Blood Guilt (30 page)

“I dealt with a lot of
counsellors when I was on the force. If you want, I can make a couple of calls,
organise something.”

Forehead puckered with
uncertainty, Susan sucked her lip again. “What if he hates me for it? I don’t
know if I can risk pushing him away from me. He’s all I’ve got left.”

“You let me in here.
He’s not exactly happy about that.”

“That’s different. You
give me hope.”

“There’s a lot of good
detectives on the case. That should give you hope too.”

Susan dismissed
Harlan’s words with derisive flick of her hand. “They can’t do what’s
necessary. They’ve already proved that.” She pointed at him. “You’re the only
one who can bring my baby boy back to me.”

The weight of Susan’s
words pushed Harlan’s head down. He stared at the piles of missing-person
leaflets. Some had fallen over and were scattered across the floor.
What a
mess
, he thought. He pictured Kane with the dead dog in his arms.
What a
fucking mess
. There was no cleaning it up. It just went on and on, turning
everything it touched to shit. His head began to reel again. He shakily pulled
out a blister strip, popped a pill into his palm and swallowed it.

“I’d better go speak to
him,” said Susan, as the music ratcheted up a notch. With a weary noise, she
headed for the stairs. After a couple of minutes, the muffled sound of raised
voices came through the floor. Harlan tried not to listen to what was being
said, but he kept catching words – words like ‘love’ and ‘hate’. His phone
began to vibrate. He took it out. It was Jim. He answered it.

“I phoned the
hospital,” said Jim. “They told me you’d checked out. I would tell you you’re
crazy, but you know that already”

“How’s it going with
Nash?”

“That’s why I’m
calling. You were right. The old woman got through to him. She didn’t even have
to say anything. As soon as we wheeled her in, he started blubbing like a baby.
He seems to really care about her.”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not yet, but we’re
working on him. I don’t think it’ll be long now. I need you to do me a favour.
We want to arrange a line-up. You remember what Kane heard the kidnapper say to
Ethan?”

Harlan remembered.
Be
quiet or I’ll kill you and your brother
. “Yes.”

“Well, the idea is to
see if Kane can pick Nash’s voice out of the line-up. I need you to talk to
Susan – I’m assuming you’re with her – and convince her it’s worth a shot.”

“When are you arranging
it for?”

“That depends on Nash.
There’s no point setting it up unless he cooperates.”

“Don’t hammer at him
with his crimes. That’ll only send him back into his shell. Concentrate on Mary
Webster. Make him think that if he cooperates, he’d be doing it for her.”

“That’s exactly what we
are doing, and I’d better get back to it. I’ll be speaking to you again soon,
I’m sure.”

Jim hung up. The music
was still thumping upstairs, but the voices had dropped below hearing range.
Harlan rested his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes.
Love, hate
.
Those two words turned over and over in his mind, like a coin flipping through
the air. He sighed out a long breath. The painkillers were wrapping warm hands
around him. The noise outside was far away now. The noise inside was fading
too.
Love, hate, love, hate
...

When Harlan awoke, the
house was silent, except for the sound of pots and pans being moved around in
the kitchen. He smelled the aroma of cooking. He glanced at the carriage-clock.
Four-twenty. He’d been asleep for an hour or so. He checked his phone. No
missed calls. Nash was obviously still holding out. Slowly, stiffly, he rose
and made his way to the kitchen. Susan was stood at a grease-stained cooker,
shoving sausages around in a frying pan. A scarred wooden table against a wall
of the tiny room was laid with cutlery, salt and pepper and sauce bottles.

Noticing Harlan, Susan
said, “Hungry?”

Now that she mentioned
it, Harlan realised he was. “Yes.”

“I thought you would be
after living off hospital food.” Susan nodded towards the table. “Sit yourself
down.”

Harlan did so, and
Susan placed a mug of tea and a plate of chips and sausages in front of him.
She headed out the room with a second plate, saying, “I’ll just take this up to
Kane. Don’t wait for me. Start eating.”

