The following June, a man and a woman walked slowly arm in arm, early one evening, up the long winding incline that was the driveway of the hotel in which they were staying for a brief two-day break.
‘So, justice was served . . . eventually.’ The man glanced up at the rich foliage which overhung the driveway and which was at that moment sharply defined against the scarlet sunset. ‘And for the living there was closure. Michelle Lemmon’s brother found out what had happened to his sister and now has a grave to visit.’
‘It must have been agony for her family.’ The woman looked down at the gravel surface upon which she and her partner walked. ‘The not knowing where your loved one is . . . the not knowing what happened to them. Oh . . . should that ever happen to me . . .’
‘Yes, it isn’t funny, not funny at all. As you say . . . should that ever happen. It was though, in the event, a very short trial. Parr and Farrent instructed their barrister to go NG, as my son would say, but Virginia Farrent proved a very strong witness for the prosecution. She was solid and angry, her sincerity shone through and her husband condemned himself by throwing a temper tantrum from the dock, shouting across at her that she was “no good as a wife”, that she “had no loyalty”, and Nigel Parr turned to him and said, “You idiot, that’s an admission,” and put his head in his hands. It was then that their barristers requested a brief adjournment so as to consult their clients.’
‘And they changed their plea?’
‘Yes.’ The man’s eye was caught by a swift darting about against the sunset. ‘Yes, from NG to G, also as my son would say.’
‘From not guilty to guilty?’ the woman asked.
‘Yes, guilty as charged, my Lord,’ the man replied. ‘They both collected five life sentences with a minimum tariff of twenty-five years, and so they won’t be much of a threat when they breathe fresh air again, if they ever do, being in their fifties now.’
‘So what happened to the land?’ The woman glanced at the man.
‘A very good question, and the answer is that it is all still up in the air. I spoke to Virginia Farrent just after the trial. Her divorce is still to be finalized but her lawyer is requesting half the Farrent estate. She said she wanted half of the value of the bungalow because that was her home. She is entitled to it, but she said she doesn’t want the land. She said she felt it was tainted with blood.’
‘Noble woman,’ the woman commented.
‘Yes, I thought much the same. So her half of the land in dispute will be taken into public ownership and unless Thomas Farrent makes a will leaving it to a named person or organization then his half will also, in the fullness of time, be taken into public ownership,’ the man explained. ‘The Farrents’ marriage being childless.’
‘I see.’
‘Nigel Parr loses his house in Camden. Thomas Farrent made a statement in which he confirmed that he took money from the Farrent estate to compensate Parr for not inheriting anything from his foster parents, as we suspected, in return for Nigel Parr’s help in their murder.’ The man inclined his head briefly. ‘So we will seize the house under the Proceeds of Crime legislation.’
‘So.’ Louise D’Acre squeezed George Hennessey’s arm against her. ‘The Parrs lost everything . . . their lives . . . And Michelle Lemmon, who just wanted to get away from home for a while, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, lost her life as well.’
‘It happens.’ George Hennessey stopped walking and turned to take one last glimpse of Lake Windermere before guiding his lady onwards to their hotel, dinner, and an early night.