‘Where is Cecily?’ Locke hadn’t spoken until now. Finally, he got to his feet, choosing this moment to take charge.

Aiden didn’t reply, so I did. ‘I think he killed her.’ I glanced at Lawrence and Pauline. ‘I’m sorry. You have to ask yourself why Cecily made the call from her office in the hotel rather than from home – but of course she didn’t want to be anywhere near Aiden. Unfortunately, Eloise overheard her and I suppose she told him.’ I glanced at her. ‘Did you?’

Eloise was staring at Aiden as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Yes. I did.’ I noticed she was no longer holding his hand.

‘He knew that Cecily had worked out at least some of the truth and that he was no longer safe. So when she went for a walk, he went after her. He knew what route she was taking and it would have been easy enough to wait for her on the other side of the woods at Martlesham. I don’t know how he killed her and I don’t know how he had time to get rid of the body, but I think that to start with he put her in the trunk of his car. That’s why he went to the charity shop in Framlingham with a completely random collection of her clothes, including a dress she’d just bought and which she’d never worn. He just needed to be sure that there would be a reason for her DNA to be in the back of the car if the police ever looked.’

Locke took a step towards Aiden. ‘I think you had better come with me,’ he said.

Aiden looked around him and at that moment there was something about him that reminded me of a trapped lion. Andreas stood up and put an arm around my shoulders. I was glad to have him near.

‘Mr MacNeil … ’ Locke continued. He reached out as if to take hold of him.

And that was when it happened. Aiden’s face didn’t change but something that I can only describe as nightmarish glimmered in his eyes and I knew that Frank Parris must have seen exactly the same thing in his last moments in the room at the hotel and that Cecily Treherne, too, would have recognised it in the wood near Martlesham: the look of someone about to kill you.

Aiden lashed out with his fist and at first I thought he had punched the detective under the chin. Locke was much bigger than him and powerfully built, but he seemed completely stunned by the blow, as if he didn’t know how to react. For a moment everything was still, but then, to my horror, I saw blood cascading down the side of his neck, soaking into his shirt, and realised that as he stood up, Aiden must have grabbed hold of the antique brooch. He had driven the point deep into the detective’s throat.

Locke let out something between a sob and a cry of pain. He fell to his knees, one hand gripping the wound. More blood gushed between his fingers. Nobody moved. Aiden stood there, blank-faced, still holding the brooch with the pin jutting out. I was terrified that Andreas would try something. But even he was stunned. The dog had got to its feet and was barking furiously. Locke was still on his knees, groaning. I saw Pauline turning away in shock. Aiden ran towards me and I flinched, expecting the worst. But then he had passed me and I heard a great crash of breaking glass and splintering wood and realised that he had kicked in the French window at the back of the lounge. I caught just one last glimpse of him disappearing into the garden.

Eloise had run over to Locke and was kneeling down, cradling him. Lawrence was caring for Pauline. Lisa had taken out her phone and was dialling for an ambulance.

Andreas took me in his arms. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

I was stunned. I was swaying on my feet. I could hear Lisa being connected to the emergency services. ‘Just get me out of here,’ I whispered.

We left the room together. Neither of us looked back.

Last Words

We weren’t allowed to go back to Crete for a few days. Although I’d had nothing to do with the death of Frank Parris or the disappearance of Cecily Treherne, I still had to give a full statement, more or less repeating what I had said in the lounge of Branlow Hall. I got the feeling that I was being held personally responsible for what had happened to Detective Chief Superintendent Locke. He was lucky to be alive. The tip of the needle had punctured his carotid artery, which explained the massive blood flow, and but for the fast arrival of the paramedics he wouldn’t have made it. The policemen who questioned me were unfriendly to say the least.

I couldn’t possibly stay at Branlow Hall. The truth was, I didn’t want to see any of them again: not the Trehernes, not Eloise, not Derek, not even Bear the dog. Nor would I have felt comfortable moving in with Katie. In the end, Andreas and I took a room at the Crown Hotel in Framlingham, which was where I had stayed at the time of Alan’s funeral. I liked it there. It was a comfortable distance from Woodbridge.

We knew very little of what was going on. We deliberately kept away from the newspapers and the police didn’t tell us anything. But on the third day of our enforced stay, I received an envelope at the breakfast table. I knew where it had come from even before I opened it. The silhouette of an owl was printed on the envelope.

There were two letters inside. The first was from Lawrence Treherne. I was glad, finally, to see a cheque for the money he owed me.

Dear Susan,

I feel uncomfortable writing this letter to you, but first of all I am enclosing a cheque as agreed and apologise for the long delay. I hope you will not mind me saying that, in a way, you have done more damage to our lives than even Alan Conway managed, although at the same time I suppose I must thank you. We asked you to do a job and you did it very effectively, although none of us could possibly have known how devastating the consequences would be.

I want to bring you up to speed on other developments which I am sure will be of interest to you.

The first is that Aiden MacNeil is dead. After that dreadful business at the hotel, he drove himself to Manningtree station, where he threw himself under a train. I’m surprised the police weren’t able to stop him, but I’m afraid DS Locke had come to the hotel on his own – a grave error – and everything happened too quickly after that. Pauline and I both feel the same about his death. We bitterly regret that our poor, dear daughter ever met him and we are glad that we will never see him again. She was too kind-hearted and trusting. You were absolutely right.

Before he killed himself, Aiden wrote a letter addressed to me and the police have allowed me to retain a copy. I, in turn, have made a copy for you and I am enclosing it as it shows you what sort of man he was and what you were up against. It also answers a few more questions which I think will interest you, even though some of what he has to say is manifestly untrue. The cold-blooded manner in which he planned Cecily’s death is almost beyond belief. I should warn you that it is very hard to read.

There is one last thing that I wanted you to know. Pauline and I feel very bad about the way that we treated Stefan Codrescu, even though, of course, we weren’t in possession of the facts. We understand that the police have already begun proceedings to allow him to be released from jail and to rebuild his life and he should be free in a matter of weeks. I have written to him to offer all the support that he might need. He is welcome to return to Branlow Hall and it goes without saying Pauline and I recognise him as the true father of our only granddaughter and will do our best to make amends for what has passed.

I hope that you and Andreas will be able to return to Crete soon, and once again, thank you for what you have done.

Sincerely,

Lawrence Treherne

That was the first letter. The second was written on three pages torn out of a cheap exercise book that Aiden must have bought on the way to Manningtree. His handwriting was surprisingly childish with big loops and i’s topped with circles rather than dots. I didn’t read it until much later that day, when Andreas and I were together in our room, armed with large whiskies. We needed them.

Dear Lawrence,

It feels strange to be writing to you, knowing that in about twenty minutes I’m going to be dead. I bet you won’t be sorry to hear that! But prison isn’t really an option for someone like me. I wouldn’t last five minutes surrounded by all those pervs so I’m waiting for the next London train. One that doesn’t stop.

Why am I writing this? I don’t know, really. I never liked you or Pauline very much, to be honest. The two of you always patronised me as if I had to be grateful to you all the time when I was actually working my guts out at the hotel. But I feel close to you right now because I killed your daughter. I’m sure you’d agree something like that does bring people together.