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‘You bloody idiot!’
The man straightened his cycle and pedalled off.
Reid leant against the parapet, waiting for the feelings of panic and paranoia to subside.
In the distance, the Chinese bride and groom were still there, still trying to get the perfect photographs to commemorate their perfect wedding. Silently Reid wished them well and began to trudge in the opposite direction. Early retirement. Peace. No more stupid work schedules. No more internal politics. Leave that to Ashcroft. Perhaps Mark Ruskin had done him a favour after all.
* * *
In the end Maggie came clean with Sam and handed over the USB stick to him.
He stared at it for several seconds before stuffing it into his pocket.
‘That proves nothing,’ he said. ‘You’ve probably made a copy of it.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘That’s a solemn promise, is it? Cross your heart and hope to die?’
‘I’m not interested in pursuing justice or righting wrongs.’
‘What are you interested in then, Maggs?’
‘I’m only interested in Beth.’
He nodded, but said nothing.
‘The deal is that I look after Beth and you stay out of our lives.’
Again he nodded.
‘That means starting now! While Beth is asleep. You take your bag and you don’t come back. Ever.’
There was a long pause. Sam raised himself to his feet and stretched his arms. ‘OK. But I need to say goodbye to her.’
‘Don’t wake her up.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good.’
Maggie waited silently while he said his goodbyes to Beth and then herself. She allowed him to hug her, but that was all. She waited for him to disengage and when he had gone she locked and bolted the door firmly behind him. She stood at the window and watched his tall shape recede into the darkness. Off back to his other life.
Maggie had gone through every file on the USB. She had seen all the photos from Sam’s other life. A woman and two teenage boys. Him and a scruffy terrier. Sam at a police training college. She had seen other images too. Of unidentifiable dead men and in one case a dead woman. Of Sam talking to the man she now knew to have been Bowman. And finally there had been a photo of the gravestone of a little boy who had died thirty-six years previously on his fifth birthday. The gravestone of Samuel Foulkes. The little boy whose identity Sam had stolen.
That was the evidence that Ellie had gathered and had threatened to use against them. And that was why she had ended up dead.
Maggie’s phone rang. She started. Who on earth would be ringing her? Who knew her number now? Only one
person. She answered the call. It was always best to face things head on.
‘It’s me. Sam.’
She swore.
‘Look, I just need to tell you. I want you to know that I never knew they intended to kill Ellie. I would never have let them. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Goodbye, Sam.’
