From the Dead

FORTY-SIX

It took Thorne three or four minutes to reach the house, but it felt like a lot longer. The Golf was parked outside, and though Thorne would have loved to tell the man in the driver's seat precisely what he thought of him, there wasn't time. He settled for a hard stare and the satisfying look of panic on the private detective's face as he walked past the car.

The door to the villa was open and Thorne could hear shouting from inside. He stepped into a large, vaulted lobby. There were acres of white marble, potted palms whose leaves almost brushed the glass roof and a staircase that swept up and around to his right. He walked beneath it, his breathing and heart-rate finally beginning to slow a little, and followed a tiled corridor towards the far side of the villa, towards the screams of rage and frustration that echoed off the tastefully decorated walls.

'Well, you've wasted your fucking time…'

'Christ, what's he done?'

'What's he done?'

'Please…'

'You really are a stupid bitch, aren't you?'

Just before the corridor ended, Thorne passed a room whose door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and saw Gary Brand, sitting and flicking through a newspaper as though it were a doctor's waiting room. Brand looked up, alarmed, and opened his mouth to say something.

Thorne put a finger to his lips as a glass shattered somewhere near by.

'You've lost it, love.'

'Just tell her to go…'

Brand tried to stand up, but Thorne pushed him back into his seat. Told him quietly but firmly to shut his mouth and stay where he was. Then he stepped back into the corridor, took another few paces and peered around the corner.

'You heard what she said.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Maybe I should call the police…'

Thorne was now at the entrance to a large, open-plan seating area. There was a pool table and a white piano beyond the L-shaped sofa. On the far side was what looked like a well-stocked bar, with rows of bottles in gleaming optics and vintage movie posters framed on the wall above.

The Dirty Dozen. Where Eagles Dare. The Italian Job.

The room led directly out, through an open pair of sliding doors, to the pool, and from where he was standing, Thorne had a clear view of the action.

Langford was sitting on the edge of a sunlounger, with Ellie standing behind him. A few feet away, on the other side of a glass-topped table, Donna stood, her fists clenched at her side and her eyes fixed on her daughter's right hand, which was resting on Langford's shoulder.

'I was struggling not to laugh out loud,' Langford said, 'when that copper accused me of "taking" her.' He glanced up at Ellie. 'She couldn't wait to get over here, could you, love?'

'I dreamed about it.' Ellie squeezed her father's shoulder, but spat the words across at her mother. 'Just had to wait until I was eighteen, so nobody would bother looking too hard.'

'For ten years, you were all I thought about,' Donna said.

'Oh, I thought about you, too. Only not quite in the same way.'

'That last day I saw you, before the trial, you cried and cried and begged them not to take me away.' Donna's voice was weak and cracked. 'You wouldn't let go of my arm.'

'I was a kid,' Ellie said. 'I was stupid.'

'No…'

'I didn't know what you'd done. What you'd tried to do. I didn't know what a vicious cow you were, did I?'

'But I did it for you.'

'You tried to kill my father!'

'For us.'

'You didn't think about me, how I would feel.'

'That was all I thought about, I swear. All those years…'

'Funny,' Langford said. 'I thought you were too busy becoming a rug-muncher to give a shit.'

Even from his vantage point twenty feet away, Thorne could see the hatred etched into Donna's face.

'When did you contact her?' she asked.

Langford thought about it. 'About eighteen months after I got here, once I was settled. I got word to her, had a few friends keep an eye out, passed on some money whenever she needed it. We started making plans for you to come out here fairly early on, didn't we, love?'

Ellie nodded.

Donna was shaking her head as though trying to make sense of what she was hearing. 'I don't understand,' she said. When she looked across at Ellie, it was as if Donna herself had become the child. 'I don't understand…'

Thorne had seen and heard enough. He stepped into the open and watched as Langford spotted the movement, focused on him… then smiled.

'I thought you must be knocking about somewhere,' Langford said.

Donna and Ellie both stared at Thorne – the daughter looking straight through him, the mother ashen.

Langford held out his arms. 'Come and join our happy family reunion.'

Thorne walked on to the pool deck and across to Donna.

'Careful of the broken glass,' Langford said. He nodded towards the green shards at the edge of the pool, the remains of a beer bottle. 'My ex has been playing up.'

'I don't understand,' Donna said again. 'What about the photos? Somebody sent me those photographs…'

'You're even more stupid than I thought,' Ellie snapped.

