Then She Was Gone (41 page)

‘Tim Johnson won’t get away with it, you know,’ Murphy said, looking down at Rossi as she absent-mindedly chewed on a fingernail. ‘He’ll be going down for a long
time.’

‘Won’t be enough, though, will it? It’s not really justice for what he did.’

‘And what Simon Jackson did was?’

Rossi waited a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose we can’t put people in prison for being the reason someone kills themselves. We’d have to create a whole bunch of
new laws for that to happen.’

‘We won’t tell him,’ Murphy said, having found the moment he had been waiting for.

‘Tell him what?’

‘That the baby isn’t his,’ Murphy replied, peering over the heads of the officers in the hallway and seeing a shake of the head from those at the head of the pack. ‘He
can live his life thinking she’s out there and he’ll never know the truth.’

‘Dangerous, don’t you think?’

‘In what way?’

Rossi leaned back against the wall behind her and looked up at Murphy. ‘He will try to find her.’

‘First, he’ll be in prison for a long time. I have no doubt about that. Second, let him try and find a needle in a haystack. He has no idea what country that woman he lived with for
months even went to. And we’re not going to tell him. All we need from her is proof she is alive. After that, she can disappear again.’

Rossi thought for a second, then slowly nodded towards Murphy.

He hoped it was enough.

Once they had left the university, shepherded off the roof of the Old Vic and down the stairs by the firemen who had arrived behind them, Murphy heard the full story. How Hazel Jones had put her
plan into place, how Vincenzo Rossi had helped her get Irena Dubicki’s daughter back to her mother. The money he had helped contribute to buy her silence. How he had aided Hazel Jones as she
created a convincing crime scene.

The whole sorry tale of revenge, which had run alongside Simon Jackson’s story of vengeance.

They filled in the gaps later. Vincenzo Rossi going to see Simon Jackson when Tim Johnson had been arrested for murder, and the part that had played in causing Jackson to seek his own revenge
for what had happened to his sister. Jackson’s need to atone for the failure to keep his sister safe from the sordid life he had created. It had driven him to end the toxic environment he had
helped to create. An environment in which women were objects, things to conquer, whatever the outcome.

To kill those he blamed for her death. Including himself.

‘They didn’t care before,’ Rossi said, back at the station that day. ‘None of them did. Those women weren’t like the ones they knew in their family. If what
happened to Simon Jackson’s sister had happened to any of their close family members, they might have reacted similarly to him. They were sexual psychopaths. All of them.’

Murphy hadn’t disagreed with her. There was too much evidence coming out about the club and its activities to do so. How they created a culture at the university surrounding their
activities which promoted silence and the goal of ultimate power.

Well, it would be over for that club now, Murphy thought. All it takes is a single event and a whole organisation can be brought down. Sarah had told him the atmosphere at the university was
significantly different now. Everyone was falling over themselves to condemn and castigate those with any attachment to the club.

Murphy wondered if the condemnation would be matched at other universities in the country, many of which had groups of young men all doing similar things to what the Abercromby Boys Club had
done.

He wondered if anything ever really changes.

‘She’s not here, sir,’ a uniform said, joining them in the hallway. ‘Evidence that she’s been here recently, but there’s milk on the side which has turned, so
she’s been gone a couple of days at least, I reckon. Left in a hurry.’

‘I bet she did,’ Murphy said, making his way towards the apartment, leaving Rossi where she was standing.

He was glad Hazel Jones had gone.

He hoped that she would never return.

That she would be happy, wherever she was.

The internet was slow, but eventually the
Daily Mail
website appeared. She read the main story, scrolling down and studying every word on the page.
She went back to the beginning, reading it all over again. The details were slim, but there was enough information for her to take on board and digest what had happened. The sidebar of shame tried
to take her attention, but she ignored it.

Simon Jackson was dead. Along with all the others. All of them, except one.

Tim Johnson remained in prison. She didn’t know how long that would last, but it mattered little to her now. She had already taken what she needed from him.

She clicked onto another tab and read the message from Vincenzo again. The story they had created, which had put Tim where he belonged, was over. Soon, he would be free, but Vincenzo promised it
wouldn’t be for long. That he would be made to answer for everything that Boys Club had done over the years of his membership. Brave women coming forward and telling their own story. The
truth.

There was more though. He would never know the truth about the little girl he called Molly. Vincenzo knew for sure.

He would never see the little girl he thought was his daughter again. And he would never know she wasn’t his. She was gone, along with the baby’s mother. Back to Eastern Europe, a
little wealthier, a little more confused about life. She would come forward and say she wasn’t dead, but that would be it. The money had been enough to buy her silence on that. The promise of
more on the little girl’s eighteenth birthday was the final nail in that particular coffin.

Tim Johnson would spend the rest of his pitiful life searching for a daughter who didn’t exist. That was enough payback for her. First, she had taken his freedom, now she would sit back
and enjoy the thought of taking his soul. He would forever be in the thrall of the lie she had created.

She enjoyed the thought of that.

She signed out of the computer, paid up for the time she had used, then left the internet cafe. She shifted the backpack, enjoying the weight of it on her back. She adjusted the cap on her head,
running a hand through the short hair, trying to get used to it. It would probably take a little longer, but it was necessary. She had to be careful now. She wasn’t expecting a womanhunt, but
it paid to be careful.

