An hour later, back at the hunting lodge, Tom, Teddy, and I sat in the large, square living room in front of a blazing fire. “At least we have plenty of logs and fire starters,” Tom said, brushing ashes from his hands. He’d constructed a teepee of logs. Thankfully, the chimney was drawing well.
Tom and I had exchanged our wet, filthy clothes for whatever we could find. We’d helped Teddy out of his clothes, too, and into a thick velour robe that must have belonged to Quinn’s father. Since the water in the boilers was still barely lukewarm, we’d wrapped him in another duvet and pulled his chair close to the fire. He’d been trapped in the Evelscombe mire for at least an hour and a half. In an attempt to raise his core temperature, I’d made more tea, adding lots of sugar. He really needed medical care, but with no way to reach out for help, this was the best we could do. I just hoped it would be enough.
Quinn was still sound asleep in the comfortable chair by the Aga.
“Why haven’t the police arrived yet?” I asked Tom. “It’s been well over three hours since you heard from Okoje.”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try to get the Wi-Fi working. Teddy, where’s the router?” In our concern for Teddy, we’d forgotten all about the Wi-Fi.
Teddy held his mug of tea with both hands. He’d stopped shaking but his skin had turned red, and I knew he could experience heart arrythmia, even cardiac arrest. “In the main bedroom. Second level.”
Tom returned quickly. “Success. Now if we’d only brought our power cords. My mobile’s almost dead. How much charge is left on yours, Kate?”
I turned it on. “Eighteen percent.”
“You’re going to have to text Okoje—here’s the number.” He handed me his phone. “Tell him where we are. Tell him we need an ambulance.”
“I’ll need the password.”
“It’s Hector, the gelding’s name,” Teddy said. “All lowercase.”
I logged on to the lodge’s Wi-Fi and texted Okoje, then Susan Benables, telling her Quinn and Teddy were all right.
As I was texting, Tom said, “Littlejohn accused you of killing an old man—Billy Cole. Was he right?”
Teddy looked into the fire. He didn’t answer.
“When was this?” Tom asked.
“He sent me an email a few days before Christmas. Said ‘You killed Billy Cole. Soon everyone will know.’ I tried to reason with him the night of the gala.”
“I witnessed your argument,” I said. “Just before the shooting.”
“What did he say?” Tom asked.
“He said he’d seen me that night in 1992. He said I was the one who’d shoved the burning newspaper through the old man’s mail slot. He said I was a murderer and needed to be punished. He’d make sure of it.”
“Was he right? Did you do it?”
Teddy was silent for a long time. At last he spoke. “No. I swear it, Tom. I was there that night. I admit that. But it wasn’t me. I couldn’t convince him.”
“You’re saying you were there, but you didn’t push the newspaper through Billy Cole’s mail slot?”
“I was part of the gang, all right. Thought we were the dog’s bollocks, we did. I’ve admitted it. But I wasn’t responsible for the old man’s death. I could prove it. Witnesses came forward. People who had no reason to lie. They saw me spray-painting a house blocks away when the fire was started. That’s why I was never convicted.” Teddy took a long drink of his tea—a good sign. “That night was a pivot point for me. I was shocked when I learned the next day about the old man’s death. I was lucky. The police got me into a diversion program. Changed the course of my life. That’s why I care about juvenile crime in the UK, in Devon. These kids need the same chance I got.”
“What made Littlejohn think you were guilty?”
“We’d just come from a game. High on alcohol and ready to smash everything in our way. He said he recognized me, recognized my football jersey.” Teddy’s brows pulled inward. “But most of us were wearing our jerseys. I think he must have been testing the waters—seeing how I would react.”
Was he telling the truth or setting up a defense? “Where does Quinn come into it?” I asked.
“Quinn? She doesn’t.” He sat up, his voice stronger. “Quinn had nothing to do with any of this. I was the one. Had to protect my family, didn’t I?”
He’d just denied having a part in Billy Cole’s death. I was confused. I thought he was too—confused and a little panicky.
“Did Quinn know about Littlejohn’s accusations?”
“I knew.” Quinn stood in the archway, still wrapped in the duvet. Her hair was disheveled and her eye makeup a mess, but she was awake. She ran to her husband and bent down to hug him. Then she looked at us. “He’s innocent. Not just the murder of Billy Cole. He’s innocent of everything. Thank you for finding him.” She kissed the top of his head. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters. No more secrets. It’s time to tell the truth.”
Teddy’s hand shot out, and he grabbed her arm. “Don’t say another word.”