Thorne had already worked it out, but it took Donna a few seconds.

'You?'

Langford looked up at his daughter. ' What?'

'I was going to explain-'

' You sent the pictures?'

Ellie nodded, opened her mouth again to speak.

'Have you any idea what you've done?' He pushed her hand away from his shoulder. 'How much fucking trouble you've caused. How much you've cost me?'

'What trouble might that be, Alan?' Thorne asked.

Langford turned slowly and glared at him. He said nothing, but the blood that had rushed to his face was clear enough, even through the tan.

Donna was still looking at her daughter. 'Why?'

Ellie sniffed, spoke as though she were telling someone the time. 'Because I wanted you to know that you'd been sitting in prison for killing someone who wasn't dead. I wanted you to see what a great life he was living while yours had turned to shit. I wanted you to suffer .'

It was clear that Ellie Langford had got her wish. Donna took a faltering step forward but then had to lean down and hold on to the table to keep from falling.

Thorne moved forward and laid a hand on her arm. Said, 'I think it's time to go.'

'Yeah, look after yourself, Mum,' Ellie said.

Thorne stared at her, saw the sarcastic sneer replaced by the same sullen pout he had seen in the photographs of Ellie as a young teenager.

She cocked her head. 'What?' A challenge.

Donna gently removed Thorne's hand from her arm. She still seemed bewildered, disoriented. 'But the photos were posted in London.'

'Jesus, I've still got friends in London.' Ellie nodded dismissively at Thorne. 'I would have thought PC Plod could have worked that one out.'

'But it was like you'd been… taken. You just vanished.'

'Nice clean start,' Langford said. He was trying to sound calm, but was obviously still shaken by Ellie's admission. 'Best way. Same thing I did.'

'Plus, he didn't want anyone sniffing around over here,' Thorne said. 'That's why her passport was left behind, why he got her out of the country on the quiet.'

Langford smirked. 'What? Are you going to do me for people smuggling?'

'If I have to.'

'Bring it on,' Langford said, aggressive suddenly. 'Sounds like fun.'

'Why didn't you at least tell your foster parents you were all right?' Thorne asked.

The girl seemed more concerned with a few stray hairs that had been loosened by the breeze than with the devastation she was casually wreaking.

Thorne tried to keep the disgust from his voice, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. 'Have you any idea what they've been going through?'

Ellie shrugged. 'Not that it's any of your business, but I would have told Maggie and Julian eventually.' She spoke their names mockingly, like a bad comedian taking the piss. 'They'll survive, don't worry. They've got their precious Sam, anyway. I was always going to be second best once he came along.'

Now Thorne could see the extent to which this pretty, dark-haired teenager was dead inside. Cold and hard as stone. Sending the pictures had been only part of it. Not letting the Munros know she was alive and well had all been in the cause of torturing her mother, and she had been happy for Donna to believe that she was dead. Thorne watched her tuck her hair behind her ears and realised that, although Ellie Langford had inherited her mother's looks, all the things that defined her had come from her father.

Donna was staring at the floor, muttering.

'You'll have to speak up, love,' Langford said.

'You've no idea,' Donna said. She raised her head and looked at her daughter. Pleading. 'What it was like with him. The things he did, the things he made me do, the way he made me feel. What was I supposed to do?'

'God, here we go,' Langford said.

Donna lurched towards Ellie, and for a second panic replaced boredom on the girl's face. 'He did this,' Donna screamed. She reached out to show the flash of pink, puckered skin across the back of her hand. 'Look at what he did to me…'

Ellie had already recovered herself. She shrugged. 'That routine didn't work in court, so don't try it on me, OK?'

Donna let her arm drop and turned her head to stare across the pool. She looked hollowed out and hopeless.

Thorne took a step towards her. 'Come on now, Donna.'

She didn't move.

'Christ, she won't take a hint, will she?' The girl's voice was raised suddenly, shrill and contemptuous. 'It's not like I didn't make it clear enough when I spoke to her "girlfriend".' The distaste was obvious. 'I told her I never wanted to see the bitch again, that I'd happily let her die in prison. I told her I didn't even have a mother.'

There were a few seconds of silence then, save for the sound of the pool cleaner sucking its way across the bottom of the pool, ticking and slurping at the end of its long hose. Donna finally turned away from her daughter and began to walk slowly towards the sliding doors, listing slightly as though she were a little drunk.

