THE WOMAN’S DEATHLY-PALE hands had been severed at the wrists with a blade and a saw that had left the flesh smooth and the bones ragged and chipped.
Hooligan asked, ‘Should I fingerprint her?’
‘Let’s leave that to Scotland Yard,’ Jack said.
‘No matter,’ Knight said, ‘I’m betting those hands belong to a war criminal.’
‘Andjela Brazlic?’ Jack asked.
Hooligan nodded. ‘The odds are definitely there, eh?’
‘Why send them to you?’ Jack asked Knight.
‘I don’t know.’
The question continued to haunt Knight on his way home later that evening. Why him? He supposed that Cronus was sending a message with the hands. But about what? The fingerprint she’d left on the box? Was this Cronus’s way of displaying his ruthlessness?
Knight called Elaine Pottersfield and told her that Hooligan was bringing the hands to Scotland Yard. He laid out his suspicions about their identity.
‘If they are Andjela Brazlic’s, it shows dissension in Cronus’s ranks,’ the inspector said.
‘Or Cronus is simply saying that it’s fruitless to track this particular war criminal. She made a mistake. And now she’s dead.’
‘That all?’ Pottersfield asked.
‘We’re going to Kate’s forest in the morning,’ Knight said. ‘And the party is at five-thirty.’
The silence was brief. ‘I’m sorry, Peter,’ she said, and hung up.
Knight reached home around ten, wondering if his sister-in-law would ever come to terms with him – or with Kate’s death. It wasn’t until he was standing at his front door that he allowed himself to realise that three years before, right about this time, his late wife had gone into labour.
He remembered Kate’s face after her waters had broken – no fear, just sheer joy at the impending miracle. Then he recalled the ambulance taking her away. Knight opened the door of his home and went inside, as deeply confused and heartbroken as he’d been thirty-six months before.
The house smelled of chocolate, and two brightly wrapped presents sat on the table in the hallway. He grimaced, realising that he hadn’t yet had the chance to go shopping for the kids. Work had been all-consuming. Or had he just let it be all-consuming so that he would not have to think about their birthday and the anniversary of their mother’s death?
With no good answer to any of it, Knight examined the presents and was surprised to see that they were from his mother, the gift tags signed: ‘With love, Amanda’.
He smiled and tears brimmed in his eyes; if his mother had taken the time from her isolation, grief, and bitterness to buy her grandchildren presents, then maybe she was not allowing herself to retreat as completely as she had after his father’s death.
‘I’ll go home, then, Mr Knight,’ Marta said, coming out of the kitchen. ‘They are asleep. Kitchen is clean. Fudge made. Luke made an unsuccessful attempt at the big-boy loo. I bought party bags, and ordered a cake too. I can be here all day tomorrow through the party. But I will need Sunday off.’
Sunday. The men’s marathon. The closing ceremony. Knight had to be available. Perhaps he could talk his mother or Boss into coming one more time.
‘Sunday off, and you really don’t need to be here before noon tomorrow,’ Knight said. ‘I usually take them to Epping Forest and High Beach Church on the morning of their birthday.’
‘What’s there?’ Marta asked.
‘My late wife and I were married at the church. Her ashes are scattered in the woods out there. She was from Waltham Abbey and the forest was one of her favourite places.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Marta said uncomfortably, and moved towards the door. ‘Noon, then.’
‘Noon sounds good,’ Knight said and shut the door behind her.
He shut off the lights, checked on the kids, and went to his bedroom.
Knight sat on the edge of his bed, gazing at Kate looking out from the photo at him, and remembering in vivid detail how she’d died.
He broke down, sobbing.
Chapter 85
‘I’M THREE!’ ISABEL yelled in her father’s ear.
Knight jerked awake from a nightmare that featured Kate held hostage by Cronus – not the madman stalking the Olympics, but that ancient Greek figure carrying a long scythe and hungering to eat his children.
Dripping in sweat, his face contorted with dread, Knight looked in bewilderment at his daughter who now appeared upset and was stepping back from her father, holding her blanket tight against her cheek.
His senses came back to him, and he thought: She’s fine! Luke’s fine! It was just a horrible, horrible dream.
Knight breathed out, smiled, and said, ‘Look at how big you are!’
‘Three,’ Isabel said, her grin returning.
‘Lukey three, too!’ his son announced from the doorway.
‘You don’t say,’ Knight said as Luke bounced up onto the bed and into his arms. Isabel climbed up after him and cuddled him.
His children’s smells surrounded him and calmed him and made him realise again what a lucky, lucky person he was to have them in his life, part of Kate that would live on and grow and become themselves.
‘Presents?’ Luke asked.
‘They’re not here yet,’ Knight said, too quickly. ‘Not until the party.’
‘No, Daddy,’ Isabel protested. ‘That funny man bring presents yesterday. They’re downstairs.’
‘Mr Boss brought them?’ he asked.
His son nodded grimly. ‘Boss no like Lukey.’
‘His loss,’ Knight said. ‘Go and get the presents. You can open them up here.’
That set off a stampede as both children scrambled off the bed. Twenty seconds later they were running back into the room, gasping and grinning like little fools.
‘Go ahead,’ Knight said.
Giggling, they tore into the wrapping and soon had the presents from Amanda open. Isabel’s gift was a beautiful silver locket on a chain. They opened the locket to find a picture of Kate.
‘That mummy?’ Isabel asked.
Knight was genuinely touched at his mother’s thought-fulness. ‘Yes – so you can take her with you everywhere,’ he said in a hoarse voice.
‘What this, Daddy?’ Luke asked, eyeing his present suspiciously.
Knight took it, examined it, and said, ‘It’s a very special watch, for a very big boy. You see – it has Harry Potter, the famous wizard, on the dial, and there’s your name engraved on the back.’
‘Big-boy watch?’ Luke asked.
‘Yes,’ Knight said, and then teased: ‘We’ll put it away until you’re bigger.’
Outraged, his son shoved out his wrist. ‘No! Lukey big boy! Lukey three!’
‘I completely forgot,’ Knight said, and put the watch on his son’s wrist, pleasantly surprised that the strap
