by Tom Bale
'I know your real name,' Julia said. 'And I know who your target was.'
Kendrick's expression changed. There was a little more respect in his voice when he answered. 'In that case, you'll know how easily I can walk away from this.'
'Can you? Give up all your power and wealth?'
'I can get it again. It's easily acquired, if you have the right qualities.'
'I don't understand,' said Craig. 'Is this man Kendrick or not?'
'That's what he calls himself,' Julia said. 'His real name is Robert Meade. Isn't that right? Robert Meade, from the island of Montserrat.'
Craig could hear what Julia was saying, but none of it made much sense. That didn't matter, so long as she kept on talking. While everyone concentrated on her, Craig was slowly inching his way across the carpet.
Moss was still in a sitting position, but he had leaned to one side, resting against a sofa. Once or twice he'd shut his eyes for a few seconds. He hadn't yet let go of his injured leg, which meant his gun must be lying on the floor nearby. Craig kept shuffling closer, his hands feeling for the gun while he looked from Kendrick to Julia and tried to follow the conversation.
So Kendrick wasn't his real name? George appeared equally confused by this revelation. He was saying something when Julia's last sentence finally penetrated.
Robert Meade, from the island of Montserrat.
Craig knew that name. He'd read it somewhere. He had heard it spoken. Someone had told him about a man called Robert Meade.
'Oh no,' he gasped. 'No.'
Julia said, 'I'm sorry, Craig. You shouldn't have to find out like this.'
'My father?' Craig said.
Julia wasn't sure if the question was directed at her, or at Kendrick, who was now staring at Craig. Julia took a sly step closer, improving her line of fire.
'But Kendrick's from Trinidad,' George said. 'I researched him. He comes from a good family.'
Kendrick chuckled. 'Stolen identity, George. I met the real Max Kendrick in prison, more than ten years ago. The guards thought it was hilarious that we looked so alike. We could have been twins. Kendrick had run off when he was a teenager. The day he told me his family hadn't seen him for years, I came up with the idea of impersonating him, helping myself to some of their fortune. It was Jacques who convinced me to play a long game, and that way I got everything.'
George let out what might have been a sob. Kendrick sadistically prodded him with the gun. Craig saw Moss's eyes were closed and shifted another couple of inches.
'I left prison knowing everything about his life, all kinds of details that would convince his parents. He was released a couple of months later. Jacques got rid of him for me, and pretty soon I was living the high life in Trinidad, back in the bosom of my estranged family.'
'They accepted you?' Julia asked, remembering the malevolent gaze from the newspaper cutting.
'I think they had their doubts, especially the mother. But they were so glad to have their wayward son back, they believed what they wanted to believe. It's human nature, isn't it, George?' Again he jabbed him with the gun. 'By that time the old man was dying. And I made sure "Mummy" followed soon after.'
'And my father knew the truth?' Craig said.
'He would have done. He was the one who got me locked away in the first place.' He chuckled. 'When I came over here I hadn't given him a thought in years. It wasn't until we started due diligence that I found out about the campaign to stop the Chilton development. And who should be leading it but good old Philip Walker. Probably the only man in Britain who could look at me and know I wasn't really Max Kendrick.'
Craig felt a surge of fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the same time his fingers touched cold metal. He eased back a little further.
'There was no way I wanted to abandon the deal, so he had to be removed. Discovering that Toby was plotting to kill the Caplans gave me a perfect opportunity.'
'But why so many deaths?' Julia asked.
'It's an imprecise science,' Kendrick said, his eyes sparkling with humour. 'Carl wasn't exactly stable. All we told him was to make sure it didn't look like Walker was the only target. Even then he nearly bungled it. Luckily Walker came out, trying to be a hero again.' Another chuckle. 'Of course, we had the protection of knowing that even if a conspiracy came to light, it would be Toby, and possibly the Mathesons, who took the fall.'
'And you killed Abby Clark, didn't you?' Craig demanded.
'I take my privacy very seriously,' Kendrick said. 'She tried contacting one or two people in Trinidad, and I decided that was a little too close for comfort.'
George suddenly jerked forward, and for a second Julia thought he had been hit. Then he shouted, 'Shoot him, for God's sake. Shoot!'
The words emerged in a strange elongated stream, as if through a funnel, and although Julia knew it was the right thing to do, her body refused to obey. A black gauze was wrapping itself round her, pulling her down, and as she fell she heard gunfire, three shots from two different guns, and told herself that if this was dying, it really wasn't so bad.
Craig had to angle his shot high to be sure of missing George. He aimed at Kendrick's head just as Kendrick fired first at Julia, then in Craig's direction. He was moving at the same time, and even as Craig shut his eyes and felt hot blood hit his face he knew his own shot had missed.
He opened his eyes, amazed to find himself still alive, just in time to see Kendrick leaping through the window. Moss was lying dead beside him, and George was on his hands and knees, vomiting on to the carpet. There was no sign of Julia.
