“What is enough?”
“That I’m a fucking idiot,” he said as he put the car into gear and drove past the gates of the police station, leaving it behind until the fog swallowed it.
HE TOOK THE Crumlin Road, then the Ligoniel Road, heading west into the countryside instead of north toward the motorway, stopping only once to use a cash point. The damaged car would attract traffic cops on the lookout for Christmas drunk drivers, and he couldn’t risk being pulled over.
The motorway would have been faster, better lit and with less ice, but the back roads carried less traffic. He kept his speed down, watched for ice, and studied road signs. Even on these roads, the journey should have been no more than forty to forty-five minutes, but the conditions meant they’d been travelling that long with no sign of their destination when Lennon’s mobile rang.
He checked the display. Sergeant Connolly’s number.
Why was he calling? He should have been at home with his family, enjoying Christmas like any other normal human.
“What’s up?” Lennon asked.
“Where are you?” Connolly asked.
“Driving,” Lennon said. He kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes on the fog-covered road.
“I called Ladas Drive, they said you were due there.”
“I didn’t make it that far yet,” Lennon said, avoiding the truth. “The weather.”
“Well, something’s come up,” Connolly said. “I got a call from a mate, a constable I was paired with when I came out of Garnerville. He was one of the boys watching Paynter at the hospital. I thought you’d want to know what he said.”
“Go on,” Lennon said.
“Paynter committed suicide.”
Lennon eased the Audi to the side of the road, slowed to a halt, flicked his hazard lights on.
“How?” he asked.
“He faked a seizure,” Connolly said. “In the commotion, he managed to grab an officer’s Glock. There was a standoff for a minute or two, at least that’s what I was told, and they thought he was going to make a break for it.”
“But he didn’t,” Lennon said.
“No,” Connolly said. “He announced that he’d killed eight women, and had no regrets about it. Then he put the gun in his mouth and blew his brains out.”
“Christ,” Lennon said.
“Anyway, I thought you’d want to know straight away.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Lennon said. “Here, listen.”
“Yeah?”
“I might be off work for a few days. Maybe longer.”
“What, now? But there’s—”
“You’ll know all about it tomorrow. Just do me a favor, all right?”
“What’s that?”
“Watch your back,” Lennon said. “Things could get tricky over this case. Just be careful what you say and who you say it to. Especially if anyone from Special Branch comes calling.”
“C3?” Connolly asked. “What’s Paynter got to do with them?”
“It’s complicated,” Lennon said. “Just keep your head down, all right?”
“All right,” Connolly said. “Listen, Inspector, are you okay? You’ve been good to me, so, you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, I will.”
“I’m fine,” Lennon said. “Don’t worry about me. Just look out for yourself.”
He hung up and dropped the phone into the car’s cup holder. Galya stirred in the seat next to him. She’d fallen asleep before the city had faded from around them. Now she watched him with confused and heavy eyes.
“Something has happened?” she asked.
He considered keeping it from her, but knew there was no point. She faced enough dangers. Knowing one of them had died couldn’t hurt her.
“Edwin Paynter,” he said. “The man who kept you in that house. He’s dead. He killed himself.”
She made the sign of the cross and stared straight ahead, no emotion on her face.
“He deserved to die,” Lennon said. “For what he did to you. And maybe some others.”
“No,” she said. “Only God makes to die. It’s not your thing to say. Not his thing. Only God’s.”
Lennon hadn’t the will to argue her point, so he put the Audi into gear and released the hand brake. Ten, fifteen minutes, he thought, and they’d be at the guesthouse. He set off into the fog, wishing he believed in her childish dream of justice.
83
GALYA SPENT THE rest of the journey in thought. The man who had held her captive had called himself a pastor, a Christian, but she wondered if he even had a soul. If he did, where had it gone when he took his own life?
How did she feel about his death? Relief? Satisfaction? Pity? All of those things, but if she looked deep into her heart, she also felt anger. Anger that he would not face her and know that she had got the better of him.
She scolded herself for gloating, even if it was only in her own mind. Mama had not raised her to be spiteful. But she had survived, and she could at least be proud. Galya let her mind wander, imagined she had died back there in that cellar, and this gray world was her afterlife, journeying forever in darkness and mist. The urge to cry came upon her, and she closed her eyes against it.
When she opened them again, they had pulled into a courtyard overlooked by a grand country house. Lennon parked the car in the farthest corner, beneath the boughs of a winter-stripped tree.
“We’re here,” he said.
He climbed out, closed his door, and walked around the car. Galya allowed him to take her hand and help her to her feet. The horizon glowed with a mass of lights, iridescent in the fog.
“What is over there?’ she asked.
“The airport,” Lennon said.
“Where is this?” she asked.
“It’s a guesthouse,” he said. “Like a hotel. We’re staying here tonight. Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”
He closed the car, locked it, and guided her toward the house. Lights burned behind closed curtains on the ground floor. Lennon pressed a doorbell. A few moments later a curtain peeled back at one of the windows, and a lady of senior years peered out.
The curtain fell back into place before a light came on in the hall, visible through the rippled glass of the door. The lady’s silhouette appeared on the other side. She slid a security chain into place and opened the door by a few inches, worry written plain on her face.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“We need a room,” Lennon said.
“At this time?” she asked, her eyebrows arching upward. “On Christmas night?”
“I know it’s last minute,” Lennon said. He placed his arm around Galya’s shoulder. “My girlfriend’s mother, back in Latvia, she’s taken ill. We’ve a flight first thing in the morning.”
She looked at each of them in turn. “Well, seeing as I’ve no stable or manger for you, I’d better let you in. Should I be expecting three wise men?”
84
LENNON THANKED GOD that Galya had the sense to hold her questions until they got to
