Last Rites (36 page)

I heard the letterbox clang as a letter dropped onto the mat.

I checked my watch. It was still early, dark outside, but I hadn't been sleeping well. Every time I fell asleep, I saw Dan Mather's face. But it wasn't the look that he'd had when he was hurting me that kept me awake. It was the look as he'd died that was in my mind, that final knowing glance. I could still feel his flesh on my fingers, cold and wet, and I could have tried to save him.

I groaned as I slid out of bed. I'd tormented myself for too long. It had been a month since Dan Mather died, but my body still ached, bruises and swellings all over my legs, and a plate had been inserted into my cheek to hold my cheekbone together, the same for Laura. There was little feeling there now, just numbness. I knew it was worse for Laura, because it had hurt her professionally as well. She had been signed off for a couple of months, and would be on light duties after that, but she was restless, wanted to go back.

I hobbled down the stairs, saw the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. We were trying to make
it normal for Bobby. He had been quiet at first, and I knew it was worry over Laura.

We had some financial security now. The story had been sold, and an exclusive with a tabloid had paid off the mortgage. It had come at a price, though, and I tried not to think of Rebecca Nurse's father as he struggled with prison, waiting for his trial for killing Mack Lowther. He was going to argue diminished responsibility, try to win the hearts of the jury, that he wasn't in control of himself, but I knew that his heart wasn't in it. He was tormented by the thought that he had killed an innocent man. The other prisoners were fine with him, told him that Mack Lowther had deserved what he'd got for the other lives he'd ruined, but that didn't help him. He had killed Mack Lowther to avenge his daughter, twisted by revenge, but he'd got it wrong.

As I walked to the front door, I saw a familiar envelope. It was from Laura's solicitor. I was nervous as I picked it up, knowing that its contents might decide whether Laura and Bobby stayed in the north or not. I thought about saving it for Laura, but as I held it in my hand, I knew that I wanted to be prepared for whatever was contained in it.

I slipped my finger into the fold and opened the envelope. As I spread out the letter, I saw the neat typeface, covering a whole page, and took a deep breath. I started to read it.

When I had finished it, I felt my eyes go wet, and a tear ran down my cheek. I read it again, just to make sure, and then I looked towards the stairs, to where Laura was still sleeping.

I put my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

It was going to be all right. The Court Welfare Report had recommended that Bobby should stay with us. Geoff had decided that he couldn't afford the final hearing, that it would be a waste of money, and was going to withdraw his application for custody.

I heard movement behind me, and then I felt Laura's arms go around me, felt her pull my head into her shoulders.

We were going to be all right.

As a lawyer and a writer, I feel blessed to have two jobs that I enjoy, but like in everything, it isn't always the job itself that is the most rewarding, but the people you meet on the way.

I work with the police regularly, a body of people whose dedication to their jobs helps us all to sleep a little safer. Throughout all of my books is admiration for them, and if that doesn't come across enough, then that is my fault. Then there are the others, from the people who have emailed me, sometimes from the other side of the world, to the other authors I've met, some new, others with names that adorn my own bookshelves. You have all made my job a lot less lonely, helped me to get through those late night moments when the story isn't going so well and the next deadline looms ever closer. For that, I say thank you.

Of course, becoming a writer isn't an overnight thing, and I've got the rejection slips to prove it, but there are some people who have always said the right things. I know who you are, how you helped, and I will always remember that.

What has made it a joy is that the people at Avon have been great to work with from day one, especially Maxine Hitchcock and Keshini Naidoo, both pillars of support and sound advice, but most of all, good company. For that relationship, I have to thank my agent, Sonia Land, always a font of great wisdom on all things book-related.

Underlying all of these things are the people who knew me before, who know me now, and will be friends and more long after. Like Duncan, who has kept the beer flowing through the years, and most of all, Alison, my wife, who bears the burden of my lost evenings too charitably, keeping my three boys in good health.

A truly self-made man, Neil White grew up in a single-parent family on a council estate in West Yorkshire. He dropped out of school with one ‘O’ level and spent the next seven years living in bed-sits and on benefits.

Desperate to escape that life, Neil returned to education in his 20s, before completing a law degree at Lancashire Polytechnic and qualifying as a solicitor when he was 30. He is now a Senior Prosecutor for the Crown Prosecution Service in Lancashire and spends his days in the courtroom and his evenings writing crime fiction. His last two books,
Fallen Idols
and
Lost Souls
, have been critically acclaimed.

To find out more about Neil go to
www.neilwhite.net

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By the Same Author

Fallen Idols
Lost Souls

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

AVON

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Copyright © Neil White 2009

Neil White asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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EPub Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007322725

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