“Will this do?” I held out a full-length rain slicker I’d found hanging with a collection of jackets and boots in the mudroom off the kitchen.
“It’ll have to. I found some rope but nothing else useful. I see you found Wellington boots.”
“They even fit me.” I handed him a black knit watch cap and pulled on another knitted of thick gray wool.
Tom turned on the torch. I followed him out of the courtyard and onto a beaten track that led, as far as I could see, into nothingness. The rain, whipped by the wind, stung my face.
“The rain’s coming faster now,” I said, shading my eyes. “I can’t see where I’m going.”
He looked over his shoulder and gave me a brief smile. “All you need to see is the next step, darling—and my back. Pearce isn’t far—no more than half a mile.”
We trudged along the narrow, waterlogged track. “How did Teddy end up in the mire?”
“He doesn’t know. Says one moment he was on solid ground, and the next he was up to his knees in the thick, spongy peat. There he is.” Tom pointed ahead to a dark shape—human but oddly truncated. “Watch your step, Kate. When you feel your feet start to sink, stop. We’ll have to get close enough to help him, but we can’t do that if we get stuck in as well.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Just about,” came a weak voice, one I recognized. “Don’t come any closer. Told you, Tom. It’s hopeless. All you’re going to do is get yourself trapped. And now Kate. Not worth it.”
“Sorry, mate.” Tom’s tone was light, almost companionable. “We’re not going to leave you here.” Tom took several steps toward the shadowy figure. Teddy Pearce, wearing yellow waterproofs and a blue cotton sling for his injured arm, had sunk up to his thighs in the mire. His normally ruddy complexion was ashen. “I brought a rope,” Tom said. “I’m going to throw you the end. Tie it around your chest if you can—tight enough to stay under your arms. We’ll pull you out.”
Tom sounded confident, but I knew his plan was anything but foolproof. I remembered using a rope to rescue him and two others in the collapse of a house the previous May, but then I’d had the power of a van to help me. This time the only power we had was our own—and I’ve never been famous for my upper-body strength.
A mighty crack was followed by a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder. The storm was moving closer. The wind was picking up.
I moved forward cautiously as the ground beneath my feet felt increasingly squishy. Brown water oozed over the toes of my wellies.
Teddy sighed. His head slumped forward.
“Teddy, stay with us,” Tom pleaded. “Don’t go to sleep. We need your help to get you back to the lodge as quickly as possible.”
As Tom got the rope ready to throw, I started talking to keep Teddy alert. “Quinn’s at the lodge, waiting for you. The police are on the way. If we can’t get you out, they’ll alert Search and Rescue.” I meant those words to be encouragement, but they had the opposite effect.
“The police?” He let out a strangled sob. “Don’t let them take Quinn.” Teddy struggled to take a step, using his good arm to propel him forward, but he subsided in exhaustion. He’d sunk farther into the mire. “She didn’t do anything. It was me, I swear. I did it. Everything.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Everything—the attacks on the family, rocks through the window, the car crash—that was me. I wanted sympathy. I killed Littlejohn. He was going to ruin me.”
“We’ll talk about that later, Teddy.” Tom held a curl of the thick rope in his right hand. “The first thing to do is get you out of here. Then you can talk all you want.”
“No, please.” Teddy moaned. He was exhausted. “Better for everyone if it ends here. Tell them it was an accident. You couldn’t save me.”
“Quinn needs you,” Tom said. “Think of Ivy and Lily. Your daughters need you.”
Teddy let out a brittle sound that might have been a laugh. “I’ll be charged with murder, sent to prison for life. Better they remember me this way.”
“Sorry, mate,” Tom said. “Can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Teddy was weakening. If we didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t have the strength to hold on to the rope.
He was struggling again. The mire was up to his lower hip.
“Stop moving,” Tom said sharply. “You’re making it worse.”
“Littlejohn was a blackmailer. Said I’d killed an old man years ago, when I was a teenager.”
“Billy Cole,” I said. “He died in a fire. Someone put a lighted newspaper through his mail slot.”
“He said I’d go to prison.” Teddy wiped his eyes. “Said he’d make sure everyone knew what I’d done. My girls would grow up knowing their father was a murderer.”
“Are you saying you shot Littlejohn?”
“Tha’s right. Tell the police. It was me. I admit it.”
