Tom Weaver - The Dead Tracks

Outside, rain spat against the window.

I glanced at the picture of Derryn again and then went to the window. The first pinpricks of day pierced a smear of cloud beyond the houses opposite. I pulled on a pair of boxers and watched one of my neighbours filling his car full of junk. When he was done, his wife came down the drive to him, kissed him, and watched him pull out and disappear along the road.

'Morning.'

I turned. Liz was standing looking at me, a towel around her, her hair darkened by water and sitting against one of her shoulders like a thick tail.

'Morning,' I said, smiling, and held up the coffee. 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.' She moved around to my side of the bed, then perched herself on the edge. I sat down next to her. 'How are you feeling?' she asked.

I looked at her. She blinked, a little water breaking free from her hairline and running down her cheek.

'I feel good. You?'

She nodded. 'Sorry it's so early.'

'Are you in court today?'

'No,' she said, her eyes moving across my face. 'I'm driving up to Warwick to see Katie again. She's meeting with an investment bank about a graduate programme next week. I'll give her the old mum-to-daughter pep talk and then we'll probably head into Birmingham and go shopping'

'You excited about seeing her again?'

'Very.'

I remembered the photographs of them I'd seen at Liz's. Katie looked a lot like her mum. She was also beautiful, except with even longer, darker hair.

'I'm sorry.'

I looked at Liz. 'For what?'

'For just having to leave like this.'

'You're not just leaving,' I said. You're leaving to see your daughter. That's the best kind of excuse.' I took another sip of coffee. 'And in any case, this is a mean cup of coffee to depart on.'

She leaned into me and kissed me. When she moved away again, her eyes were fixed on mine. She looked like she was expecting me to flinch.

'I don't regret what we did,' I said.

'Are you sure?'

More water ran down her face. She placed a hand on my leg, studying me, looking for signs of uncertainty.

'Derryn was a part of my life for fifteen years,' I said, placing my hand on hers. 'She was the first woman I loved, the only thing that ever really mattered to me during the time we were together. If you're asking me if there'll be moments to begin with when I'm a little unsure of myself, or feel like things are maybe moving too fast, then yes, there will be moments like that. But if you're asking me if I regret what we did, if I regret spending the night with you, then no. I don't. You've waited for me, and supported me, and comforted me. You've been there for me. I don't regret what I've done.'

Her eyes shimmered a little.

I touched a hand to her face, where a trail of water had worked its way down past her ear, to her neck. 'Like I told you yesterday, you don't have to compete with her.'

'Okay,' she said softly.

'I will always love Derryn,' I said. 'A part of me will always love her, whatever happens.'

She nodded.

'But…'I paused and looked into her eyes. 'I'm tired of feeling lonely. I'm tired of being scared of letting go. I'm tired of looking at her in pictures and feeling guilt choking me up when I think about moving on. I feel guilt, and yet Derryn never laid any guilt at my door. She would never have expected me to spend my life trying to cling on to every memory I have of her. That wasn't who she was. If she could see the way I'd been for almost two years, sitting alone in this house, feeling terrified about moving on… she would never have forgiven me. She would have wanted me to take the next step.'

I ran a hand through Liz's hair and then leaned in and kissed her.

'So, that's exactly what I'm going to do…'

Later, as I watched Liz's car disappear into the rain, I thought about what she'd said to me . You're trying to plug holes in the world because you know what it's like to lose someone, andyou think it's your job to stop anyone else suffering the same way .

She'd been right.

She saw it in me, even before I saw it in myself. She understood that the reason I let Derryn talk me into taking on that first case was because I could see what was happening to her, could see the end coming, and I didn't want anyone else to suffer like I had. The loss. The helplessness. The inevitability. I wanted to help families turn their lives around, to punch through the darkness to the light on the other side.

And then, finally, bring the people that mattered to them back from the dead.

Author's Note

Anyone even remotely familiar with London geography will know that I've taken some liberties in The Dead Tracks. I hope the residents of east London will forgive me for making their home the hunting ground for a notorious Victorian serial killer and a crazed plastic surgeon. Plainly, the woods, and the factories that surround it, don't actually exist.

Acknowledgements

Sometimes you have to admit when you've lucked out, and I feel very blessed to have landed Stefanie Bierwerth as my editor; her kindness, support, guidance and razor- sharp editorial powers have consistently refocused the book as it journeyed between drafts. My agent Camilla Wray also has an incredible eye for a story and was instrumental in shaping the book from the first moment it landed on her desk. Handily, she's become a black belt in settling my nerves too — important for the (many) times when doubts start creeping in. Without these two wonderful women there wouldn't be a book.

A special thank you to the brilliant team at Penguin (including, but not limited to, Tom, Jessica, Jennifer, Andrew, Shona and Caroline) who do an incredible job of getting Raker out there into people's hands, and who work so tirelessly on my behalf. Also, to the ladies of Darley Anderson, who have supported and promoted my writing right from day one.

Mike Hedges was enthusiastic and gracious, filling me in on his years as one of the country's top policemen, and offered ideas and details which I've since twisted and adapted for the purposes of the book. Any errors are entirely of my own making. Bruce Bennett also provided some intriguing insights in the early stages of the novel, while plastic surgeon Rob Warr will probably be horrified with how I've portrayed his profession — although I did warn him that things might go a bit rogue. I hope he forgives me.

My family in the UK and South Africa have been amazing, going above and beyond the call of duty in their support of the books. Thank you to everyone. I must give a special mention to my mum and dad, though. This book is dedicated to you both for a reason.

Finally, the two Weaver ladies: Erin, who wakes me up at six in the morning after I've been writing until one; and Sharlé, who lets me lie in, and never complains when Raker and I disappear for months on end. Without you both, I'd be lost.