A Chance Encounter Rae Shaw (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

shifted stolen goods.’ Mark laughed. ‘Honour amongst thieves, that kind of thing, like owning up to things, and protecting your friends and family. I lent my support to his charade of an appeal because of that and for his sake, more than Mum's. He told me he wanted another chance to prove himself.’

‘Perhaps he wanted you to be what he had failed to be.’

‘Christ, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want anything more to do with him. If this witness goes to the police and the sentence gets increased, then so be it. The bastard deserves it.’ There was within him what Julianna would recognise: a hot-blooded soup of anger and disgust. ‘I’ve got to tell Mum it's over. How am I going to tell her?’

‘Wait,’ Sophia said. ‘Until you’ve accepted this yourself. Don’t tell her when you're angry and bitter. She'll be devastated, won’t she?’

Alarm had paled her complexion to marble. He inhaled deeply and unclenched his fists. Control, he needed to control his emotions. Nothing would come of anger, but more anger.

‘Thank you, Sophia. At least I know the truth. What do I owe you, for your time? Luke’s too.’ With horrifying ease, he became that numerically driven accountant again.

‘Please, don’t worry about it... I'm still tying up some loose ends with regard to the information this witness provided.’

‘No, I insist. I told Jackson I would pay you and I, unlike my father, am a man of my word. As far as I'm concerned there is nothing more you need do. Don't waste your time.’

She told him she would bill him by post. ‘I’d like you to visit me and Luke for dinner with some friends. Bring your sister. We can introduce her to somebody with good connections.’

He looked at her blankly. Connections to what? He wasn’t thinking about socialising at the moment. He couldn’t put his mind anywhere sensible that didn’t inspire anger. ‘Sure,’ he said vaguely.

They shook hands and she opened the door for him; she wanted him gone. ‘Sorry that it’s all turned out bad for you.’

‘Please don’t apologise.’ He put on his overcoat. ‘You’ve succeeded where others had failed. I’m grateful. Goodbye.’

The noise in the outer office didn’t register and he ignored the fluttering eyelashes of the receptionist. He walked aimlessly for several blocks before hailing a black cab, wondering how to tell Ellen. She had a right to know the truth.

  16

Ellen

The room smelt of roses. The aroma was subtle, but there, lingering in the air. There weren’t any vases in the flat. She followed Mark into the living room where Mark stuffed a twenty-pound note into her hand.

‘For the cab.’

She scrunched it into her pocket. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. They sat, glasses perched on their knees, and he sighed a few times.

Worn out and lost, he was out of sorts in every way: scruffy pair of jeans with holes over the knees; a faded t-shirt with blotches of sweat under his armpits – old sweat, she reckoned; smudges of greyness under his eyes would worsen with the sleepless night he had yet to have. He fidgeted with the stem of his glass, spinning it with his agitated fingers.

‘So?’ she said, inquisitively. Better have it over.

‘Dad committed murder, not manslaughter. There was no self-defence. It was premeditated and unprovoked.’ He glanced in her direction. ‘But I guess you're not upset by any of this.’

‘No, not really, but I'm not pleased. Why would I be? Dad screwed us both over. What happened at the solicitors?’

He told her about the eye-witness who had held back from giving evidence to protect Bill from worse charges. He might not have saved Bill from a guilty conviction, but he had probably lessened the sentence by keeping silent.

‘No motive provided. Dad banked on getting that self-defence plea, but he didn't leave enough evidence inside the car to support his false confession. All he had were two knives. One for him, one for the victim to hold, wiped free of his fingerprints.’

She nearly dropped her glass. The base landed on her lap and she managed to salvage the spillage with a brisk wipe of her sleeve. There had been two pockets sewn into the coat. She said nothing – what was the point? Mark knew now what she had known since she was eleven years old. Bill Clewer was a cold, calculating criminal. The judge’s two key sources of mitigation were Bill’s remarkable previous lack of convictions and the supposed spontaneity of the killing.

‘He lied, Ellie. Lied and lied. He promised me… He.’ Mark's voice broke. He slumped like a sack of potatoes and downed half the glass in one go.

She stretched out to touch his shaking hand, then changed her mind. Those fiery eyes brimmed with anger. Such suppressed rage wasn't healthy, and she should know. It sent a shiver down her spine seeing him like this: so like her.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘You know what really pisses me off? It doesn't make a jot of difference. This appeal was never going to free him. So why, why fucking why drag it out for years? He could have pleaded guilty and got some mitigation and a shorter sentence. I was willing to go with this damn appeal because I had this thing in the back of my head that he was decent. I never saw him as a heartless assassin.’

Ellen sipped her wine. She didn't want to get drunk here. Later, maybe. ‘He hoodwinked a few people,’ she said quietly. ‘If he had his reasons, he's keeping them locked inside with him. You've got your closure.’

‘I don't get it.’ He hung his head and sloshed the wine about in his glass. ‘Sophia couldn't explain it either. Denial is like