The Last Winter of Dani Lancing: A Novel (51 page)

Tom looks up to Keyson. “Marcus, stop torturing us, turn me in. For everything—for the cover-up of Dani’s death, for Spurling and his son, for Cobhurn, for you. End all this.”

Keyson grins. “Tom. It will be a pleasure.”

Jim watches Keyson open his phone and start to dial.

“Dad.” Dani’s voice is all around him. With a smile he looks into her beautiful face again.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry.”

“You need to help me, I can’t do it alone,” she pleads.

“Anything.”

She takes his hand in hers—and for the first time he can feel something, a real physical presence. He stands up and she leads him over to the wall. By the steps is the knife Patty almost killed Tom with.

“Pick it up, Dad.”

He does so, and she points to a brass censer tied to the wall.

“Cut it for me, please.”

He cuts the censer free from the wall. It is made of brass and incredibly heavy. It hangs from one end of a very long leather strap that extends down, out of the gloom above them. As soon as he cuts it free, it begins to arc into the center of the room and he grabs at it to keep it steady.

“Hold it for me, Dad.” She slowly rotates her hands, showing him how to aim it.

Keyson stands with his telephone in hand.

“What service do you require?” The 999 operator asks him.

“Police.” Keyson smiles.

“Thank you,” Dani says to her father as he holds the brass globe. She moves her hand close to it, as if she could almost touch it herself.

“You can let go now,” she tells him and he opens his hands. It swings—a pendulum building up speed as it flies through the air.

“I love you, Dad.” She vanishes and appears next to her mother. “I love you, Mum.” She blows a kiss to Patty, who for a second feels a shiver deep in her heart. Then she is next to Tom.

“My white knight, be safe,” she tells him.

Dani waves to Jim. He watches her float up from them, into the shadows above their heads. Gone.

The sound is like a watermelon hit with a hammer, brass on skull. Keyson’s eyes flare as his brain shifts to the left and countless blood vessels burst. His right eye pools with blood and he falls to the ground.

“What?” Tom is up first. He thinks Keyson has been shot, it was so quick.

“The censer.” Jim points to it as it sways on the rope like a punch-drunk boxer. There is a slight dent on one side.

“How the hell did that happen?” Tom asks.

Jim would like to tell but … what would he say?

“The phone,” hisses Patty and she drops down to it. From a long way off she hears: “… do you need emergency assistance?”

“Help me,” Patty croaks into the phone, then kicks it a long way.

“They’ll trace it,” Tom warns.

“He needs help.”

“What about the other man?” Jim asks.

“Ronson. He probably ran.” Tom indicates the prone form of Keyson. “Is he alive?”

Patty reaches out to his neck and lays her fingers over his throat. It’s barely there—but there is a pulse.

“Yes, just,” she tells him.

Tom looks helpless. A part of him wants to finish Keyson off. Patty sees that run through his mind.

“There’s been enough killing, Tom. Enough people hurt. Let’s go.”

“The knife.” Jim goes and picks up the knife. “Try and clean anything you might have touched. Use a sleeve,” Tom warns.

The three of them retrace their steps, picking up anything they see—wiping and cleaning as they go. They walk away from the driftwood Mary and Jesus. Now the ancient woman of wood has two sons at her feet. Cain and Abel?

There is no sign of any other living soul as they leave the cathedral. It is still night but from somewhere they hear the bark of a dog. They pull their coats up to cover their faces and run to the path down by the graveyard.

As they get to the main road, they see their little car is still there. The accident has still not been cleaned up, the police barrier still in place—no vehicle has moved. The three of them get into the car, Tom in the driver’s seat and Jim and Patty in the back. Each is silent as the events of the night rerun in their heads. Patty looks out and sees Audrey Cobhurn’s blood shine in the light of the emergency vehicle’s headlights.

Jim feels Patty place her head in his lap and he strokes her hair as she falls asleep. He looks out of the window and wonders where Dani is. Is she released from her stay on earth?

He wants to call to her—he feels an ache in his heart already. But he looks down and nestled in his lap is his wife who is asleep. That feels like a miracle to him.

Together the two men and sleeping woman wait in the car, to be released. From somewhere far-off they hear a siren. Maybe heading to the cathedral to find Marcus Keyson. Maybe.

As the first light of dawn strikes the city—the emergency vehicles are finally done, and the cars and truck in front of them start to move, limping away from the scene of such awful events. They all have stories to tell. Tom drives them all the way round the ring road, and then second star on the right and straight on till London.

Monday, February 7, 2011

The three of them meet at 11 a.m. They go to the garden of remembrance where Jim and Tom have gone, both together and alone for so many years. This is Patty’s first visit. Together they read the words on the plaque:
DANI, LOVED DEARLY AND MISSED DEEPLY
. They lay flowers alongside and Tom reads from Keats.

Then the three of them go to Patty’s place of remembrance, the park by the hospital where she planted a tree for Dani. They even go into the supermarket and stand in the deli aisle, on the spot where Dani was born. They all agree it’s too cold to stay long. They buy a bottle of champagne and some cheese and bread. They go back to the park and open the fizz. They’ve forgotten cups so they drink from the bottle, like students.

They toast Dani. She has been dead longer than she lived, but each of them still loves her so fiercely. They toast Jim and Patty—about to renew their vows once again. Tom’s phone beeps. He looks at the message and his face clouds over.

“What?” Both Jim and Patty ask.

“It’s Keyson. He just woke up from his coma.”

Dani stands and watches the watery sun ebb away. Behind her, in a shadowy corner of the room, the young woman sobs quietly. Dani would love to help her, but how—it’s impossible.

“Please stop crying, Sarah. It doesn’t help.”

But the tears continue. Dani sighs. She knows what Sarah Penn needs—to tell her story to the Sad Man. That’s what the three of them need, because somehow they know there will be another victim. Soon. But what can she do, apart from listen to the tears fall?

“I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s lonely being dead.”

I owe a great debt of gratitude to many people who helped me in the planning and writing of this book. My biggest thanks goes to Catherine Smith who pushed me right at the start and nurtured the first shoots of the story. Sophie Hannah gave me support and advice at a crucial time and connected me with my agent, Simon Trewin, who helped me to craft all those pages into something that felt like a book. I am also incredibly lucky to have Gillian Green and Zachary Wagman, two wonderfully creative editors, and Justine Taylor, my copy editor. Plus everyone at WME, Ebury and Crown—what a team.

I also want to thank for their insight and advice on technical aspects of this novel—Durham Coroner Andrew Tweddle and DI Vicki Harris. For medical expertise—Kellie and Kim Cronin. Thanks also to Dominic Parker for his knowledge of Durham.

Many people read early drafts and gave me wonderful feedback and support. I especially want to thank Rebecca Ball, Sylvia Cooke, Rachel Donoughue, Annie Fletcher, Melanie Green, Vikki Logan, Lynne Murphy, Mark Slater, Sam Shorter, Charlie Turner, Jools Wood, Jane Viner, Michael Viner and all at CCE.

And for inspiring me—Arden Murphy-Viner.

P. D. Viner is an award-winning filmmaker and creator of the highly successful SmartPass audio guides. He’s married to an American doctor of linguistics and, along with their five-year-old daughter, he is her test-subject. He has lived abroad for ten years, working and studying in the USA, New Zealand and Russia, and has been a pretty bad stand-up comedian, produced mime shows for Japanese TV and written theater for the Shakespeare festival produced in London and Verona.

This is his first murder.