Alex Barclay - The Drowning Child

Yet again, she’s in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place.

Is the sighting of Caleb fake? Did Alice pay that woman to come forward? What is going on? She is obsessed with the unreliability of eyewitness testimony. Does she know we know about Lister Creek? Could Paula Leon have called her?

Ren’s cell phone rang. She picked up. ‘Beckman.’

‘Hi, Ren – just to let you know, based on the samples your guys sent in, we got a match for the water in Luke Monroe’s sphenoid sinus: he was drowned in Rose Dennehy’s koi pond.’

Holy shit.

Ren’s first thought was John Veir.

The next was J. J. Nash.

Ren called the CAST agent.

‘Ren Bryce here – did you lift any prints from the cell phone?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘John Veir’s.’

Ren frowned. ‘John Veir? And what did you get from the phone dump?’

‘I got video of Luke Monroe...’

Oh, no. ‘Being... drowned?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ John Veir... A shiver ran up her spine. ‘OK, thanks,’ she said. Her mind went into overdrive.

There was one other person she knew was in the area that day, one person who hadn’t been questioned, who hadn’t been ruled out.

Her final thought, the most horrifying one, was: Caleb Veir.

The sighting’s not fake. It’s real: Caleb Veir is alive. Caleb Veir killed Luke Monroe.

Jesus.

Christ.

Shannon Fuller was white-faced, sitting on the floor of her living room, her back against the sofa. In one shaking hand, she gripped the phone. In the other, she clutched a square of white paper.

She called John Veir. He picked up right away.

‘Hey...’

‘Please,’ said Shannon. ‘Please... please come over. To the bar. I need you.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I... it’s Seth... it’s Seth.’

Fifteen minutes later, John Veir walked into The Crow Bar. Shannon was slumped in Clyde’s chair, her head on the table, her body wracked with sobs. John rushed toward her. Shannon stood up, turned to face him. For a moment, he faltered.

‘You fucking asshole!’ she screamed. ‘You fucking asshole!’

She walked over to meet him, shoved him hard in the chest. He staggered back.

‘What the... what are you doing?’ said John, regaining his balance.

‘Don’t!’ she said. She lunged for him, lightning fast, shoved him harder and he was on the floor.

John stared up at her, wide-eyed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she said. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She held out the small white wrapper she had in her hand. ‘He OD’d! He OD’d on fentanyl and you gave it to him. Have you lost your mind?’

John struggled to his feet. ‘I did not—’

‘Liar!’ screamed Shannon. ‘You liar! He told me about Merrifield, he told me about you. And he said he was done with it all, done with drugs. And you fucking give him fentanyl. Are you out of your—’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking—’

‘Oh my God!’ said Shannon. ‘Don’t make this worse. But you need to tell me why. You need to tell me why, because I’ve been wracking my brains here, trying to work out why the man who’s supposed to love me, or have loved me – or may never have loved me, let’s face it – would give this fucked-up drug to the only family I’ve got left in the world. And I have no clue why you would do that, John. No fucking clue. I’m losing my mind here, trying to figure it all out.’ She paused. ‘The only conclusion I can come to is that you wanted Seth dead – but why? Why? You looked out for Seth in prison. You like Seth—’

‘I do like him!’ said John. ‘I did not want him dead! I was trying to help him with his pain. After the assault—’

‘But you know the risks,’ said Shannon. ‘I’m just not processing this. You hate drugs! You hate even having to take your prescription drugs. You watched him almost die in his cell, you saved his life. What changed? Why did you want to kill my baby? Why?’

‘I... didn’t think he would die,’ said John. ‘I didn’t want him to die—’

‘You’re lying!’ said Shannon. ‘You’re still fucking lying.’ She walked up to him and slapped him hard across the face. ‘Tell. Me. The. Truth.’

John Veir was pale. ‘I... I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ screamed Shannon. ‘Sorry? What have I ever done to you? You loved me! I loved you! Why did you do this? Tell me!’

‘I... I... can’t,’ said John.

Shannon reached into the back of her waistband and pulled out Seth’s gun. ‘Yes, John. Yes, you can.’

The door opened and they both spun around.

Ren’s heart was pounding .

The anger at Aaron Fuller for having his PlayStation, the anger at his father for giving it away, the anger at his mother – why? – the drowning in the koi pond, quitting the job at Rose Dennehy’s... I know what you fucking did, John Veir. You found Rose Dennehy’s phone wherever Caleb had hidden it. You knew it wasn’t his, so you went through it to see who it belonged to – and you found the video he’d made.

Ren’s stomach turned at the thought that Caleb Veir recorded what he did to little Luke Monroe.

Selfies, videos – that’s what kids do.

Oh, God. He’s just a kid.

A damaged one. An abused one.

You saw Luke Monroe, his little neck gripped, his head pushed into the pond.

And that was the moment your world fell apart. You knew what your son done, who your son was. Your twelve-year-old son was a killer.

You were horrified. But you love your son. You knew what Jimmy Lyle did to him. You always knew he was damaged. You just didn’t know how badly. But you love your son. You felt responsible, because you went off to war and you left him behind, and you left your wife behind, and they fell apart. You love your son. More than he will ever understand. Because that’s not something he can understand. Even though you thought, you hoped, he could.

Did you confront him? Did you look into those angry black eyes and ask him why he did it? Was that when you locked him in his bedroom? He’d have been crazed at this point – he hated you. He knew you knew his secret. He just didn’t know what you were going to do about it. He thought maybe you were going to call the police, that he’d end up in prison. He figured you wanted to get rid of him anyway, that you never liked him. There was no way he could make it out his bedroom window on the second floor, it was too high. So he kicked at the door, he kicked and he kicked and he kicked.

You couldn’t let him go to prison, could you? So you ran through your options and you chose to save him. You would have him disappear, let everyone think he was another tragic young victim – that way no one would ever suspect him of being a killer. Meanwhile you would get him somewhere he could have the help he needed, and eventually you would bring him home, cured. You believed that that was possible.

You just didn’t realize what a mess you would make.

So you called your sister and asked her to help you save him. She was only three and a half hours away. You were lucky.

Why, though, why did she help you? Isn’t she honorable? Doesn’t she believe in justice? She is so desperately earnest to save Anthony Boyd Lorden, to right that wrong, why would she jeopardize everything she’d fought for to save a child killer, even if he was a child himself, even if he was her own nephew? How did you talk her into getting involved?