'And the people who've been trying to fuck up my business?'
'All dead. Including the reporter.'
'Miss Neilson? You know, I always had a feeling about her.'
'Well, she was a part of it. A lot more cunning and a lot more vicious than either of us gave her credit for.'
'You're not upset she's gone?'
'I'm upset she was what she was.'
'We're all what we are, my friend.'
He was right, but I still couldn't help wondering what Emma would have been like if she hadn't had Eric Thadeus as a father. And that was the sad thing: we'd never know.
'Do I owe you any money?' he asked.
'No, we're quits. You might get a bit of heat for a while, but it'll be over soon, I promise you.'
'That's what I like to hear. Thanks for your good work. Maybe we'll do business together again some time. I could always use men like you.'
'No thanks. This is the end of it. We won't be talking again.'
'Suit yourself,' he said.
I said I would and hung up. Then switched off the mobile and chucked it towards the gnarled old trees. It was someone else's problem now. I drove north until eventually I came to the North Yorkshire Moors. It was there, amidst cold bleak hills, with not a tree or dwelling in sight, that I opened up the boot and told Theo Morris that he could go.
'Where?' he asked.
'Wherever you like,' I said. 'But go now while I'm still feeling charitable.'
That did the trick. He jumped out and without so much as a backward glance took off in the direction of an undulating valley below. He might have been cold, tired and lost, but I guessed that he was also extremely relieved.
I got back in the car and continued to drive.
Epilogue
It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve and raining steadily as the car pulled up at the end of the track and came to a halt. The driver was only partly visible through the fogged-up windscreen as he scanned the surrounding undergrowth for signs of activity.
I waited thirty seconds, then stepped out from behind a nearby beech tree and made my way over to his window. I was wearing a long grey raincoat, a grey beanie hat, and a black scarf that obscured most of my face but left my eyes and mouth uncovered. In my hand was a sealed waterproof bag containing the document I'd been working on for the past three weeks, as well as the co-ordinates for the final resting place of Heidi Robes.
The window came down as I approached and DI John Gallan eyed me warily. He was an honest-looking guy a couple of years younger than me, with a decent head of curly black hair that I would have thought was beyond regulation length, and a face that bore enough laughter lines to suggest he was good company.
'What I've got here is of the utmost importance,' I told him when I reached the window, sounding like a character in Mission Impossible.
'So you said on the phone,' he replied, staring at the bag, then back at me. 'What is it?'
'It's information that relates to an old murder investigation. Someone was tried for the crime and convicted, but didn't do it.'
'Why come to me about it?' Gallan asked, making no move to take the bag. 'Why not just drop it at a police station?'
'Because I've read about you and some of the cases you've worked on, and I think you can be trusted. I also think you'll give the contents your full attention. Especially when you see the name of the person involved. It's important that it's in the hands of an honest man.'
'How did you get hold of this information?'
I couldn't help but smile a little at that. It was a typical copper's response — trying to find out as much as possible. I'd have asked the same thing in his position.
'Let's just say circumstances led me to it.' I handed the bag to him through the window, and he placed it on the seat beside him.
'And that's the best I'm going to get, is it?'
I nodded. 'That's it. And it's also the end of my involvement.' I stepped away from the car. 'Anyway, thanks for coming. And Merry Christmas.'
'I'd wish the same to you,' he said, watching me with a thoughtful expression on his face, 'but I don't know who you are. You might not deserve a Merry Christmas. Do you?'
I thought about it for a second. 'I don't know,' I said at last. 'I think that depends on your opinion.'
'Well, my opinion is that if you're a good man you deserve one, and if you're a bad one you don't.'
'That reminds me of something an old friend of mine would have said. Well, from what I've heard, you're a good one, so enjoy it.' With that, I turned away and started walking.
'You still haven't answered my question,' he called out after me, but I kept going, and soon afterwards I heard him reverse down the track the way he'd come.
The problem was, I couldn't answer his question, because I genuinely didn't know.
Twenty years ago, it had all been so different. All so black and white. I'd been a young probationer then and on the way up, dreaming of a future I could shape through my own efforts. I'm not sure if I was ever an idealist, but I honestly did think I was doing the right thing, and even though it's a long time since the police have been looked at by their peers in a positive light, I was proud of what I did. I thought it was a better job than being a businessman or a computer programmer. Less money, but much more to it. I think I dreamed that one day I'd get married and have a couple of kids; that I'd rise through the ranks until I was a DCI or even a DCS; that I'd stand up for my fellow coppers against government interference; that I'd tell the Home Secretary that he had to cut back on the paperwork and give us the freedom we needed to bring the bad guys down. That people would sleep safely in their beds, knowing that men like me were looking after them.
Never once did I dream that I'd be a murderer.
But then you don't, do you?
When I got back to my car, it was beginning to get dark. I started the engine and drove away without looking back.
