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Back The Last Guests Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. DEADLY SAS RAID IN AFGHANISTAN UNDER SCRUTINY
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. PART TWO
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. DANIEL MOORE: ‘A SINGLE BLOKE, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, A BIT OF A DUNCE BUT WITH A GOOD HEART,’ BEST FRIEND SAYS.
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. THIRTY-FOUR
  43. THIRTY-FIVE
  44. BREAKING: POLICE CONFIRM DANIEL MOORE ACTED ALONE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. SECOND ARREST MADE IN WESTAY HIDDEN CAMERAS CASE
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Discover More
  53. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  54. Also by J. P. Pomare

‘You booked the WeStay. That’s all it takes to cut loose my imagination. I could see you with someone from your runners’ group or from work. Maybe Scotty.’

‘Scotty?’ I say in disbelief. Never in a million years would I be interested in Scotty. Cain knows that, surely. ‘No, Cain. Not him.’

His expression changes.

‘Not anyone,’ I continue. ‘I booked that place because I realised that the last guests that stayed at Tarawera had also stayed there.’

‘You thought you’d just check it out?’ he asks.

‘That’s right, the police can confirm it. They found me there at six in the morning. They were monitoring it for that same reason. I knew if I told you, you would just think I was being paranoid. You don’t believe that there was a second man.’

Cain exhales slowly. ‘I still don’t believe there was a second man,’ he says. For a heartbeat I think he might cry. ‘If you were seeing someone else, I would never live with it.’

A dark implication in his words.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, coming around the kitchen bench to him. ‘I’m sorry for ever doubting you and for not telling you what I was doing.’

‘I get it,’ he says. His voice has shrunk. ‘It looked bad.’

I hug him now and, reluctantly, I feel his arms come around me.

‘Now only one question remains, who sent the video?’ I say. Someone else is out there, watching, waiting. Terrorising us.

TWENTY-NINE

NOT ALL ALARMS are loud screaming things. Sometimes it’s the quietest alarms that shake you the most. This morning it’s the familiar chirp of my phone. Call it intuition, I know instantly that something is wrong. I had a similar premonition when I received the message about Grandpa. I was a medical student, hungover with a boy from my class in bed next to me. It was a Sunday morning and the moth-eaten curtains in his flat did little to keep the sun out. There was a text from Wiremu, Hi Lina, call me when you can. I’d gotten up and made it to the privacy of the bathroom before I’d begun to cry. I called Wiremu, already knowing. Grandpa’s heart was bad by that stage, but I kept telling myself he would find a way to keep going. The moment Wiremu began to apologise I broke down. I remember thanking him at the end of the call, something that seems absurd now. Then telling him I’d be okay and hanging up. The boy found me balled on the cold tiles, his flatmate was waiting to have a shower. He offered to drive me home.