Mrs. M. Ranelagh
Jacaranda
Hightor Road
Cape Town
South Africa
February 17, 1999
Dear Mrs. Ranelagh,
Goodness me! So it's home to England at last. I shall await your news with bated breath. Yes, despite my incredibly advanced years, I still have a small consultancy in the hospital, but only because my patients seem to prefer the devil they know to the devil they don't.
And what of your devils, my dear? Somehow I doubt that justice for Annie will be enough for you. But who am I to criticize when my friend the rabbi would say: To win the peace you must first fight the war?
As requested, I enclose the notes I made in 1979.
Yours fondly,
*22*
Drury couldn't leave it alone, as I knew he wouldn't. For all his protestations about hating having people in his face, he disliked it even more when they walked away. I turned, left the pub and went about fifty yards toward the trawler moorings before I heard his footsteps behind me. Lights from the buildings along the quay shone a quiet glow across the cobblestones and, far ahead, tiny beacons bobbed upon the water like multicolored jewels, showing safe navigation for incoming yachtsmen. I had a moment to wish I could enjoy the scene for what it was-something beautiful-before his fingers closed about my arm.
'This is crazy,' he said, jerking me 'round to face him. 'You say you want to get even. Well, how? Destroying me isn't going to produce justice for you or for Annie. Are you asking me to deliver Derek Slater on a plate? Is that what this is about?'
I tried to pull away. 'People are watching,' I said.
'Let them watch,' he growled. 'I want this sorted.'
'Fine. So when I decide to scream-which I certainly will if you don't let go-there'll be a hundred witnesses to confirm your superintendent's assessment that you're a violent man.'
He released me immediately.
I smiled cynically as I rubbed my arm. 'It's not so much fun when the boot's on the other foot, is it? The way things are at the moment, you'd crawl on your belly over these cobbles in exchange for a promise to burn what's in my rucksack. Am I right?'
'Don't push your luck,' he said in an undertone. 'I'm in no mood for games. All you'll achieve by going public is to make me a scapegoat, and that's not going to put Derek behind bars ... not after all this time. Is that the kind of justice you want?'
'It's better than nothing.'
He grasped one writhing fist inside the other as if afraid he wouldn't be able to control them. 'If it was me you wanted, you wouldn't have put me on my guard,' he said reasonably.
'Perhaps I like watching you sweat,' I murmured.
'How about I break your fucking neck?' he said through gritted teeth.
'You wouldn't get very far. My two sons are standing right behind you.'
The words made no sense to him-he didn't associate me with children-and he stared at me in baffled fury like a tired bull trying to work out how to defeat a matador. 'What the hell are you talking about now?'
'Protection.' I nodded to Luke and Tom. 'I come better prepared these days.'
It took a second or two for his brain to catch on, but he spun 'round eventually to discover I was telling the truth. Perhaps he was expecting something younger-
'Sam's waiting for us in the car,' I explained. 'I'd like him to hear what you're going to say next.'
Drury glanced nervously at the boys. 'Which is what?'
I made him the same offer I'd made Maureen. 'A trade?' I suggested. 'You see you're right about one thing. The kind of justice I'm looking for is a little more'-I sought for a word-'basic than making you take the blame for everything that happened.'
I didn't think he'd follow me, particularly as the boys returned to the pub as soon as I moved away. But perhaps he misunderstood what I wanted Sam to hear ... or what I meant by basic justice...
The car was parked beyond the trawler moorings, facing out over the water, and as we approached Sam opened the door and climbed out. In a spirit of mischief, I introduced them to each other as I lowered my rucksack onto the bonnet. 'Mr. Ranelagh. Mr. Drury.' They nodded to each other like a couple of wary rottweilers, but didn't shake hands. 'You asked me if I was expecting you to deliver Derek on a plate,' I reminded Drury, 'but I don't see how you can do that unless you suppressed evidence at the time.'
He looked tight-lipped at Sam, aware that anything he said now would be heard by a witness. 'There was no suppression of evidence,' he said sharply, 'merely question marks over where Derek was at nine o'clock. He claimed he was having a drink with the local tart who'd been touting for custom since the place opened.'
'Sharon Percy?'
He nodded. 'It was straightforward stuff-the two of them were regulars-and the publican agreed they were
