The clerk called Kieran, and the door at the back of the room opened, and he came in, and I felt my heart lift at the sight of him, the way it lifts when you see the shore after a long stretch of open water. He wore his best jacket, the dark one he keeps for Sundays, and his boots were polished, and his hair was combed, and he looked uncomfortable in the formal room, the way a man who lives outdoors always looks indoors, but he walked to the front with his shoulders straight, and he took the stand, and he laid his big hands on the rail, and he looked at the hearing chair, and he nodded.
"Mr. Kieran," the chair said, "you are the lock-keeper at the river lock near the Wachau Valley. Please tell this authority what you saw on the evening of the anniversary cruise."
Kieran cleared his throat, and he spoke slowly, in the plain, careful way of a man who is used to measuring his words the way he measures the water in his lock. "I was at my lock that evening," he said. "It was dusk, and the Danube Empress was passing, coming down from the valley, with her lights on, and her music playing, and I could see the people on her deck, small and bright against the dark water. I was watching her pass, the way I always watch the boats pass, because it is my job, and because it is my pleasure. And then I saw a woman go over the side."
The room went still, and Kieran went on, his voice steady. "She did not fall. I have seen people fall, and I know what a fall looks like. A fall is a slip, and a cry, and arms reaching out. This was not a fall. She went over backwards, all at once, as if she had been pushed, hard, from behind. I have watched that river for thirty years, and I know the difference between an accident and a crime, and that was a crime. And I saw the man who pushed her. He was standing on the deck, behind her, and his arms were out, and he was looking down at the water after her, and then he stepped back, and he was gone, into the crowd."
The hearing chair leaned forward. "Mr. Kieran, can you identify the man you saw on the deck?"
Kieran looked across the room, and his eyes found Landon, and they stayed there, and his voice did not waver. "Yes," he said. "It was him. Landon Haversham. I saw his face in the light from the deck. I had seen him before, on the river, on his mother's boats, and I knew him. And I know what I saw. He pushed her. He pushed Theodora Haversham into the Danube, and he left her there, in the dark, in the cold water, and he went back to his party."
Landon's lawyer rose, and his voice was sharp. "Mr. Kieran, it was dusk. It was dark. You were at a distance. You cannot possibly be certain of what you saw, or of whom you saw."
Kieran turned to him, and his face was calm, and his hands did not move from the rail. "I have kept that lock for thirty years," he said. "I know the river at dusk, and I know the river at dawn, and I know the river in fog and in rain, and I know how far I can see, and I know what I can see. The boat was close. The deck lights were on. I saw his face. I saw her go over. And then I ran to my boat, and I went out onto the river, and I found her in the water, and I pulled her out, and she was alive, and she was cold, and she told me who she was, and she told me what had happened. And I have not doubted it for a single day since."
He paused, and he looked at me, and his eyes were kind, and I thought of the cottage above the river, and the fire, and the blanket, and the tea, and the long nights when I had been afraid and he had sat beside me and told me the river would keep me safe. "She was in the water for a long time," he said, "and the water was cold, and the current was strong, and if I had been five minutes later, she would not be here today. I know that. And she knows that. And he knows that too, I think, because he has not looked at me once since I walked into this room."
The hearing chair thanked him, and Kieran stepped down, and he walked back through the room, and as he passed my seat, he put his hand on my shoulder, just for a moment, and I put my hand over his, and I felt the warmth of it, and the strength, and I knew that whatever happened next, I would not face it alone. Behind us, Gwendolen was crying quietly, and Zane was staring at the table, and Rhys had his head bowed, and Landon sat with his face in his hands, and Xavier sat beside him, pale and still, and the room was silent, and the river moved on outside the window, grey and steady, carrying everything away, and bringing everything home again.
Chapter 35
— Landon's Last Lie
The hearing chair turned to Landon, and the room went quiet, and I could feel every eye in the room turn toward him. "Mr. Haversham," the chair said, "you have heard the evidence presented today. You have the opportunity to answer it. Please speak."