‘I still think you should tell her.’ That small stubborn face; I remembered her winding her father up about Chloe’s cat. A born troublemaker.
Or someone who still believed in right and wrong. I faintly recalled what that was like.
‘I will tell her when it’s the right time. This isn’t the right time.’ I waited for a second. ‘Bethany, do you know what happened at Chloe’s dad’s house? Do you know why she came back early?’
‘No idea,’ she said instantly.
‘I think you have a very good idea.’
‘Not really.’
‘I think Chloe’s told you exactly why she couldn’t stay there.’
‘You can’t make me talk to you.’ She stood up. ‘This isn’t even a proper interview. And I don’t have to tell you anything.’
‘No, you don’t.’ I was determined not to show frustration with her, or disappointment, mainly because I knew she was looking for a reaction. ‘Thanks for your time, Bethany.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Unless you have anything else to say.’
She shook her head and went past me again, heading for the bedroom where I’d left Chloe.
‘Bethany?’ She looked back at me. ‘Not a word, remember?’
The door slammed behind her.
Making an exit, teenager style.
10
Derwent slept all the way to Oxfordshire, snoring uninhibitedly in the back seat. I didn’t really mind, not that he’d asked me. It gave me some time to think about Chloe, and her absolute reluctance to say what had driven her away from her father’s home. It had to be something that she was ashamed of. Something she wanted to keep secret. The question was whether it was something she had done or something someone had done to her.
Emery lived outside Lewknor, a small village between High Wycombe and Oxford, slap bang in the middle of an area of outstanding natural beauty. The traffic was light and we made good time, sliding down from the high ground of the Chilterns to the rolling green countryside that was still unspoilt, still postcard-perfect. When the satnav told me we were a couple of hundred metres away from the house I found a place to stop. It was a narrow road where the houses were a long way away from each other and surrounded by high walls or tall hedges. This was private, moneyed territory, the sort of place where you could convince yourself nothing bad ever happened.
‘Hey. Wake up.’ I reached back and shook Derwent’s knee until he came back to himself, his eyes screwed up against the light. ‘We’re here.’
‘Shit.’ He winced. ‘My mouth tastes like something died in it.’
I threw a packet of chewing gum at him and he caught it in his left hand even though I could have sworn he wasn’t looking. There was nothing wrong with his reflexes, anyway.
‘Have we got any water?’ He leaned forward so his forehead pressed against the headrest.
‘We don’t. I do.’
‘Please, Kerrigan.’
‘I love it when you beg.’ I handed him the bottle though, watching as he emptied it in one long series of gulps.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, surprised that he’d bothered to say it. That was how low the bar was set: simple courtesy could shock me.
‘What a shit day.’
‘We’ve had worse,’ I said, truthfully.
He grunted. ‘Burt wants to get rid of me.’
‘That’s not news. She’s never liked you.’ Justifiably. Derwent wasn’t in the business of making anyone’s life easier. Una was inclined to take it personally.
‘Yeah. But I’m actually thinking about it.’
‘What?’ I twisted around in my seat so I could see him properly. ‘Not really.’
‘I don’t think I can be bothered any more.’
‘Look, I know Burt is annoying, but the boss will be back soon—’
‘It’s not about that.’ Derwent sighed. ‘This wouldn’t be any easier if Godley was in charge.’
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ He looked away from me, staring out of the window as if he was going to have to sit an exam on the view.
It was a lie, I thought. He did know. He just didn’t want to talk to me about it. And why should he? He frequently threw himself into my private life with all the delicacy of a Labrador bounding into a stagnant pond, but it wasn’t something I encouraged.
Even so, I couldn’t ignore it.
‘If you ever want to talk about it—’
He shook his head, popping some gum into his mouth. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Is it Melissa?’
His eyelids flickered. Gotcha. ‘She doesn’t like the job.’
‘Why?’
‘The hours. The stress. The fact that I don’t talk to her about what we do. She says I shut her out.’ He glanced across at me. ‘She’s right. It’s deliberate.’
‘I don’t blame you. There are things civilians don’t want to know, even if they think they do,’ I said. ‘You’re protecting her.’
‘I’m protecting myself. I don’t want her to know about the things I think about.’ He slid down so his knees were jammed against the passenger seat, as if he needed the pain to counterbalance the ache inside him. I’d been there. I knew the signs. ‘You see enough of the ways people hurt each other and you start to believe that’s all there is.’
‘You wanted to be with Melissa because she was the light in the darkness,’ I reminded him. ‘That’s what you said to me before you got together.’
‘It’s making it worse.’ He said it without looking at me. ‘I can’t stop thinking about something bad happening to her or Thomas, or both of them, and how I couldn’t live with it.’
‘That’s what happens when you love someone. That’s the price you pay.’
‘I’ll lose her because of it.’
‘Not if you explain—’
‘I’ve tried.’ His voice was harsh. ‘I can’t tell her the truth. I don’t want to make her as scared as I am.’
‘But—’
‘Every night, I get Thomas’s clothes ready for the next day. I put out his uniform if he’s going to school. I put out his little jeans and a top if it’s the weekend. Socks. Pants. Every stitch he’s going to be wearing. Melissa thinks it’s sweet.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s because I need to know what he’s wearing in case he goes missing, or in case someone kills him. Every night I think about what it would be like for him to be gone. Preparing for the worst. And Melissa stands there smiling at me, thinking I’m playing Daddy.’ He took out his phone and flicked to the photos, skimming through them. ‘She thinks it’s so sweet the way I take pictures of him. She doesn’t know I’m getting a record of his face. Left profile, right profile, full face. Updated every couple of months, so if he disappears, there’s a recent set of pictures they can use.’ Thomas’s face flashed by on the screen, turned to the camera and away, smiling and serious, muddy and clean. ‘Who thinks like that? Who looks at a beautiful kid like Thomas and imagines him dead?’
‘I would probably do the same,’ I said. ‘It’s natural. We’ve done those investigations. It’s only that you’ve never had anyone to care about before.’
‘I would die for them.’ He slid his phone back into his pocket. ‘But I can’t say that to Melissa.’
‘You have to be honest with her or it’s not going to work out.’