One of Us Is Guilty (Eddie Flynn #10)

Prologue

Eddie Flynn

The last walk

The best time of your life lasts less than a second.

When you hold your newborn in your arms for the very first time; when you meet the one you know that you will love with your whole heart until the moment you die; when you look around you and realize that everyone you love is happy and well and safe.

It’s a fleeting moment of joy.

The worst times of your life seem to last an age.

Right now, I was having one of those moments.

I’d just woken up in the trunk of a moving car.

My head felt like there was a rusty nail rattling around inside my skull.

The cut on the back of my scalp was still bleeding, and I could taste the fumes from the exhaust pipe and hear the rumble of tires on the road and the drone of the engine.

I couldn’t see anything, too dark. The only thing in my vision were occasional white stars that penetrated the black, probably the result of the head injury.

My hands weren’t tied. I felt around in my jacket and coat pockets.

No phone. No wallet. No cash. No keys. I put my right hand down, tried to move.

It was too cramped. My feet and legs were tucked up into the corners.

The bed of the trunk felt strange. It wasn’t hard plastic. It wasn’t that rough fiber that lines most trunk beds.

It was thick plastic.

I felt all round the edges of it.

This plastic had been taped to the inside of the trunk, so that I wouldn’t leave any blood, hair, saliva or fibers behind. There would be nothing for forensics to find.

Nothing to prove that this was the car that drove me to my last stop.

Every second in this trunk felt like a hundred years.

This was the moment.

It had been in the mail for a long time.

Some day.

Sometime.

This was always going to happen.

In my life, I’ve hurt a lot of people. Some of those people I loved. Some I hated. It didn’t matter – I always tried to do the right thing, even if it meant killing somebody. I’m a trial lawyer, but I used to be a conman. Some say there’s not a lot of difference between the two jobs.

I felt the car slow and lean left.

We were turning.

No idea how long we’d been on the road.

One thing was for certain, we were no longer on the highway. The suspension now had to work hard, and in the trunk every bump sent a fresh shot of pain through my head. We were on a dirt road, somewhere.

The end was close now.

I’d been in tight spots before.

But not like this.

Not with so many unanswered questions. I had a pretty good idea who had grabbed me off the street, though. My ability to get myself into trouble was kind of a gift. Not that my ex-wife, Christine, saw it that way.

I thought of her, and my daughter, Amy. How would they react when they were told I was missing? Judging by the professional approach of the two guys riding in the front of the car, and it was always two guys in a street grab like this, my body would probably never be found.

It was strange, but right then, that was the thing that pissed me off the most.

My family and my friends not being able to grieve properly.

Not knowing where I was, but certain in the knowledge that I was dead.

I had known loss and pain, and I’d seen the damage it could do to others – their lives torn to pieces.

I didn’t want that. I definitely didn’t want that for my daughter.

Everybody has to go sometime.

And one grave is as cold as the next.

It was the people I would leave behind.

That’s what hurt.

I should have seen this coming sooner.

Sometimes, we are so blinded by what’s right in front of us, that we don’t see the real danger.

The car slowed. The scene that would play out was inevitable.

When the car stopped, the trunk would open. A flashlight would be directed at my face. I would be told to get out and walk. Headed somewhere dark, somewhere quiet. Some deserted patch of old forest, or hillside.

The men would follow me, one of them carrying tools – a shovel and a pick, most likely. The other would have a gun on me. Their flashlights pointed at my back, casting my shadow on the cold ground. And for a while, I would follow my dark shadow.

Then they would tell me to stop. To get on my knees.

To say a prayer.

I will have taken my last walk.

And then I’ll be dead.