manoeuvre.
And she left the rear window and — with her hands now feeling icy — crab-crawled her way to the back of the car, then, tilting down, needing to get her head … down.
Close to the bottom, then turning.
To see the licence plate, a thick smudge of collected dirt and grit blocking the number.
A wipe with her hand, the debris flew away but also created a cloud that made it impossible to see.
She held her breath, and then as quickly reminded herself to breathe. Slow, steady, slow …
She hadn’t checked her air for a while.
Not a good thing, she thought.
Seconds waiting while the cloud she had created cleared.
And then — she saw the number.
She repeated the succession of letters and numbers in her head, over and over until she would no more forget it than her children’s birthdates.
And when that was done, she looked up, and slowly, no faster than her escaping bubbles, she began to surface.
*
Jack saw Sarah pop to the surface. He had been mad with worry, repeatedly looking at his watch.
Sarah had told him that it might be a twenty-minute dive. Maybe twenty-five.
She had just passed thirty minutes down when she surfaced over by the rocky ledge, their target spot.
She started swimming to the shore; Jack saw that she had her snorkel in her mouth.
Had she run out of air?
The actual swimming on the surface looked strenuous, but she kept coming, steady, Jack feeling helpless, standing here waiting.
The sun wasn’t down yet; but the continuing thick clouds made the twilight so dark.
Then, Sarah was only yards away, and she stood up, all the weight of her gear now dead weight.
She walked straight to him, spitting out the snorkel, pushing her mask to the top of her head beside the amp.
She wasn’t smiling.
Instead she staggered towards him.
“Found the car,” she said.
“Trask’s?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Jack handed her a towel and waited for her to say more.
“Not a Vauxhall,” she said.
“Could be a rental?”
“I don’t think so, Jack.”
She wiped her face with the towel. “I got the number. We need to ask Tony if he can track the owner.”
Jack started to dig out his phone.
“And Jack. Jack. Inside the car.”
He looked right at her. They hadn’t talked at all about what she might see.
She’s a mom, he thought. And who knows what could have been down there …
“Did you—”
“No,” she said to the unanswered question, both of them knowing what that was.
Did you see a body?
Then: “But I did see … God … I saw—”
She had held it together.
Up to now.
But now, no way to stop those slow tears that formed.
“Bit of a dress, Jack.”
Then as if it needed repeating.
“ Bit of a dress …”
And he put his arm around her and walked her to the RAV4 to get her gear off, call Tony, get away from this bleak lake.
*
By the time Sarah was dry and dressed, Jack’s phone rang.
And with that, they knew just where to find the owner of the car.
17. Fireworks
By the time they got to the outdoor concert, the Cherringham Symphony Orchestra was well into the final piece, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture .
Jack kept looking at Sarah to see if she had recovered from the dive, from what she had seen.
She gave him a reassuring smile.
He just had to hope that was all she saw. A piece of floating material and nothing more.
Let the police find the rest.
Sarah had called Alan … and his night-time desk person said that he was already “on site” but would meet up with them.
Jack looked around the temporary outdoor arena. The audience — some on lawn chairs, others standing, ready for the big finish — had their eyes trained on the brightly lit stage, on the orchestra.
And off, to the side, cordoned off in the darkness, he spotted the three cannons with a matching number of men in revolutionary-era redcoats manning them.
Redcoats.
We’re not in Valley Forge, he thought.
And as they weaved their way forward, he saw other people.
Terry Hamblyn with
And she left the rear window and — with her hands now feeling icy — crab-crawled her way to the back of the car, then, tilting down, needing to get her head … down.
Close to the bottom, then turning.
To see the licence plate, a thick smudge of collected dirt and grit blocking the number.
A wipe with her hand, the debris flew away but also created a cloud that made it impossible to see.
She held her breath, and then as quickly reminded herself to breathe. Slow, steady, slow …
She hadn’t checked her air for a while.
Not a good thing, she thought.
Seconds waiting while the cloud she had created cleared.
And then — she saw the number.
She repeated the succession of letters and numbers in her head, over and over until she would no more forget it than her children’s birthdates.
And when that was done, she looked up, and slowly, no faster than her escaping bubbles, she began to surface.
*
Jack saw Sarah pop to the surface. He had been mad with worry, repeatedly looking at his watch.
Sarah had told him that it might be a twenty-minute dive. Maybe twenty-five.
She had just passed thirty minutes down when she surfaced over by the rocky ledge, their target spot.
She started swimming to the shore; Jack saw that she had her snorkel in her mouth.
Had she run out of air?
The actual swimming on the surface looked strenuous, but she kept coming, steady, Jack feeling helpless, standing here waiting.
The sun wasn’t down yet; but the continuing thick clouds made the twilight so dark.
Then, Sarah was only yards away, and she stood up, all the weight of her gear now dead weight.
She walked straight to him, spitting out the snorkel, pushing her mask to the top of her head beside the amp.
She wasn’t smiling.
Instead she staggered towards him.
“Found the car,” she said.
“Trask’s?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Jack handed her a towel and waited for her to say more.
“Not a Vauxhall,” she said.
“Could be a rental?”
“I don’t think so, Jack.”
She wiped her face with the towel. “I got the number. We need to ask Tony if he can track the owner.”
Jack started to dig out his phone.
“And Jack. Jack. Inside the car.”
He looked right at her. They hadn’t talked at all about what she might see.
She’s a mom, he thought. And who knows what could have been down there …
“Did you—”
“No,” she said to the unanswered question, both of them knowing what that was.
Did you see a body?
Then: “But I did see … God … I saw—”
She had held it together.
Up to now.
But now, no way to stop those slow tears that formed.
“Bit of a dress, Jack.”
Then as if it needed repeating.
“ Bit of a dress …”
And he put his arm around her and walked her to the RAV4 to get her gear off, call Tony, get away from this bleak lake.
*
By the time Sarah was dry and dressed, Jack’s phone rang.
And with that, they knew just where to find the owner of the car.
17. Fireworks
By the time they got to the outdoor concert, the Cherringham Symphony Orchestra was well into the final piece, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture .
Jack kept looking at Sarah to see if she had recovered from the dive, from what she had seen.
She gave him a reassuring smile.
He just had to hope that was all she saw. A piece of floating material and nothing more.
Let the police find the rest.
Sarah had called Alan … and his night-time desk person said that he was already “on site” but would meet up with them.
Jack looked around the temporary outdoor arena. The audience — some on lawn chairs, others standing, ready for the big finish — had their eyes trained on the brightly lit stage, on the orchestra.
And off, to the side, cordoned off in the darkness, he spotted the three cannons with a matching number of men in revolutionary-era redcoats manning them.
Redcoats.
We’re not in Valley Forge, he thought.
And as they weaved their way forward, he saw other people.
Terry Hamblyn with
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