The Yeare's Midnight by Ed O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

right-hand lane of the dual carriageway. Underwood’s mind was working rapidly, trying to calculate possible destinations and explanations. Maybe Julia’s sister hadn’t turned up and she was going to collect her. But Sarah lived at the southern end of town and they were heading north-east. What was up there? Nothing, really. It was a wealthy residential area: detached houses and Land Rover Freelanders.
    The traffic melted away as the two cars left the centre of town. Underwood was careful to hold back. Wide leafy avenues replaced the dual carriageways and Underwood realized that they were only a mile or two from Fawley Woods. He thought of Lucy Harrington: torn up on a mortuary slab. He should be hunting her killer, not checking up on his wife.
    Fuck Julia for making me do this: creeping about, degrading myself. She has hammered me into something pathetic.
    The cab pulled up about one hundred metres ahead. Underwood stopped outside a large mock-Tudor house. It was tasteless in its mockery. The double garage smirked at him. He watched his wife step out of the cab. She paid the driver and then, without waiting for change, scrunched up the expensive-looking gravel driveway. This time, the cab drove away.
    Underwood stepped out of his car and walked briskly up the other side of the street. He was careful to stay in darkness all the way. The trees provided a shadowy camouflage against the street lights. He stopped opposite the house in time to see Julia ring the doorbell. Underwood’s chest was burning but he dared not cough. Instead, he stared in morbid fascination. The door opened. A man appeared. He quickly stooped to gather Julia in a vast hug and drew her inside. The door shut. Underwood was horrified, his darkest fears confirmed. Should he confront them, knock on the door and demand to see his wife? Was she in danger? Would he have to fight for her? Could he be bothered to fight for someone who clearly no longer loved him? No. There were other ways. At least he had the advantage now. Theendgame was truly under way. He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the road. There was a blue BMW in the driveway. He took out his notebook and wrote down the registration.
    A light came on upstairs. Underwood started and was sick into the road as terrible imaginings flooded his mind. When he thought that they might overwhelm him, he coughed the bile from his throat and headed back to his car. Why couldn’t he cry? He felt that he should. He now knew for sure that his marriage was over. That the years he and Julia had shared had been utterly meaningless. All he felt was emptiness and a hot spark of rage. Underwood unlocked his car and climbed inside. He stared into the rear-view mirror.
    Lucy Harrington’s mutilated face gaped back at him.
15
    At roughly the same moment, Dexter turned along Fawley Close and parked. Three of the four cottages had their lights on. Only Lucy Harrington’s remained shrouded in darkness. The police cordon was still in place around the house, which had been locked and sealed.
    Dexter had no plans to go inside. Her mind had been working overtime since Jensen had showed them the newspaper article that had given general details of where Lucy Harrington lived. As Underwood had said, there were two roads in the area that fitted the information given by the article: Sherling Drive and Fawley Close. Dexter tried to imagine herself in the killer’s position. ‘I have rough information about where my target lives but nothing specific. I know she lives in one of two roads but I need to find out which road and then which house. Lucy Harrington is not in the phone book.’ Dexter looked again at the map. Sherling Drive had two entrances and ten houses. Fawley Close had only one entrance and four cottages. ‘I have a fifty-fifty chance but one road is much easier to watch than the other. I would choose Fawley Close first because if she livedthere I could find her quickly. If she didn’t, I could rapidly eliminate