of Kuznetsov’s crew had been identified and either apprehended or subjected to the sort of manhunt that was mounted by the security forces of a country the size of Estonia perhaps once in a generation. Christopher Teague’s body had been found in Rossiter’s bathtub, neck broken, hand still clasped around the paperknife he’d used to stab Rossiter.
Abby’s body had been flown home. Purkiss had wanted to speak to her distraught, bewildered parents in Bolton, but Vale had stopped him. The Official Secrets Act applied, and Purkiss had to remain in the shadows. He and Kendrick would attend her funeral, though, no doubt keeping back in the rain while the small crowd of family and friends stood bowed and shaking in the churchyard afterwards.
Purkiss spent more time with Vale in those first days than he had for months previously, yet they hadn’t talked properly before today. In his head Purkiss had played out today’s inevitable encounter in all the forms he could imagine it taking. He hadn’t been prepared for this, this bald stating of facts, this utter absence of affect.
Vale flicked another spent match, this one far enough to draw the momentary attention of a gull before it dropped into the water. ‘Think about what life would have been like if you’d known about Claire from the start. Think of the last four years. Bitterness, self-loathing at having been taken in by her… all the things you’re experiencing now. You wouldn’t have gained anything by finding out earlier. But you would have lost four years.’
Purkiss swallowed, and for a moment thought his throat would stay closed permanently. ‘So the more years of your life you spend wallowing in delusion, the better?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Vale. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to know.’
They watched a cargo ship groan and blink its way down the river until it was out of sight. Purkiss said, ‘What’s happened to him?’
‘Rossiter? Yes, you have a right to know if anyone does.’ Vale rubbed his eye with the thumb of his cigarette hand. ‘It’s all very hush hush, no trial or anything. He’s kept his mouth shut, so far. Everything’s been tried, from the usual threats to an offer of full immunity.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh, of course. That was always going to be an option. And no, I don’t like it any more than you do. But in some ways it doesn’t matter because you know what drives him. He’d never accept something like that. No, my bet is we’ll never find out who else he was running, if there was anyone else. He’ll rot in a cell for the rest of his days.’
‘I’ve heard that before.’ Purkiss looked away.
‘You must have been tempted.’
In his mind’s eye Purkiss saw Rossiter cowering, injured chest forgotten as his hands came up to protect his face, the shots chipping and splintering the boat around him. When the shooting stopped he lowered his hands and looked at Purkiss. In his eyes was defeat, and acceptance.
Purkiss straightened, walked along the railing away from Vale. He saw movement below, and stopped.
From behind him Vale said: ‘So this is where you throw your badge and gun into the river.’
Down in the thicket of mud-smeared reeds something flopped wetly. A rodent of some sort.
‘What’s it to be?’ Vale said.
Purkiss turned to look at him. ‘What do you think?’
THE END
Acknowledgements
My thanks are due to Jon Elek, literary agent at A.P. Watt, for his enthusiasm, encouragement and editorial input. Thanks also to Stephen Hopkins for technical advice, Tony Buckley for pointing the way down some extremely interesting avenues, and Jane Dixon-Smith at JD Smith Design for the cover.
Finally, heartfelt thanks to my wife, Pippa, to whom this book is dedicated, for her love and forbearance.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I was born in England and raised near Johannesburg, South Africa. Currently I live near London with my wife and daughters, and I work full time as a doctor on the National Health Service.
Ratcatcher is my debut novel. The second in the John Purkiss series, Delivering Caliban, is also available for Kindle, and the third Purkiss novel, Jokerman, will be published in June 2013. My other published works include the thriller Severance Kill, and the short espionage novel Reunion and novelette Snout.
My blog is Dead Drop, where your comments are always welcome. If you’d like to email me, perhaps with comments about this novel (good or bad), please do: [email protected].
Finally, if you’ve enjoyed Ratcatcher and would like to leave a review on Amazon, even just a few lines, it’ll be much appreciated...!
Tim Stevens
Table of Contents
Copyright
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Table of Contents
Copyright
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR