I write this in the hope that there can be forgiveness for what I have done. I loved Veronica intensely, Sally with an enduring passion. It was Grantley, or Alston as we knew him, who destroyed what we had in Singapore. Veronica was a person who thrived on attention, and I had let her down.
Grantley filled the vacuum in her life. I accepted it for a long time, and I had hoped that she would have tired of the man, but then he left. Life moved on as it always does, but Veronica still suffered from the frailties that blighted her. The second time she strayed, I had to do something. We were out on the harbour in our boat. It was night time. We started arguing, Veronica out of control, drunk as usual. She lunged at me, and she fell over, falling on a fishing knife, and then getting up and banging her head on a capstan. I tried to save her, but she died in my arms. I then put her over the side of the boat, knowing full well that blame for what had happened would fall on me.
Grantley was not an accident. I had followed him to England. I could not accept the humiliation he had caused me; the emotional conflict he had inflicted on Veronica.
And yes, Inspector Tremayne, if you are reading this. It was that depressing picture. I killed Grantley in London and transported the body to Wiltshire. It was not that hard to find a suitable place to bury him. That picture became the focus of my anger. Each time in his office, there it was on the wall, not even in reception but hiding around the back.
I needed to make a statement, not to anyone else, but to myself. It was a perfect crime, so I thought, but I did not count on the body being disturbed.
For the last few weeks, I have been in a remote location in Thailand, pondering the future. But there is no future without hope, no life without love. Sally, I thank you for the time we spent together, but I could never come back, not the way it could have been.
I returned to the place that I loved most in the world with the intent of ending what had been started. If this letter is being read now, then I have been successful.
‘It’s signed at the bottom,’ Tremayne said.
It was not how Tremayne and Clare had expected the murder of Richard Grantley to be solved, but solved it had been. There would be no arrests made; the confession in Langley’s letter made it clear that he had indeed killed the man.
Both Tremayne and Clare spent the night in the mansion, Sally staying close to Clare.
The next day, Sally left the house and returned to her mother’s council house. She had not seen her for five years.
Langley was buried in the local churchyard, a quiet ceremony with only Sally, Tremayne, Clare and Jean in attendance. Jean had insisted, as she felt that after her time in Singapore, she was an integral member of the team.
Richard Grantley, his burial long delayed while the murder investigation progressed, was given the honour of a funeral service in Salisbury Cathedral, not that he necessarily deserved it. There were over a hundred people there; not for Richard, but out of respect for Clive.
A reception was held at Clive’s house later that day after Richard had been finally buried in the family plot. The black sheep of the family would only be remembered in death as a Grantley, not as what he had been in life. Of those who had been at the cathedral service, sixty of them were at the house, drinking and laughing and reminiscing, but only Clive and the man who had sold Richard the jacket could remember him. It was a sad indictment of the murdered man’s life.
Eventually, the guests left, some the worse for the alcohol, all impressed with Clive and his daughter; also, with her mother.
Only the Grantley family, Clare, Tremayne and Jean remained.
Tremayne knew the truth. After all, that was what he had been trained to do: to observe, to pick up the body language, the secret signs that people make to each other. He had not told Jean what he knew as Clive rose to speak.
‘This is addressed to Tremayne and Jean, as the others know what I am to say. Liz is to return to Cambridge tomorrow. We believe that she has nothing to fear. As for Kim, she will stay here in Salisbury with her boyfriend. As for me, my story is well known. Kim is now an adult, and I have honoured the agreement I made willingly with Liz to look after our daughter to the best of my abilities; to not confuse it with another relationship, not to get married, not to become involved in any romance.
‘Today, I am pleased to say that the pledge I made all those years ago no longer applies. I have asked Clare to marry me; she has agreed.’
Jean burst into tears; Tremayne leaned over to Clare and whispered in her ear, ‘Your mother?’
‘She’ll hate it. Clive’s nineteen years older than me. He’ll never let me down, and Kim and Liz are family to me now.’
Clare went and joined Clive, her arm in his.
‘How long have you known?’ Jean asked Tremayne.
‘The signs have been visible for some time. I wasn’t expecting marriage, but there you are. It’s not often we get a happy ending.’
The End.
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The threads stretch back a long way, and now more people are dying in the search for the missing gold bars.
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Murder of a Silent Man – A DCI Cook Thriller
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Murder in Room 346 – A DCI Cook Thriller
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The Haberman Virus
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