Launch Code

FIFTY-THREE

It was dark by the time they drove back to Barnholt. Alice went in Brooke’s car to explain to her what she could about their father, and Toby drove Megan.

‘Having fun, Toby?’ Megan said, as they pulled out of the pub car park.

‘No.’

‘Me neither.’

Toby didn’t say anything.

‘I guess my father really is a murderer after all,’ Megan said.

Toby glanced at her. He could barely make out her face, but she seemed close to tears. And who could blame her?

‘I guess so.’

‘But I thought he was a good man. A great man.’

‘He was,’ said Toby. ‘He is. Whatever he has done can’t take away from what he did on that submarine thirty-five years ago.’

‘Can’t it? I get that he’s in trouble, but killing people is not the answer. And only yesterday he tried to shoot you!’

‘Yes.’ Toby shuddered. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘And now we are happily driving back to the house. With a murderer inside it. Do you think he’ll try and kill one of us?’

‘No,’ said Toby, trying to sound as confident as he could. ‘No. As long as we all keep quiet and don’t let on we suspect him.’

‘You’re not going to tell the police, are you, Toby?’

‘I’ll leave that up to the admiral. For now.’

‘And then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Toby. ‘I really don’t know.’

‘A cup of tea, anyone?’ said Toby when they were in the kitchen.

Brooke was still sobbing from the short car journey. She hadn’t taken what Alice had told her well. Which was unsurprising, really.

‘Tea?’ said Megan. ‘What is it with you English people? I was thinking more of a glass of wine.’

‘I’ll have one,’ said Alice. Her face was pale, but her jaw thrust out in a determined way which was familiar to Toby.

‘OK,’ said Brooke.

‘All right. Me too,’ said Megan.

Toby boiled the kettle, and got out some mugs and tea bags.

Then Bill appeared.

The three sisters and Toby froze. Brooke stopped mid-sob.

Bill couldn’t help but notice. ‘You’re back,’ he said.

‘We are,’ said Alice, coldly.

‘Hi, Brooke,’ said Bill. He walked over to the kitchen table to try to kiss her. She sniffed and turned away from him.

Bill straightened. ‘Toby. I’d like to have a chat with you about something. Can you come up to my study?’

Toby forced himself to smile. ‘Shall I bring you up a cup of tea?’

‘Sure,’ said Bill, clearly thankful for a glimpse of friendliness.

Toby poured five mugs, and followed Bill up the stairs carrying two of them.

Bill’s study was tiny, and extremely tidy. A sign of someone who had spent several years living and working in cramped enclosed spaces. A desk bearing a computer screen was wedged under a window looking out at the blackness of the marsh and night sky. A bookshelf took up one wall, and two wooden filing cabinets another. There were at least four photographs of Donna at various stages of her life: one their wedding photograph, and one with the four grown sisters by the pear tree outside the Barnholt house. Five good-looking women.

A kind of wooden trolley contained yarn and tapestry designs, and a half-completed piece of needlepoint lay neatly folded on top of one of the cabinets. Toby could see it was the view of Barnholt, and Bill had made quite a lot of progress on it since Thanksgiving.

He sat down and faced his father-in-law, sipping his cup of tea. He felt he should be scared of him, but he couldn’t quite accept that this man had tried to shoot him only twenty-four hours before.

‘How’s Beachwallet going, Toby?’

‘So far so good,’ said Toby, surprised at the question. ‘The VC is lined up to give us two million. They seem happy with the due diligence.’

‘Because if you need any help from me?’

Toby summoned a smile. ‘Thanks, Bill. We’re going to be fine. We did appreciate your advice at the start.’ There was no way in hell Bill was coming anywhere near Toby’s company now.

Bill smiled weakly. ‘Good. Give my regards to Piet, won’t you?’

‘I will.’

Toby was pretty sure this conversation about Beachwallet was just a ploy to get Toby into Bill’s study.

He was right.

‘Toby?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s going on down there?’

‘They’re upset.’

‘I can see that,’ said Bill. ‘And I can see they are upset with me. Why?’

‘It’s been a lot to take in,’ said Toby. He was determined not to give Bill reason to think they were suspicious of him.

‘Do they think I’m a traitor?’

‘No,’ said Toby. ‘No, they don’t. We don’t. They know why you spoke to the Russians. And they are proud of what you did on the submarine.’

‘Because I think I’m a traitor.’ Bill sighed. ‘Sure I spoke to Pat and Irena from the best of intentions. But I was naïve and so was Donna. We didn’t believe they were KGB and they obviously were. I betrayed my country, and I feel guilty about that. I always will.’

‘No harm came of it,’ said Toby.

Bill grunted. ‘I wish Donna was still around. She had a lot of common sense, that woman. I could use her with me now.’

‘I wish I had known her,’ said Toby. It was true, but Toby was mostly thinking that maybe Donna would have stopped Bill from murdering people.

‘So if that’s not what’s upsetting them, did you tell Alice that I thought she killed Sam?’

Toby hesitated. As he thought it through, it seemed the perfect explanation for the hostility downstairs.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Bill seemed to accept it. ‘It’s OK. I can’t expect you to keep something from your wife.’ He ran a hand through his thick grey hair in frustration. ‘No wonder she’s upset. Brooke is no doubt still cross about Craig. And it’s no surprise Megan is grumpy.’

‘Yup,’ said Toby. That was pretty well explained then.

‘Does Alice know I won’t tell the cops my suspicions?’

‘I think so,’ said Toby.

‘What about you, Toby?’

‘Me?’

‘Do you think she killed Sam Bowen?’

‘No,’ said Toby.

‘Did you ask her?’

‘No. No, I trust her.’

Bill paused. ‘All right. I get that you trust your wife. I’d really like to trust her too. I guess what I’m asking is, can you give me a reason to?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you have proof she didn’t do it?’

Did he? Not really.

‘No,’ Toby said. ‘But we do know she didn’t kill Lars, obviously.’

‘All right,’ said Bill. ‘But if it wasn’t her, who the hell was it?’

Bill’s brown eyes were brimming with distress. Or they seemed to be.

‘I don’t know, Bill. I just don’t know.’

Bill’s mobile phone rang. ‘Hello?’ he said.

Toby was close enough to identify the voice, if not the words. Admiral Robinson.

Bill glanced at Toby. ‘Yeah, hi. I can’t talk right now… OK, I’ll meet you. Do you want to come here?… I know the place. Just above Old Hunstanton… OK, I’ll see you at nine.’

He disconnected. ‘That was Admiral Robinson,’ he said. ‘He wants to see me this evening. I don’t know what he wants to say.’

Toby did.