Home Before Dark (41 page)

'You know, for a moment I thought you were him,’ Campbell
said, as he followed the stranger into the kitchen, spinning a line about how he’d arranged to meet his client out here at
La Rochelle.
'Mrs Fielding told me she’s expecting Ed, any time now.’
Ward waited politely for him to finish, then looked at his
watch. 'Ed Lister is in New York. It’s getting kinda late, friend.
I doubt he’ll be coming up tonight.’
'New York?’ Campbell echoed. 'She said it was okay for
me to hang out till he got back, but I tell you I was beginning to wonder.’
'She takes a liberal view of time.’
He managed to smile. 'In fact, I already called for a taxi,
about fifteen minutes ago. I was just going out there to check.’
'We’ll know when it comes. They always honk. I’m Guy,
by the way. Can I get you a beer or something, while we
wait?’
He opened the refrigerator door and held up a couple of Millers.
'I’m good, thanks,’ Campbell waved the offer aside; he could hear his heart beating faster. 'Campbell Armour.’
He hadn’t liked the sound of that 'we’.
The man came forward to shake his hand, wiping his own first on his jeans; it was cold and wet from holding the chilled
glass bottles. He stared at him, unblinking, until the detective
met his eyes.
He knew this couldn’t be anyone but Ernest Seaton.
Ward pulled out one of the wooden chairs from the breakfast
table and sat down. He appeared taller in the chair, and
older than he’d first thought – Campbell guessed his mid
thirties, which would be about right. He noted the long
muscled trunk and powerful shoulders under his washed-out
green denim shirt. When he moved, it was with the natural
economy of an athlete. Guy looked in serious shape, sitting
there, relaxed, swigging beer from the bottle, acting like this
was home.
'You don’t mind my asking,’ Campbell said easily, 'where
exactly do you … fit in around here, Guy?’
'Where do I fit in’ He smiled and shook his head. 'Oh I
get it, you heard me call her “grandma”. Everyone calls her
that. Al Fielding was one of my grandmother’s oldest friends.
They kinda grew up together in West Virginia. I look in on
her from time to time, you know, see how she’s doing. She’s
great, though, isn’t she?’
Campbell hadn’t heard a car pull up. He wondered if he’d
been right here in the house all along. 'So that’s how you
know Ed Lister?’
'You could say.’ He nodded slowly. 'We never actually met.
Have a seat, and I’ll tell you something about your “client”

