Майкл Ридпат - Launch Code

‘Did Justin go straight back to you from King’s Lynn police station?’ Megan asked.

‘Oh my God! You think Justin killed Lars!’

‘He knows how to use a gun, doesn’t he?’

‘He goes deer hunting sometimes with his cousin. That doesn’t mean he shot Lars.’

‘No, I know,’ said Megan. ‘I’m just saying.’

‘Saying what?’

Megan shrugged.

Bill cleared his throat. ‘Brooke. You should tell your husband that Lars lied when he said it was him who killed Craig Naylor. It wasn’t him, it was me. Lars was just covering for me.’

‘Dad! Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I don’t know. I should have.’

‘Can I tell Justin why you killed Craig?’

Bill shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. You can’t.’

‘Oh, because it’s Classified. I’m getting bored with that excuse.’

‘You’re not the only one,’ said Megan.

Tears flowed from Brooke’s eyes. ‘You know what this means? Justin will never forgive you.’

The rest she left unsaid. That it would become very difficult for Brooke to see her father in future, or any of the rest of the family.

‘I hope one day he will,’ Bill said.

‘This must have something to do with that order to launch missiles,’ said Brooke. ‘It must .’

‘That is why I can’t tell you about it. Or Justin.’

‘But what if...’

We let the unasked question hang there for a moment. Then Megan completed it. ‘What if Justin shot Lars because he thought Lars had killed his father and in fact it wasn’t Lars, it was Dad?’

‘Oh, Megan! That’s not what I was going to say at all.’

‘Megan!’ Bill barked. ‘Have some compassion, will you?’

He stood up and moved around the kitchen table towards Brooke.

She pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet. ‘No, Dad. You killed my husband’s father and won’t tell me why. And you, Megan, accuse him of being a murderer.’ She bit back a sob. ‘Justin is a good man and I love him.’

Bill hesitated.

‘Goodbye.’ Brooke turned away from them and hurried out of the kitchen. A moment later they heard her car set off down the lane.

‘Why did I do that?’

Megan was staring morosely at her recently refilled glass of wine. Bill had disappeared upstairs to his study and his needlepoint.

‘I mean — we told Brooke Lars had been killed and then I virtually accused her husband of killing him, all in one fell swoop.’

‘It did seem a little abrupt,’ said Toby.

‘And then Dad goes and tells her he killed her husband’s father. Like that’s going to help anyone. He’s kept all these damn secrets for so long, you’d think he could keep another one.’

‘You’d think so,’ said Toby. But, in reality, he thought it would be a very good thing if the Guth family kept a lot fewer secrets from each other.

‘Poor Brooke! I wish Alice was here. She’d know what to do. She wouldn’t start accusing various people in the family of killing other people. She’d get us to stick together. She’d get Dad to tell everyone what really happened on the submarine. And she would figure out who really killed Sam Bowen and Lars.’

‘I think you are giving her too much credit,’ said Toby. ‘It seems to me she is as guilty as Bill about keeping secrets.’

‘Maybe she has some plan? Now. Maybe Alice knows what’s going on?’

‘I think that’s what Bill is afraid of,’ said Toby. ‘That Alice knows what’s going on.’

‘Dad can’t be right that Alice killed Sam, can he?’

‘Of course not,’ said Toby. Firmly. His belief in his wife’s innocence was unshakeable. He couldn’t allow it to be shaken. ‘No chance.’

‘You’re right,’ said Megan. She stood up and put the bowls in the dishwasher. She began to wash up the small number of pots on the kitchen counter. Toby grabbed a dish towel and started drying.

Megan had the last pot in the washing up bowl, and she was staring down at the suds, shoulders hunched and lips pursed. She let out a sob.

‘Come here,’ said Toby.

He was a lot taller than Megan, who pressed her face closely into his chest. The sobs came faster, and he held her close.

His phone buzzed. He broke away from Megan and checked the screen. It was Alice. ‘Hey! Are they letting you go?’

‘Yes. Just now.’

‘That’s great! So they’ve admitted you’ve got nothing to do with it?’

‘I don’t think so. They had to let me go or charge me. And they haven’t gotten enough evidence to charge me. Yet.’

‘Oh well. It’s great you’re out.’

‘Toby? Can you come and get me?’

Toby glanced at the two bottles of wine on the table and felt foolish. ‘I can’t. I’ve had too much to drink.’

‘Oh, Toby!’

‘I can get a taxi and come and fetch you.’

‘Don’t worry. I can get a cab from here myself.’

‘I can ask your dad if he can go and get you. He hasn’t had as much to drink as me.’

‘Hey, it’s fine, Toby. I’ll see you soon.’

Megan went up to her room, and Toby waited for Alice alone in the kitchen, restricting himself to one more glass of wine.

He thought about the shooter. Megan was right: he could still be after Toby. He felt safe enough inside the house with two armed policemen watching, but that wouldn’t last for ever. At some point soon Toby would return to London. Where he would be a sitting target.

The police, or someone, had to figure out who the shooter was and catch him.

He checked the window and saw the two policemen in their car parked on the other side of the lane. He boiled a kettle and made them both a mug of tea: surely even in these days of Starbucks and triple lattes all policemen still liked tea.

He took two mugs outside. The policemen were grateful, but ushered him back into the house with an admonition to stay put. He glanced back at the dark marsh, wondering whether anyone really was out there. An unseen owl hooted on its night patrol.

It would know.

Twenty minutes later, a taxi pulled up outside the house, and Toby opened the front door for his wife. She stood there, her skin wan in the porch light, her face taut. She looked exhausted but somehow composed, as if she had just pulled an all-nighter at her law firm on a big deal.

They both hesitated, both unsure of how she would behave towards him. Then she threw herself into his chest, and held him tight. She was the second Guth sister to do that to him that evening; he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

Alice looked up. ‘Toby, they said that Lars has been shot and killed on the beach. And someone shot at you too!’

‘That’s right.’

‘God, I’m so glad they missed! I mean missed you. Poor Uncle Lars.’

‘Come in,’ Toby said. ‘Have a glass of wine.’

‘Is there anything to eat? I’m starving. There must be some cold turkey left?’

‘Yeah. Or I think there’s some soup. I can warm that up for you?’

‘That would be good. Thanks.’

She came into the kitchen and Toby emptied the remains of the carton of soup into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave.

‘Tell me what happened. On the beach.’

Toby told her as he watched the bowl of soup circle in the microwave, but he was interrupted just as the machine pinged.

‘Alice! You’re out!’ said Bill, appearing at the kitchen door.

‘What did you expect?’ said Alice. ‘They couldn’t keep me any longer without charging me.’

Bill held open his arms for her. Alice ignored him, and started eating her soup. Bill let his arms drop.

That was the second Guth sister to reject him that evening, Toby thought.

‘I’m sorry about Uncle Lars, Dad. I know he was a good friend of yours.’