At the top of the stairs, I walked straight to the end of the hall first, where the two youngest shared a room. It looked reasonably in order. The dresser drawers weren’t all fully shut, and the bedclothes were a bit mussed, but nothing had been seriously disturbed. I straightened things a bit and headed to Fred’s room next, which was in a similar state to Michael and Sean’s, except for the bed. It was perfectly made, even though Freddie hadn’t properly made his bed one day in his entire life. The answer to how his bed had come to its present state wasn’t all that hard to ascertain. A blue envelope was placed on the very center of his quilt, addressed: To my son.
I snatched up the letter and pocketed it. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t explode were I to read it just then. So I pulled Freddie’s bedclothes free of their ridiculous corners and then headed downstairs.
About halfway down, I stopped on the landing once more and nodded at Sherlock, who jumped up from his spot reclining on the bottom stair and ran up to meet me. Alice stood in the kitchen doorway, tugging at her bottom lip and staring at the now-shut front door as if it were about to swing open and attack her. My brothers followed Lock up the steps and started pelting me with questions like, “Did you see what they found in the bins? No one would show us,” and, “Is it true dad killed people with a sword?” and, of course, “They didn’t take any of our stuff, did they?”
The last was Seanie, and I could have kissed that boy for giving me a way to escape what was bound to be well more than a hundred questions to answer that night.
“You’d better go check your rooms for missing things.” A trio of wide eyes was the only response I got before they all stomped up the stairs in a race of desperation. I called after them, “Check everything twice!”
“Well and truly distracted,” Lock said, leaning against the wall. “Am I next?”
I nodded, but with a smile. “You might as well go. I’m just going to tidy up—”
My mobile rang as I was speaking, and I answered it without thinking.
“Junior.”
“Detective Day.”
I’d successfully avoided calls from Detective Sergeant Day for more than a week now. And truthfully, the very last thing I needed that night was to be forced to speak to yet another policeman. I’d heard too much from DS Day since he’d tackled my father to the ground and cuffed his bloodstained hands behind his back. He mostly phoned with messages from my dad, but never forced the issue or acted upset when I summarily ended the calls. He seemed to feel guilty about having to contact me at all, leaving me to decide if he was still a subservient accomplice of the now-disgraced DS Moriarty, or if he was just acting as message boy out of habit.
But that night he was all business. “He wants to see you. Tomorrow morning at seven.”
I glanced at Lock, who was frowning.
“No,” I said. “In fact, you tell him that my answer isn’t just ‘no,’ it’s ‘never.’?”
That seemed to brighten Sherlock’s mood. He’d obviously surmised what I was saying no to. This wasn’t the first summons I’d received to meet with my father, and while I’d refused every one, Lock still acted relieved when I did, as if he expected me to trot down to the jail at any moment.
I turned my back to Lock and lowered my voice.
“And you can also relay that his sneaky little mission was thwarted. I won’t let my brothers hear even one more word from that pathetic old man. Do we understand each other?”
DS Day, just as thick as he ever was, asked, “Well, are you going to see him or not?”
I paused to consider the various blistering ways I could answer that question, but decided to just end the call.
I suddenly didn’t want to be in the house anymore. After so many nights by myself in that place, it felt stuffy now that there were five extra bodies. Noisy. I should’ve made sure my brothers weren’t torturing Alice on her first night. I should’ve welcomed Alice and found out all that had happened and what we’d do next. I should’ve thought of a way to send Sherlock home peacefully. But all I could think was that I wanted out.
So when Lock stopped me from going upstairs with a hand on my wrist, I barely kept myself from slapping it away. “Come downstairs,” he said. “I’ll make us some tea.”
I looked from his hand to the door, then shook my head and pulled my hand free. “I have to go.”
I’d pushed out the front door before Lock or Alice could stop me, though they both called my name. Had I given it any thought, I might have realized that while the police cars and tape were gone, the crowd of onlookers, protesters, and press wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. Thankfully, there were only a handful left, and only one cameraman quick enough to snap a few pictures before I started to run. Whether by luck, surprise, or laziness, no one seemed to follow me, and soon I blended into the busy sidewalk, though I didn’t slow my pace. Running meant leaving everything behind just that much faster. Running meant finally being able to breathe.
Chapter 4