Katie flushes as she makes the connection, her fingers twitching as she fights the urge to touch the location of the two moles.
‘I imagine that’s becoming increasingly common knowledge,’ says the superintendent, and Katie’s flush deepens.
The two men lock eyes, and Katie wonders if she’s going to need to intervene. She can see that DS Peters has already pulled back a little.
‘We need to find a way to work together,’ she says, resting her hand lightly on Nathan’s shoulder.
‘What I need,’ says the superintendent, ‘is people who can follow orders. I told you not to leave him alone.’
‘I left him locked in my flat.’
‘And yet, here he is. How is that, exactly?’ He looks at Nathan again.
Katie follows Nathan’s gaze over the superintendent’s shoulder to a row of cars, one of which is parked half up on the kerb.
‘How did Nathan’s brother get here?’ asks Katie, suddenly seeking to shift her boss’s attention. ‘If it was him. We should check for CCTV.’
‘We already are.’
‘And where has Markham gone?’ says Nathan. ‘If it wasn’t him. He must have put up a struggle. There must be evidence.’
Katie looks out the window at other members of the team moving in and out of the house, wearing the same white paper suits that she and Nathan have been given to replace clothes that have already gone off for analysis. Cringing, she wonders what they might find on Nathan’s borrowed clothes besides evidence of her shame.
‘Neither of you are part of this anymore,’ says Superintendent Taylor, popping open the door, the light flicking on above them again. Suddenly DC Alice Jones, the youngest member of Katie’s team, or what she’s slowly starting to accept is not her team, appears at the window.
‘We found some kind of journal on the bed upstairs,’ she says, lifting up a large bagged object to show the superintendent, before adding a belated, ‘sir.’
‘Wait there,’ he says, grabbing his hat and climbing out of the car.
He’s gone for several minutes, time in which the light in the car goes out and Katie and Nathan say nothing, both focused on the window to see what’s going on outside. DC Jones, DS Peters and Superintendent Taylor are huddled together at the back of the forensics van, deep in conversation. When the superintendent returns he’s holding the same evidence bag and is wearing a glove on one hand. This time he climbs into the driver’s seat.
‘You’d better look at this,’ he says, pulling open the bag. It looks like it originally had a red cover, but is now covered in hundreds of doodles, all in black ink, all with jagged edges and with the nib digging deep into the card. Katie has pushed herself ahead of Nathan this time, squeezing between the front seats, and so it’s only when she turns to ask him if he has any idea what the book is, that she sees he’s fallen back and covered his face with his hands.
‘Mine,’ he says, his voice muffled by more than just his fingers. ‘It’s my book. I wrote it when I couldn’t cope, when it all got too much.’ He lowers his hands and stares at Katie. ‘Please don’t let anyone else read it.’
‘It’s evidence,’ she says, softly. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’
‘No,’ says Nathan, in weak acceptance, eyes closing as though trying to shut out the world. When they open a couple of seconds later, they’re stretched wide and he’s moving forward, finger jabbing. ‘Evidence! That’s exactly what it is! It’s evidence of how Markham knew all the things he couldn’t have known! I talk about the doctor in there, about how he failed us. I talk about Mum, about the drink, about the pills, about what she said in her note. I talk about Christian, about the difference, the birthmark. I talk about beans and sausage; I talk about swirls; I draw a load of fucking swirls!’ He traces one more in the air ahead of him, round and round towards the centre. ‘I talk about my fears, my desires, my fantasies…’ He’s not holding back now, everything is coming out, and Katie suddenly wants to slow him down, or shut him up in case he says too much. Perhaps spotting the concern on her face he appears to realise this himself, visibly paling and wrapping his arms across his front, holding his confession in. ‘Nightmares, as well,’ he adds, and Katie’s wondering if he’s written about imagined murders, possibly even murders similar to those they’re investigating now.
‘Where did you leave the book?’ she asks.
‘I don’t remember,’ he says, his face twisting in confusion. ‘Why the hell can’t I remember?’
‘I have an idea why,’ says Superintendent Taylor quietly, and Katie shoots him a look.
Nathan appears not to have heard, gripping the back of his neck and drawing in a long breath. ‘After my parents died… I filled up all the pages in a hurry.’ He recovers and looks straight at Katie. ‘It was probably at my parents’ home, though. Markham could have found it and used it to frame Christian.’
Superintendent Taylor closes the bag and opens the car door again. ‘It’s a line of enquiry. But for now, our focus remains the same and we need to find both Markham and Christian, as quickly as possible.’ He turns to look in the back. ‘Go home. Get some rest. And come to the station to make your statement in the morning.’ He directs his stare at Nathan, who seems not to be looking at anything at all. ‘Keep out of trouble. And stay out of the way. I don’t want a load of false sightings when the photo gets out.’
Katie watches her boss walk away, passing the evidence bag to DC Jones before pulling off his latex glove and retrieving his hat from the back of the forensics van. When he walks past the van and out of view there’s a flash of lights in the distance; the press, eager to get the very latest on ‘The Cartoonist’, desperate to find out if there’s been another victim. She looks down at the paper suit they’ve dressed her in and considers how close she came to being one. She can see from her reflection in the window that she still has a line of chocolate icing drawn across her neck. She wants to wipe it off, she wants to scrub every inch of her body, but for now she doesn’t seem able to move. She slumps down in the seat and draws in a long breath. One hand is squeezed inside the other, and her knuckles start to whiten.
‘Give me the keys to your car,’ says Nathan. ‘I’ll drive us back.’
‘Yeah, right!’ she says. ‘You’ve broken enough laws already.’
‘I have,’ says Nathan, distractedly. ‘I have.’ He seems childlike and excited, the discovery of the journal convincing him of his brother’s innocence and lightening his burden.
Katie turns for the door before her unsteady smile slips away completely. She doesn’t want to spoil his moment. She knows it may not last.
Twenty-Six
The journey back to Katie’s flat is silent. He’d like to talk to her about the journal, about how it all makes sense to him now, but at the same time he’s fearful of the questions she and the others will ask once they’ve read it, once they’ve shared his most intimate thoughts. He risks a glance across and wonders if he shouldn’t be saying something to check she’s okay, although it’s clear that she isn’t. Her driving is unusually reckless and aggressive. Back at Markham’s he’d witnessed her retreat, slipping back into the place he’s been so many times himself, unable and unwilling to process emotion, but now that she’s re-emerged, one emotion seems to be dominating all others.
‘That fucking idiot!’ she shouts out as onrushing headlights flash their own complaint.
The glare of lights, alongside the horns, the swearing and the scream of the Rover’s engine has given Nathan an appalling headache.
‘Stop!’ he shouts as they race towards a pedestrian stepping out into the road.
‘Relax,’ says Katie, as a dab of the brakes and a twitch of the steering wheel guides them by.
‘We have to go back,’ says Nathan. ‘I did that – I stepped out like that so I could steal somebody’s car. I left it at Markham’s.’
‘I guessed as much,’ says Katie. ‘There will be a report. The guys will probably put two and two together.’