The sun was high up in the sky as midday clicked past. She started walking, not sure of a destination yet. Just happy to have the choice to do so.

She remembered Vincenzo telling her about visiting Simon Jackson at his office the previous year. Telling him exactly what his friends had done, what they had caused. She had enjoyed that.

She had told him to visit him. She had enjoyed that feeling of power, of control. She was in charge. It had been a long time, but she finally had command of a situation.

She hadn’t known what Simon Jackson would do with the information. She wasn’t sure if she cared. Reading what he had been doing didn’t make her feel responsible, or party to
his actions.

She felt nothing.

It was another world to her now. A story with a beginning, a middle and an end. Another life. Not hers any more. They weren’t around any more, but she didn’t care.

She was moving past them. They were left behind her. They wouldn’t trouble her any more. The nightmares would come to an end.

She hoped.

There was light in her life at last. An end to the darkness which had enveloped her. She would never forget, but she could at least live her life without looking back.

It was over.

A new chapter could begin. A new story could be told.

She allowed herself one last thought about the men who had taken that part of her away. The eight names, the eight men. They might not have all been physically guilty of what had occurred to her
that night, but they all shared the blame equally in her eyes.

She wasn’t sure. She could never have been, that was something she would have to live with.

She was only certain of one man’s guilt.

Tim Johnson.

He deserved everything she had inflicted upon him. He deserved the harrowing life he would lead now.

That was her revenge.

She looked left and right, crossing the busy road alongside a few other people. She tuned back into the surrounding noise. The blaring of horns and shouts from the various drivers. A foreign
land, a place that would soon become a footnote on her travels.

She continued walking, head held up high, looking forwards and not back.

Hazel lost herself in the crowd and became just like anyone else there.

Free of her past. Only looking to the future.

There was one last moment, when she closed her eyes and felt her fears drift away.

Then, she was gone.

Some things never change. This book may have my name on the cover, but it takes a bunch of good people to make sure it reaches your hands. Here are some names, which may not be
recognisable to you, but who all contributed to the journey of publication.

Firstly, my small band of grouchy, embittered, hilarious, and warm-hearted fellow writers: Eva Dolan, Jay Stringer, and Nick Quantrill. Our continuous chats keep me on the straight and narrow. I
have made friends for life in you three. Similarly, Craig Robertson, for being as much of a bastard as I am. You’re stuck with me mate. England Crime Writers will beat your Scottish lot one
day.

Stav Sherez, for continuing to say nice things about the series. You give me a jolt of happiness each time, given how much I admire you and your work. Thanks man.

Next, my awesome editor at Simon & Schuster, Jo Dickinson. Thank you for not panicking when I came to you two months before the deadline with a completely different story. I am so glad you
reacted with excitement, rather than absolute horror. You are incredible at what you do. Never change. Also to Emma Capron, Louise Davies, and the rest of the team at S&S. I am forever grateful
for all your efforts.

My agent Phil Patterson. I cannot say enough good about this man and his continued support and presence in my life. I got very, very lucky in finding you. Also to Sandra Sawicka and Luke Speed
for all you do.

Darren Dodd, who gave me an incredible amount of advice about how politics works at the local and party levels. I discarded most of it, as no one would find it believable, but what I did use
came from that conversation. Thank you sir. All mistakes are my own and intentional. As always.

Sarah Hughes and all at Waterstones Liverpool One, Karen Sullivan, Bob Stone and all at Write Blend, Pete Sortwell, Liz Barnsley, Jo N and all at Tandragee Library, Paul D. Brazill, Tracy
Mearns, THE Book Club on Facebook, Anne Cater, Steph Broadribb, Vicky-Leigh Sayer aka The Welsh Librarian, “Eloquar”, and “Book Addict” Shaun. Thank you for all the support
you give me and the books on and offline. Couldn’t appreciate it more.

Thank you to Emma Palmer, who won an auction to have a character named after herself. Supporting that particular charity is massively appreciated. Hope you enjoy seeing your name in amongst this
unsavoury bunch of characters.

To my parents, siblings, grandparents, uncles, aunties, cousins, and in-laws. You’re all fantastic, as always.

Gina Kirkham, for your unending help and drive. Hope to continue to make you proud.

Finally, the best for last. My wife Emma and daughters Abigail and Megan. Abs and Migs – you know the score now. Instead of me saying something nice which makes you roll your eyes, how
about this . . . tidy up your rooms, do your homework, stop arguing, and eat all your tea. Like good girls. Only joking! Well, not really, but here’s something nice as well.
You make me so proud every day. You’re both incredibly talented, funny, and clever. Thank you for being my daughters. To Emma – I can’t imagine a life in which I don’t have
you supporting me every step of the way. You make my life easier. You’re my partner, and other half, in every sense. There are no books without you. In fact, without you, I would be covered
in bees constantly.
Ti amo, bella
. Thank you.

Luca Veste is a writer of Italian and Scouse heritage, married with two young daughters. He studied psychology and criminology at university in Liverpool.

Find out more at
www.LucaVeste.com
or follow @LucaVeste on Twitter and Facebook.

Also by Luca Veste

Bloodstream

The Dying Place

Dead Gone

First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2016

A CBS company

Copyright © Luca Veste, 2016

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

No reproduction without permission.

® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.

The right of Luca Veste to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Simon & Schuster UK Ltd