“Won’t stand up in court,” Tom said. “Hearsay.”
“Record it on your phone.”
“Don’t have it with me. Sorry, mate. You’re going to have to confess in person.”
“Better it ends here, Tom. For Ivy and Lily’s sake. For Quinn’s sake. They don’t deserve this.”
“No, they don’t.” I said, because suddenly I knew what my brain had been trying to tell me. The final image at the gala. The shot from the first-floor balcony. Littlejohn’s unexpected visitor. “It wasn’t you, Teddy, was it? You didn’t kill Littlejohn.”
“What’re you talking about? I just admitted it.”
“Are you saying you shot Littlejohn at the museum gala too?” By some miracle, my voice was calm.
“Yes—I admit it. When it didn’t work, I—”
“But you didn’t.” I cut across him. “You couldn’t have. You were on the ground floor. The shot came from the first-floor balcony. Where Quinn was.”
“No! You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t Quinn. I swear it.”
Tom stared at me. “Quinn?”
The wind howled. Thunder rumbled. The sky split in a white-hot flash.
“I told you something wasn’t right about that night, Tom. The last picture in my mind. Everyone’s eyes were riveted on the clock. Except Quinn. I could see the outline of her spine. Her neck was bent. She wasn’t looking at the clock like everyone else. She was looking down. I think that’s when she pulled the gun out of her handbag. She intended to kill Littlejohn, but the shot missed. She tried again Sunday morning. That time she succeeded.”
Teddy was crying now. “No. I’m the one who killed him. I swear it.”
“All right,” Tom said. “So tell me—what was he wearing when you shot him?”
Teddy’s head shot up. “What was he wearing? I don’t know. One of those frock coats.”
I looked at Tom. Littlejohn had been wearing modern clothes when he was shot. The police hadn’t released that information. But the shooter would know.
“Where was Quinn the morning Littlejohn was killed?” Tom asked.
“I’m not saying another word.” Pearce teetered backward, nearly losing his balance as his legs struggled in vain to offset his weight. If he fell, we’d never get him out.
“You’re trying to save your wife,” Tom said. “Trust me—this isn’t going to help her.”
Pearce was sobbing, shaking his head. “You’re wrong. It was me.”
I knelt on the cold, soggy ground. “Teddy, listen to me. Time is running out. The police are on their way. Either they’ll get here in time to save you, or they won’t. Either way, your confession isn’t going to hold up. They’ll find out where you were the morning Littlejohn was killed. They’ll find out where Quinn was. They’ll know Quinn was to blame for the shooting at the gala, and she’ll be taken into custody. What will your daughters do then, Teddy, if their father is dead and their mother is charged with a serious crime? They need at least one of their parents to survive, and I think it has to be you, Teddy.”
He moaned like a wounded animal.
I pressed on. “Quinn needs you too. How will she cope with all this alone?”
I saw his jaw tighten. He drew in a breath.
“I’m throwing the rope,” Tom said. “Catch it. Good lad. Now pull it toward you and wrap it around your torso. Do you know how to make a hitch knot?”
“I think so—yes.”
We watched as Teddy pulled the rope around his body. Ripping off the blue sling, he used both arms to make the knot.
Tom gave a yank on the rope. “You’ve got it. Well done.” He passed the other end of the rope to me. “All right, Kate. Crouch down—low as you can. Use your legs as a wedge and pull.” He squatted down himself, bracing his legs. “Teddy, let your body slide forward onto the surface of the mire—like you’re swimming. Your legs will release better at an angle.” He took a breath. “Here we go. Pull.”
I strained at the rope, my hands slipping, the rough fibers abrading my flesh.
“Keep at it, Kate. Teddy, hold the rope in front of you. Let it pull you forward.”
Nothing was happening. My muscles tensed as they struggled to shift a load way too heavy for them.
Teddy groaned as the rope dug into his armpits. “It’s no good.”
Tom and I collapsed onto the ground. “This isn’t going to work,” he said. “We need the slicker.”
Standing awkwardly, I grabbed the long moss-green rain slicker and handed it to him.
Tom spread it out, slick side up, beginning at the edge of the mire. It didn’t quite reach Teddy, but it was close. “We need to secure this. See that dead tree over there, Kate? See if you can find three or four sturdy splinters to use as pegs. Long ones if you can find them.”
