None of you are in danger. I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with the mess I’m about to create. It won’t be pretty. I have my reasons, and I’m sure you’ll find them out soon enough.
I’m sorry about Elis.
I’mNOTsorry about Miles.
Faith.
Chapter 55
Miles
Miles and Faith stare at each other for a few seconds. In that time, a hundred thoughts race through Miles’s mind. These frantic notions raise more questions, and some half-conclusions. And a decision, of sorts. He elects to say nothing. He raises his hands, palms faced towards her, and takes a half-step forward.
‘No further,’ Faith barks. She jerks her arm as she speaks, and snarls. There’s something about her voice that sends a shiver running down his back, an icy chill that begins at his shoulder blades and travels right down to the tail of his spine. It’s not just the aggression in her voice. There’s something else.
Miles’s heart is hammering a warning. He stares at the gun in her hand. Miles doesn’t know what kind of gun it is. What does he know about guns? Nothing. But it looks real. Solid steel. It must be Faith who’s been threatening him, who taunted him with a bullet. But why? Whatever is going on here, he needs to take that gun away from her. She appears unhinged, and the longer she’s stood there pointing that thing at him, the greater the chance that she’ll do something stupid. Miles calculates the distance between them; it must be about six or seven yards – the whole width of the road. He needs to close that gapif he’s to have any chance of disarming her. Miles take a smaller step, moving his left foot forward.
Faith lurches and pokes the gun at him. ‘I mean it. Take one step closer and I’ll shoot you in the kneecap. We can make this as painful as you want.’
Miles keeps still. He swallows. He realises what it is now about her voice. It’s the accent. The Australian burr has gone, and her speech is eerily familiar. She doesn’t speak exactly like he does, but it’s close to home. There’s a detectable trace of the regional accent of the west of England. This geographical reminder brings one place immediately to mind: Burnfield Court.
‘Who are you?’ Miles asks. There’s a tremor to his voice.
‘You tell me,’ she says, coldly. ‘Who am I?’
‘Alex Burnfield.’
She laughs. A joyless, angry laugh. ‘Did you rate my Aussie accent, Miles? I can do a whole load of accents. It makes my acting range a little more impressive than yours, wouldn’t you say?’
Miles doesn’t respond. He re-examines her, in light of that last remark. Is she someone he’s worked with? There’s a trace of enjoyment on her face, and Miles wonders for a second whether this should be his moment to try to ambush her. But he abandons that thought. Behaving in haste could be a fatal mistake. He waits for her to continue.
‘Anyway, Faithismy real name. But you’re right. I did send the emails.’
Miles shakes his head. ‘No. No, it wasn’t you. There was a man following me in Queenstown. One of those emails was sent while you were swimming in the lake.’
Again, she laughs. Although this time it sounds genuine. Amused. ‘Seriously? Did you not know you can schedule an email to be sent at any time? Did they teach you nothing in that forty-grand-a-year school?’
Miles shuffles his feet in tiny, imperceptible increments. Nudging forward a few millimetres. He needs to keep her talking if he’s to close the gap between them. ‘But why?’
She stares at him for a moment. Shadows waver across her face, where sunlight is streaking in through gaps in the leaves. ‘I wanted to watch you suffer. I had hoped the courts would see to that, lock you up. But what I’ve realised is, it’s not possible to make you suffer. It all just washes off, doesn’t it?’ She spits the last two words. A lash of venom to her rhetorical question.
Miles says nothing.
‘Murdered someone? Oh well, just hire the best lawyer. Getting some bad press? Never mind, just take a luxury holiday for a few weeks. Maybe get yourself a top-of-the-range motorhome.’
‘That wasn’t even my idea.’
‘I know!’ Her face springs open in mock delight. ‘Sometimes it just falls into your lap, doesn’t it? Everything just always seems to work out for Miles. You never even saw the inside of a cell. If you were from my estate they would’ve locked you up on remand, you know that, right? But not you. Just get Daddy to chuck a bit of cash at the judge and you’re a free man until the trial.’
‘Is that what this is about? Money? I can give you money. How much do you want?’
‘Trust me, this isnotabout money. Although I must admit’ – she shrugs – ‘I have found it quite revolting, seeing this privileged existence of yours, up close. But this isn’t about privilege. Or money. It’s about justice. What I’ve learned about justice is you can’t expect to get it through the courts. If you want justice, you’ve got to go out and take it for yourself.’ There’s a wild look in Faith’s eyes. She’s been working herself up; the longer she talks, the angrier she gets.
‘Look,’ Miles says, sensing the urgent need to derail her from her current train of thought. ‘Let’s have a proper discussion aboutthis. Talk it through. But put the gun down. We both know you don’t want to shoot me with that thing.’
‘Oh, do we? Actually, I think that’s one of the ways where we are different. One of themanyways.’
‘We’re not that different.’
