“Unfortunately?”
“Oh, yes. That makes him all the more harmful. If he was evil, we’d kill him. No, he’s…chaotic. He’s left a lot of trouble in his wake. It has to stop, Mr. Spenser. You were a policeman, till he ruined you: you must know it has to stop. If he would just go away, or be discreet…but he won’t, and isn’t, and it seems he can’t be. And he will go on causing havoc until he’s prevented. Look at you. What has he done to you?” Day’s voice was sympathetic, almost unbearably so. “The worst thing is, I’d believe his intentions were good.”
He tapped the sketch, where one of the long tears reached almost to the pencilled face. “I saw the painter at work. I know how it was. He’ll have torn the paper, slowly, till the rip reached almost to your skull, and if it had reached there your troubles would have been over. Pastern didn’t let that happen. But at what cost, to you, to the dead men, very nearly to me and those close to me? At what cost to everyone, now that the Metropolitan Police and London’s practitioners are at loggerheads? How much trouble can he be allowed to cause?”
“I know, sir. I know.”
“God knows I sympathise, Spenser,” Day said softly. “Sometimes the wrong person is…inches away from being the right one. And vice versa.” A fleeting, foxlike smile twitched at his lips. “But you need to give him up. He’s an airborne catastrophe. Help us get him off the streets. I may even be able to help you in return.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Yes, you do,” Day said. “He’s in London. He’s told you some things—you clearly knew about the painter—but not all, because you didn’t know about the picture of you. You’ve an expressive face,” he added, at Ben’s look. “You’re talking to him. He cares about you. Therefore, you have an assignation, or a place to look, or some way of meeting him. Don’t you?”
Ben concentrated on keeping his features still. He knew damned well that he didn’t have an expressive face. Day had disturbingly clear sight.
“I can help you,” Day repeated. “I can’t wipe your record but I can put in a good word. Get you off the hook with the Met. You can take a new name, live without looking over your shoulder. Make a new start. What are you doing now, looking for piecework? Hauling bricks? Are you even eating properly?” He cocked his head to one side with a slight frown. “Don’t be a fool, Spenser. Tell us where to find Pastern. We’ll pick him up and pin him down, and your life can start again.”
“Pin him down,” Ben said. “You mean, cripple him?”
Day’s russet brows drew together. “Who said that?”
“Mrs. Gold.”
“Of course she did,” Day muttered. “Frankly, then…if he can’t control his powers, they’ll have to be controlled for him. He can’t just dance through the sky taunting the Metropolitan Police. I’m not going to lie to you. We will probably hobble him, yes.”
Ben swallowed. “I can’t…”
“Can’t do that to him? Can’t ask him to face the direct consequences of his own actions, so that instead you have to pay, for the rest of your life, serving another gaol sentence for something we both know you didn’t intend, slipping further into poverty and degradation, while he goes blithely on his way? Is he worth that?”
“No. I know.”
“If he was worth it, he’d hand himself in rather than watch you suffer. Do you think he will?”
“He saved me from the painter,” Ben said, clinging to that.
“He bartered four lives for yours. But the point is, Spenser, those were other people. Not himself. It’s his skin at stake now. Perhaps you know him better than I do, but…”
Ben stared ahead, unseeing, adrift. He didn’t know what he owed Jonah, or if he could forget what had happened. He knew what he should do, in the interests of justice, no matter Jonah’s motives. He was still so much a policeman, even if they’d taken that from him.
But to cripple him, to bring that glittering spirit to the ground…
“You can talk to me, in confidence,” Day said gently. “You might as well. It’s not going to get any worse for you. And I do understand.”
“Do you?”
“More than anyone else will, certainly. Here.” The bonds that held Ben down shivered away. He jerked his arms up from the chair, in involuntary reaction. He didn’t try to escape. That, it was quite clear, would not happen.
“Now.” Day tipped his head to the side. “You loved him?”
“Yes,” Ben said, defying Day, and the world, and his own damned stupidity. “Yes, I loved him.”
“And now?”
“He left me. He put me in gaol. He ruined me. What do you think?”
Day shrugged. “Tell me.”