Dusk was falling when I got in the car and set off towards the old oilfield one last time. After my encounter with Vincent I had spent barely half an hour in my hotel room, lying on my back on the bed. There was no one I could call, no one I could ask for help. Josh Taylor’s name flickered past as a possibility, but I daren’t defy the order I had been given. If I did, Lucy and Belle would be gone forever. And I would have to live my last hours in the knowledge that I had killed them.
I thought about calling Lucy. Just to say goodbye, and to thank her for everything. I wanted to hear her voice before I died. That was all. And surely every man or woman under sentence of death had the right to one last wish? I concluded that it was an impossible wish. There was absolutely zero chance of me being able to tell Lucy that I was on my way to my own execution without her reacting in a way that would cost her her life.
Anguish is one of the worst things in the world. Most people use the word wrongly. Anguish is a force as strong as the torrent of water from a burst dam. It’s unstoppable, uncontrollable. No sane person who knows they’re going to die can face their last hours of life with any degree of calmness. I’ve always known that I love being alive. Even when everything was terrible – like the first year after my sister’s death, when I rapidly and reluctantly found myself a father – my lust for life was undiminished. It has always, always been there. Not once have I ever considered death as the solution to any problem I have faced. So the anguish that took over my body and mind during the hours after Vincent and I parted was unlike anything I had ever encountered before. Up to the moment where we were standing eye to eye, I had somehow imagined that I would be able to negotiate my way out of the situation. That there would be something I could say or do to put everything right. But that wasn’t the case, and I knew that now.
There was no way back.
And there was no way forward.
When I got in the car, it felt like I was shivering with fever. It took me several minutes before I was able to pull myself together enough to dare to start it and drive off. I know I was crying, and I remember thinking that it didn’t matter. People who know they’re going to die can do what the hell they like.
When I had been driving for half an hour one of my mobiles rang. The oldest one. I glanced at the screen, convinced that if I looked away from the road for as much as a second, the last thing I did would be to run down and kill someone.
It was Marianne. The woman who had once given birth to me, and who I refused to call Mum. Of all the people who could have called just then, she was the last one I wanted to talk to. Not because I had nothing to say to her, but quite the opposite. We had far too many unresolved issues for a final conversation to serve any useful purpose. What could we discuss in a few short minutes – all I was prepared to give her – that could sort out all the shit that lay there festering between us, just in time for me to die?
I rejected the call. And if I had to identify the one thing I’ve done that I regret most, that would be it. The fact that when I was sitting in a car and driving to what I knew was my own execution, I didn’t answer the phone when my mum called.
There aren’t many people who know in advance when they are going to die. And not many people who ever know why. I dearly wanted to be the exception to that rule. I wanted to know why I didn’t deserve to live.
For the second time in one day, I turned off the motorway and carried on along the deserted side-road, then onto the even more desolate gravel track. The gravel track was, or rather is, absolutely straight except for a bend just before it reaches the abandoned oilfield. It wasn’t until I got past it that I saw my welcoming committee. I counted six of them: five men and one woman. There were two cars parked up behind the little group of people. Their headlights lit up the whole of the meeting place. Vincent, my newfound brother, was sitting on the bonnet of one of the cars. He exuded all the arrogance I expected from a man in his bizarre position.
One of the other men gestured to me to park a short distance away. I followed his instructions and got out of the car. Well, I didn’t, actually. First I had to sit in the car with the engine switched off for a minute or so before I opened the door and got out. I also sent Lucy a text. The shortest ever, and the most important.
How I wish I could have met my death with dignity. That I could have been as cool as people in films when they’re about to die. Straight-backed, smiling, with some razor-sharp quip at the ready. And with at least seven automatic weapons hidden inside my jacket.
I’d thought about getting hold of a gun to take with me, before realising that was a bad idea. I’m a crap shot, and I hadn’t fired a gun since I hit another man by mistake. There was no way I’d ever be able to shoot my way out of the situation I found myself in. In which case it was best to come the way I’d been instructed: unarmed, defenceless, and alone.