and me.’
Campbell saw his opportunity. 'Maybe another time. It’s
okay with you I’ll just grab my stuff now and I thought I’d
walk up the driveway to meet the taxi.’
'I don’t think so.’
Campbell laughed. 'Excuse me?’
The man set the beer down, wiping his mouth with the
back of his hand.
'Campbell, let’s not dick around any more. They’re at the
restaurant now. When they leave he’s going to offer her a ride
back to her apartment, and then most likely she’ll invite him
up for a drink.’
Campbell stood and just looked at him.
'I tried to warn her.’ He sighed, locked his hands behind
his neck and tilted his chair back. 'She told me he’s been
stalking her online for months. Now the creep’s turned up
in New York. I advised Jelena to go the police. She wouldn’t
listen.’
Calmly admitting he knew the girl. Campbell felt sweat
running down his temples, over his forehead. WardErnest
Guy – whatever his name was – had set the whole thing up.
This was all his work.
'You saying you’re afraid my client might harm her?’
'I think we both know that’s a real possibility.’
“Then why don’t you call the cops?’ Campbell said.
Ward smiled slightly. 'What would be the point?’
'None … I guess.’ Campbell nodded. He didn’t like the
sudden turn the conversation had taken; the more Ward told
him, the more he acknowledged, the harder it was going to
be for him to get out.
'You realise, don’t you, he’s going to kill her?’
'Jesus. You really think so? He doesn’t seem capable . . .’
'Just like he did my mother.’
Campbell hesitated. It was like a door slamming shut, the
bolts being thrown. He swallowed, his mouth dry. 'You really
believe Ed Lister had something to do with June Seaton’s
death?’
'You’re still fucking with me,’ Ward said, shaking his head.
“You saw him at the house that night, Campbell. You were there, or as good as. What I showed you on the website is
exactly the way it happened. It may seem like a long time
ago, but not to me and I don’t invent.’
'Ed told me he met someone once at a party who looked
like your mother – he was twenty years old, never knew her
name.’
'Is that right? She knew his. It was on the goddamned
envelope. She wrote him a letter begging him to come for
her.’
'The letter was never mailed.’
'Doesn’t mean he didn’t go up there.’
'But why would he want to kill someone he’d just met?’
'I don’t buy that they just met. I think the affair had been
going on for some time. Maybe she changed her mind about
taking off with him, decided she wasn’t going to leave her
family after all. Maybe he got mad at her . . . the guy’s a
stalker, Campbell, a psychopath.’
Campbell felt the sweat stinging his eyes. He knew he
couldn’t appear too ready to agree, he would see right through
him. 'My client insists he never went near your house, he
wasn’t even in this country at the time of the killings. He
swears the first he heard about what happened was just a
couple of days ago.’
'And you believe him?’
Campbell hesitated. 'I don’t know.’
'Bullshit you don’t know.’
The truth was he did still have lingering doubts about Ed
Lister, but he had a feeling it didn’t matter now one way or
the other. His priority was to warn the girl that she was in
danger from one of them. 'You know what?’ A slight tremor
in his voice. 'I think I’ll give that dispatcher another call, see
what’s keeping the cab.’
'Where’s the rush?’ Ward said. 'I’m heading into the city
later. I’ll give you a ride. Sit down, for Christsakes, take the
load off
Reluctantly he pulled out a chair across the table from
him. Up close, Ward’s wholesome country-boy looks – regular
features, clear pale eyes, unblemished skin – seemed to radiate
good health and an inner calm. Campbell had to remind
himself why he should feel afraid.
'You look like you’re burning up, buddy, sure you won’t
change your mind about that cold one?’
He needed an exit strategy, not a beer. He thought about
the CD he’d found so conveniently in the study, the online
conversations, the copy of June Seaton’s love letter … the
contents of the black rucksack in the closet upstairs. All set
up to make the murder look like a repeat.
He asked Ward about the letter, how it had led him to Ed
Lister.
'Grace Wilkes sent it me after my grandmother died. I
guess she thought I had a right to know.’
'So you decided to track him down.’
'He wasn’t exactly hard to find.’
'You planned to avenge your parents’ deaths. Was that the
idea?’
'I wanted justice for them.’
'On the strength of one dubious piece of evidence.’
'I did my research.’
Campbell nodded. He could still back off, pretend to go
along with Ward’s purposefully warped view of the past not
that he was convinced it would guarantee his safety. Kira
would never forgive him for this, but he had another idea.
'Is that why you beat and strangled Sophie Lister to death?’

