Page 31 of The Quarterlands (Dark Water #4)

Josiah reached for his holopad again, despising himself.

He was just as bad as all the rest, because he couldn’t stop digging.

He had to find out what Alex’s secret was.

He could fool himself it was for the case, to ensure there were no surprises going into court against Tyler, but he knew that was only a small part of it.

The truth was, he was an investigator, and this was what he did.

He pulled up the court transcripts from Alex’s trial for dangerous driving, then looked at the official report on the accident.

There hadn’t been much of an investigation because Alex had pleaded guilty and it was clearly an open and shut case.

He studied the mortuary report on Isobel Lytton, gazing at photos of her wide, open eyes as she lay dead on the slab.

Then he read the statements of the landlady and various witnesses from the pub where Isobel and her sons had eaten lunch.

Isobel had drunk two large glasses of wine, but her sons hadn’t touched any alcohol.

Had she been driving at the time of the accident?

Was it possible that Alex had covered for her? If so, why?

He flicked through the statement. Witnesses reported that when they left the pub, Alex had definitely been driving, and the accident had happened barely ten minutes later.

It made no sense that Alex and his mother had swapped places.

Alex had also been adamant that he was to blame for the accident and clearly felt it deeply.

Why would he feel that way if he hadn’t been at the wheel?

Burrowing deeper, he found that Isobel Lytton didn’t have a driving licence.

He supposed that made sense. She’d grown up in a work camp and wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn there, and after she’d married Noah, she’d have had servants to drive her anywhere she wanted to go.

Why would she suddenly take the wheel of a duck if she didn’t know how to drive, especially after drinking two glasses of wine?

Could Charles have been driving? But the whole point of the duck trip that afternoon had been for him to sit in the back showing off his medal to the local people.

There were several reports of him doing just that.

Besides, he hadn’t been drinking at lunch, so why would Alex have needed to lie to cover for him?

Maybe the secret wasn’t about the accident.

Then what else? How did any of this fit with what Gideon had said about Alex’s first sexual experience, or had that just been the dying man’s prurience talking?

He doubted Isobel had abused either of her sons, although it was possible.

What about Noah? Alex was always desperate to please his father and seemed to love him very much, although they’d clearly had their differences.

Josiah hoped it wasn’t that. He liked Noah.

He read every single thing he could find but came up with blanks.

Finally, he took himself off to bed. It was cold and empty, as it was every night.

For the first time since Peter had died, he seriously considered going to a club, picking up a man, and fucking him into the mattress, but he didn’t move.

He didn’t want sex. He wanted answers. No, he wanted Alex, and he couldn’t have him, any more than he could have Peter. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep.

He woke early the next day, feeling refreshed. He knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let this drop. Even if it ruined his friendship with Alex, he was going to find out what his secret was. He was Investigator Raine of Inquisitus; it was in his bones. He couldn’t stop now.

He showered, shaved, and dressed, then tiptoed down the stairs. Peering into the living room, he saw that Charles was fast asleep on the sofa, a huddled mound under a blanket. Josiah grabbed his holopad and a handful of chocolates and climbed into his duck.

He drove, first of all, to the scene of the accident.

It was a quiet country lane, with very little traffic.

Nobody had witnessed the accident; no other ducks had been on the road when it took place, and no pedestrians.

In fact, no more witnesses had come forward between the Lyttons leaving the pub and the accident taking place.

Now he was here, Josiah could see why. It was off the beaten track, a winding byway in the middle of nowhere.

He stopped his duck and climbed out, examining the road at the precise place where the accident had taken place.

Alex had lost control on a bend, and the AV had rolled over several times, throwing out Charles and Isobel through the open roof, before slamming into a tree.

Josiah glanced at the report again. Alex had said in his statement that he’d come to inside the wreckage of the duck and had climbed out to find his mother’s body further up the road.

Josiah studied the photos of the wreckage.

The front section was entirely smashed in.

It was a wonder that Alex had escaped with only cuts and bruises.

He returned to his duck and drove back along the lane, retracing the route they’d have taken, and reached The Dark Horse pub. Above the door hung a sign depicting a beautiful black stallion standing in a storm, with a lost zone framed behind him. There was something oddly haunting about it.

Josiah entered the pub, and the woman behind the bar looked up. Josiah recognised her from the photo on his holopad: Kim Moore, the landlady. She was a few years older but had the same distinctive dyed red hair and large looped earrings .

“We’re not open yet, and if you’re here for Sunday lunch, we’re booked up if you don’t have a reservation,” she told him.

“I’m not here for lunch.” Josiah showed her his ID, and her whole demeanour changed. She finished up behind the bar and joined him at one of the tables.

“I’ve read your report on the accident that killed Isobel Lytton. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions,” he informed her.

She looked taken aback. “It was years ago.”

“I know. Do you still remember it?”

“Like it was yesterday. Charles Lytton, the national hero, in my pub? Of course I remember it. Those poor kids, they were so happy.”

“I just want to check. Was Alex Lytton driving the duck when they left?”

“Absolutely. My wife took a photo – she was so excited.” She pointed at the wall behind him.

Josiah turned and saw the nanopic on display.

It showed Alex behind the wheel, with Isobel sitting next to him, laughing and waving.

She was wearing a jaunty red silk scarf, her lips painted cherry red to match.

The roof of the AV was pulled back, and Charles was sitting directly behind Alex, beaming and waving.

He was wearing his gold medal, and a happy, excited crowd had gathered around to see them off.

“Did you hear the accident?” Josiah asked, hooking the picture off the wall and gazing at it.

“No. It was too far away for that. First I knew about it was the sirens in the distance. The younger Lytton boy called for an ambulance.”

Josiah held the photo up to the light, examining it closely.

The photographer clearly hadn’t been interested in Alex.

Charles was the photo’s main subject, a bright, shining, golden-haired young man, so strong and handsome, full of joy at his recent victory.

He was framed in the centre, and only half of Alex’s face was visible.

Josiah frowned as he caught a gleam of wetness on Alex’s cheek.

Tears. No, not just tears, crocodile tears.

But he knew Alex had been off his head on croc at the time of the accident.

It had been in the toxicology report. How had Isobel not noticed?

Or maybe she had and hadn’t cared. He put the photograph back on the wall .

“Was there anything that struck you as strange about them before they left?” he asked.

“No. They had a good lunch. They were happy. It was awful what happened. That was the last picture taken before the accident.” She nodded at it.

Josiah glanced at it again. There was always something so poignant about scenes like this.

He could see why she’d hung it on the wall.

It evoked so many reactions: sadness, but also a certain kind of mawkish curiosity.

People loved revelling in these emotions – they could feel how awful it had been without it directly affecting them.

There was something vampiric about it, feeding off the tragedy of that day.

He asked Kim Moore a few more questions, but she had nothing of interest to say. Josiah left, wondering if he was wasting his time. But if it wasn’t the accident, what was it?

Next, he drove to the training facility where Charles and Isobel had spent so many long years building his path to the gold medal.

It was a bright, sunny day, and there were plenty of boats out on the water already.

He entered the clubhouse and ordered a cup of tea to get a feel for the place.

There was a holographic shrine to Charles, dominating one wall.

Here he was training, his face creased with effort, then standing in the clubhouse holding up a drink, laughing, and finally, a familiar image from his Olympic win: sitting in his boat, his arms held aloft, an expression of pure joy on his exhausted face.