BooksBarbecue
Back The Last Guests
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

Cain’s a gambler. It’s something he inherited from his father. Not that I knew the man. The only time I saw him, it was just his body. A sorry affair even for a funeral, with no family other than Cain and his father’s second ex-wife who had come to the funeral home on her lunch break, still in her bank teller’s uniform. She’d asked Cain, ‘How did you know Barry?’

‘I didn’t really,’ he had said, the conversation ending there.

At least he inherited something of value from his mother. My favourite piece of jewellery, my wedding ring. Which reminds me – at a set of lights I twist the ring off and string it through my necklace.

I pull off the motorway in the heart of the city. Stay the course, I tell myself. Could I have rescheduled, thought it over more? No, it has to be tonight, it has to be now. Cain will drink himself into a stupor before falling into the back seat of an Uber and somehow making his way up the stairs to bed. That’s something I grew out of, but he did not. The occasional binge. I check my phone to make sure I’m heading in the right direction. I pull into a side street nearby, park, then get out and open the boot, fetching my duffel bag. A truck is parked on the road ahead, the driver is leaning against the door looking down at his phone and smoking a cigarette. I climb back into the car. I change clothes quickly with the seat back, slipping out of my jeans and blouse, wrangling a dress over my body. I glance towards the end of the road where the trucker is still standing. He’s watching the car. The dress leaves a generous measure of leg exposed. I add heels, tossing my sneakers in the back, then a dark coat. The bar is walking distance from here.

In the rear-view mirror, I apply a little more make-up and then I spray on some of my Le Labo perfume – an expensive wedding gift I’ve managed to stretch out for five years. I’ll have to wash it off later. I open my phone. I’d started downloading the app again as soon as I got in the car, and now I send a message.

So sorry I’m running late, be there in five, don’t start without me!

The trucker glances up as I cross the road, watching me in the jaundiced streetlight, before tilting his head back down to his phone.