The Prisoner(67)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN




I walk into the church. It’s already full, but I don’t want to stand at the back, I’d feel too conspicuous.

Turning to the right, I walk up the side aisle and slide into a space at the end of a bench, hoping that the young woman who shifts along to give me more room isn’t someone from the magazine. I tug on the brim of the blue hat I’m wearing, bringing it down on my forehead, and pull my hair forward, hiding my face, but keeping my eyes clear. Where is he?

During the service, I close my ears to the sounds of gentle weeping around me. I’m scared to cry, scared that I might not be able to stop. I focus on Justine, on the last time I saw her, at dinner at Carolyn’s, when she made us laugh with stories about an interview she’d done with a famous jockey, in a stable full of horses. For Lina, it’s harder to conjure good memories.

The service ends, and I slide quickly out of the pew, wanting to get out of the church before people start coming down the central aisle. My plan is to stand somewhere to the side and scan the faces of the exiting crowd until I see Lukas. But as I hurry toward the door, I see a man stepping out of the shadows on the other side of the church, also making his way to the door, in as much of a hurry to leave as I am. My breath comes quicker; it isn’t Lukas, but I know this man, I’m sure of it. I try to place him: he’s of medium height, medium build, but there’s nothing else to give me a clue as to his identity.

I tell myself that I must be mistaken, that I don’t know him. As he approaches the door, I hang back to get a better look at him and notice that his head is shaved. The pieces lock together—Carl, I’m sure it’s Carl.

I force my way through the crowd leaving the church and see him walking across the adjacent gardens, toward the main road. Panic takes hold; if he has a car parked nearby, he’ll be gone before I can speak to him.

“Carl!”

He doesn’t turn, he keeps on walking. But I saw, I saw him falter when I called his name, it’s definitely him. He’s moving faster now, there’s an exit at each corner of the park, he’s heading toward the left-hand one, so I start running toward the one on the right. My hat flies off my head as I exit the park, but I don’t stop, I run faster as I double back along the road to the exit Carl is heading toward. I can see him through the railings, his head is down, he has no idea that any second now, he’ll be face-to-face with me. I burst through the exit, people scatter, he looks up at the sound of their surprise, and sees me heading straight for him. I see alarm flare in his eyes as he tries to step out of my way. But I follow his movements and block his path so that he’s obliged to stop.

“I need to talk to you,” I say breathlessly. “I know you’re Carl, and I think you know who I am.”

His face is impassive as he looks back at me. His eyes are dark, I notice, almost black. Then his brow clears.

“Mrs. Hawthorpe. I’m sorry—we never met face-to-face, so I had trouble placing you.” He looks back at the church. “I thought I’d come and pay my respects.”

“Why?”

“Sorry?”

“I’m asking why you wanted to pay your respects to Justine and Lina when you didn’t know them. You only worked for Ned for a few days. You never met either of them.”

“Their story has captured a lot of people’s hearts, Mrs. Hawthorpe.”

I notice it then, his accent. Australian, South African, I don’t know. For a moment, I falter. The man guarding Ned didn’t speak with an accent. Instinct kicks in. I’m right, I know I am.

I shake my head. “No. I know why you’re here. Closure.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Don’t.” I lower my voice as people come along the path toward us. “You may be speaking with a different accent, but I know you were one of the men who held me and Ned prisoner.”

He looks around, concern in his eyes. “Are you with someone? Could I get them for you?”

“Please don’t treat me like an idiot.”

He checks the time on his watch. “I’m sorry, but I need to be going.”

He tries to step around me but again, I block his way. “No. I need answers, and after all that I’ve done for you, you owe me. So, tell me—where’s Lukas? Why isn’t he here?”

He looks so bemused that for a moment, I think I’ve gotten it wrong. But the same gut feeling tells me again that I’m right.

“If you refuse to talk to me,” I say, incensed, “I’ll go to the police and tell them that I saw Ned Hawthorpe kill Lina Mielkut?.”

I see it in his eyes, a flash of something. But whatever it was disappears as quickly as it came.

“Yes, that’s right,” I hiss. “I saw Ned kill Lina, I saw him suffocate her with his own hands, I was hiding behind the door in the library, and I saw everything. I also saw Hunter being shot at point-blank range—but of course, you already know that, you said as much in your letter of instructions.” I barely notice his hand on my elbow as he steers me toward a bench, barely notice the tears streaming from my eyes. “Have you any idea what that was like for me, to witness two murders? You might have closure, but I never will, not until I have the answers I need.”

“I know you won’t want to hear this,” he says, as I fumble in my bag for a tissue. “But, Mrs. Hawthorpe, please believe me when I say that I have no idea what you are talking about.”