Kicking a chair away, Craig got to his feet and blundered across the room. He made out the shape of her body, face-down on the floor. He screamed her name into the darkness but she didn't respond. He dropped beside her and gently lifted her arm. There was no blood visible on her, no obvious wound, but it wasn't until he found a pulse that he let out a jagged breath and dared to believe it could be all right.
Eighty-One
She woke in a gloomy dawn to the patter of rain on the roof. Then the sun broke through and the birds began their raucous celebration of the coming day. Julia lay and listened to them, realising with a kind of awe that not only was she alive, but that for the first time in many days she had a genuine expectation of life, of recovery, of happiness.
Although Kendrick had fired in her direction, it had been way off target, partly because by then she had already collapsed. She had Craig to thank for her survival. It was he who decided her need for medical attention took priority over chasing Kendrick.
Together with George, he had carried her out to his car and driven like a maniac to the nearest A&E, in Haywards Heath. There she underwent an emergency operation to stem internal bleeding. She was also diagnosed with pneumonia, and spent the next two weeks in hospital.
As word of the events spread, the media attention became even more rabid than the first time around. Julia had to be kept under a strict guard: her only regular visitors were her brother and his wife, and Craig, who had needed two dozen stitches to repair the knife wound in his thigh.
It was Craig who updated her on the police investigation. Nothing had been seen of Kendrick, although the two men with whom he was thought to have escaped were later found dead, their Jeep abandoned in an industrial estate in Folkestone. The police believed this was a ploy, designed to suggest he had left the country by this route. Craig's police contact, DI Sullivan, was also found outside the village with a gunshot wound to the spine, and it was still doubtful as to whether he would walk again.
Kendrick's ruthlessness was confirmed when the police told Craig they thought he'd deliberately killed Moss, so as not to leave a witness who could reveal his whereabouts. It was several days before they traced his rented house in Berkshire, by which time it had been gutted by fire. There was no saying how long Kendrick had stayed there, or what he might have taken with him when he fled.
After that, the trail went cold. Julia understood now what he'd meant when he said how ea
sily he could walk away. For a man who'd spent more than a decade inhabiting a false identity, it wouldn't trouble him to slip on a new one and resume his life somewhere else.
For Craig and Julia, that left one important question. Did he remain a threat to them?
The senior detective, when he was finally permitted to speak to Julia, took a fairly dismissive attitude. 'He's long gone, I'm sure of it. There's really no need to spend your whole life looking over your shoulder.'
Julia couldn't see quite as much reason to be confident, but in some ways it was irrelevant. There was no question of the police providing them with protection. She and Craig – and George as well, for that matter – would simply have to take their chances.
She was discharged from hospital on the understanding that she would spend a long period of convalescence at the Old Schoolhouse, under Craig's care. This time she intended to follow her doctor's recommendations to the letter.
First there was the media to contend with. Craig's advice was not to hide from them. 'They're like hunters,' he told her. 'It's the thrill of the chase that gets them going. Make yourself available and they'll lose interest a lot sooner.'
And so it proved. She gave several print interviews, made one TV appearance, and then she was left alone. The world had moved on to newer, fresher tragedies.
Returning to Chilton wasn't nearly as traumatic as she expected. She arrived back on a grey, nondescript morning at the beginning of March. An almost palpable air of exhaustion hung over the village, but unlike before there was no sense of menace, no feeling of unfinished business. Entering the house, she had insisted on going into the kitchen, seeing for herself the room where Toby had perished.
Where she had killed him.
She had stood a moment, waiting to see what ghosts might appear, but there was nothing. Just weariness, and a satisfaction that it was all over at last.
All over, but for one conversation.
It took place on her third day after leaving hospital. First she talked it over with Craig, and sensed a marked reluctance on his part. She knew he feared the effect it would have on her recovery. For her sake and for his own, he was trying to focus remorselessly on the future. He'd also made it clear he wanted that future to include a relationship between the two of them, an idea which grew more appealing with each passing day.
She spotted him from the window and left the house. It was a warm, sunny morning. After the second wave of forensic investigation, the clean-up had removed all the remaining flowers and wreaths, signalling an end to mourning and a slow return to normality. Now, apart from some trees lost to the storm, the village looked exactly as it had done before 19 January.
On the green, the great yew still dominated. George Matheson waited beneath it, gazing into the middle distance. He saw her and turned, offering an uncertain smile.
It seemed to take them both by surprise when they embraced. While still holding her, he said, 'I'm very sorry for what they did.'
They broke apart, and Julia nodded. 'You don't have to apologise. I know you had nothing to do with it.'
He seemed gratified, but still let out a heavy sigh. 'I don't think I'll ever come to terms with the scale of Vanessa's betrayal.'
'I remember that morning when we met here,' Julia said. 'I told you about my parents and you seemed so sympathetic, so genuinely upset about the massacre. I couldn't bear to think you were faking that grief.' She swallowed heavily. 'And now I know you weren't.'
'No doubt Craig told you what happened at the house. You know what drove Vanessa to do it?'
Julia nodded. 'Your affair with Laura Caplan.'