There was a long silence. Ward just looked at him with a little fixed smile. Campbell could hear the hum of the refrigerator.
A distant peak of canned laughter rose from the TV
the old lady had turned on in the lounge. He knew that if
Ward confessed to the murder, he was dead.
'I was in Florence,’ he began. 'I planned to use her as leverage
on her father, but then . . . let’s just say, things didn’t
Work out.’
'What happened? You fell in love with her?’
He shrugged. I don’t feel the need to discuss it.’
'She reject you? Tell you to get lost?’
He didn’t answer. The little smile faded.
'You know what occurs to me? I don’t think you really
believe Ed Lister had anything to do with your parents’ deaths.
I think you made up this whole thing.’
Ward sat very still, staring at him.
'Grace was the only one who knew what really happened
that night at Skylands. Isn’t that why you killed her? Because
she told you something you didn’t want to hear? Couldn’t
bear to hear?’
He just kept on looking at him, expressionless.
'What is it you can’t handle? She tell you what she told
me – that your mother was a spoiled, neurotic brat, who’d
go with any man looked at her twice? Your daddy just a
pathetic drunk? You couldn’t stand the way they argued and
fought all the time, was that it? How they tore pieces out of
each other?’
He paused, wanting him to get angry. 'Or is there something
else?’
He saw into the blankness of Ward’s eyes then. It was as
if some basic human constituent was missing. It could be he
was in denial, or just unaware – Campbell wondered if this
was what Grace had meant by 'he doesn’t know’ – but what
he sensed above all was a flat chilling absence.
He tried to reason with Ward, told him he was sick, he
needed help.
'Do I look like someone who needs help to you?’
Campbell insisted, 'You don’t have to do this.’
All he got back was that long cold empty stare. He saw no
way of reaching him.
'Have you eaten yet?’ Ward asked, getting up and going
over to the counter, where he’d left the shopping bags. He
pulled out a head of celery, tore off a stick and started
crunching it. It was as though the conversation had never
happened.
'I was gonna fix supper, but . . . what the heck? I know this pizza joint near the bridge where they do a great pepperoni
pie. We can pick up a couple of slices on our way into
town.’
Campbell’s mouth dried. He was staring at Ward’s hands.
He hadn’t noticed before how unnaturally pale they looked. The cuffs of his western shirt covered the wrists. It was only
where the rubber flattened the hairs on the backs of his hands that it was obvious. They were sheathed in surgical gloves so fine the latex seemed transparent. He must have been wearing them earlier when they shook hands, only they were wet and cold from holding the beers and he hadn’t noticed.
Ward caught the direction of his gaze and smiled. He
stretched his fingers, opening and closing them.
'I have a skin condition. Relax, it’s not catching.’

'You go ahead, friend. I’ll get the light,’ he said.
Instinctively Campbell braced himself as he stepped down into the unlit garage, Ward following right behind him. A static dread hovered about his unprotected neck and shoulders.
He heard a click as Ward pulled the string light switch and a fluorescent strip flickered on overhead. He had to fight the urge just to run.
He quickly scanned the room, taking in the shrouded wagon, the bay for a second car, the automatic garage door; and, over the workbench that ran one side of the garage, a rack of tools nobody had touched in years. There was a dusty Weber barbecue in a corner, an old set of golf clubs hanging from a hook, oars and canoe paddles among the rafters – he was looking for any kind of weapon.
He knew he hadn’t got a prayer against Ward’s strength, but his tennis training had made him quick-footed – over a
short distance he might have the advantage. He didn’t think
Ward was carrying a gun.
His eye travelled back along the workbench and stopped
at what he guessed was the wall switch for the door opener.
It was a screw-drive Chamberlain, wall-mounted; same model
as the one he had in Tampa. He knew exactly how long the
garage door would take to open.
He’d noticed that Ward hadn’t touched the switch when
they came down the steps. Either he had a remote on his
key-ring, or he wasn’t planning on leaving just yet.
'How do you like this beauty?’ Ward said, as he pulled the
tarp off the station-wagon, a vintage Buick Electra Estate,
white with wood-effect panels. Campbell hadn’t a clue what
year. Before he was born.
'Does it run?’ he asked, glancing inside the passenger
window. On the back seat there was a rucksack identical to
the one he’d just seen in the closet up the back stairs. He felt
like he wanted to vomit.
'Like a bird,’ Ward said, dropping the bundled tarp at his

feet.
Then, in the trunk space, Campbell saw the roll of garden!
refuse sacks, the pick and shovel. 'We’re not going to New
York, are we?’
Ward stepped around the front of the wagon, holding a

rope.
Campbell didn’t hesitate. He’d been planning his move
since they entered the garage. He spun on his heel, ran back
to the workbench, hit the wall switch then darted towards
the garage door. He started to dive even before he heard thej
whine of the electrical door opener, throwing himself flat and
as soon as the space was wide enough rolling under the dooti
and out into the night.