'I need a drink,' she said. 'Some water…'

Thorne watched her disappear inside, sympathy fighting for space with guilt now that he finally understood what Kate had kept from her

… and why. It had been a small lie – a simple and tender not-telling – to protect the thing that Donna cherished more than anything else.

He knew better than most that love could cause as much damage and death as hate ever did.

'So, what do we do now?' Langford asked. 'You fancy a dip, Mr Thorne?'

Thorne said nothing. He would not rise to Langford's bait, and besides, he was too busy wondering if the people-smuggling charge might provide some sort of starting point. If there was anything he could feasibly nick the daughter for.

'I wonder where your mate Gary's got to,' Langford said. 'Still skulking around inside somewhere in case Donna sees him, I suppose. Not that it really matters much any more.' He watched Ellie as she calmly lay down on an adjacent sunbed, then pointed to his ears. 'Hear anything interesting, by the way?'

'Just bullshit and bravado,' Thorne said. 'The sound of someone running out of time.'

Langford lay back on his sunbed. 'Yeah, the pressure's terrible.' He reached for a paperback on a small table, then, almost as if he'd forgotten that Thorne was there at all, said, 'You can let yourself out.'

Thorne watched, feeling the hate bubble up and the blood beating in his veins. Then he saw Langford glance towards the doors and sit up suddenly. He heard Ellie say, 'Dad…?'

Donna walked calmly on to the deck, pointing a gun. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, and when she spoke her voice was flat and low, almost robotic. 'Old habits, eh, Alan? Always slept with one of these near the bed. Always thinking ahead.'

Langford climbed cautiously off the lounger and backed away, his arms held out towards her. Ellie stood up too and edged towards her father. Thorne stayed where he was.

'This is stupid, Donna,' he said. 'Give the gun to me.'

He could not be sure if she heard him, if whatever voice was guiding her was simply too loud. She held the gun out further, two hands trembling around the butt as she continued to point it at Langford.

'He's right, it's stupid,' Langford said. He stepped towards Ellie and, for a second, Thorne thought he was going to use his daughter as a shield. He could not help but wonder, as time seemed to stand still, which of them would be the greater loss to the gene pool. 'What's the point of this, Donna?'

'I'm giving Ellie what she wanted,' Donna said. 'She wanted me to spend the rest of my life in prison and this seems as good a way as any. The best way, as a matter of fact.'

'I didn't mean it,' Ellie shouted.

'She didn't mean any of it.' Langford took a tentative step towards his ex-wife. 'The photos were just a bit of fun, that's all, love. Just a joke, for Pete's sake.'

Donna nodded slowly, said, 'Not funny,' then shot Langford in the chest.

Time had caught up with itself and then sped ahead long before the ringing in Thorne's ears had died down. Ellie screamed and kept screaming as Donna lowered the gun. Langford took two paces back and dropped, first to one knee, then on to his back at the side of the pool. Thorne heard Samarez shouting, 'Armed police!' and 'Drop the gun!' and watched Donna do as she was told, her face as calm as the water in the pool while the weapon slipped from her hand and clattered on to the deck.

Just a pop…

Samarez, Boyle and Thorne all ran to Donna, while Ellie rushed towards Langford and dropped to her knees beside his head. He was still moving, rocking up on to his side before collapsing back again. As soon as Donna had been restrained, Samarez walked back into the living area and took out his phone.

'Is someone going to do something?' Ellie shouted.

Thorne could hear Samarez talking fast, calling an ambulance or doing something far more important, such as letting his wife know that he'd be late for dinner. Gary Brand was standing near the piano, saying, 'What the hell happened?' as Boyle started to lead Donna inside. She mumbled a thank-you and there was the suggestion of a smile as she passed Thorne, although she never looked up at him.

Ellie Langford lifted her father's head off the ground and on to her lap. She removed a sliver of green glass from his neck and pressed her fingers to the wound as blood began to bubble and pulse. Not as much as was pouring from his chest, though, already dark and shiny against the cream tiles and spreading towards the edge of the pool.

Thorne walked slowly across and while the girl screamed abuse at him and reached up to pull at his shirt, he leaned forward to watch the first drops of Alan Langford's blood slide over the edge, plop quietly into the water and start to sink.

Each one breaking up just a little as it went down.

And between the sobs and the groans and the shouting from somewhere inside, the sound of the pool cleaner, still ticking and slurping as it went about its business.