy.’
‘Yes.’ Jamie’s eyes widened again, clearly remembering her initial inspection of him. ‘But you have a bad arm.’ She pointed to the cast.
‘I do, but it only goes up a little way.’ He showed her. She touched the cast and then his arm. ‘Okay.’
Negotiation completed, she stood still and waited to be picked up. Devlin scooped her into the crook of his arm, next to his shoulder. She smelt of paint and something sweet. Now they were at eye level. She was taking an inventory of his face. He remembered the bruises, but they didn’t seem to be what was on her mind.
‘You come from America?’
‘That’s where I live,’ he agreed.
‘That’s nice. I want to go to Disneyland,’ she confided. ‘Have you ever been there?’
‘No.’ Was this going to jeopardise his street cred? Apparently not.
‘Maybe you could come with Mummy and me,’ she suggested.
‘I’d like that.’
‘Good,’ she confirmed, with the air of settling a bargain. Then in the same tone she dropped the bomb. ‘Are you in love with my mummy?’
Devlin’s heart stuttered. Jesus! To the point. Forensic. Just like her mother.
He swallowed, floundering. She was frowning, right into his eyes. Oh, what the hell.
‘Yes.’ It felt good to say it, even to a five-year-old. ‘I am, but I haven’t told her yet.’ He paused. ‘That’s our secret. Okay with you?’
‘You’ll take care of her?’
‘When she’ll let me.’
Jamie weighed the answer. ‘That’s all right then.’ With a blinding smile, she pointed to the stairs. ‘Let’s go and find her.’
‘Hadn’t you better answer that?’
All Kaz could feel was rage. With a shaking hand she reached for the phone, to flip it off. The mood was broken. She’d had Oliver on the run. Now he was laughing at her.
The second before she pushed the switch, to stop the phone’s demanding crow, realisation hit her. Sweat coated her palms.
Devlin.
New phone. Who else could it be? Devlin must need her.
She snatched the slim cell to her ear, almost sending it skittering across the floor in her slick-palmed haste.
‘Kaz? Is that you?’
‘Oh, God, not now, Mum.’
‘Your father is there.’ Suzanne understood at once, but her voice was sharp. ‘Don’t cut me off. You need to hear this. The Italian police just rang. They have the detailed forensic results from that poor child in the field. The DNA was close, but it wasn’t a match. And the body had definitely been moved to the vineyard. The child didn’t die there, and it wasn’t Jamie.’
In a small part of her mind Kaz felt the phone drop out of her hand and heard it hit the floor. Emotions were fighting each other in her chest and her brain. Joy, amazement and a bone-crunching, teeth-wrenching anger, that launched her straight at Oliver’s throat.
Chair and man went flying. ‘You bastard! Who else did you kill?’
When the easel crashed, Kaz pulled up short, shuddering for breath, staring down at her father. He was lying at her feet, trying to find a handhold on the closest bench and drag himself upright. Without thought or ceremony, she grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, propping him against the bench.
‘My daughter is here. You killed another child. Oh, God.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Chiara, my sister. You killed Valentina’s daughter and put her in that field.’
Oliver had his hand to his head. Blood was oozing from a small cut beside his eye. He dabbed ineffectually at it, hand trembling. He looked dazed. Gaping at her. Poise and resistance gone. ‘It should have worked. Luce said the DNA would be close enough, everyone would assume –’
‘They did, at first, but the police weren’t satisfied. My God, I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.’ Kaz spun round, paced away and paced back. Oliver hung on to the bench, pale-faced. Somewhere a door slammed. ‘You did this, just to hold on to my daughter. You took her from me, just so that you could teach her to paint. You’re insane.’
‘No,’ Oliver barked the word, voice suddenly strong. Kaz jerked her head. ‘Not insane. Desperate. Look at me, Katarina. Really look.’ He reached out and took a handful of her sleeve, forcing her to turn towards him.
Kaz looked up into his face. Seeing the profile that was more familiar from photographs than in the flesh. Oliver looked as he always did. Older, maybe more tired. The face was thinner and curiously blank, the eyes a little sunken … with something hovering in their depths.
With a cold bolt of fear, Kaz finally understood.
‘What is it? Cancer?’ she breathed
‘I wish.’ Oliver gave a harsh laugh. ‘Parkinson’s Disease. A perfect, ironic gift from the fates, don’t you think? An artist who can’t hold a brush steady?’ He held his hand out. ‘Look. It’s not bad, not yet. You can barely see it. I can still control a pencil. But it won’t last.’
‘Oh, God.’ Kaz raked her hand through her hair. ‘Look – there are drugs, advances all the time – you can afford the best that money can buy. People live for years –’
‘Live! Live! I don’t just want to live! I want to create. I am Olivier Kessel. I�
��m not just people.’ Oliver’s voice was a vehement, escalating hiss. ‘Drugs? That’s what the doctors said. With their hearty, back-slapping stupidity. There, there old man,’ he mimicked. ‘Soon get you sorted out – a bit less daubing on the canvas, but we all have to retire some day. Idiots! What do I want with their drugs? Miserable placebos, for credulous fools! The whole world laughing at me. Me!’
He took a step forward. Kaz held her ground and looked into the stare of madness.
‘I have to show them. The work has to go on. Before it’s too late.’ He shut his eyes, swaying where he stood for a second. When he opened them, some of the fire had dissipated. Instead there was a sly, secretive look. ‘And after me, a successor. The Kessel name will go on. That’s why I need Jamie.’
‘You killed all those people to get her.’ Kaz heard her voice sounding gritty, like a stranger’s. ‘Even your own daughter.’
‘Yes, I killed her.’ Oliver’s head came up. ‘After the crash. As soon as I knew Jamie was mine. I was desperate.’ Now the voice was toneless, energy ebbing. ‘You have no idea what it’s like, to have all these images in your head, fighting to get out, knowing that a lifetime isn’t going to be long enough. And then to find you won’t even have that. That you’re going to be trapped in a useless, rotting body, with the pictures screaming to escape.’ His tone roughened. ‘I killed her, and I put your daughter in her place. I’d do it again tomorrow. She’s perfect, Katarina.’ His eyes began to glow again, manic. ‘So much talent. She will be greater even than I am. I know it.’ He splayed his hand to his chest. ‘The other one.’ He shrugged. ‘I had hopes, when she was born. But she was useless. She wasn’t even quiet, like you were. Noisy, destructive …’ He looked puzzled. ‘I didn’t think that Valentina would take it so hard. I bought her a pearl necklace.’
‘A necklace?’ Kaz felt bile rise in her throat. ‘That was supposed to replace her daughter? Buy her off?’
‘Not buy her off.’ Oliver seemed genuinely confused. ‘She didn’t know. I told her the child died in her sleep. She believed me. She always believes me. I told her what the authorities would do to her daughter’s body if we handed it over. That they’d mutilate it, in their arrogance, in the name of their stupid science. We buried her under the olive trees. Valentina thinks she’s still there. She goes out every day to sit with her. I explained it all to her. Her daughter was dead, but now she had Jamie, to take her place. Jamie would be Chiara. My daughter. My new daughter. Your child.’ He stared at Kaz. ‘My power, my talent, living on. We could still do that. You could stay here. We could do this …’
Never Coming Home Page 26