It wasn’t hard. The trunk of the stunted oak was disintegrating, but I found three sharp splinters. In the meantime, Tom had found a rock, which he used to drive the wood splinters through the slicker and into the soil. But would they hold in the soggy ground?
Tom said, “I’m going to try to pull him out myself.”
“What’s going to prevent you from sinking into the mire?” I asked.
“Distribution of weight.” He wrapped the end of the rope around his waist. “Hold the end of the rope, Kate. Kneel on the edge of the fabric. If the whole thing slips into the mire, I’m in trouble. Teddy’s right. Joining him isn’t going to help.”
I watched as Tom stretched his tall frame out over the slicker. He reached forward. They locked arms, which had to have been painful for Teddy. “Hold on,” Tom said. “Let your body slide forward.”
I knelt on the slicker as Tom pulled. I could see him straining against Teddy’s weight while trying to wiggle his body backward.
After several minutes, the rope went slack. “It’s not going to work,” Teddy said. “Nothing will. They say hypothermia isn’t a bad way to go.” He made a guttural sound. “The truth is, Tom, I’m a coward. I don’t really want to die.”
“You’re not going to die if I have anything to say about it.” Tom slithered back. Once on solid ground, he stood, pulling off his knitted cap which was now soaked through and running a hand through his hair. “There’s got to be a way.” He began striding back and forth. “I’ve been counting on brute strength, and we’re not strong enough—not with the resistance of the mire added to his weight. I have to think.”
Teddy’s eyes were huge and black in the pale oval of his face. His teeth were chattering.
Tom was still pacing. “We have to use physics—give ourselves an edge.” He stopped moving. “Okay, let’s try this. I’m going to thread the rope around that rock and then tie the other end around the trunk of that dead tree—low to the ground.”
“What are you planning?” Rain beat against our faces, and I pulled off my knitted cap too. It wasn’t keeping me warm. Rain pooled on the surface of the peat mire.
“We can’t do it with arm strength alone,” Tom said. “We need our legs and our backs.”
Tom looped the rope around a large rock, then tied it to the dead tree, creating a sort of L shape—a distance of about twenty-five feet.
The wind howled as he worked. It had to be my imagination, but I could almost hear the ringing of those ghostly bells from the drowned church.
Tom finished tying the last knot. “Teddy, just as before—don’t try to help. Relax your legs. Let the rope pull you forward, onto the slicker. Kate, come here. Stand next to me.”
We stood side by side, our backs to the rope, about halfway between the rock and the tree. “We’re going to create a fulcrum or pivot point. As we shorten the length of the rope between Teddy and the tree, the mire will have to give him up.”
“Is this going to work?” I whispered.
“No idea,” he said in a low voice. “I was never much good at physics. But if it doesn’t, I’m out of ideas.”
“It’ll have to work, then. What do we do?”
“Thread your arms over and under the rope across your back and lock your hands in front of you. Like this.” He demonstrated. “Then we’re going to lean into the rope and push with our legs. The idea is to step backward—even a step or two will help. Ready? Hard as you can, now.”
I felt the rope tighten against my back. Were we gaining ground? I couldn’t tell. An inch, maybe, but it could have been the rope stretching. It wasn’t enough. I tried not to cry as the rope bit into my flesh through the jacket.
The wind was howling even louder. Another massive thunderbolt lit up the sky, releasing a deluge of rain. I could hardly see. Gritting my teeth, I braced my legs and pushed with my back.
Tom grunted with a massive effort. We gained a single step. Then another.
The tree cracked ominously. If the rotten wood gave way, we were finished. I felt my feet slipping and regained my traction.
“Keep pushing,” Tom said. “Just one more step.”
In the bog, Teddy began to move. I could see it. With a massive sucking sound, the mire released its prey, and he flopped onto the rain slicker, which had pulled loose of the pegs.
“It worked.” Tom sounded surprised. “Come on—help me get him out.”
Together we pulled on the rain slicker, sliding Teddy onto solid ground. Tom and I collapsed. All three of us lay panting and covered with thick liquid peat.
Tom got to his feet. “No time to waste, Kate. He’s lost body heat. Help me get him up. We’re going to have to support him all the way.”
Slinging Teddy’s good arm over Tom’s shoulder, we began the long trek back to the lodge.
And Quinn.