From the outset of her investigation, Kate had known she was up against a formidable opponent. There was no doubt about that. No ambiguity in Hannah’s note either. Her abuser was the who, though it had taken Kate a while to identify him. She’d known the what, where and the how, but not the why of this triple-hander.
She would never forget Hannah Swift.
Kate stood in the back row during the funeral service. The church was packed to the rafters, Jack and Peggy Shepherd among the mourners. Simon Shepherd was conspicuous by his absence. Café owner Gemma Munro had come to pay her respects, along with villagers who’d clubbed together to pay for a memorial plaque in Hannah’s name. It would be hung at St Peter the Fisherman to celebrate her short life.
Along with Alex Hope and Eden from Women’s Aid – two women who’d provided crucial evidence to investigators – many of Kate’s colleagues were also in attendance, including Stone, whose team had worked tirelessly to bring about a resolution. He was a good bloke. Kate liked him. They nodded to one another as he left with Hank, now the best of friends, on their way to the nearest pub to sink a pint and put the investigation to bed.
Kate sought out Aaron, asking for a moment of his time. They moved away from the crowd for some privacy in the garden of remembrance. It was important to let him know that his mother’s last request was to find and protect him and only him. He didn’t need to see the note. He didn’t ask and Kate didn’t offer.
‘I have something for you.’ She took a small gift box from her pocket, handing it to him. ‘The box is second-hand, an old one of mine,’ she said. ‘But what’s inside is yours.’ A flash of recognition as he opened it to reveal the gold locket and the image of his younger self. ‘Your mum would want you to have it. The rest of her belongings I’ll send on.’
‘To my granddad’s house, please.’
Kate nodded, so choked by his bravery she couldn’t speak.
She’d been tortured by his mother’s death, a burden that had lifted slightly by the certainty of knowing that Aaron had someone to love, someone to care for him. Peter had offered him a permanent home and was in the process of securing legal guardianship, though Kate was convinced that the lad’s surviving biological parent would make that task as difficult as possible, despite the fact that he was unavailable and, by virtue of his violence, unfit.
The boy had chosen to remain at Haltonghyll to complete his education, though for the first time in his young life, he now had somewhere to go at the end of term. Aaron had told Kate that they planned to return to the chateau in the summer. He was excited to be meeting his French family. Kate walked him back, gave him a big hug and left him with Peter, wishing them well.
Jo was waiting near the gate. Kate suggested a walk to the harbour. They strolled down the hill and sat on a bench facing the sea. ‘I never did find anything in Walker’s office or his home to link him to Clay.’ Kate slipped on her sunglasses. ‘Maybe he too had a safe deposit box. Who the hell cares now? He was terrified of Clay.’
‘So was I,’ Jo said. ‘Weren’t you?
‘Yes, but if you tell a soul, I’ll deny it.’ Kate looked down, then up. ‘Is it wrong that I wanted to beat him senseless? That I wanted him to suffer like Hannah did?’
‘No. Yes. No, it’s perfectly normal.’ Jo linked hands with Kate but couldn’t look at her. ‘You should be proud that you stripped him of his assets, his memories, his liberty . . . and you found Aaron. That’s everything Hannah asked of you.’
The investigation into Hannah Swift’s murder had touched them both. ‘I have a request,’ Jo said. ‘Come home, take a few weeks off and put this behind you.’
Kate’s phone rang.
The smile slid off Jo’s face.
‘Don’t panic. It’s Naylor. Same job. Different force.’ Kate tapped to answer.
‘Le Français est innocent,’ Naylor said.
Kate laughed. ‘That is the worst accent I ever heard.’
‘Hey, I tried.’
‘I know Jean Cassel is clean. Our case has been over for weeks. What took you so long?’
‘My memory is as bad as my French. Sorry, totally forgot until I read about it in the press. Did you charge Clay with all three?’
‘We did and a whole lot more besides. It was touch and go for Walker, but we caught a break. Remember that very expensive silk fibre I told you about, the one forensics didn’t even have on their database?’
‘What about it?’
‘He was arrested wearing a yellow scarf.’
‘Thought you said he was clever.’
‘I misjudged him.’
‘Doesn’t sound like you.’
‘Believe me, the only thing he was good at was attacking those too weak to fight back. Yeah, big mistake . . . yeah, why not? We’d love that . . .’ Kate laughed, turning to face Jo. ‘He wants to take us to dinner at Bouchon.’ She was referring to one of the few French restaurants in the area. ‘You OK with that?’
‘Oui, madame. So long as we don’t talk shop.’
‘Jo’s in,’ Kate said into the phone. ‘What time? OK, see you there.’
Jo held Kate’s hand as they walked to the car. They were proud of what they had achieved. Even more so of Hannah. Dominic Clay was no longer a playboy. He was a remand prisoner who’d face a judge and jury one day, then rot in a cell wearing a lifer’s vest. Hannah had seen to it that he’d never see the light of day. She’d never given up, never given in, never settled for being the victim in all this. Brick by brick she’d built the case against her abuser and, in doing so, she’d left an indelible mark on Kate, Jo and every detective in the MIT.