“Hours later, in the dead of night, the knock came. I told myself, ‘Here we go.’ And I opened it and…”
Tom stared at him. “It was me.”
“Aye, you. Coming to tell me the earl had wandered off and hadn’t come back. You were certain you were the last to see him. You told the cops that, set the whole thing up. No one had checked the study.”
Tom remembered it clearly. Duncan had seemed confused at first, but no more than anyone in a situation like that. And then he’d leaped into action, organizing the search, finding coats and torches.
Getting people out of the house. Clearing his path to hide the body.
“I saw the way out,” Duncan continued, staring through the windows beside the main doors, “set out for me as if God himselfhad given me a second chance. I thought I’d been saved, my lad had been saved from losing his old man to the slammer—me, the only kin he had left. How would that look, with him about to start out as a lawyer?”
“You buried my grandfather in the basement and left him there—for twelve years.”
“Always meant to move him one day, get rid of the body good and proper—give him a decent burial, even—but … I couldn’t.” He swallowed. His eyes had reddened and watered. “I wish you hadn’t seen me the other night, Tom. It would all have gone away, for good this time. Once the body was gone, and the abbey was gone, it would have been all erased. But I knew that as soon as you got your memory back… You wouldn’t let it rest.”
“You think I’d let something like that rest? It’s over, Duncan. Time to get it off your conscience. I know you, perhaps not as well as I thought, but I know you. I know this is sitting heavily.”
“If it were just about me, I would.”
“What are you talking about—the Pritchard boys? How are they involved?”
Duncan’s eyes flicked to the front doors. Too late, Tom read the meaning in the glance. He lunged towards the doors, just as one was flung open.
He saw Connor first, face red, thin lips pressed together. And then Amelia. Connor yanked her inside by her arm. He was holding a knife to her throat—Duncan’s farming knife, sharp as a razor.
“Put the gun down, Tom,” Connor said.
Chapter 22
Tom
Tom backed up so he could keep tabs on both Duncan and Connor. “What the hell, Connor?”
“I’m sorry, Tom. I have no choice—I have to see this through. Put down the gun, mate.”
The door slammed shut, and Tom flinched. “You were the deep-sea fish.”
“I was what?”
“You helped him shift the body the other night.” Tom gestured to Duncan with the rifle. “Shit. I thought it must have been the Pritchards. I didn’t think for a second?—”
“He dragged me in, Tom. I didn’t want to do this—I don’t—but what choice do I have? I have even more to lose now than I did then.”
“Then?” Tom’s mouth went dry. “You were involved with my grandfather’s?—”
“Not his death, God no. But … afterward. Tom, I’m already on the hook for accessory after the fact—hiding the body, cleaning up, getting rid of evidence.”
“You helped Duncan bury him twelve years ago? You weren’t even here that day!”
“Dad called me. He didn’t tell me what it was about until I got here. He begged me. Said he’d got me off after the crash, sacrificed everything so I could make something of my life, and now it was my turn. I couldn’t let my dad go to prison. Can you imagine Dad locked up? I’m sorry about what happened to your granddad, truly. But the damage was done. Dad lives with it, Tom. So do I.”
“We won’t say anything,” Amelia said, evidently trying not to move her jaw. “Just leave, and I’ll go home, and we’ll tell no one.”
Connor looked at Duncan, like he was referring upwards.
“We can’t take that risk, son,” Duncan said. “We don’t know her at all. She has no reason to keep it secret, and neither does Tom. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days waiting for the knock on the door. This ends today—for good. You said you’d help.”
“Put the rifle down, Tom,” Connor said tightly.
