Anna thought back to that night two years ago and felt a shudder rack her entire body. Yes, she knew about fear, the kind that dug deep into the bones of a person and took root there.
“Denise, you’re surrounded by people who understand what you’re going through—Phillips, Ryan, even Jack. But me? I don’t just understand, I empathise, because I’ve been there myself. That night, when I lay there… I thought my life was over. I thought I wasn’t coming back.”
MacKenzie’s throat was so tight she couldn’t have said a word.
“I’m not standing here pretending I know what it feels like to have gone through what you went through in that farmhouse. Only you know that. But I can tell you that I remember what it felt like to make my peace with God, like you must have done.”
That brought a measure of surprise, which momentarily replaced the sadness in MacKenzie’s eyes.
Anna nodded, self-deprecatingly.
“Oh yes, even though I say all the time I don’t believe in a god, I don’t mind telling you I made my peace with him, or her, or whatever the hell it is, just in case. I said my ‘goodbyes’ and wondered if God would consider I’d been a decent person when the time of reckoning came.”
Anna’s voice quietened, almost to a whisper.
“I still don’t know the answer to that. I only know I’ve never felt such relief, and such guilt, for being alive when others weren’t so lucky.”
“Yes,” MacKenzie choked out, thinking of The Hacker’s many victims who hadn’t managed to escape. Their faces filled her mind, images of them alive and dead, until she could barely sleep at night.
Anna reached out for MacKenzie’s limp hands, clasping them tightly.
“It’s time to come back, Denise. You aren’t responsible for their deaths. Do you hear me? You aren’t responsible. Only one person is answerable for that and he’s paid the ultimate price now. Don’t let The Hacker win, not after you fought so hard to beat him.”
There was a short silence as the words began to penetrate.
“You’re right,” MacKenzie whispered and moved into Anna’s open arms, holding on tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” came the reply. “But it’s time to bury the past. Somebody said once that living well is the best revenge.”
“They were right.”
There was a contented silence while the women held onto each other by the sink in Phillips’ kitchen, punctuated only by the sound of the refrigerator humming. When they pulled apart, MacKenzie’s eyes were clear again.
“I never said ‘thank you’ for the part you played in finishing it.”
Shock frittered over Anna’s face and she took half a step back, unconsciously defensive.
“I don’t know what you—”
“I think you do,” MacKenzie reached out for Anna’s hand again. “That man was a monster. If you hadn’t acted, Ryan might have been the one lying dead at the foot of a waterfall, not the other way around.”
Anna didn’t deny it. Four months ago, Ryan had fought a killer who was more animal than human, who would have stopped at nothing.
“The official inquest found no evidence of a bullet wound in his body,” she said carefully, referring to the post-mortem that had been conducted shortly after The Hacker’s death. “His injuries were so extensive after being battered about on the rocks, if a bullet was fired, it must have passed through him as a flesh wound.”
As a light rain began to fall outside, MacKenzie smiled beautifully for the first time in four months.
“A flesh wound was enough to distract him and the water did the rest. I had a rifle aimed but I was too slow to use it. Phillips says he had his firearm with him but the angle was so bad he couldn’t get a clear shot. The tactical teams were three or four minutes behind us. There was only one other person who was in position and who had the ability to take a shot. I believe that person was you.”
Anna said nothing at first, turning her face to look out the kitchen window into the small back garden with its big terracotta plant pots.
“I took Ryan’s firearm from his lock-box at home,” she said quietly. “It could cause trouble for him, if he knew.”
Anna hugged her arms around her body, feeling a chill at the thought of it.
“He’s adamant he heard a shot being fired and he thinks the CSIs must have missed something, or else the pathologist. He can’t understand why nobody will admit to discharging a weapon and I don’t want to keep lying to him.”
“Is it such a bad thing for him to know you helped him?”
“No, but he might feel compelled to report it, officially, which could affect his professional standing. Even if the outcome was the best for everyone, that’s not necessarily how the Independent Police Complaints Commission will see it. I’m a civilian and I had access to his authorised firearm. They’d make out it was negligence on his part.”
MacKenzie acknowledged that was a possibility.
“I think the past should stay buried.”
Anna looked back at that, with a smile that held no mirth.
“Oh, but it never does.”
CHAPTER 7
Unlike the stately architecture that constituted most of the small town of Rothbury, Victor Swann’s home was unremarkable at first glance. The bungalow formed part of a sheltered housing estate with an on-site caretaker, gardener and automatic membership of the Neighbourhood Watch. There were six identical bungalows arranged in a semi-circle around a central flower bed that was in full, glorious bloom and, of the six, only one had a bright red front door.
Ryan headed directly for it.
The curtains were closed and a quick inspection of the front door told him it was still securely locked. A wooden gate gave access to a paved pathway leading to the rear of the house and, as soon as he rounded the corner, Ryan spotted the tell-tale fragments of broken glass indicating there had been a break-in. The back door was standard white UPVC and it had been an easy job for someone to smash the panelling and let themselves in. A garden shovel was propped against the wall beside it and he’d bet the heavy metal handle had been used to drive through the glass.
Ryan took a moment to slip on some plastic shoe coverings and a pair of nitrile gloves before stepping inside.