Chapter 58 Miles
Miles
Miles is travelling backwards at speed, staring at the rapidly changing scenery outside: fields and hedgerows and cattle give way to warehouses and factories and car parks.
Polly sits to his right, and George and Reubyn are opposite.
They occupy a table on a train to South Wales, all dressed conspicuously in black suits – their funeral attire.
Today will be a dreadfully sad occasion, but it promises to bring with it closure.
And it’s been a long time coming. It’s taken nearly three months for Elis’s body to be repatriated from New Zealand – time for healing of wounds both mental and physical.
For the physical wounds, the process was relatively straightforward.
Miles had some minor surgery before leaving New Zealand and has now regained full mobility in his right shoulder.
The medics assessing him informed him that he’d been lucky.
The bullet had embedded itself in his pectoralis minor, the muscle where the chest meets the shoulder.
Despite the intense pain he felt, there was no damage to arteries or bones.
Three months is also plenty of time, it turns out, for the media to lose interest in his life.
After a brief frenzy when they returned home, the reporters stopped caring once it became obvious that he wasn’t going to be giving interviews.
His lawyers were right: a couple of weeks is a long time in the world of news.
There are now plenty of other shiny new scandals to keep journalists occupied.
The media has also been put on notice that reporters are not welcome at Elis’s funeral, and their attendance would be an unreasonable intrusion into grief.
With the clamour for stories having ebbed away, there’s no reason to think any reporters will turn up and cause any trouble today.
As the media spotlight on him dimmed, Miles found the internet trolls began to leave him alone as well.
After a couple of weeks, during which he barely left the house, things rapidly started to improve.
Miles started going whole days without receiving abuse or pestering of any kind.
He began to venture outside, starting with the odd walk to the shops or a drive across town to visit a friend, and then, before long, he was behaving in a similar way to how he did before his arrest. Life is approaching something close to normal.
It was on one of his small excursions about two weeks ago when he last heard from Lewin.
Miles was sitting in a cafe, reading a job advert on his phone, when the screen showed an incoming call.
Hearing from the cops didn’t make him flinch like it used to; Lewin had kept in regular contact, continuing to provide updates on what became a complex investigation involving multiple police forces. He accepted the call. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi Miles, is now a good time to talk?’
He looked around to see if anyone was listening. Most of the customers scattered about the place were engrossed in their own conversations, but one or two were not. ‘Can you give me five minutes?’
‘Sure. I’ll call you back in five.’
Miles grabbed his stuff and set off towards a nearby park.
On the way, his mind skipped ahead, dreaming up possible reasons for Lewin’s call.
Most probably it would be about Faith, who was still missing, presumably somewhere in New Zealand.
The police had kept him fairly well informed on that matter, always notifying him of developments before they released details to the public.
As it turned out, when the police had arrived in the forest on the day Miles was shot, they already had a warrant out for Faith’s arrest. By that point they had noticed that her name, which they recognised as a minor beneficiary in Caira’s will, had been on the passenger manifest for a flight to New Zealand just one day before Miles was due to travel.
From there, police soon figured out that it was she who had authored the threatening emails.
The last major update Miles had received on Faith’s movements was when the bike she’d stolen was found abandoned on the outskirts of a village about ten miles away from Hendrick’s Forest. What Faith had done when she got there remained a mystery.
New Zealand’s West Coast is so remote, it’s simultaneously one of the easiest and most difficult places to disappear into.
There are no crowds to get lost in, but there are hundreds of miles of wild and empty landscapes where you might not encounter another human for weeks at a time.
Could Faith still be there? Hiding in the wilderness?
Or could she have escaped the region and blended in elsewhere?
Maybe she’d escaped the country entirely.
Or maybe, just maybe, Lewin was calling to let him know they’d finally found her.
Miles arrived at the park and sat on a bench to wait for Lewin’s call. It was a mild, overcast day, and a father and son, with near-identical floppy blond hair, were playing football about fifty yards away. Jumpers for goalposts. A minute later, Miles’s phone rang.
Miles answered immediately. ‘Hi, again.’
‘Hello. If you’re ready, I’ve got an update for you.’
‘You’ve found her?’
‘No, it’s not about Faith.’
‘So, it’s about Caira? You’ve had a breakthrough?’
‘No, no. It’s nothing major like that.’
‘Right, okay.’ Miles tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. A shriek caused him to turn his head, and he saw the little boy wheeling away in celebration at scoring a goal.
‘Anyway, New Zealand Police have provided us with some answers to a couple of your questions. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. As I’m sure you can appreciate, a lot of resources have been tied up by—’
‘Yeah, I totally understand,’ Miles says. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
A pause on the line. ‘Good. Thank you. Now, let’s start with the man you pursued in Queenstown, the chap you sent me the photograph of.’
