Part 39 (1/2)

I left my life behind to find you, and I can't remember why . . .

'You didn't have to kill them,' she said. The words had a life of their own. Too much life for Michael, perhaps, who put his head on one side, as if getting out of their way. 'Michael? You didn't have to kill them.'

Zoe brushed past her. Michael seemed not to notice; he'd put his gun on the ground now, and folded his arm back round Dinah.

Sarah was swimming on dry land; her thoughts as waxy and monstrous as jellyfish. Was this it? Was this the end?

'Sarah?' Zoe said. She had her hand to Michael's forehead.

'. . . What?'

'He's sick. Did you know that?'

Buzzing now, loud as a car. She felt sick herself. Had to snap back to reality; pull herself out of whatever pit she was falling into, just as she felt the draught at her back, and the door to the chapel opened.

Amos Crane came walking down the track.

This was it, this was the end; here was where he closed with flesh and bone. And it was odd, but it was happening the way it always did, with a slow gathering of detail, and the heightening of all his senses. He'd thought this would be different. It was his brother's killer, after all. He'd thought there would be a mad rush, and a sudden descent; that for one berserk moment, he'd be free of all thought, all feeling, and come back to himself only once it was over . . . When the flesh and bone were done.

But everything was as it always was, and Amos Crane was walking down the track.

The chapel didn't look much bigger in the world than it had on the map: that was his thought as he stood in the clearing, casting a critical eye. Not that size mattered. All that deskwork, all those months of waiting all those blips on the screen. And here they were, under one roof. With a woman in a red jumper for an extra.

It was a pity about the child. But sometimes things didn't work out quite as cleanly as you'd have liked.

He put a hand on the roof of the 2CV. It felt cool to the touch. This was where Downey had come, then, after taking the child. Crane wondered how easy that had been. He wondered if Howard had made it easier somehow; if Howard had his own ideas about how the end should be played. As well for him if he did. As far as Amos Crane was concerned, Howard was part of the ending.

On the main road, he heard a car slow, then stop . . .

But it was too late for that, too late for anything else. He walked to the door, put a hand to it. All the blood within him, all the atoms, singing free.

This was where he closed with flesh and bone.

Or was that somebody else coming down the track behind him?

Sarah, dully, said, 'Oh. h.e.l.lo.'

'h.e.l.lo.'

'We thought you'd gone.'

'I came back.'

Zoe frowned up at him. 'Well, you shouldn't have.'

He shrugged.

Sarah forgot him then, put David Keller out of mind just like that, and stepped forward to crouch by Michael and look at the child. Dinah was not asleep. She lay quiet a small blonde girl with large green eyes, who looked unblinkingly back at Sarah for a moment, then turned her head to stare into Michael's chest.

'She looks like Maddy,' Michael said.

'. . . She's beautiful.'

And she was. She was even worth it. Because if Dinah isn't worth it, nothing is . . . Just a tiny girl, how can they use her like this? Thoughts she'd had way back when, staring at the night sky, adding up the stars . . . Last night. That had been last night. And yes, she was beautiful.

Michael wasn't. He looked ill and drawn, was fading at the edges. Around his T-s.h.i.+rt collar was a spray of blood, and Sarah knew he'd had another coughing attack . . . As if he could start to let go, give up, now that his search was over.

He was talking to her. Saying something like: 'I didn't kill anybody. Not this time.'

Zoe shrugged.

'Just walked in and took her away . . . Didn't I, sweetheart?'

Sarah said, 'Okay. It's okay.' All those bodies on the island, but he hadn't killed anyone. Okay. She stroked the child's shoulder, drawing her attention away from wherever it was it had gone. 'Here, I brought you this.' The blue teddy. The kidnapped bear. Who had come from the island where all the bodies lay, though Michael hadn't killed anyone.

Dinah reached a hand out, and touched the bear on the nose.

'Do you want to hold it?'

She shook her head.

Zoe stood, keeping her movement as smooth as possible. Not wanting to disturb anyone, to cause ripples round the scene.

'Are you sure? I brought it for you.'

Dinah shook her head again, then regarded Sarah gravely. Who felt something give in her heart; as if strings were being stretched; as if her heart were an instrument, played by a child.

'. . . Can I hold her?'

Michael nodded. It seemed an effort. Not the dip of the head, but bringing it back upright, to rest against the wall.

Zoe frowned, as if she'd heard something outside.

Sarah held her arms out. 'Do you want to come to me, Dinah? Give Michael a rest?'

It felt like the longest moment, crouched like that, with outstretched arms. Did Dinah want to come to Sarah? Sarah had come far enough for her, but the child didn't know that, the child shouldn't care. All that mattered was the here and now. Her mother dead and gone, and Dinah wouldn't even know that yet . . . And yet she snuggled there in Michael's arms as if she trusted him, and knew he'd hold her safe.

'It's okay, sweetie. You stay where you are.'

But the child wriggled in his arms then, and held her hands out for Sarah.

She placed the bear in the dust by her side, and lifted Dinah to her. There was a lot of weight and warmth in the exchange; a whole new world of smells, of heavy sounds. She could feel Dinah's body working, that was what it was; could feel her lungs filling and emptying, her stomach churning away at nothing . . . Christ, the child would be hungry. Needed feeding. Needed sleep. All the things small children needed, though all Sarah could offer was a moment's peace.

'That man again,' Dinah said, pointing at the teddy.

'That's a bear,' said Sarah.

'Man. That man again.'

And Dinah pointed at the man she meant, and Sarah and Zoe turned to look at David Keller . . .