Blood on the Water (3 page)

Of course he does.

*

When Mr Deacon finally returned to London he visited his wife’s grave. The day was warm – surprising for so early in the year – and a few sturdy daffodils fought for attention under the early sun. Quite how the killer had managed to dupe him so successfully Mr Deacon had taken a while to understand, but in a grudging way he admired the man’s nerve.

But he never forgot the image of the corpse in the water. And all the time he argued with the Italian police and swore his innocence, Mr Deacon had a bizarre feeling – a sensation of something almost otherworldly. The sensation persisted after he was released and all the way home to England.

Because he realised how close he had come to death and wondered
why
he had been spared. After all, the killer had had two choices: to play out the charade he was spinning, or take a more direct route and kill the only witness to his crime.

How easy it would have been for him. He could have returned to the cafe and told the manager it had all been a mistake, that the so-called body had been no more than a discarded suitcase, and that Mr Deacon had caught his cruise ship home. The manager would have shrugged and forgotten about it. Of course back at the boat Geoffrey Deacon would have been missed, searched for, but not found. When interviewed, his friends might say that he had been depressed about Abigail’s death; they might even suggest suicide. Never murder. After all, who would want to kill an English widower who had offended no one? Who could possibly have had a reason to murder a respectable art dealer?

It could so easily have gone that way, Mr Deacon realised. He could have been killed in Venice, and forgotten. So why was he still alive?

The answer was obvious.

Standing by his wife’s grave, Mr Deacon touched her headstone with the tips of his fingers.

‘Thank you, darling …’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you.’