The food tasted good –
better than any meal Harlan had eaten in weeks. When Susan returned, he asked
through a mouthful of sausage, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s not talking to
me. Won’t even look at me. I left the food for him, but I doubt he’ll eat it.
Last time I saw him like this was a couple of years ago, when I first started
seeing Neil. He didn’t eat properly for weeks. I ended up taking him to the
doctor.”

Susan sat down opposite
Harlan and sparked up a cigarette. “How about you?” he asked. “Aren’t you
eating?”

She shook her head. “I
can’t stomach anything. Every time I think about Ethan, about where he might
be, about what might’ve happened to him, it makes me want to puke.”

Harlan finished his
meal quickly, feeling Susan’s eyes on him the whole time. “You’re a good
eater,” she said, reaching for his empty plate. “Rob was a good eater too. I
used to love watching him eat.”

Harlan winced
internally.

“Neil eats like a bird.
It drives me mad watching him peck at his food.” Susan dumped the plate in the
sink and scrubbed it clean.

Noticing that she spoke
about Neil in the present tense, Harlan asked, “Is it over between you two?”

“He lied to me. I can’t
be with someone who lies to me.” Susan spoke with decisive quickness, but there
was a quiver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Everyone lies
sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure, about
small things. But not about things like that at a time like this.”

“He was afraid of
losing you.”

Susan turned to Harlan,
frowning. “What are you saying? That I should get back with him?” That same
little quiver was in her voice.

Harlan no longer had
any suspicions about Neil. And looking into Susan’s sunken eyes, he could see
she was desperately hoping he’d say yes. But he couldn’t bring himself to. The
thought came to him that she deserved better than Neil. She deserved someone
who could give her a future free from debt and worries about bailiffs coming
knocking, a future where she wasn’t always just scraping by.

Another thought rose to
his mind:
and who’s going to give her that
,
you
?

Maybe
,
he replied to it.

And are you going to
hold her through the night when all she can see is Ethan’s face
?
Are you going to be a father to Kane
?

Harlan didn’t need to
think about the answers to those questions. He could never be there for them in
that way, even if by some incredible stretch of improbability they’d have him.
He thought back to when Tom was born. Eve had given up work. They’d just
scraped by on his salary, but they were happy – happier, perhaps, than at any
other time in their lives. He sighed. Maybe Neil was the right man for Susan.
But then, who was he to say one way or the other? He gave a weak little shrug,
dropping his eyes to his mug.

Susan flinched at a
knock on the front door. “Will you go see who it is? Don’t open the door. Just
have a peep through the curtains.”

Harlan crept into the
living-room and did as she asked. It was Lewis Gunn. He returned to the kitchen
and told Susan. The knock came again. She made no move to answer it. After a
moment, she said, “Go see if he’s gone.”

Again, Harlan peeped
through the curtains. The preacher was walking away. “He’s gone.”

“Thank fuck for that.”
Pulling out another cigarette, Susan added a touch guiltily, “Don’t get me
wrong, I’m grateful for everything Mr Gunn’s done, but…the thing is, I’m sick
of listening to all his God bullshit. I keep wanting to say to him, what kind
of fucking God would let this happen? How am I supposed to believe in a God
like that?”

“I remember thinking
the same thing when Tom died.” The words were out before Harlan realised it.
Straight away, he wished he hadn’t said them. He’d never really spoken about
Tom’s death with anyone other than Eve. Not even Jim. Like Kane’s anger, his grief
possessed him, and he possessed it. Part of him wanted – was desperate – to let
go of it, but another part of him recoiled from anything that might cause him
to do so. 

“Who’s Tom?”

“He was my son.”

“What happened?” Seeing
the pained look that passed over Harlan’s face, Susan added, “You don’t have to
tell me if you don’t want to.”

Harlan was silent a
moment, then, almost whispering, as if he didn’t want to hear his own voice, he
told Susan what’d happened. When he finished, he saw that she was looking at
him with a new understanding on her ravaged face, as if what he’d said had
completed a puzzle she’d been struggling to solve. “So you know how I feel,”
she said with a softness he hadn’t heard before.

