They sit next to each other on a deep sofa in the middle of the room, twisting to look across at Malcolm Barclay on a reclining armchair. He has it upright now, his posture even more so, a cup and saucer balanced on his knee. Katie can’t help but laugh to herself at how ridiculous he looks, not at all the man he would have been when her dad was working with him. Back then, she’s sure it would have been a polystyrene cup and a bacon butty. Here he’s offering Duchy Original biscuits carefully arranged on a bone china plate.
While he’d been organising all this, possibly buying himself time to prepare his story, Katie and Nathan had looked around the room, focusing on the detail rather than the impression it was intended to give. On a table in the corner there were more than a dozen silver-framed photos showing Barclay and his wife, the children, the grandchildren and the dog, which appears not to be around anymore. The one that had instantly caught Katie’s eye was of two young men standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling broadly into the camera. Katie had gasped the moment she saw it; it had been so long since she had dared look at a photo of her dad as he used to be. By her calculation he must have been about her age in the photo, tall and fit and with a full head of hair.
‘So, your dad’s been talking?’ says Barclay.
‘Indeed,’ says Katie. ‘There was something he said a while back, out of nowhere: one of the few things he has said in the last few months that has made any sense. It was like he was himself again, for maybe thirty seconds, nothing more. He took me by the hand and made me swear that I’d do it, like it was the most important thing in the world to him.’ She glances over Barclay’s shoulder, giving the impression she’s reliving the moment. ‘He said he had doubts over Maclean’s guilt. Said I had to look for him, to do all I could to be certain myself.’
‘Well, tell him not to worry. There was more than sufficient evidence. He found him standing over the girl with a knife in his hand, chased him and the bastard slipped and fell.’
‘But you weren’t there?’ asks Katie, and for the first time she can see discomfort in his face.
‘Yes, I was,’ he says, quickly. Too quickly. ‘Of course I was. Check the report if you want. I saw it all.’
‘Fine,’ says Katie, not wanting to push too hard too early on. ‘What can you tell me about Emma Pritchard?’
‘The first girl?’ Barclay starts to stir his tea very slowly with a silver spoon. ‘About her, very little. She was from a good family. I used to see a lot of bad ones, so I always noticed when the love was there. And as far as we were ever able to discern there was no motive beyond the lust of that sick bastard.’
‘There were never any other suspects? No footprints, no fingerprints, no DNA?’
‘None of the first two, but I imagine plenty of the latter. We’ve not gone back to check it, though. We had no need. We found the right guy.’
‘How do you know that?’ asks Nathan, a sudden and unwelcome interruption that brings a glare from Katie.
‘Because we caught him at it,’ he snaps, ‘with another little girl.’
Katie allows a moment of silence, as she has done in so many formal interviews, finding the perfect point at which to change direction. She studies her hands, considers the scratches and scrapes she’s received in the last few days. ‘Are you ready to tell me the truth now?’ she says finally, calmly. ‘Trust me, it doesn’t need to go any further.’
‘What the hell are you on about?’
‘I’m sorry, Malcolm, but I think it’s time.’
Barclay opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. His broad shoulders rise and fall, sinking lower with every breath. ‘They said you were like him, always following every rule, but never knowing when to stop, always pushing for the answer…’
‘No matter the cost,’ says Katie, nodding for him to continue.
‘I did it for Simon,’ he says eventually. ‘And for you. You were everything to him.’ He reaches for his tea, but his hand stops short. ‘Your dad and I went there on a hunch; he always had such good instincts. We got separated looking around the farm, and when I walked into the grain barn and saw your dad holding the girl, I thought he’d just untied her and that monster had got away. But then he nodded up towards a metal gantry by the roof. “Call it in,” he said. “One man. Dead.” I asked him if he was sure, and this time he looked towards the ground outside the window. I didn’t bother to go and check if he was right. I asked if he’d fallen, and your dad just shook his head. I couldn’t believe it. Or rather, I could believe it because of the way he’d been talking in the days before. The death of Emma Pritchard, a girl the same age as you, had done something to him, made him… different.’
‘What about the second girl?’ says Katie, feeling the need to move things along. ‘She must have kept quiet too.’
‘She’d been drugged, and only came round a few minutes later.’
‘By which time you’d agreed to make up a story?’
‘Listen, I don’t feel any guilt about it. The guy deserved to die. He would have killed Tracy, there can be no doubt. And he had previous, plenty of it: violence, drug use, assault, even rape of a minor.’ He catches her eye and tries to summon up a smile. ‘I think your dad used to meet up with her sometimes.’
Katie nods but doesn’t say a word, her hand coming up to her throat again, her fingers following the line of an imaginary necklace.
‘We both used to get Christmas cards,’ Malcolm Barclay continues. ‘I guess they stopped when she wanted to stop thinking about it and move on with her life. Which is a good life from what I can tell, from my own enquiries.’
‘So you know where she is now?’ asks Nathan.
‘I do. She’s got a wonderful family. Two lovely girls.’
Both Katie and Nathan look at each other at the same time, eyes wide, mouths partly open, as if about to say something but not daring to do so. Malcolm pushes himself forward in his seat.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he asks. ‘What haven’t you told me? Does this have something to do with his brother?’ He looks across at Nathan, eyes narrowing.
‘No,’ says Katie, with a calming gesture. ‘I promise you this is purely to do with my dad. It’s just,’ she shakes her head, ‘we couldn’t help thinking… when you hear about a young woman with two kids…’
Malcolm sits back in his chair, still not looking convinced but less agitated than he was before.
‘Somebody needs to catch that monster,’ he says, his eyes not leaving Nathan.
‘I don’t know what you’ve seen in the press,’ says Nathan, holding his stare. ‘But that monster is not my brother.’
Katie worries for a moment that he’s about to give the game away, but he appears to have pulled himself back under control and the only damage done is to a biscuit he’d been holding out of politeness that is now a pile of crumbs in his palm.
‘I don’t suppose you could give us Tracy’s address?’ she says.
‘No,’ says Malcolm, firmly. ‘She took on a new identity and a new life. Nobody is supposed to know what she went through. I’m not even sure her husband does.’
‘We will be discreet,’ says Katie, trying not to let the desperation seep into her voice. ‘We’ll wait until the husband and kids are out. Or maybe we could ring ahead?’
‘I don’t have the number. Look, I’d love to help you, but—’
‘Please, Malcolm.’ She waits for the tears to come, wiping her nose with her sleeve. ‘I promised him; I promised Dad I would find her and see for myself that she was okay, that some good had come out of what happened. And he understood. It made him smile. Such a rare thing. Such a beautiful thing.’
Malcolm Barclay smiles too. There’s plenty about him that reminds her of her dad: a big man, a strong man with a good heart. He looks across at the family photos again, then back at Katie.
‘You swear you won’t let her see you?’
‘I swear,’ she says, placing a hand on her chest, covering the moles that started all of this.