Sweat was running down my back as I walked the last steps towards the gang; the only member I recognised was Vincent. He nodded in greeting and slid off the car’s bonnet. To my left someone had dug a deep hole in the hard ground. The shovel lay alongside it.
‘Good that we can meet like this, without too many preliminaries,’ Vincent said, sounding genuinely grateful.
I thought about the last time I’d been in Texas. Lucy and I had met Sara Texas’s friend in Galveston, and found out that Lucifer had a connection to Sweden. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about that connection. Now I knew. He had a Swedish brother. Who he hated so much he wanted to see him dead.
I wasn’t interested in a load of theatrical nonsense. I was angry and terrified, and I wanted to understand what this was all about.
‘You asked me to find Mio,’ I said. ‘Even though you knew that Didrik had him.’
Vincent came a few steps closer.
‘I don’t remember ever asking you to do anything,’ he said.
‘Not in person. You told me via one of your messengers.’
‘We all communicate in different ways.’
‘I don’t give a shit how you communicate. I’m just wondering what was the point of me floundering about looking for a child who was never missing. To keep the police interested in me?’
‘Exactly. After I had Belle abducted, and everything that happened in conjunction with that, I was worried the police would fall for your nonsense about being the victim of a conspiracy. Didrik wouldn’t have been able to influence his colleagues if that happened. So I gave you a task that meant you’d carry on contacting a whole load of people I guessed that dear Didrik was already watching and would be stressed out by it.’
‘So that more people would have to die and I’d be accused of even more murders?’
I could feel that I was breathing far too heavily. My vision was also affected. Everything looked a bit fuzzy round the edges, and I was distracted by little flashes of lightning that kept crossing my eyes. My head ached and my mouth felt swollen.
‘You need to appreciate what I got from the deal,’ Vincent said. ‘To be brutally honest, those people needed to die sooner or later. And the lengths Didrik was prepared to go to in order to protect his family were pretty damn impressive. I mean, really, I take my hat off to him. Rebecca wasn’t bad either, but Didrik is obviously the hero. Which in itself was a bonus. I had any number of things I could use to put pressure on him. Not that I needed that many, but I had to have something in reserve for when I took Mio away from him.’
Didrik, Didrik, Didrik. What would Lucifer have done without Didrik’s drive and desperation?
‘So you were never thinking of letting him keep Mio?’
‘Are you mad? Not a fucking chance. But Didrik was like you. He didn’t understand the whole family thing.’
‘You just praised him for the strength of his love for his own family.’
‘His own, yes. But he totally misjudged how I feel about my son. My only son, at that. God help anyone who tries to take him from me.’
I had a thousand remarks on the tip of my tongue, but swallowed them all. If Vincent had felt an ounce of love for his son, he should have started by never separating him from his mother.
Vincent took a deep breath and his eyes flickered uncertainly as he looked round. One of his men spat in the sand, and another reached for the spade that lay on the ground.
‘I made up my mind many years ago that I was going to force you to take some responsibility,’ Vincent said. ‘To give you the punishment you deserve. Even in my wildest dreams I could never have imagined that Sara would provide me with the opportunity. That she would drag you into this – after her own death, no less – and provide me with such a fantastic opportunity to put everything right. If I’m honest, that still bothers me. The fact that it’s taken so little effort. All the shit you’ve been wading through in the past few weeks is the result of an operation I originally set up to punish Sara, not you. It had all been abandoned, it had served its purpose. But then you of all people popped up. I’d have liked to see you cost me more effort. But on the other hand . . . Let’s not forget that it’s thanks to Sara and Didrik that I was able to turn your life into such a nightmare. If it hadn’t been for them, my revenge on you would have looked very different.’
He shook his head.
I blinked a few times. My vision really wasn’t working the way it should, and I was starting to have trouble absorbing all the words that were reaching me. All the nuances vanished, leaving just the core message: nothing I had suffered during the past few weeks originally had anything to do with me. I just happened to get dragged into it. And that suited Lucifer just fine. Absolutely fucking fine.
‘Why was I told to find the person who was trying to frame me for two murders? I get the bit about finding Mio, but the other bit is . . . harder to understand.’
