Simon Beckett - The Restless Dead

I wanted to see this through.

Clarke came to see me after I’d given yet another statement at police HQ in the early hours of the morning. She arrived in the beige interview room with two polystyrene cups of tea, one of which she handed to me. I wasn’t sure if it was a peace offering but accepted it anyway.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, sitting down across from me.

I shrugged. ‘OK. How are the others?’

The DCI looked tired, the skin of her face pale and drawn after the long night. I knew I didn’t look any better. ‘Rachel Derby’s just got some bruising. The little girl’s suffering from shock but we released Andrew Trask earlier, so at least he’s with her again. We might have more questions for him later, but under the circumstances...’

Under the circumstances, letting a young girl be with her father was the humane thing to do. Especially when her brother had just killed a man in front of her.

‘And Jamie?’

‘He’s got a broken nose and a couple of loose teeth, but they’re the least of his problems. How much did he tell you?’

‘Most of it,’ I admitted.

Some I’d been able to piece together myself. From the moment I’d seen Trask’s son holding the hand-crafted shotgun I knew what it meant. I’d wondered why Porter hadn’t used the Mowbry at the boathouse, but the reason was simple: he didn’t have it. He never had. It had been hidden at the bottom of Jamie Trask’s wardrobe ever since the teenager had accidentally shot Anthony Russell.

It hadn’t been long after his father’s abortive attempt to confront Leo Villiers that Jamie had seen a light on at Willets Point. He’d been returning home from a night out with friends, and while he wasn’t exactly drunk, he wasn’t exactly sober either. No doubt he was worried what his father might do now Leo Villiers was back. But it wasn’t just the alcohol, or concern for his family, that made the teenager head out to the house on the promontory.

‘Did he tell you about him and Emma Derby?’ Clarke asked.

‘Not in so many words, but I guessed,’ I said. It wasn’t difficult: once Jamie had begun to open up his feelings for his stepmother had become obvious. ‘How far had it gone?’

She took a drink of tea, grimacing as she set it back down. ‘It doesn’t look like anything actually happened between them, but she’d been egging him on for a while. Flirting, leaving the door open when she was showering, that sort of thing. Probably just a bit of fun as far as she was concerned, but it was enough to mess with his head. It got so he didn’t want to be alone in the house with her when his dad was away. That’s why he was staying with friends when she went missing, because he didn’t trust himself.’

It wasn’t surprising. Teenage hormones on one hand, guilt on the other: it was a volatile mix.

Clarke shook her head, radiating disapproval. ‘Christ knows what she was thinking. She should have known better.’

Yes, she should. Rachel had told me how Jamie had abruptly split up with Stacey Coker even before learning she was pregnant, and now it was clear why. It was no secret there were cracks in Trask’s ill-matched marriage, and for someone like Emma Derby — vain and bored, missing city life — the teenager’s infatuation must have been a flattering diversion. She’d won over her stepdaughter by playing the big sister. For her stepson she’d taken a different approach.

‘Did Trask know?’ I asked.

‘He hasn’t admitted it, but he must have had suspicions. Teenagers aren’t the best at hiding their feelings, and I can’t imagine Emma Derby tried too hard to be subtle. It’s academic now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Trask didn’t want to know. Probably scared of what he might find out, especially after his wife went missing.’

Christ, I thought, the emotional undercurrents in the Trask household didn’t bear thinking about. No wonder the relationship between father and son was so strained, or that Rachel had said being around them was like walking on eggshells. She’d not become involved with the family until after her sister had disappeared, so had missed the interplay between Jamie and his stepmother.

But there was no ignoring the tensions in the house afterwards. And for Jamie, months of jealousy, grief and guilt had reached a tipping point when he saw the light on at Leo Villiers’ house and thought his stepmother’s lover and killer had returned to Willets Point.

The teenager’s voice had been dull and nasal, muffled by the frozen peas he held to his broken nose, as he’d told me what had happened that night. Pumped up by alcohol and adrenalin, he’d parked outside Villiers’ house and been about to bang on the door when he’d heard glass breaking on the terrace. He’d gone round to the front and seen a man wearing a long coat standing on the water’s edge, collar turned up against the chill. On the terrace around him were empty glasses and bottles, some of them shattered as though they’d been used for target practice. A shotgun had been propped against a tree nearby. More to keep it out of Villiers’ reach than with any intent to use it himself, Jamie had picked it up.

The man heard him and turned. Even in the dark it had been apparent it was a stranger. Panicking, Jamie had thrust the over-and-under barrels at the man’s face, stammering a demand to know where Leo Villiers was.

And the shotgun had gone off.

‘It blew Anthony Russell back into the water,’ Clarke said with a sigh. ‘It was a spring tide that night, so the body must have been carried over the Barrows into the estuary rather than out to sea. Probably ended up in the fringes of the Backwaters, which is why it wasn’t found for weeks.’

Four of them, in fact. Once in the maze of creeks and channels, the body would have sunk to the bottom. Exposed to air and seabirds twice a day at low tide, and picked over by aquatic scavengers, eventually it had refloated and drifted back out into the estuary.

And then Lundy had called me.

‘What’ll happen to Jamie?’ I asked.

Clarke stared moodily into her polystyrene cup. The sight reminded me of Lundy doing the same thing only a few days before. ‘Porter was self-defence, no one’s going to blame him for that. But intentionally or not, he still shot Anthony Russell. He’d have been better off coming to us straight away. As it is...’

She hitched a shoulder, indicating it was out of her hands. Which it was: Jamie had killed an innocent man and then concealed it. Although he hadn’t intended to, he’d helped set in motion a series of events that had claimed yet more lives. Even allowing for mitigating circumstances, he’d be facing a custodial sentence. With luck and a sympathetic court, he’d be young enough to reclaim his life afterwards. But any plans for university and a normal life were now a long way in his future.

And yet, if not for the shotgun he’d had hidden, Porter would in all likelihood have killed Fay and Rachel, as well as Jamie himself. I was too tired to decide if that was fortuitous or ironic.

‘Have you found the shotgun Porter used at the sea fort?’ I asked.

‘Not yet, but we’re still searching his flat. He lived in quarters in Sir Stephen Villiers’ main house, so you can imagine how well that’s gone down,’ Clarke said drily. ‘There was an empty cartridge box in his bin, though. Number five bismuth birdshot, the same brand as Villiers used.’

And the same type of shot that had killed Lundy. But Clarke wouldn’t need reminding of that.

‘The thinking at the moment is that Porter took a shotgun and shells from Leo Villiers’ house when Sir Stephen sent him to clean up at Willets Point,’ she continued. ‘We knew there could be a second gun missing from the gun cabinet, but since Villiers had it moved into the cellar when the house was renovated no one could say for sure. We’re still trying to locate the shotgun, but my guess is Porter would have dumped it in the sea on the way back from the fort.’ The DCI looked across the table at me, the harsh overhead lights emphasizing the shadows under her eyes. ‘Lucky for you.’