Dead and Gone Read Online Free Page A

hair. ‘Lance Corporal Wilson? Is that you?’
    ‘Yes, that’s me.’
    ‘Tell me you’re not related to that woman. Tell me it’s only the name that’s the same.’
    ‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ He knew exactly to what she was referring, but was playing for time. Here it was again, a past he had no control over, rising up to spoil something he hoped was going to be good. At first, he couldn’t understand why Naomi was so angry. Then he remembered her surname, and felt a rising swell of nausea.
    ‘Tell … me … you’re … not … related … to … Linda … Wilson.’ Naomi spat the words out as if each one was poison.
    ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. I had no control over which bed I was born in. Yes, Linda Wilson is my sister. But I have had absolutely no contact with her since she ran away. And I had nothing to do with what happened before then.’
    ‘Since she ran away? You mean ran away with the millions of pounds she stole from her employers and all the poor, gulliblepeople who invested in the company, believing she was honest?’
    ‘That was none of my doing, so why are you angry with me?’
    ‘My name is Macaulay, as in Wilson Macaulay Industries.’
    She looked at the coffee mugs Dean was still holding. ‘You can keep those, Lance Corporal Wilson. A drink from you would stick in my throat.’
    She flung the envelopes at him, spun on her heel and stormed down the hallway. The door didn’t splinter behind her as she slammed it, but then it was a very sturdy piece of timber.
     
    Dean’s first week of leave had been miserable. During the months he’d been abroad, the prospect of seeing Naomi had been increasingly alluring. The disastrous outcome of that encounter had a shattering effect on the young soldier. For the rest of the week he remained inside the flat, nursing his self-pity until his mood of gloomy introspection bordered on depression. He had drunk more than was good for him, and the hangovers merely worsened his despair. His life seemed to stagger from one misfortune to a worse one.
    On the Wednesday morning, he had just finished a belated breakfast when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting callers, nor was he expecting a postal delivery. Could it be Naomi? The wild idea buoyed up his hopes, if only slightly.
    He opened the door to find a man and woman standing there. Dean blinked, still taking in this unexpected sight when the woman spoke.
    ‘Dean Wilson?’
    He nodded.
    ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Mironova and this is DC Pearce. May we come in?’
    Dean held the door wide. ‘What’s this about?’
    ‘We want to talk to you about an assault outside a nightclub before you were posted abroad.’ She glanced down at the paper in her hand and quoted the date. ‘We need you to go along with us to the police station, where we will conduct a formal interview.’
    A short time later, Dean found himself in an interview room at Helmsdale. When asked to comment under caution, he felt trapped. He could see his army career ending ingloriously with a dishonourable discharge. His nature would not allow him to deny responsibility, nor would his moral code tolerate lies. At the same time, his sense of honour would not allow him to drag Naomi into the sordid affair, even as part of his defence.
    Left helpless by the secret he would not reveal, and the lies he could not tell, Dean had no option. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, in answer to the repeated question. ‘I stabbed him.’
    Despite a barrage of questions, pressing him for a motive or anything by way of explanation, more than that he refused to say.
    Later, Clara told Nash, ‘There’s something really odd about this business. Apart from the bizarre nature of the attack, I mean. Wilson’s obviously hiding something, but what it is, I’ve no idea. He simply says he did it then shuts up. Not a word in his own defence, no explanation, no justification, extenuating circumstances, nothing whatsoever. At the same time, I don’t believe much of