It had been Bill’s wife’s room.
‘Here,’ Megan whispered. She beckoned Toby to a built-in wardrobe that took up most of one wall.
‘Lift me up,’ she said.
Toby bent down, grabbed her legs, and raised her up so she could reach into the darkness at the back of a shelf that ran above the wardrobe. She pulled out a small wicker basket.
Toby lowered her. She squatted on the floor next to the basket. It was full of letters, still in their envelopes, softened and crinkled, about thirty of them, addressed to Donna Threadgold at 8 St Mark’s Place Apt 19, New York City. Megan riffled through them, checking the postmarks.
‘This is it,’ she said, extracting one. The postmark was January 20 1984.
With a glance at the open door, she pulled out three sheets of paper covered in handwriting, and passed them to Toby. ‘Read that.’
He read it. ‘Jesus!’ he whispered. Then he read it again.
‘I know, right?’ said Megan.
‘But this means Lars just lied to Justin? About Craig.’
‘Yep. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’
‘And you didn’t tell the police?’
‘They didn’t ask me, or at least they haven’t yet. And I don’t think I will tell them. I came across the letters a couple of months after Mom died and I was going through her clothes. They were right up there, behind some shoe boxes. I shouldn’t have read them, but I just wanted to find out more about her. So I did. And this is what I found.’
They heard a door open down the landing and the floorboards creak.
They both stood up and listened. It was Bill. The most likely thing was for him to turn off the landing and head down the stairs.
But the footsteps came closer.
‘Shit!’ Megan said. ‘He’s coming! Give that to me!’
‘No,’ Toby said. ‘We need to discuss this with him.’
‘No we don’t! Jesus Christ, Toby! Stick it back in the basket. Quick!’
Toby turned towards the door.
Which opened.
Bill jerked upright in surprise when he saw Megan and Toby in his bedroom. He took in the basket. The letter in Toby’s hands.
‘What the hell?’
Megan looked scared. ‘Sorry, Dad.’
‘Is that a letter? Is that one of my letters to your mother?’
‘Yeah. I found them when I was looking through her stuff.’
‘And you showed them to Toby? What are you thinking? Those are private!’
‘Yes, I know. But—’
‘But what?’
‘This one mentions what happened to Craig,’ Toby said quietly. ‘On the submarine.’
‘Give it to me!’ Bill held out his hand.
‘No.’
‘What do you mean “no”? Give it to me right now.’ Bill took a step towards Toby.
Toby faced him. ‘No.’
‘I’ve had enough of this. I want you out of my house now!’ Bill was shouting. ‘And you, Megan. Right now! And give me that damn letter.’
He reached out to grab it, but Toby held on to the sheets with both hands. Bill tugged gently, but it was clear that he couldn’t get it away from Toby without ripping it. Bill didn’t want to rip it.
‘Let it go!’
‘No,’ said Toby. For a moment he thought Bill was going to slug him, but he stood his ground. ‘Not until you explain it. You need to tell me what is going on here. What happened to Craig and what it has to do with Alice.’
‘I have to do no such thing. That’s my private correspondence.’
‘Yes, you do,’ said Toby, his eyes fixed on Bill’s. ‘Alice is in police custody. Unless someone does something she will be charged with murder. She may go to jail for the rest of her life. You need to explain this.’
Bill stiffened. Then he released the letter and walked over to the window. It had stopped raining; the marsh gleamed grey-green in the low November sunlight.
Toby and Megan watched his broad back. He took a deep breath and turned to them.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Sit down. There’s a lot to tell you.’
TWENTY-NINE
November 1983, Norwegian Sea
A petty officer, flanked by two sailors, flung open the door to the XO’s stateroom and shoved me inside.
The missile chief had grabbed me as Craig crumpled to the floor, next to Morgan who was groaning in pain. I dropped the wrench. We all stared at the blood seeping through Craig’s hair. I didn’t know if he was dead. He looked it.
Within a minute the XO was in the missile compartment, taking control. A minute later, I was in his stateroom. With Lars.
Lars was pacing the tiny room. He stopped and stared at me. He grinned, but his eyes were wild. ‘I heard the announcement terminating missile launch,’ he said. ‘Did you do it?’
‘Do what?’ I said, although I knew what he meant.
‘Kill Driscoll?’
I shook my head and lowered it.
‘Weps?’
I nodded.
‘Thank God,’ Lars said.
I looked at him. Part of me thought he was crazy. Part of me thought he was the only sane one on board.
‘Actually, I’m not sure he’s dead,’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I hit him hard over the head. With a wrench, like you tried to do.’
‘And you don’t think you killed him?’
‘He’s out cold, that’s for sure.’ I felt my throat constrict and my eyes water. It took me by surprise; I never cried.
Lars threw his arm around me. ‘Well done!’ he said. ‘Well done, Bill.’
I pushed him away and slumped on to the XO’s bed. ‘I probably killed him, Lars.’
‘And stopped a war.’
‘We don’t know that!’
Lars bent down and grabbed my shoulders. ‘Look! If there’s a war, we’re all dead. But if there isn’t, it’s just Craig.’
‘Just Craig? But he was my friend. Our friend.’
‘Yes he was,’ said Justin. ‘But you did the right thing.’
‘I don’t know. But I’ve done it now.’
I sat and Lars paced. I looked around the XO’s stateroom. It was freakishly neat. With so many people crammed into a submarine, everything on board had to be tidy. But the XO’s desk was completely clear, with the exception of a black-and-white photograph of a woman set at a forty-five degree angle; the books on his shelf were perfectly vertical. It was as if he had used a protractor to adjust the placement of his things.
I stared at Mrs Robinson, if that’s who she was. She was beautiful. An open face, wide clear eyes, a smile that made your heart leap.
How long did she have to live? Was she dead already?
I sat on the bed, hoping. But I wasn’t sure what to hope for. That the launch order was an error, obviously. But that meant that I had to hope that Craig was dead, so that he couldn’t pass on the combination to his safe to anyone.
I didn’t want to hope for that.
But what difference did it make what I hoped for? I had done what I had done. If I was lucky I would live with the consequences.
The door was flung open and the XO entered.
I leaped to attention. Lars glanced at me and did the same.
Lieutenant Commander Robinson’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘You are both under arrest. You will be court martialled when we return to port. For murder. For attempted murder. For mutiny. And probably for a whole lot of other crimes.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ I said.
Robinson glared at us; the anger verged on hatred. ‘The rest of the crew were willing to do our duty, what we have trained for years to do, but you two have let us all down. The entire crew of the submarine. The Navy. Your country.’
Neither Lars nor I said anything. Maybe he was right? It was done now.