Vincent tilted his head.
‘What do you see when you think of Didrik?’ he said.
I didn’t feel up to replying, so he did so himself.
‘You see one hell of an honourable man. The sort who never does the wrong thing, always does what’s right. I could hardly believe it when he took responsibility for Bobby and Jenny’s deaths. There was a risk that everything had grown more complex than I was able to easily understand from here in Texas. So I wanted to be sure. But that doesn’t feel terribly important any more. You’re here, and you’re going to get your punishment. That’s all that matters.’
All that matters. More, even, than the fact that Mio was missing?
I tried to gain some time.
‘Did Sara know that you and I had the same dad?’
I could have framed the question differently. I could have asked if Sara knew we were brothers. But that was too strong a word.
‘She knew I had a connection to Sweden. And she knew that I really, really didn’t like you. It was stupid of me to volunteer that little detail, but I’m only human. If you hate someone as much as I hate you, there’s always a risk that it will show.’
Hate. That burning, red-hot hatred. I had to know what that was all about. Before it was all over, before I was dead.
‘Why?’ I said.
The word emerged as I was breathing out, and turned into a whisper. My left shoulder was beginning to ache. I tried rolling it back and forth. It didn’t help.
‘Because of your betrayal!’
His bellow hit me like a punch in the face. I couldn’t help staggering back.
‘For fuck’s sake, what betrayal? Do you mean Tony? I had no fucking idea he was even my brother.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that? Do you expect me to believe it was a coincidence that you came back to Texas, trained to become a cop, and then ended up as your own brother’s partner?’
His voice was a roar that risked deafening me. I tried to fend him off by wrapping my arms round my head, but quickly lowered them again. The pain in my shoulder was now shooting straight down my left arm.
‘Of course it wasn’t a fucking coincidence. I came here because I wanted to meet my father. Get to know him. You too, maybe. I knew you existed. I knew we were the same age. But you know what? He refused. He didn’t want me to meet you. He didn’t ask me back to your home one single fucking time. I had to find out where you lived for myself. So how the hell can you believe that I knew Tony was my brother? He didn’t even have his father’s surname – just like you don’t.’
I was exhausted by my speech, and had to stand still and catch my breath.
‘No, we’ve got our mum’s name.’
‘You’ve certainly chosen a brilliant way of honouring your father,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘By becoming a fucking mafia boss who trades in women and drugs, and goes around murdering people the whole time. Do you think he’d have been proud of that?’
I don’t know where I got the strength to raise my voice. My eyes were flickering and I sank to my knees just in time to connect with Vincent’s kick to my head. I collapsed on the sand and stayed there. Vincent loomed over me, feet planted far apart.
‘You don’t get to tell me about making Dad proud,’ he said. ‘If it hadn’t been for me, Mum and Simon would never have coped after Dad died. Did you know he killed himself?’
I didn’t know that. I was just told that he had died, and that was that.
‘Dad was weak,’ Vincent said. ‘Just like Tony. Don’t imagine they could help it, because they couldn’t. But the rest of us did what we could. And that’s what you should have done too. We knew who you were all along. And we know that you knew who we were.’
I slowly moved my head in the sand. I was on my way now, I could feel it.
‘That’s not true,’ I whispered. ‘Tony was a year younger than me. It never crossed my mind that . . .’
‘Don’t lie!’
Vincent’s next kick hit me in the crotch.
‘Don’t lie! Dad said he’d told you about us! Tony liked you. He told the rest of us that if we just gave you time, you’d come clean about who you were. But you never did. Not even after Tony backed you up that fucking night when you shot a teenager. How fucking cruel can anyone be?’
I thought I was about to be kicked again and curled up. But nothing came, no kicks or punches.
‘Tony couldn’t bear to go on working with you after that. He requested a transfer, but believe me, he never stopped hoping. And then you did the most incomprehensible thing of all. You just left. You resigned and went home. You fucking coward! After that, Dad started drinking. Then Tony died, and after that everything was finished. Dad never got over it. Don’t you realise that you destroyed our family?’
