Deborah Crombie - Dreaming of the bones

“You will hold him accountable now,” said Kincaid.

After a preliminary assessment, the medics had taken Darcy to Addenbrooks, accompanied by police guard. He’d suffered considerable blood loss from the shot embedded in the right side of his face, neck, and shoulder, but he’d been protesting his innocence and threatening legal action even as they closed the ambulance doors.

“Your testimony will be essential to the prosecution’s case.” Kincaid looked from Nathan to Adam. “But it will mean revealing your own parts in the cover-up of Verity Whitecliff’s death, regardless of the personal consequences.”

“I think we’ve had quite enough of secrets,” said Adam.

Nathan looked up at them, his eyes dark. “What chance have you of getting a conviction on nothing but our word? There won’t be any evidence left of how Verity died or that he killed her.”

Kincaid glanced at Gemma. “We can only recommend to the Crown Prosecution Service, but my guess is that they’ll charge him with Vic’s and Verity’s deaths, and use Lydia’s for evidence of system in Vic’s case. We’ve the best chance of finding physical evidence in Vic’s case, and in Verity’s the court can rule based solely on the testimony of witnesses. And that means you and Adam.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” said Nathan, then he shook his head. “If I’d only known what Vic suspected…”

“We’re all going to have to live with our ifs,” Kincaid said heavily, and rose. “I’d advise you to get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

They said good-bye to Nathan and Adam at the door. When Kincaid shook Nathan’s hand, he felt the kinship of those who pass through the eye of the same needle. They had loved Vic, and she was gone.

He followed Gemma slowly to the car and handed her the keys, suddenly too exhausted to drive. Climbing in beside her, he slumped in his seat, but before she could start the engine he reached for her hand and held it between his.

“I thought you were going to shoot him,” said Gemma, turning to him.

“So did I.”

“I daresay he deserved it.” She searched his face. “Why didn’t you?”

He thought for a moment, trying to formulate an answer in words. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I suppose because it would’ve meant accepting violence as a solution.” He traced his fingers lightly over Gemma’s, then looked up into her eyes. “And then what would have separated me from Darcy?”

Cambridge

1 September 1986

Darling Mummy ,

I have been in a black hell this past week, railing against fate for taking you from me, railing against you for not letting me cling to false hope. Until now I’d begun to believe I’d been tested in my life-I’d even been smug enough to think Yd endured more than my share and that Yd emerged with some sort of fire-forged honor .

But when your news came I found nothing had prepared me for this, that the courage I’d taken such pride in was a mere travesty, and I thought I could not bear it .

I woke early this morning to find frost on the windowpanes and the first crisp hint of autumn in the air. I dressed and went out, compelled by an urgency I didn’t understand, and walked until I reached the river meadows. It was you who taught me about the healing power of walking-about the magic in the harmony of breath and stride that opens the connection between heart and mind .

Then somewhere in that clear space between field and sky, I saw my anger for what it was .

Losing you means I must grow up, at last, and I’ve been kicking and screaming like a child unwilling to come into the world .

I saw that Yd underestimated the strength and capacity of your love for me, but that you had not done me the same disservice. You thought me equal to the task before me, and so I must be .

Why are the old truths so simple and so hard to learn? Love is a two-edged sword-it can be no other way. I will be forever blessed by your love, and forever diminished by your loss .

Lydia

The air under the yews felt cool and damp against Kit’s face. It had a musty, humic odor that reminded him of the way the mud smelled when he dug in the riverbank, but his flash of pleasure at the thought quickly faded. There didn’t seem much point now in wanting to be a naturalist.

Tess whimpered and pulled at her lead, but Kit stood fast, not yet willing to move from the dimness of the tunnel. He carried the books Nathan had lent him, and it felt to him as if returning them would sever his last connection with the village.

Mrs. Miller had brought him to the cottage that morning to help him pack up the remainder of his things, then had agreed to return for him after he’d visited Nathan. Colin had offered, awkwardly, to come with him, but Kit refused. He’d wanted a few minutes alone to say good-bye to the cottage.

When they’d driven away, he stood for a long while in the front garden, gazing at the house, memorizing its lines and imperfections, then he’d kicked the estate agent’s sign as hard as he could. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was bloody fair. How could his dad bear the idea of some other family living in their house? And how could his dad leave-

Kit stopped at that point in the well-worn groove of his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about his dad anymore. Giving a gentle tug to Tess’s lead, he stepped out into the sunlight of Nathan’s back garden.

Nathan knelt at the edge of the knot bed, digging in the earth with a trowel. He looked up, smiling, as Kit and Tess came across the grass. “Hullo, Kit. Is this your dog, then?”

“Her name’s Tess,” said Kit, dropping to his knees beside him.

“She’s lovely,” said Nathan, scratching her rough coat and the pink insides of her ears. “Why don’t you let her have a run in the garden?” he suggested. “It’s secure enough.”

“What are you planting?” asked Kit as he unhooked Tess’s lead and watched her bound across the grass towards the robins feeding near the hedge. “They’re not very pretty.”

Nathan sat back on his heels, resting the trowel on his knee as he looked at the bedraggled row of herbs. “No, I suppose they’re not. I was ill, you see, and I dug them up. But my friend Adam came along afterwards and put them in water for me. They’d have died if he hadn’t.”

Kit frowned. “Why did you pull them up, if they weren’t dead?”

Nathan reached out and smoothed the soil round the last herb with the palm of his hand, then said, slowly, “I planted these for your mother. I thought that if I pulled them up, I wouldn’t miss her so much. But I was wrong. Sometimes it helps to remember.”

Kit stared at him with a flash of adult understanding. “You loved my mum, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I did.” Nathan watched him carefully. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t know,” said Kit, for his brief spasm of jealousy had been replaced by the thought that Nathan, at least, might understand how he felt. “No… I suppose not.” He looked again at the neat row of plants, then held out the plastic carrier bag. “I brought your books back.”

Nathan glanced at the bag but didn’t reach for it. After a moment, he said, “I want you to have them. We can talk about them when you come to visit. Will you come to see me?”

Kit watched Tess happily rooting about at the bottom of the garden, felt the heat from the midday sun soaking into his hair like warm honey, and for an instant, in that bright place, he felt his mother’s presence a little nearer.

He nodded.