‘That’s right,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘And she died too?’
‘Again, yes, she did,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘And, again, nothing to do with me. She killed herself. Tragic, but –’
‘And your accomplice, Jack Mason?’
‘Let me stop you there,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘Yes, he died too.’
‘A lot of people dying around you,’ says the Viking. ‘That worries me.’
‘Of course, absolutely, it should do,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘So I need you to be honest,’ says the Viking. ‘There’s just you and me here, and I need to trust you. Did you kill them?’
‘No,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘Perhaps you killed one or two of them,’ says the Viking.
‘I didn’t kill any of them,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘It’s a big coincidence,’ says the Viking.
‘Yes,’ agrees Andrew Everton. ‘It’s a big coincidence. But you can trust me.’
77: Joyce
Ibrahim has everything open in front of him. Thousands of people are watching Fiona’s hacked livestream. ‘Bethany Waites’ is trending at number one on Twitter. People are sharing clips of her, posting newspaper articles from the time she disappeared. Her face is everywhere.
As is the face of Andrew Everton. The comments section is really going to town on ‘You can trust me.’ Kent Police have had to disable their Twitter account. It’s even on Sky News. They’re not allowed to show pictures, but they’re talking people through it.
So he’s admitted to the fraud, admitted to being Jack Mason’s partner, but he hasn’t admitted to the killings yet. I can’t say I expected him to. Even when there’re just two of you in a room no one wants to admit they’re a murderer, do they?
But that’s what we really want. For Andrew Everton to admit to what he has done. To tell the world the truth. To get justice for Bethany.
Elizabeth and Viktor are conferring in a corner. Whatever Elizabeth is saying, Viktor is nodding. I think it is time to send in the Bullet!
78
Behind the Viking is a closed door, which now opens. A man walks into the library. He is short and bald, and wears glasses too big for his face. What is going on here?
‘No,’ says Andrew Everton to the Viking. ‘No. It’s just you and me.’
‘This is my associate,’ says the Viking. ‘His name is Yuri.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Chief Constable,’ says Viktor. ‘You have been a busy man.’
‘I didn’t agree to this,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘Give me one minute,’ says Viktor. ‘If you don’t like what I have to say, then I leave, and you may also leave too. You are quite safe.’
‘One minute,’ says Andrew Everton, his eyes looking for an exit.
‘My friend here, they call him the Viking, he is the genius in the room. Though you may be a genius too, Andrew. Might I call you Andrew?’
‘Certainly, Yuri,’ says Andrew Everton.
‘It is clear you are very clever, Andrew. A chief constable, congratulations. An acclaimed author, also, under the pen-name Mackenzie McStewart. I have recently read, and much enjoyed, To Remain Silent, a tour de force, in my opinion. Like John Grisham. Further to this list of accomplishments, we now discover you are a master criminal? Cop, crime writer, master criminal. I imagine the skills overlap somewhat?’
Andrew Everton nods. There is something about this man he likes. And he is right about To Remain Silent. It is very Grisham-esque.
‘Well, you are almost a master criminal, shall we say? You pulled off the robbery, very simple, very elegant, but have yet to see the proceeds. Which is where we come in. Can we track down your money? Yes, at least my friend can. Would we like to be in business with you? Again, yes, you are a powerful man, and you would be able to help us, I think, in a number of areas. Should you be willing?’
‘I would be willing,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘You get me that ten million and you can have whatever you want.’
‘We are of like minds, I see,’ says Viktor. ‘I imagined we would be. We both like money, certainly we do, but we are both moral men. We bend the rules at times, that is undeniable, but rules aren’t for everyone, are they?’
‘Agreed, agreed,’ says Andrew Everton. He is going to get his money, he can just feel it. All those years slogging away, and it’s finally going to come good. A house in Spain, a room to write in, overlooking the sea. He’ll pretend he’s signed a lucrative publishing deal, very hush-hush, and he’ll quit his job for good. This man, with his oversized glasses, is the final piece of the jigsaw.
‘But I need to trust you too,’ says Viktor. ‘I feel that I will. I feel that we are similar men. That we believe similar things about this tough world we live in.’
‘Goes without saying,’ says Andrew Everton. He saw a place online, on the Costa Dorada. It had two swimming pools, for goodness’ sake.
‘So I need you to tell me the truth,’ says Viktor. ‘About the journalist. And about your two friends. Three deaths, all connected to your fraud. I want to trust you, so I need you to come clean with me. You killed them, yes? It’s OK.’
Andrew Everton mulls over his reaction. What does this man want to hear? That he killed them? That he didn’t kill them? What is the ‘moral’ answer here? He makes up his mind.
‘I didn’t kill them,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘I am not a killer.’
Viktor nods. ‘So they each just died?’
Andrew Everton nods. ‘Yes they each … just died.’
‘I am disappointed, Chief Constable,’ says Viktor. ‘I had hoped for the truth.’
This puts Andrew Everton in a bind. Can this man possibly know the truth? He weighs up the different lies he might tell. He’s so close. Don’t blow it now. Stick to your guns; he will respect that.
‘I didn’t kill them.’
Viktor pulls a pained face. ‘Andrew, that is hard for me to hear. Given the information I have.’
‘What information?’ says Andrew. This has to be a bluff. It’s just a test. Keep denying, keep denying, and you’ll be in Spain before you know it.
‘That you murdered Bethany Waites. You buried her body in the garden of a house in Sussex, and used it to blackmail your co-conspirators, Jack Mason and Heather Garbutt, into keeping quiet about your fraud. That you had Heather Garbutt murdered in Darwell Prison, and, further, that you murdered Jack Mason two evenings ago.’ The Jack Mason bit is guesswork, but Andrew Everton doesn’t need to know that.
Andrew Everton is stunned, paralysed. Where could he possibly have got the information about Bethany’s body and the blackmail? It was impossible. Jack Mason would never have named him, not in a million years. And Heather Garbutt was too scared of what he could do. So how did he know?
‘Just the truth, Andrew,’ says Viktor. ‘And then we are sure what we’re dealing with. Then we can move forward with trust.’
Andrew Everton has to make a big decision. Confess? How can he stick to his version of the story when this Yuri seems to know the whole truth? Trust Yuri, and trust the Viking? Say the words? It’s just three men in a room, miles from nowhere. He’s very aware that the next sentence out of his mouth could make him ten million pounds.
‘OK,’ says Andrew Everton. ‘And you guarantee this information never leaves this room?’
‘No one is watching,’ says Viktor. ‘And no one is listening.’
Andrew Everton clasps his hands together, as if in a prayer of forgiveness.
‘I murdered Bethany Waites.’
79