‘Oh.’ Miles was surprised to hear him bring that up. It had lost all significance. Suddenly, he was curious again. ‘So, who was he?’
‘He was completely unconnected. He’s a resident of Queenstown, and he’d never heard of you before. Officers have spoken to him and are satisfied he’s telling the truth about that.’
Miles’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘But, why? Why did he run like he did? He sprinted for his life. We chased him halfway across the town.’
Lewin took an audible breath. ‘This man had witnessed homophobic violence in the past, so when he realised he was being followed by two men as he walked home from a gay-friendly bar, he decided, rightly or wrongly, the safest option was to run.’
‘Oh, God.’ Miles bowed his head and dragged a hand through his hair. ‘We traumatised a completely innocent man.’
Lewin remained silent.
‘But why had he been looking at me for the whole . . .’ Miles’s words trailed off. There was no point in finishing the question. ‘This man, can I talk to him? I’d like to apologise.’
‘He’s requested that we protect his privacy. But if you want to write to him, I’ll pass it on.’
‘Thanks. I’d like to do that.’
‘You also asked about the Macallan whisky, and how Faith knew you ordered it.’
‘Yes.’
Lewin took another deep breath. ‘Well, after officers looked at the CCTV from The Globe, they were able to identify a man who approached the bar and asked what brand of whisky you’d bought.
When police talked to him, the man explained that a woman matching Faith’s description had approached him on his way to the bar and offered him a hundred dollars to buy the same whisky as the four Englishmen before him.
He decided to take her up on it, no questions asked. ’
Miles wrinkled his brow as he tried to process what Lewin was telling him. ‘Why didn’t Faith just ask the bar staff herself?’
‘I suspect she already knew what you were drinking. This was probably all about throwing you off the scent.’
‘Right.’
‘That’s our best guess. We can’t ask her, of course.’
‘And you’re still no closer to tracking her down?’
‘I’m afraid not. Of course, if there are any significant updates, I’ll let you know.’
Before he ended the call, Miles asked, as he always did, about the Caira Kennedy case. And Lewin patiently explained – no surprise to Miles – that the police were no closer to solving it.
Strangely, Miles has begun to feel a trace of sympathy towards the detectives working the case.
When looked at objectively, it’s not the easiest to solve.
It doesn’t help that there remains no known motive.
Her killing wasn’t sexually motivated – the autopsy confirmed that.
And aside from a few minor grievances through her work, Caira didn’t appear to have any enemies.
Miles’s best hope is that one day there will be a DNA breakthrough that will bring the perpetrator to justice.
Whoever they are, they lit the touchpaper on this whole sorry affair.
Whoever they are, they’re responsible for the deaths of two people: Caira, at their own hands, and Elis, as an indirect consequence.
It remains much more likely that the next time Miles hears from Lewin, it will be with an update about Faith.
Although he doesn’t expect that to be resolved any time soon either.
Faith managed to deceive and bamboozle Miles at every turn.
Her ability to do this has left him convinced that she will evade capture for some time yet.
And she’s shown considerable ingenuity. When police looked at her Google history, they found searches on how to disable a vehicle battery.
But, even so, it was remarkable that she managed to do it while everyone in the bus was presumably asleep.
Her talent for dissimulation means Faith has probably morphed into a completely different person by now.
New accent. New appearance. New backstory.
He tries not to spend too much time thinking about the awful events that happened in New Zealand, but it’s hard not to dwell on them.
And there are other reminders. Last week, he received an email from Jessie.
She got in touch to let him know she wouldn’t be attending Elis’s funeral.
Her tone was cordial enough; Jessie made it clear there were no hard feelings, but she also left him in little doubt that she was in no hurry to see him again. He can hardly blame her.
Miles stares out of the window of the train.
The view outside is now dominated by heavy industry: huge smoking towers that confirm life is churning on, the way it always has.
For most people, anyway. Miles hasn’t returned to work yet.
He still has some decisions to make, in that regard, and had granted himself the period up until Elis’s funeral to mull it all over.
Now, that thinking time is nearly up. In a couple of hours, Elis will have been laid to rest. After three long months, it’ll be time for Miles to start making some decisions about his future.
An announcement blares from the speakers in their carriage, one of those inhuman-sounding voices informing them that they will soon be arriving at their destination.
As the train slows, the four of them clear the detritus from their table, then stand to collect their coats from the overhead rack.
The platform appears, lined with passengers waiting to get on, and Miles stares into the crowd, scanning the faces.
He does this now, every time he’s presented with a gathering of people.
And every time, Miles half expects to see her among them.
But deep down, he knows he won’t. Faith’s not pursuing him anymore.
She knows he’s not her true target. If that weren’t the case, the emails would’ve started up again.
But they haven’t. He’s no longer receiving messages telling him this is not over.
Maybe that’s because it is. Maybe, once the funeral is done, Miles will finally start to believe it is over.