“I know how it feels to
lose a child. I don’t know how you feel, and I never want to find out.”
Exhausted, more from talking about Tom than from his wound, Harlan lowered
himself onto the sofa. “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a while?”

“Go ahead.”

Harlan slipped into an
uneasy doze. He lay half-sleeping, half waking, drifting in and out of dreams
he didn’t want to remember, thinking thoughts he didn’t want to think, cracking
his eyelids every few minutes to check his phone. And with every time he saw
that there were still no missed calls or new messages, a heaviness grew in his
chest, until it seemed as if a concrete block was resting on it. The fingers of
sunlight probing the curtains had been replaced by the cindery glow of
streetlamps, when Susan’s raised voice brought him to full wakefulness. “How
did you get this number?” she was saying. “No, I’m not fuckin’ interested...I
don’t give a shit…Don’t fuckin’ ring here again.” She stamped into the
living-room and slammed the phone back into its cradle. “Fucking bastard
journalists,” she said to Harlan, her voice taking on that same edge of
hysteria as earlier. “I’m going out of my fuckin’ head waiting to hear if my
little boy’s dead or alive, and they’re calling me up for a fuckin’ quote.” She
took out a cigarette and lighter. When the lighter wouldn’t ignite, she yelled,
“Fuck,” and flung it across the room.

Harlan retrieved the
lighter, shook it and got the flame going. He held it out to Susan, and she
sucked her cigarette into life. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little calmer. As
she smoked, Harlan took his next round of pills. Susan switched the telly on.
The evening news was just beginning. Like a child watching a horror movie, she
put her hand to her face and peered through her fingers. There was nothing new
reported – the police were still searching the woods, still questioning an
unnamed man. Susan switched the telly off and flung the remote aside. “Christ!”
she groaned, her voice raw with emotion. “How much longer? How much longer?”

Not much longer
,
thought Harlan,
not if they’re going to find Ethan alive
.

Susan pressed her hands
to her head as if to keep it from bursting. “I don’t know how much more of this
I can take.”

“You can take it,”
Harlan said evenly. “You can take it because Kane needs you.”

Susan took a breath and
took hold of herself. She lit another cigarette, leaning back against the
armchair, inhaling deeply. “Will you stay here tonight? I don’t want to be
alone if…if they find anything.”

Harlan nodded.

“I’ll make you up a bed
on the floor.”

“The sofa will do me
fine”

“No it won’t. Not the
state you’re in. There’s a fold-down mattress–” Susan broke off at a knock on
the door, her eyes twitching with nerves. “Who the fuck’s that now?” she hissed
in a low voice.

The knock came again.
It wasn’t like Lewis Gunn’s knock, it was loud and insistent. This time Neil’s
voice accompanied it. “Susan it’s me,” he shouted. “I need to speak to you.
Please let me in. I’m begging you. I just want a chance to explain everything.”

Susan looked from the
door to Harlan, as if seeking his permission to open it. He said nothing.

“Please, Susan,
please,” continued Neil. “I love you, and I love the kids. I’d never hurt any
of you. You’ve got to believe me.”

Susan rose to her feet,
mouth working in mute uncertainty.

“I’m so sorry, Susan.”
There were tears in Neil’s voice now. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me.
Please give me another chance.”

She approached the
door, put her hand on the handle, but didn’t lower it.

“I won’t give up on us.
You’re my life, Susan. I’d rather die than lose you. Do you hear me?”

Susan pressed her
forehead against the door, eyes closed.

“I’d rather die, I’d
rather die.” Neil’s words came in a sobbing murmur. There was a moment of
silence, then the sound of a car door clunking shut. Peering between the curtains,
Harlan saw that Neil had got into his Volvo. The car began to pull away.
Suddenly, Susan came to life, unlocking and opening the door, rushing out into
the street. “Wait,” she called, but the car didn’t stop.