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Back The Dead Line
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

‘The loose clothes, the big winter coats,’ said Miranda stonily. ‘You’ll just say she was early, and that everyone carries them differently, and that I felt so awful all the time – I suppose I just haven’t seen you for a while.’ As Miranda spoke, they could all hear Emily. ‘But you can’t keep that going, not if there’s a proper investigation.’

‘You wouldn’t do that.’ Emily was pleading now. ‘You wouldn’t do that to us.’

‘I would.’ Miranda’s eyes were dead. ‘Oh, I would.’

There was a long silence. A grandfather clock somewhere upstairs clanged the hour.

‘This is blackmail,’ said Dominic. ‘What you’re doing is illegal.’

Miranda met his eyes. ‘What you’ve done is illegal. And I think you knew it, all along.’

‘Never.’ Emily looked up, wiping away the tears. ‘I will never let you do this.’

‘Get out,’ said Dominic. ‘Get out of this house and get away from my wife. Stay away from us.’

‘Mr Burton-Smith . . .’ Miranda tried one last time.

‘Get out.’ The veins stood out on his neck. ‘Get out, or I will call the police.’

19

19

‘They won’t call the police,’ Miranda said.

They were in the Pump Room, incongruously, just around the corner from Elton House. Jane Austen’s ghost hovered in the corner. A waitress had brought them a tower of little cakes and cucumber sandwiches, which Casey was ignoring.

‘They might. It’s as if we’re throwing hand grenades into people’s lives, one after the other. Eventually, someone will fight back. Or . . .’

A straw hat ripped away, a half-smile frozen . . .

‘I think Dominic knew something,’ said Miranda. ‘He guessed things weren’t right with Dr Greystone.’

‘He might realise,’ said Casey, ‘that he’s screwed either way. And that means he could go to Dr Greystone, and tell him we’re on the hunt. That would blow the whole thing.’

‘He might,’ Miranda shrugged. ‘It’s always risky at this point.’

Casey was staring at a table of tourists, posing with a woman in a Georgian dress.

‘They knew,’ said Miranda flatly. ‘The Burton-Smiths couldn’t get it done here, because of the strict rules in place, and they know those rules are there precisely to keep people safe. To stop people being exploited. And because they couldn’t get it done here, they went there. And they’re paying a big chunk of money, partly so they don’t feel too bad about it.’

The woman, picturesque in her Empire-line dress, smiled and bobbed her head. She was wearing a pretty little bonnet, and carrying a posy of roses.

‘Are you OK?’ Miranda asked. ‘Not like you to have a crise de conscience.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Casey pushed it away.

‘Is it Cavendish?’ asked Miranda. ‘Has Hessa been OK?’

‘Yes,’ said Casey. ‘No.’

Hessa had sidled up to her in the investigations room the night before. ‘How do you make it right in your head?’