muttered. "Couldn't leave her alone."
As he expected, the Audi turned into Trinity Place. Macfadyen parked on the main road and hurried down the quiet suburban street. Lights were on behind curtained windows, but there was no other sign of life. The Audi was parked at the end of the cul-de-sac, sidelights still glowing. Macfadyen walked past, noting the empty driver's seat. He took the path that skirted the bottom of the hill, wondering how many times that same mud had been trampled by those four students before the night they took their fatal decision. Looking up to his left, he saw what he expected. On the brow of the hill, silhouetted against the night, Kerr stood, head bowed. Macfadyen slowed down. It was strange how everything kept coming together to confirm his conviction that the four men who had found his mother's body knew far more about her death than they'd ever been forced to admit. It was hard to understand how the police had failed all those years ago. To have bungled something so straightforward defied belief. He'd done more for the cause of justice in a few months than they'd achieved in twenty-five years with all their resources and manpower. Just as well he wasn't relying on Lawson and his trained monkeys to avenge his mother.
Maybe his uncle had been right and they'd been in thrall to the University. Or maybe he'd been closer to the mark when he'd accused the police of corruption. Wherever the truth lay, it was a different world now. The old servility was dead. Nobody was afraid of the University anymore. And people understood now that the police were just as likely to be crooked as anybody else. So it still fell to individuals like him to make sure justice was done.
As he watched, Kerr straightened up and headed back toward his car. Another entry in the ledger of guilt, Macfadyen thought. Just another brick in the wall.
Alex shifted onto his side and checked the time. Ten to three. Five minutes since he'd last looked at it. It was no use. His body was disorientated by flight and the shift of time zones. All he would achieve if he kept trying to sleep would be to wake Lynn. And given how disturbed her sleep pattern had been by the pregnancy, he didn't want to risk that. Alex slipped out from under the duvet, shivering a little as the chill air hit his skin. He grabbed his dressing gown on his way out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.
It had been a hell of a day. Taking his farewell of Paul at the airport had felt like an abandonment, his natural desire to be home with Lynn a selfishness. On his first flight, he'd been crammed in a bulkhead seat with no window, next to a woman so large he felt certain the whole bank of seats would leave with her when she attempted to rise. He'd fared a little better on the second leg, but he'd been too tired to sleep by then. Thoughts of Ziggy had plagued him, infusing his heart with regrets at all the opportunities missed over the past twenty years. And instead of a restful evening with Lynn, he'd had to deal with Mondo's emotional outburst. He'd have to go to the office in the morning, but already he knew he'd be good for nothing. Sighing, he made for the kitchen and put the kettle on. Maybe a cup of tea would soothe him back to sleepiness.
Carrying his mug, he wandered through the house, touching familiar objects as if they were talismans that would ground him safely. He found himself standing in the nursery, leaning on the cot. This was the future, he told himself. A future worth having, a future that offered him the opportunity to make something of his life that was more than getting and spending.
The door opened and Lynn stood silhouetted against the warm light of the hall.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked.
"No, I managed that all by myself. Jet lag?" She came in and put an arm round his waist.
"Probably."
"And Mondo didn't help, right?"
Alex nodded. "I could have done without that."
"I don't suppose he considered that for a moment. My selfish brother thinks we're all on the planet for his convenience. I did try to put him off, you know."
"I don't doubt it. He's always had the knack of not hearing what he doesn't want to hear. But