I understood what he was saying, but I couldn’t take it in. Because I had no reason to believe he was lying. No doubt my dad had said all those things, pretending everything was my fault when his life fell apart. But I – and my mum – knew the truth.
‘It was your dad who destroyed my family,’ I said. ‘Not the other way round, Vincent.’
‘Our dad!’ Vincent roared. ‘Ours! Not mine!’
I felt like screaming. Partly from the pain in my arm, and partly in protest. I had no father that I cared to acknowledge. Far from it. And I wasn’t going to let any other bastard force one down my throat. But I didn’t manage to get a single word out.
‘I was the one who had to sort everything out when Dad was gone. For Mum and Simon . . . Simon’s a great guy. But he’s not very smart. He’s got his cafés, but that’s as far as it goes. He never knew what happened out here, for instance. He would have talked. Not out of malice, but because he couldn’t handle it. You can despise what I’ve become all you like, but I’ve still managed something that you’ll never get anywhere close to: I’ve made myself immune to any more fucking accidents. I govern the piece of the world that belongs to me just as I like. Do you get it? Do you get it? You can’t touch me or the people I care for.’
But he had lost Mio. His own son. If only Sara had known what forces she was setting herself up against. There’s no one more dangerous than people who are driven by private – and sick – motives. Because they’re not open to compromise. That was why I was now lying in the sand with death just a few metres from my face. The only question was what variety of death was going to get me first. My left arm had gone numb. I was quite certain I was having a heart attack. Yet another weak brother in the family. But not one to whom Vincent would show any mercy, that much was obvious.
Without any elaborate gestures, he pulled a large revolver from a holster concealed beneath his jacket. I had left my own jacket in the hotel. I’m happiest in just my shirt-sleeves.
‘Do you know how Tony died?’
I didn’t answer.
According to Josh Taylor, he’d been shot while on duty.
‘They wrote in the report that he’d been shot, that he walked into an ambush. They never found the man who did it. Do you know why?’
I tried to shake my head.
‘No,’ I whispered.
‘Because I took care of the bastard. Simon didn’t want to know, nor did Mum. I put everything right. But before I shot him, guess what he told me?’
My brain had turned to mush. Making wild guesses was the last thing I had energy for. Vincent came so close that I could see the thin lines around his eyes.
‘That he was the brother of the guy you shot and then buried out here.’
I blinked. Impossible. That was completely impossible.
‘I see you’re surprised,’ Vincent said. ‘So was I. Because of course Tony had told me about your fucked-up shooting, and how you’d made sure no one had seen what happened. It’s a shame you did such a fucking useless job. The brother of the guy you shot was sitting inside one of the abandoned old workshops, and he saw everything. Fourteen years old. You can imagine what that would do to a person.’
My neck felt tight and my vision was blurring. That couldn’t be right. There was no way that could be right.
‘By the time the kid was old enough to take revenge you’d already run away,’ Vincent said, breathing hard. ‘Leaving no one but Tony behind, so he had to pay the whole bill himself. Do you understand now, Martin? Making your brother miserable wasn’t enough for you – you killed him as well!’
So that was why I had to die. That was why I had to be crushed. Like some Old Testament drama: the finale to a dispute between two brothers.
The sky was still dark blue. A crescent moon shone yellow against all the blue. I wondered how Lucy and Belle were. If they’d be allowed to live. I thought they would. I had to believe they would.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘But it wasn’t my fault.’
The words came out in fits and starts. The pain in my chest was so immense that I could hardly think of anything else. I was struck by one last thought about the irony of the fate I was now facing: I was going to die without knowing what had happened to Mio. Mio, the ghost no one could catch.
‘It’s all your fault,’ Vincent said, and pressed the narrow barrel of the revolver to my forehead.
‘Not Belle and Lucy,’ I whispered.
‘Of course not. This is enough.’
And then a shot rang out. And another one. And then more than I could count. I heard agitated voices and screaming, felt everyone around me spring into motion. In the distance I heard a great number of sirens, and somewhere in the distance a helicopter was approaching. By the time it landed I was already gone.