I Saw Him Die: A Novel by Andrew Wilson

Author:Andrew Wilson [Wilson, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2020-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

When I awoke from a brief sleep, my mood was no better. The shadow of my uncomfortable encounter with Davison continued to haunt me. But there was something else: a realization that I didn’t have a clue about what to do next. I felt like I was drowning, thrown into the dark sea loch without a lifeline or a helping hand. If I couldn’t talk to Davison about the case, then there was little point in me being here. The doubts I had had about working with him and the SIS resurfaced.

I was stupid to think I could help. It was time for me to leave. I was worried that I had been away too long. I would wait until Inspector Hawkins gave me permission, of course, but as soon as he told me I was free to leave, I would make sure that I took a car back to Broadford, back to the hotel and the comforting presence of Rosalind, Carlo, and her sister. With them I could talk about the delights of Skye and the possibilities of sightseeing, enjoy nice cups of tea, hearty meals, and brisk walks by the sea, and finalize the details of my forthcoming wedding in Edinburgh.

I did not belong in this world of espionage and intrigue. I had never really belonged in it. Davison and his boss, Hartford, had flattered me into thinking that I had something to contribute, but in reality I knew that they had manipulated me. In the past I had struck lucky: I had used what little skills I possessed to search out and expose evil. But this case was too much for me. I would have to acknowledge that I had failed. Perhaps Davison would be relieved. I hoped that we could remain friends—after all, we had gone through so much together—but I understood that, once I had made that break, there was little chance that I would ever bump into him again. I would use the knowledge that I had obtained, or at least some of it, in my books. That would be the silver lining that came with this very dark cloud.

As I checked myself in the mirror, I wasn’t surprised to see an exhausted face staring back at me. The lines that I normally covered with powder seemed more defined, the shadows under my eyes more pronounced. And the light in my eyes that normally lifted a very plain and mediocre face seemed to have dimmed if not died. I couldn’t stomach breakfast or the prospect of sitting across the table from Davison, and so I quickly dressed and decided to go for a walk.

I knew from past experience that walking improved my spirits. I remembered the dreadful feeling of hopelessness that had almost engulfed me when I had been at a loss to decide how to finish my first published novel, The Mysterious Affair at Styles. My mother had packed me off to a hotel on Dartmoor and each afternoon I would stomp across the moorland, talking to myself about plot points and poisons.

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