Chapter Eight — The House in Seacroft

It was almost midnight when Salters returned to Pennington's house for the final time.

Pennington was sitting in the same chair.

The clock still showed eleven eighteen.

"You've worked it out," he said.

Salters removed his coat.

"Most of it."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I want to hear you say it."

Pennington laughed.

It was a terrible sound.

Not because it was loud, but because it was empty.

He looked towards the stopped clock.

"I didn't intend to kill him."

"Nobody ever does."

"He came here to threaten me."

"Why?"

Pennington closed his eyes.

And then, for the first time, he began to tell the truth.

Years earlier, Mercer and Pennington had been involved in something neither man had ever spoken about. Money had disappeared. Someone had taken the blame. A life had been ruined.

Mercer had kept evidence.

He had kept it for years.

And now he had returned.

Pennington had believed that killing him would end the matter.

Instead, it had brought the whole buried history back into the light.

Salters listened without interruption.

When Pennington finished, the house was silent.

Outside, rain struck the windows.

"You made one mistake," Salters said.

Pennington looked at him.

"The clock?"

"No."

"The body?"

"No."

"The address?"

Salters shook his head.

"You made the mistake before you killed him."

Pennington frowned.

"You believed that Daniel Mercer was frightened of you."

Salters paused.

"He wasn't."

Pennington's face changed.

Salters continued.

"He wanted you to kill him."