‘Oh.’ Miles was surprised to hear him bring that up. It had lost all significance. Suddenly, he was curious again. ‘So, who was he?’
‘He was completely unconnected. He’s a resident of Queenstown, and he’d never heard of you before. Officers have spoken to him and are satisfied he’s telling the truth about that.’
Miles’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘But, why? Why did he run like he did? He sprinted for his life. We chased him halfway across the town.’
Lewin took an audible breath. ‘This man had witnessed homophobic violence in the past, so when he realised he was being followed by two men as he walked home from a gay-friendly bar, he decided, rightly or wrongly, the safest option was to run.’
‘Oh, God.’ Miles bowed his head and dragged a hand through his hair. ‘We traumatised a completely innocent man.’
Lewin remained silent.
‘But why had he been looking at me for the whole ...’ Miles’s words trailed off. There was no point in finishing the question. ‘This man, can I talk to him? I’d like to apologise.’
‘He’s requested that we protect his privacy. But if you want to write to him, I’ll pass it on.’
‘Thanks. I’d like to do that.’
‘You also asked about the Macallan whisky, and how Faith knew you ordered it.’
‘Yes.’
Lewin took another deep breath. ‘Well, after officers looked at the CCTV from The Globe, they were able to identify a man who approached the bar and asked what brand of whisky you’d bought. When police talked to him, the man explained that a woman matching Faith’s description had approached him on his way to the bar and offered him a hundred dollars to buy the same whisky as the four Englishmen before him. He decided to take her up on it, no questions asked.’
Miles wrinkled his brow as he tried to process what Lewin was telling him. ‘Why didn’t Faith just ask the bar staff herself?’
‘I suspect she already knew what you were drinking. This was probably all about throwing you off the scent.’
‘Right.’
‘That’s our best guess. We can’t ask her, of course.’
‘And you’re still no closer to tracking her down?’
‘I’m afraid not. Of course, if there are any significant updates, I’ll let you know.’
Before he ended the call, Miles asked, as he always did, about the Caira Kennedy case. And Lewin patiently explained – no surprise to Miles – that the police were no closer to solving it.
Strangely, Miles has begun to feel a trace of sympathy towards the detectives working the case. When looked at objectively, it’s not the easiest to solve. It doesn’t help that there remains no known motive. Her killing wasn’t sexually motivated – the autopsy confirmed that. And aside from a few minor grievances through her work, Caira didn’t appear to have any enemies. Miles’s best hope is that one day there will be a DNA breakthrough that will bring the perpetrator to justice. Whoever they are, they lit the touchpaper on this whole sorry affair.Whoever they are, they’re responsible for the deaths of two people: Caira, at their own hands, and Elis, as an indirect consequence.
It remains much more likely that the next time Miles hears from Lewin, it will be with an update about Faith. Although he doesn’t expect that to be resolved any time soon either. Faith managed to deceive and bamboozle Miles at every turn. Her ability to do this has left him convinced that she will evade capture for some time yet. And she’s shown considerable ingenuity. When police looked at her Google history, they found searches on how to disable a vehicle battery. But, even so, it was remarkable that she managed to do it while everyone in the bus was presumably asleep. Her talent for dissimulation means Faith has probably morphed into a completely different person by now. New accent. New appearance. New backstory.
He tries not to spend too much time thinking about the awful events that happened in New Zealand, but it’s hard not to dwell on them. And there are other reminders. Last week, he received an email from Jessie. She got in touch to let him know she wouldn’t be attending Elis’s funeral. Her tone was cordial enough; Jessie made it clear there were no hard feelings, but she also left him in little doubt that she was in no hurry to see him again. He can hardly blame her.
Miles stares out of the window of the train. The view outside is now dominated by heavy industry: huge smoking towers that confirm life is churning on, the way it always has. For most people, anyway. Miles hasn’t returned to work yet. He still has some decisions to make, in that regard, and had granted himself the period up until Elis’s funeral to mull it all over. Now, that thinking time is nearly up. In a couple of hours, Elis will have been laid to rest. After three long months, it’ll be time for Miles to start making some decisions about his future.
An announcement blares from the speakers in their carriage, one of those inhuman-sounding voices informing them that they will soon be arriving at their destination. As the train slows, the four of them clear the detritus from their table, then stand to collect their coats fromthe overhead rack. The platform appears, lined with passengers waiting to get on, and Miles stares into the crowd, scanning the faces. He does this now, every time he’s presented with a gathering of people. And every time, Miles half expects to see her among them. But deep down, he knows he won’t. Faith’s not pursuing him anymore. She knows he’s not her true target. If that weren’t the case, the emails would’ve started up again. But they haven’t. He’s no longer receiving messages telling himthis is not over. Maybe that’s because it is. Maybe, once the funeral is done, Miles will finally start to believe itisover.
Chapter 59
Polly
There was a good turnout for Elis’s funeral, as would be expected for a man in his thirties. All pews in the small church were taken, and dozens more mourners filled the rear and wings. Afterwards, having been carried nearly twelve thousand miles – by car, plane and who knows what else – Elis’s body made its final journey to a corner of the graveyard, where he was laid to rest under a clear blue sky.
Now, they sit in the back room of a flat-roofed pub, a few hundred yards down the road, for the wake. Along one side is a buffet of pale food. Polly hasn’t touched any of it. She never has much of an appetite after a funeral and fails to understand how anyone can happily chow down on a piece of quiche having just watched someone get buried. Her funeral sickness is worse than ever, today. All thoughts of Elis inevitably conjure up that horrendous final image in her mind. The boys don’t seem to be put off, though. Miles has managed to eat a couple of mini sausage rolls. Reubyn and George have put away a decent plateful and have now returned from a second pass at the buffet.
Elis’s family are sat around a table in the opposite corner of the room. The Pritchard-Joneses have been remarkably civil to them, so far, all things considered. Although Elis’s death is no fault ofMiles, Polly isn’t convinced she would be as forgiving if the tables were turned.
‘Oh, bollocks,’ Reubyn exclaims. He’s bitten into a doughnut and jam has oozed down his lapel. ‘I’ve got to wear this suit again tomorrow.’
