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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘But it could have. It could happen every single time. You never know what you’re walking into. What’s gone before.’

A hen party clattered past, pink sashes, squealing. What happens in Kavos, stays in Kavos.

‘Every time you knock on a door,’ Hessa watched them cackle. ‘You never know what you’re going to find.’

Back on the hotel terrace, as the sun faded to a memory, Hessa’s voice had stuck like a record. He jumped. He jumped. He jumped.

Until the words lost their meaning, and Casey shook her, quite hard. ‘He’s gone, Hessa. I know. And I’m sorry. But you have to pull yourself together.’

Staring at the peanuts, the scene was already clear to Casey: they had rambled past the old house, isolated in its few acres of bleached grass. There was nobody else around. Exchanged a few words, maybe. But nothing more.

Nothing more, OK?

A gasp. OK.

In her mind’s eye, Casey saw the old man plunge through the air where his beloved swifts danced. The straw hat ripped away, the half-smile frozen.

All the way down to the waves, and oblivion.

Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a hard fist, and she turned away from Hessa. They had sat silently among the excited burble of theories, as the waiters reminisced about old Sir Cavendish.

It took the coastguards a few hours to find the old man, drifting in the blue, blue sea, and there was nothing anyone could do. The policemen shrugged, filled out some paperwork and headed back to the taverna. No one ever asked Hessa and Casey a question.

‘You never give up, do you?’ Hessa said, sharp upright on the awkward airplane seat.

Casey stared at the flight manual, the neat instructions for disaster. ‘No.’

‘Don’t you feel bad?’

‘Of course I do. We couldn’t have known.’

There were tears in Casey’s eyes, quite suddenly. She looked away, so Hessa didn’t see.

‘He’s dead, Hessa,’ said Casey. ‘Dead. Of course I . . .’

The plane hit turbulence, heaving up and down in the sky, and the hen party’s cackles dissolved into screams.

Now the plane was slowing into the long arc into Gatwick. Casey thought of the other planes lined up, ahead and behind, a necklace of lights flickering home through the dark.

‘It’s up to you, Hessa,’ said Casey. ‘You have to choose.’

12

12

Hessa was there the next morning though. She hadn’t slept, Casey could see. But she was there, eyes swollen, in the little investigations room.

‘So that line of inquiry’s closed down,’ said Miranda, quite brutally, so that Hessa’s eyes flicked to Casey, just for a second.

Miranda had already spoken to Dash that morning.

So he might have tripped?

He might.

Fine.

Dash had moved quickly through shock to suspicion. They hadn’t told the editor.

Need to know?

Not really.

All right.