Page 91 of Famous Last Words

Niall cocks his head, then says: ‘What do you mean bythey? “They told us not to tell anyone?”’

‘I don’t know. Am I going to be—’

‘The Met is investigating her murder,’ he says softly. ‘But I’m not. And I’m not really here in my capacity as the Met.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ Niall says. His mind is reeling. Who the hostages were might be within reach, finally …

Nobody in the world except these two, here, in a private courtyard in London, knows the connection between the two cases. And it’s here, and only here, maybe, that Niall can admit to himself where this is heading. He is off record. He is off the books. And that almost always ends badly.

‘Well,’ Camilla says, landing at the exact same place as him. ‘Is that why you wanted to meet here? To discuss something – without other officers?’ She glances up at him.

He gestures to a bench. In the late hour, it’s become dotted with dew, little pearlescent spheres sitting on black metal. Camilla sits and crosses her legs. ‘Will you tell the Met I withheld information from them?’

He almost laughs. ‘Not if you don’t,’ he says, thinking of the secrets he’s keeping from the Met. And from Camilla, too. He ought to tell her about the surveillance on her, but wants to omit the sighting several months ago. She would only go looking for him. And it could have been nobody at all.

He takes a breath. He has decided precisely what to tell her: he will tell her what he knows about her husband. But he isn’t going to tell her about the stranger outside her house. He doesn’t want to worry her and, anyway, if they are both trying to find Deschamps, he can protect her that way, instead. Keep in touch with her. Make sure she’s OK. Nor does he want to tell her he intercepted her coordinates. Hewants her trust. And he is trustworthy. He just needs her to know that.

Camilla stares up at him, somewhat surprised-looking. ‘OK. Deal,’ she says, holding his gaze.

Niall raises his eyebrows. They’re under the golden glow of a streetlight. It’s warm, the crickets are out, the air humming and shivering with the sound. He pauses, wondering how best to word it. ‘The Met don’t know I’m here. At all.’

‘OK?’ she says, eyes still scared.

‘I’ve been digging into your husband’s case.’

Camilla blinks. ‘And …?’

‘The two hostages were sent to murder your husband. They were contract killers.’

‘What?’ Camilla says. Her hands are in a mess of knots in her lap. ‘Sorry – what … I don’t understand what you mean?’

‘Your husband wrote on the dark web that he thought he was about to be murdered.’

‘Luke did?’ Camilla seems to fold in on herself. A small, reflexive clutch of her hand to her chest. Her body goes completely still.

Luke. Not Deschamps. Something about the name, the way she speaks about him, that movement her hand made … empathy surges in Niall’s chest. Camilla loves him, knows him, that much is clear. And Niall knows how that feels.

‘He …’ she says softly. ‘He thought that he was going to be murdered?’

‘He said that two men were being sent to kill him. He asked somebody to protect him, he wanted to buy a gun, but he couldn’t get one in time. If you look at the CCTV, he reaches for something – and I think it’s the hostages’ pistol, not your husband’s. They were there before him, put theirgun on the side. Deschamps observed them for a while, outside, then took it.’

‘He …’ Camilla seems speechless. She still isn’t moving at all. It begins to rain, another summer storm that seems to come from nowhere, the rain sliding white rods, a Van Gogh painting. Camilla doesn’t seem to notice at all.

‘We never saw the point of their entry. It was off CCTV. We just heard Deschamps enter, then yell,’ Niall says, holding her elbow and steering her to her feet. Rain runs down the back of his neck, making him shiver. ‘But I think they were there waiting for him. He knew they wanted him dead, so he tied them up. They already had the sacks over their heads – to disguise themselves. Just makeshift T-shirts with slits for eyes. They were about to commit a crime. They were trying to kill a man. Your husband.’

And there’s the moment, right as they’re standing there. Camilla closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they’re wet, and not with rainwater. Instinctively, it seems to Niall, the first movement she makes is to lean into him, but she quickly pulls away again. ‘They came for him.’

‘Yes. I’m pretty sure.’

‘Contract killers. Hitmen.’

‘Yes.’

‘He thought he was going to be killed. That’s why he – the gun …’ she says, working through it all. ‘Do you think that’s why he eventually shot them? He had no choice?’

‘Yes. Maybe.’ Water splashes up around her ankles as they walk, but she doesn’t seem to notice. ‘I don’t think he had many choices available to him.’

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