65

We were walking uptown, crossing Washington Square, when
I stopped to point out a building on the north side where I used to live back in the 80s, my first New York apartment that wasn’t a sublet. Jelly made some remark, then carelessly dipped her arm through mine and said she was in the mood for dancing. She knew this place, a Cuban cafe in Hoboken where the music was so hot everyone had to get up.
'Don’t worry, mister.’ She saw the way I reacted and smiled.
'Half the people there are at least twice your age … at least.’
'Thanks.’ I laughed, conscious of her warmth, her slim

body suddenly so close to mine. 'I don’t care about making
a fool of myself. I’m just not much of a dancer.’
'Never expected you to be. I still wanna dance with you.’
'You don’t think that would be asking for trouble?’ I said

stiffly.
'I’m not ready to go home yet, that’s all.’
I suggested finding some quiet place where we could sit and talk. I didn’t trust myself. 'I’d rather spend the time we have left alone with you.’
She frowned. 'Do you need to be somewhere?’
I shook my head.
'You make everything sound so serious … so, I dunno,
life or death.’
She seemed very young then. I said, a little sharply, 'You’ve obviously forgotten what you said earlier in the restaurant. . .’
She cut me off. 'What the hell’s the matter with you?’
You said, nothing’s going to happen.’
'What exactly is it you want from me, mister?’
'What do I want, Jelena?’
She withdrew her arm to look for a cigarette. I stood and
watched her light up, then I took the cigarette from her lips
and kissed her.
Fresh air filled his lungs and suddenly Campbell felt there
was hope.
He came out of the body-roll running. He didn’t even
glance back. His heart pounding, fear pistoning his legs, he
sprinted for the sheltering darkness at the end of the driveway,
He must have put thirty yards between him and the house
before he realised he should have run the other way, into the
grounds.
Just as he decided to change course, Campbell became
aware of an unfamiliar swishing sound rising on the air. The
next instant he felt an explosion of pain, as though a gigantic
fist had struck him in the small of the back. The breath went
out of him in a single whoosh that he heard as the roar of a
crowd. His knees buckled under him and he fell forward.
Then only numbness.
Campbell tried to get up. His legs wouldn’t respond. No
feeling at all below the waist. He groped for his glasses
that had come off when he hit the ground and hooked
them back over his ears. Almost useless now, one lens out,
the other shattered by the fall, they let him see what had
brought him down. The head of a heavy ball-peen hammet
gleamed at him from where it had spun off its target and
landed in the ditch a couple of yards away. There wasn’t
time to reach it.
He worked his cell phone out of his pocket.
He could see Ward walking purposefully towards him, head
lowered. The strip of light from the garage seesawing between
his legs. He flipped the cell open and hit 7, Kira’s speed-dM
number. He needed to tell her to get in touch with Ed Lister, call the police. He heard it ringing.
C’mon, Dish, pick up. Still ringing as he dragged himself
towards the hammer. He crawled forward on his elbows and made a lunge for it, letting go his cell as Ward’s boot came
down hard on the wooden handle, trapping his fingers underneath.
Ward
bent down, picked up the hammer.
'Hello?’ Amy’s voice.
What was she doing up this late? Let me speak to Mom,
sweetheart.
He tried to answer her, but all that came out was a feeble croak as Ward stomped the cell phone into the tarmac. Then he put his foot on the back of the detective’s neck, pinning his head to the ground.
Out of his right eye, Campbell saw him heft the hammer a couple of times, tapping the head against his palm as if he was making up his mind about something.
'Jesus, no, wait . . . don’t do this,’ he gasped. 'I already talked to the cops. They know who you are. They’re on their way here.’
'Campbell, Campbell,’ Ward said, shaking his head.
'You left some . . . they found skin cells on the train.’ He was making it up as he went along, sounding frantic now. “They’ll be able to match the
DNA
samples.’
'With what? They need to find me first.’
'The Questura in Florence . . .’
Ward gave a little snort. 'Morelli? That jerk-off Do me a favour.’
'There’s a warrant out for your arrest.’ His chest hurt every breath he took. 'Jesus, I think you broke my back.’
'You’ll be all right. No tennis for a while. But you’ll be just fine.’