grew up around there.’
‘Were you waiting for them?’
‘Yes,’ I said, without the slightest intonation. ‘You got in the way.’
The chestnut tree in the centre of the park had been hacked away by the council. I used to sit underneath it eating my lunch sometimes. It would shelter you from a sudden downpour or the hot sun. Now it looked like a huge hand reaching up to the sky with all its fingers sliced back to stumps.
Heather eyeballed me. ‘You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Killing them?’
I stared at the pulse in her neck, thumping away.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Did you kill the others as well? The ones your boyfriend—’
‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ I said, standing up.
‘No please don’t go,’ she said, standing up as well. ‘I’m sorry. Those others – from what I read they were bad people.’
It was my turn to eyeball her. She was wearing a mauve BodyCon dress and while she wasn’t fat, it was still far too tight for her. I could see her belly button. I could see the mole in her belly button. That’s just ridic.
‘What do you want? Money? Tough shit.’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘You want to threaten me?’
‘Rhiannon I’ve represented rape victims for twenty years. I’ve seen the full impact rape has on a human being, both women and men. And their families. It’s worse still when they have to relive it in court. That could have been me and it wasn’t, thanks to you.’
‘What do you mean, “represented” them?’
‘I’m a solicitor. Ben is too. We practice—’
‘Yeah yeah, I don’t want your life story, thanks.’
‘I wanted to give you this and to say again, thank you. Even if you didn’t mean to, even if you enjoyed it – thank you.’ She handed me a business card with W&A embossed on one side, and a phone number and a tiny etching of a golden gondola on the other.
‘Wherryman and Armfield,’ I said.
‘Armfield passed away some years back so it’s just us Wherrymans now. We’re based in Bristol and Ben and I live locally with our boys. Sorry, I know you don’t want my life story. Call me, if you need anything. Anything at all. If I can’t help I can probably find someone who can.’
She got up and started walking away from me without another glance. Then without warning she stopped and turned around to face me. ‘I knew you’d done this before. I knew it that night.’
She looked like she was about to say something else but her mouth kept closing like a fish’s – scared to bring the words forth. And then they came.
‘Patrick Edward Fenton.’
‘Who?’ I said.
She started walking away, her scarf fluttering up on the breeze. ‘Last I heard, he was working in Sportz Madness in Torquay.’
‘Why would I care about this?’
‘He’s my one that got away.’
When she’d gone, I stared at the card. Keeping it was a link – to her, to that night, to the two dead men. I was about to post it into the bin at the side of the bench when a thought struck. Gift horses and all that.
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