Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

‘No, no,’ Violetta said. ‘It was a prop. Like a toy. He wasn’t well. He was a sick man. He didn’t mean to do the things he did.’

‘Where is he? Where’d he go?’

King said, ‘He’s under arrest.’

‘The police are here?’

‘Not yet.’

‘So he’s in a room or something,’ Caleb said. ‘Can I talk to him? Ask him why he did that to me? I didn’t like it.’

King’s heart broke.

Violetta said, ‘Maybe later. He’s in time out.’

Caleb rolled his eyes. ‘Do I look like I’m five? I’m seven. I know what time out is. He’s not in time out.’

Despite the carnage all around them, King managed a smile. ‘Caleb.’

The boy looked immediately to him.

King said, ‘You’re not allowed to speak to him. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good lad.’

When King’s gaze lifted up to Violetta, he saw something in her eyes he’d never seen before. He wasn’t able to articulate what it was. He couldn’t even get close. But he knew it wasn’t bad.

She said, ‘There’s something I need to tell you. After this is over.’

‘Okay.’

Slater said to her and Alexis, ‘Could you two watch Caleb for a minute? There’s someone we need to speak to.’

They all turned and saw her there, still sitting on the deck chair, looking out over the body of water.

Alexis said, ‘Go for it.’

She and Violetta led Caleb into a spare room, one of the ones without a corpse in it.

The draperies blew inward with the wind coming off the bay, framing the old woman and the corpse behind her.

‘How do you think this is going to go?’ King muttered.

Slater shrugged. ‘Can’t predict something like this.’

‘Anything I should know before we go out there?’

‘There’s nothing I know that you don’t.’

A pause.

Slater said, ‘Not anymore.’

They made sure their weapons were out of sight so they could maintain the illusion of respectability, and went outside. Nothing had changed. It was still a beautiful summer’s day. If you could tune out the faint whine of sirens and the crackling of the sedan burning in the entranceway and the distant shouts of horrified resort-goers, it was almost peaceful.

The old woman stared at the water.

If it was the wrong side stepping out, she didn’t want to turn and face the bullet.

King said, ‘Lyla, it’s us.’

Lyla Barrow turned.

89

Somehow, her face was still warm and inviting.

But her eyes were dead.

They would be for some time.

She interlocked her fingers and rested her hands on her top knee. Trying to maintain composure in the face of her world being flipped upside down.

With no animosity, she said, ‘I’m not going to apologise for what I did.’

Nearly seventy years into her life, her world had shifted in a heartbeat. She worked diligently at her job in customer service, she tended to her grandson’s every need, she emanated love for her husband of thirty years, she lived out a quiet and peaceful existence she always imagined she’d carry on living until the end of her days. That same placating routine was still possible — King was sure of it. But it wouldn’t be the same.

Things would never be the same.

Her husband had turned out to be someone else entirely, and now he was gone from her life, his departure brutal in both the literal and metaphorical sense. The Walcotts were finished, their operation almost dismantled, but that didn’t remove the memories of what had happened. Poor, hapless, innocent gambling victim Teddy Barrow had been pulling the wool over her eyes, secretly plotting to strip his brother of everything the man was worth. And he’d done so, through a ruthless series of executions, using that trademark Walcott soullessness to detach himself from what he was really doing — starting a civil war.

There’d been blood on Teddy’s hands, just as there’d been blood on Dylan’s hands, even though neither of them were ever involved in the groundwork.

That’s what you can do with smarts.

Get others to do your dirty work.

That was the Walcotts’ biggest achievement in life, and if they had tombstones King figured that quote should go on them.

Now Slater joined them on the patio. The water didn’t so much as ripple. The bay was quiet, the sirens still distant. Guests in the neighbouring villas had surely fled by now.

King said, ‘We’re not expecting you to.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’ Lyla said, her eyes unmoving, locked on the gun in King’s holster. ‘That would tie everything up neatly. You could move on, leave this all behind, forget about it. You two deserve that. And I deserve it, too.’

‘Why would you deserve death?’

‘I knew who Dylan was,’ Lyla said. ‘All those months ago when I went to him, and he whispered soothing reassurances in my ear, I could see his soul. There were no depths to his darkness. So I was aware of what he’d do, and I still came here. Even worse — I brought Caleb. My short-sightedness almost got us both killed and if it weren’t for you we’d be at the bottom of this bay behind me. I’m sure of it.’

‘Don’t punish yourself for instinctive decisions,’ Slater said. ‘You were trying to survive. You went to Dylan precisely because you knew who he was. You knew the influence and power he wielded on this island, and the surrounding ones. If you tried to run on your own, it was only a matter of time before Dylan caught you. You weren’t sure whether he wanted to harm you or not, but if he wanted to he absolutely could, and there’d be nothing you could do to stop him. So you swallowed your pride and came to him for mercy. That’s the hard decision. Running is the easy path, and you were aware enough to know it never would have worked. You’re old, without a bad bone in your body. How could you hide from an all-powerful titan of industry?’

‘I knew if I came here Teddy would die,’ Lyla said, the whites of her eyes bloodshot from holding back tears. ‘I assume that’s the case.’

King said, ‘Yes.’

She bowed her head.

‘It wasn’t us.