'Jem followed. And you can guess where he followed her
to.
Quires, in Halkett Place. He watched her through the window from behind a delivery van on the other side of the street and saw her slip the books out of the bag and
onto
the shelf. Then she left.
'Jem let her go, then went into the shop and took a look at the books. When he saw what they were, he knew he had to buy them. They were evidence. Evidence Marilyn had been eager to get off her hands. He'd got hold of a transcript of the original inquest at the time of Radd's confession to check for contradictions. So, he knew what you'd told the coroner about Griffin and the special edition of the Junius letters. And there they were. Minus the flyleaves. The fact that Marilyn had torn them out clinched it for him. His probing over Christmas had panicked her. She'd decided to cover her tracks. Maybe she'd meant to get rid of the books for years but hadn't bothered to. Maybe the distance opening up between Oliver and her was a factor. Maybe she didn't expect to be back in Jersey that often. It doesn't matter why she made her move that day. What matters is that Jem caught her in the act.
'I wish to Christ now he hadn't. He'd still be alive. We'd still...' She swallowed hard. 'Sorry. Can't stop now, can I? Can't go all weepy on you.
'The Junius letters were clearly the key to it all, but Jem didn't really understand why. He couldn't get the idea out of his head of using them in some way to expose the truth -- and to punish Marilyn for her part in it. Eventually, he decided to construct a message out of words and phrases in the letters and send it to three people outside the family he hoped could be goaded into going back into the case. Sharp. Wisby. And Hollins -- the policeman who put Radd away. Looks like Hollins ignored the letter. But Sharp and Wisby didn't. They rose to the bait.
'Jem didn't kill himself because he was afraid you'd expose his campaign to his parents, y'know. He did it to shield me. To draw a line, with me on the safe side of it. He was spooked by the ruthlessness of whoever's behind all this. He felt guilty for stirring up trouble for me. He didn't quite believe they'd killed Sally, y'see. But when they killed Radd? Then he believed. He didn't know where they'd stop. He wanted the truth to come out. All he got for his pains was unwelcome attention from you and Wisby. And he was worried who might follow after you. You meeting me was the last straw, I reckon. He was determined no-one else would get the chance. So, he sent me to St Malo, knowing he never would meet up with me there. And then he went to finish it with you and Wisby the only way he could.
'I'm alone now, like I guess I always have been. Miranda, the sister I can't even remember. Jem, the brother I had for a few precious months. They're gone. It's just me left. I don't know what to do. I can't run. I can't stay. I can't hide. I can't show myself. I want a mother and a father who don't lie to me or betray me or insist I'm dead or someone else or Christ knows what. I want justice for Jem. And for myself. I want everyone to face the truth. And I want to know what the truth is. But I don't expect to get what I want. I don't
expect
at all. I can't see the future. Any future. I can't see a way out. Or ahead. Or even back.' She paused, frowning into what remained of her coffee. Then, for the first time since she had begun speaking, she looked Umber in the eye. 'Can you, Shadow Man? Tell me honestly, can you?'
* * *
Chantelle had not had much of an answer to her question when she went back to her room. She was so clearly exhausted by then that Umber hoped she would sleep for the rest of the night. He held out no such hope for himself. He lay on his bed, not even bothering to undress, staring into the darkness above his head. And darkness was all he saw.
* * *
He rose at dawn and slipped out of the hotel, carrying the knife in its bundle of black plastic. He fetched the bag containing Chantelle's bloodstained clothes from the boot of the car and followed the coast path as it climbed the hill to the west.
Cliffpath to Plemont,
the sign at the bottom had promised. But soon, infuriatingly, it turned inland. He had to cut through a small copse and a bank of bracken beyond to reach the edge of the cliff. He tossed the bag and the bundle over. They fell amongst rocks and foaming sea, lost to the eye almost at once. Safe enough, he reckoned. He headed back.
When they left Greve de Lecq next morning, Umber shunned the obvious route back to St Helier, preferring to head east and approach it from the north, across the middle of the island. There was no good reason for such an elaborate precaution. They would only really be in danger of discovery once they were in St Helier. And there was no way of avoiding that danger if he was to retrieve his statement.
But the danger, he assured Chantelle, was actually minimal. It was just too soon for the police to have thought of contacting Burnouf. And Waldron's associates had no reason to. It was a simple errand, swiftly and easily accomplished. Nothing would go wrong.
* * *
That did not stop him telling Chantelle what to do if something
did
go wrong, however. They sat in the car in the Pier Road multi-storey, facing a concrete wall in the gloom of one of the lower floors, as nine o'clock ticked round. She had said she would not go alone. But the contingency Umber was determined to prepare her for was one in which she would have no choice in the matter.
'If I'm not back by ten, leave without me. Take the Juniuses with you and get off the island any way you can. Go to London. Phone this woman.' He passed her Claire Wheatley's card. 'There's a mobile number on the back. Claire was Sally's psychotherapist. You can trust her. Tell her everything. She'll know what to do for the best.'
'But you
will
be back by ten, won't you?'
'I fully intend to be.'
'So, no need to worry, then.'
'None at all.' He scraped off the time on the parking paycard and propped it on the dashboard. 'I'll see you soon.' Then he gave her a parting smile and climbed out of the car.
* * *
It was only a few minutes' walk down Pier Road and along Hill Street to Le Templier & Burnouf. The receptionist was drinking coffee and sorting through the post when Umber arrived and took a while to absorb the message that he wanted the envelope he had left with Burnouf back and he wanted it now. She rang Burnouf on the internal line and he agreed to spare Umber five minutes.
Five minutes was as long as Umber wanted to spare Burnouf, as it happened, though he did not say so. The ever placid solicitor was still on the internal phone, instructing the receptionist to fetch the envelope from the safe, when Umber hurried into his office.
'Thank you, Janet.' Burnouf rang off. 'Good morning, Mr Umber. Bright and early, I see.'
'Sorry to burst in on you. I, er... well, there's been a...'
'Promising development?'
'No.' Umber was temporarily nonplussed. 'What made you think that?'
'Well, you left your... statement... with me as a precaution, so I understood. Retrieving it suggests precautions are no longer necessary.'
'I've... changed my mind about it. That's all.'
'I see.'
'I'm allowed to do that, aren't I?'
'Of course. It's just...' Burnouf frowned. 'Mr Sharp reappears before the magistrates this morning. I tried to reach you at the Pomme d'Or to discuss his prospects, but they said you'd checked out.'
Umber smiled weakly. 'I found somewhere cheaper.'
'Do you still wish me to say nothing to him about your activities on his behalf?'
'I'll leave that for you to decide.'
'Really? You seem, if I may --' There was a tap at the door. The receptionist came in with the taped and sealed envelope. She delivered it to Burnouf and left. 'Thank you, Janet,' he called after her.
'There's the receipt,' said Umber, whipping it out of his pocket and placing it on the desk. 'May I?' He held out his hand.
'By all means.' Burnouf passed him the envelope. 'There's space on the receipt for you to confirm retrieval. Would you mind signing?' He proffered a pen. Umber signed. 'Leaving Jersey, Mr Umber?'
'Did I say I was?'
'No. It's just... an impression I have.'
'I'll be in touch.'
'What about the Halls? Will you be in touch with them?'
'Sorry?'
'Jeremy Hall's suicide prompted a lot of publicity. One of the newspaper articles I read mentioned a previous suicide by someone linked with the Avebury case. Sally Umber. Not a common surname. Not common at all. I took a flick through the archives. Found you -- and Mr Sharp. I visited him yesterday and asked him about it.'
'What did he say?'
'Nothing. Absolutely nothing.'
'Well, that's my line too.'
'I rather thought it might be. Though whether the police will be content with it...'
'The police?'
'They're bound to follow up the connection sooner or later. I wondered if that was why... you'd called in this morning.' Burnouf glanced pointedly at the envelope in Umber's hand.
'Thanks for this,' Umber said stiffly. 'I've got to go.' He turned and made for the door, but before he reached it something stopped him. He looked back at Burnouf. 'Perhaps you could pass a message to George for me after all.'
'I'd be happy to.'
Tell him... it isn't over.'
* * *
How Sharp would take such a message Umber did not know. His thoughts were fixed now on getting himself and Chantelle off Jersey as quickly as possible. He hurried out of Le Templier & Burnouf and started back the way he had come, glancing at his watch as he went. It had just turned half past nine. He was comfortably on schedule. His gaze returned to the street ahead.
And he found himself looking into the eyes of Percy Nevinson.
'David! Well, well, well.' Nevinson beamed at him. 'How very nice to see you. And how very unexpected.'
Umber's heart sank. Silently but eloquently, he cursed his luck. 'Percy, I --'
'We shouldn't be too surprised, though. This is a small island. And I assume we're bound for the same destination this morning.'
'Where might that be, Percy?'
'The magistrates' court.' Nevinson winked. 'Mr Sharp's hearing. It should prove interesting, I think. Of course, you may be able to tell me how he finds himself in such a position. The gamekeeper poached, so to speak. Why don't we step in somewhere for a cup of coffee? You can fill me in on the background.'
'Sorry. I'm in a rush. Can't stop.'
'Well, I'll walk with you and we can talk as we go. You see, I can hardly believe Mr Sharp's predicament is unconnected with the latest tragedy to strike the Hall family. Jeremy Hall's suicide is actually what prompted me to come to Jersey. I imagine you can tell me a good deal about that as well, if you've a mind to.'
'But I don't have a mind to, Percy. That's the point. Get out of my way.'
Nevinson bridled. 'There's no need to take that tone.'
'Oh but there is. Now I --'
The events of the next few seconds were compressed into a bewildering jumble in Umber's mind. The flank of a white Transit van appeared suddenly at the edge of his vision. The vehicle bounced up onto the pavement and lurched to a halt a few inches from him, the side-door sliding open fast as it did so. He was grabbed from behind by someone on the pavement, his arms pinned to his sides, the envelope plucked from his hand. A second figure loomed above him and grasped his shoulders. Then he was hoisted off his feet and into the van.
He was face down on an oily blanket covering the floor as the door slammed shut. Two men, strong enough to handle him like a child, were above and around him. There was a shout of
'Go!'
then the van surged forward, left the pavement with a jolt and accelerated away. Umber could see the thick neck and shaven head of the driver through the wire-mesh screen between him and the cab.
It was to be no more than a glimpse. His head was yanked up. A blindfold was slung across his eyes. The cloth pressed painfully into them as the knot was fastened. He cried out. But the cry was stifled by a strip of duct tape, slapped across his mouth and pressed tight against his skin. His hands were crushed together behind his back, then cords twined round his wrists and tightened. He tried to struggle up, but a boot descended heavily on his neck, forcing him down again.
Then came a rasping voice close to his ear. 'Lie still or we'll break every fucking bone in your body.'
* * *
They were on the road for about half an hour, Umber estimated. His shock faded slightly, but his fear only increased. Reasoning as best he could, he deduced they had been following Nevinson in the hope he would lead them to Umber, as, by pure and malign chance, he had. Nevinson had presumably been left to goggle at the departing van. He was not important. They had got the man they wanted. But what they meant to do with him he did not know. All he knew for certain was that he did not want to find out. The only consolation he had to hold on to was that they had struck too soon. He might have led them to Chantelle if they had held off. But they did not know about her. That was his only advantage. And he had to make the most of it.