Freeing her arm, she sat at his feet and turned to face us. “I was the one who staged the attacks—all of them. If you look into it, you’ll find they never happened when the girls were home. No one was ever hurt. I made sure of that. Until the car crash.” Quinn put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled. “I’m so sorry, darling.”
“Don’t do this.” Teddy shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do.” Quinn wiped away her tears. “When Teddy was hurt in the car crash, I knew it had to stop.”
“You staged the car crash?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“I’d hired a guy to follow him from the supermarket opening. Teddy didn’t know. The guy was supposed to get close, sort of threaten him, that’s all. But he made contact. It was an accident, but Teddy’s car spun out of control.” She reached up and took his hand. “In the hospital, when I thought you’d been seriously injured, I realized what I’d done.”
“Your mother said you’d been terribly upset since the crash.”
“What about the shooting the night of the gala?” Tom asked. “That was you as well, wasn’t it?”
Quinn’s shoulders slumped. “Stupid of me. I’m a good shot—I really am. Just out of practice.”
Teddy sat forward, his forehead on the heels of his hands. “Luv, don’t do this.”
“You tried to kill Gideon Littlejohn?”
“I didn’t want to kill him, just frighten him. But it didn’t work, because everyone assumed Teddy was the target. So, I thought, fine. More sympathy.” She looked at me. “That’s what Teddy and I argued about on the phone. I confessed. He was so angry. I thought he’d never speak to me again.”
“I’m sorry, luv.” Teddy kissed her hand.
“Why did you want to frighten Gideon Littlejohn?” Tom asked.
“Because he was going to tell everyone Teddy murdered a helpless old man. I couldn’t let that happen. Teddy was innocent, and he was going to lose his reputation, probably his seat in Parliament, all because of a lie. And the scandal would prove my father right.” She gulped down a sob. “My bloody, stupid pride.”
“Littlejohn didn’t get the message, though,” Tom said. “He thought Teddy was the target like everyone else.”
“His housekeeper said a woman visited him sometime after Christmas. Was that you?”
“Yes. He assumed Teddy hadn’t told me. When I said I knew about his threats, he made me leave. I never had a chance to explain that Teddy was innocent. That’s why I went to his house Sunday morning. To plead with him again. To tell him he’d got it wrong. About the old man, I mean.”
“You went to his house?” Tom leaned forward in his chair.
“No, luv. Please.” Tears streamed down Teddy’s face. “Don’t do this.”
“Was he expecting you?” I asked.
“No, and he wasn’t happy to see me.”
“When did you get there?” Tom asked.
“Around ten. I told Teddy I was going to the gym.”
Tom and I exchanged glances. Quinn was the person Clive Nixon had seen that morning. She’d been there during that missing period of time when Littlejohn was murdered. I felt a sick coldness in my gut. “Quinn,” I said, “Did Littlejohn offer you tea?”
“Tea?” She looked at me in disbelief. “Of course he didn’t. I wasn’t there long enough anyway.”
“What did you do?” Tom asked.
“I begged him to have mercy.” Quinn’s hands lay still in her lap, but I could see the tension in her shoulders and spine. “I told him Teddy was innocent. That he’d turned his life around. We have the girls now. He’s doing good things for Southeast Devon. Littlejohn wouldn’t listen. He said nothing Teddy ever did would make up for murder. He saw himself as some kind of an avenger. Setting things right.”
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
“Of course not. But he said he had irrefutable evidence. He’d made a video.” She buried her face in her hands.
“So you had to stop him.” Tom’s face was completely blank.
“What?” Quinn looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“You shot him.”
“No. Of course I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?” Teddy blinked, his face slack. “I thought … when you told me you went there to stop him … I was afraid. I’m so sorry, luv.”
“Don’t be.” Quinn grasped his hand. “For a while, I thought it was you.”
“You’re saying Littlejohn was alive when you left his house?” Tom asked.
“Very much alive. I was only there ten minutes. He said I had to leave. We had nothing more to talk about, and he was expecting someone at ten forty-five.”
“His appointment,” I said. His murderer—the person who got tea and biscuits.
“Quinn, think hard now.” Tom went very still. “Did you see anyone when you left? Anyone at all—near the house or on the street? A car? Someone on foot?”
Quinn’s brows drew together. “No, and I’m not sure I’d have noticed. I was terribly upset. I sat in my car and cried for a while. Then I drove away.”
My mobile pinged. “It’s Okoje—at last.” I read it aloud.
Been trying to reach you all night. Tree across road near Holne Bridge. Cleared now. Be at the lodge in 30 min. Ambulance on the way.