‘Mark Howitt Senior was found dead beside his wife this morning. It’s not confirmed, but from initial reports it appears he decided his life would end when hers did,’ Sutherland said.
Bill sank down on the nearest chair, his legs no longer able to hold him up.
Sutherland waited, giving Bill time to compose himself.
‘I believe you and he were old friends?’
‘We were,’ Bill acknowledged.
‘Then maybe that’s why he left a letter addressed to you at the scene.’ Sutherland slid a white embossed envelope towards Bill.
Bill hesitated before picking it up, unsure how to react to this. Sutherland, he could tell, was keen to know the letter’s contents. Bill, on the other hand, had no wish to either open the letter in his presence, nor share what was inside unless he had to.
He rose, letter in hand. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir?’
Sutherland gave a reluctant nod, before adding, ‘Obviously, if the contents have any bearing on his son’s case . . .’
Bill didn’t bother answering as he exited the room.
Seated now in his chair, the letter still sealed lying on the desk in front of him, Bill pondered what he should do. The last time he’d met with his old friend had been at the city mortuary where he’d come to identify the body of his son. It was a task no parent should ever have to do. After that Bill had had to explain that his son had been implicated in the deaths of three people. Had in fact confessed to all three murders.
For an ordinary man, that would have been tragic. For a High Court judge, who’d spent most of his life presiding over such cases, it must have been catastrophic.
All his own life in the police force, Bill had had one overriding fear. That a close family member might become a victim of a serious crime, or even a perpetrator. The idea that only evil people were driven to do bad things was, of course, a fallacy.
We are all capable of murder given the right circumstances.
Bill recalled their conversation in the park and the sense that his friend had wanted to reveal something, yet could not, at that time.
It seemed the time had now come.
Bill slit open the envelope, extracted the letter and began to read.
There is a catharsis in telling the truth. You and I both know that. We have seen it in interviews and in court. When we met I wanted to tell you this, but wasn’t brave enough to do so. Funny how we, you and I, have spent our lives urging others to confess, yet when it came to it, I was unable to do so. At least face to face.
I became aware of Leila Hardy when seeking alternative treatments for Sarah. We had been through every available medical procedure possible. As you know, none of them worked. She was dying and I was desperate. Suffice to say that Leila Hardy was my last resort. She was kind to me. Kind and persuasive. She offered me her strongest magic and I’m ashamed to say I took it. Perhaps as much for myself as for what it promised for Sarah.
Like all other routes, it led nowhere except death.
I was the undisclosed DNA sample found in her flat. I had recently visited a crime scene with a jury and had been recorded. Immediately I heard of Leila’s death, I contacted Superintendent Sutherland and explained about my indiscretion. He advised me to wait. Again I took the coward’s way out and did so, convincing myself that such a revelation might destroy Sarah’s remaining time alive.
My biggest failure I think was not to have faith in my son. Sarah always did. Mark sensed my disappointment, when he should have sensed my love.
For what it’s worth, I knew nothing of the group you term the Nine, although I suspect they had found out from Leila about me. When you said you thought Mark might have been blackmailed into confessing, my first thought was that I might have been the tool they used to manipulate him.
If that was the case, then I think he died to protect Sarah, and perhaps even me.
I sensed when we talked that you believed Mark to be innocent, as do I. I hope you can clear his name, but even more I hope you can apprehend the person, or persons, who killed Leila Hardy and her friends.
McNab looked up from the letter, his expression sombre.
‘We’ll get Buchanan,’ he said. ‘But not the Nine,’ he added bitterly.
‘The wheels of the Lord grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly fine,’ Bill quoted a favourite saying of his late mother’s.
‘You believe that?’ McNab challenged him.
‘In a religious sense, no. But we’ve made a start, and the case can’t be closed until we find the other members of the group.’ Bill examined McNab’s demeanour. He looked like a man still on the wagon, with maybe even some joy in his life, despite the frustration of the Nine.
‘How’s Freya?’ Bill asked.
A small smile played McNab’s mouth, something not often seen, Bill thought.
‘She’s okay, thank you, sir.’
McNab indicated the letter.
‘Do you intend making this public knowledge, sir?’
‘The super already knows. I’d like you to inform Rhona. I believe that’s enough for the time being.’
‘Thank you for telling me, sir.’