George gave a funny little laugh. He turned away from the tree and walked towards the pond. Julia fell into step beside him. The sight of a Royal Mail van driving up the High Street caused a momentary flutter of nerves, reminding her of how it had all started.
'How's Megan?' she said.
His face immediately brightened. 'She's making progress. Not talking yet, but she responds to stimulation. She squeezes my hand. Sometimes she smiles.'
Julia faltered. Her mouth felt very dry. He gave her an inquisitive glance, his face benign, as if he knew what was to come and wouldn't be offended.
'Is Megan your daughter?'
His expression didn't change. No surprise, no shock or anger. But he shook his head just the same, leaving Julia confused.
'I'm afraid the truth is even more tragic,' he said. 'I'm her grandfather.'
Julia felt too stunned to respond. She stopped by the edge of the pond, stared at the murky brown water and tried to make sense of this revelation.
'When I employed Keith, I had no idea,' George went on. 'Laura didn't say anything to me for years. Too frightened that I might reject her, she told me later. She was the result of a very brief relationship I had in my early twenties. I knew nothing at all about the pregnancy. Laura didn't find out about me until her mother died. By then she was married to Keith. When they saw the farm job advertised, Laura thought it would be a perfect opportunity to . . . well, observe me from afar, I suppose.'
'When did she tell you?' Julia asked.
'About two years ago. After the incident with Carl. Keith hadn't been particularly sympathetic. We were discussing it one day when suddenly she came out with it.' He shrugged. 'After that, we spent more and more time together, usually when Vanessa was in London. We were rather secretive, because Laura wasn't sure how Keith would react to the news. Their marriage was already in trouble.'
'Why not let Vanessa know the truth?' As she spoke, Julia remembered something Craig had told her. 'She couldn't have children.'
George frowned. 'That's right. We'd tried everything that was possible at the time, to no avail. It made her feel terribly inadequate, and I think over the years it ate away at her. Finding out that I had a daughter would have been a devastating blow. I was still agonising over how to break the news when the cancer was diagnosed.'
He sniffed, turned away from her for a moment. 'I was a dreadful coward,' he said. 'I decided it was best to say nothing. Once Vanessa had passed away, I'd intended to give Laura the financial support to leave Keith, and I wanted to pay for Megan's education.'
He stopped as a sob escaped him. Julia stepped closer, taking his hand and pressing it between her own. He looked at her with a face crumpled with grief, tears wet on his cheeks.
'It was an appalling mistake, and it cost so many lives. If it weren't for Megan, I don't think I'd have the will to go on.'
Julia said nothing. A noise behind her made her turn. Craig had emerged from the Old Schoolhouse and was walking towards her, looking concerned. She waved him away.
George blew his nose and recovered his composure. He looked at his watch and nodded to himself, as if he had said more than enough. But before they parted, Julia had one more question.
'What about the village?'
He shrugged. 'Nothing stays the same for ever. I can't guarantee that Chilton won't fall to the developers . . .' He rested a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly for a moment. 'But it won't happen while I draw breath.'
He kissed her on both cheeks, and wished her well. Julia watched him walk across the green and disappear into Hurst Lane. Then she turned and joined Craig by the yew tree. His expression hadn't altered.
'This just arrived,' he said.
He handed her a postcard showing a spectacular volcanic eruption on the island of Montserrat. She turned it over and read the back. It was addressed to her, care of the Old Schoolhouse. The handwriting was neat, square, unfamiliar. The message was short and sweet.
One day our paths will cross again.
Until then . . . stay alive for me.
Be lucky.
Her laughter caught Craig unawares. He stared at her as if she'd lost her senses.
'What are you going to do?'
Julia gave him the card back. She looked up at the broad, graceful branches of the tree that had sheltered her and saved her life. Far above, she could see aircraft trails
criss-crossing a milky-blue sky. A whole world carrying on as normal.
'I'm going to take his advice,' she said.
Acknowledgements
For their help with research into police procedures, telecommunications and medical matters, I'd like to thank Supt Steve Voice, Tony Deakin, Simon Cude, Dawn Hayes, Natasha Butt and Mr S Waquar Yusuf. I must stress that certain liberties were taken for the sake of the story, so responsibility for any errors or inaccuracies lies firmly with the author.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to everyone at Janklow & Nesbit UK, particularly my agent, Tif Loehnis, as well as Rebecca Folland, Kirsty Gordon and Jenny McVeigh. At Preface/Random House I'd like to thank Trevor Dolby, Stephen Dumughn, Holly Roberts, Mari Roberts, Ben Wright and most of all my editor, the incomparable Rosie de Courcy: her faith, guidance and support played a crucial part in seeing this project to fruition.
Thanks to all my friends and family, especially my parents and parents-in-law, whose help over the past few years has been invaluable. Thanks also to Claire Burrell, Tracy Brown, Adrian Magson, Sheila Quigley, Nick Stone, Mike Paterson, Hugh Dickens and the late Bob Medland.
Special love and thanks to James and Emily for their patience and inspiration. And to my wife, Niki, who endured all the years of rejection alongside me, without ever losing faith that one day this would happen.