Someone Else's Son (34 page)

‘Oh God,’ she whispered. Her stomach churned and her limbs felt weak. She thought she might be sick. Dennis had told her how important this case was. He’d arrested the man last week but had had to release him without charge. He’d been in Europe on business when his wife and two daughters were shot and then their house set alight. Only dental records and bullet holes through their skulls gave a hint of the incomplete story. Bereft, the man had agreed to come on the show in the hope it might spur someone into giving up valuable information. He wanted the killer caught as much as anyone, he’d said.

But Dennis was still convinced the man was guilty; that somehow he had orchestrated the death of his own family. They were heavily insured – the sums recently raised – and he was in financial trouble. Appearing on
Reality Check
was a smokescreen on his part no doubt, but it was also, Dennis hoped, the road to confession.

‘He’ll crack,’ Dennis had said as Carrie read through the brief the day before. ‘He’s unstable. Been living on a knife edge since it happened. When we re-arrest, it’s got to be for good. Do what you do best, Carrie. Just talk.’

Max called out to her as she left. She turned and gave him an expectant look. Did she want the kiss or not?

‘What?’ She clamped her arms round her body. She was skinny. He wanted to hold her close. Dayna frowned at him.

Maybe she just wanted to go. Had she had enough of him? Did she think their first kiss was revolting and didn’t want another? If he just let her go now, it might be for the best. But when would he get another chance? He wasn’t sure he could wait.

‘Come here, yeah?’ He held his breath. She was, what, ten feet away? Might as well have been ten miles. He thought there was the beginnings of a smile. The warmth on his lips leaked into his blood and moved quickly round his body. His fingers tingled.

‘Why?’ She tipped her head to the side. The smile grew.

Max held out his hands. That wasn’t his doing. Something, someone, was pulling his strings. She walked towards him and suddenly her fingers were sitting inside his.

He froze. His mouth went dry. His fingers bent like brittle twigs around the softness of her hands. Something ridiculous came out of his mouth – half bark, half croaky explanation of why, in his heart of hearts, he needed her, desperately wanted her to be by his side, tucked in the crook of his arm. As he stared at her, his ridiculous voice making him break out in a sweat, he thought he might crumble to dust. They were exactly the same yet their lives were worlds apart.

I love you
.

Had she heard? Did she understand those three nerve-riddled words? Had he even said them? Perhaps it wasn’t his voice at all.

A train sped past on the bridge overhead. Max flinched. Dayna stood perfectly still, her hands set firmly within his. He’d be happy to stay like this for ever.

Then, like a knife through his heart, she was gone. Until it was over, he didn’t feel the pain as the bond between their fingers was torn apart. Neither did he immediately register the look she’d given him when he’d said those words –
if
he’d said those words. He barely noticed her legs pedalling frantically over the rough ground as she sped away from the hut. Was that a glance from her – a smile perhaps, delivered coyly over her shoulder – or some subconscious yet cruel part of his brain teasing, trying to make him believe there was still hope?

He watched her clothes flap as she pushed past the bushes and up on to the path that led to higher ground, the route back to school. The pain in his heart spread through his body, as if each chamber had burst. It was hot pain.

He was going to kiss her. She had run away.

Something carried Max back inside the hut. Something gave him the strength to light the stupid scented candle and use the same match to fire up a half-finished joint. The same thing forced him to pick up a newspaper and continue with the entry he’d been working on.

Finish the sentence for your chance to win a pair of eighteen-speed mountain bikes with the latest suspension technology and the looks to kick any rocky road into touch
.

One bike each, he reckoned, staring at the picture and trying to replace the image of Dayna running away. They were flash bikes and nothing like the old thing he used to get around London. They could go places, him and Dayna. Load up a couple of packs and get the hell out.

Life is good on a Sherano Rocky Road because
. . .

Max chewed his pencil. He smoked the joint. He smudged away the tears. He hadn’t a clue how to finish the sentence. Life simply wasn’t good. He felt so alone. If he wanted to see his mother it was easier to turn on the television or open a trashy magazine than see her in real life. His father – well, things were better there, but the man was blind to pretty much everything except his job and that stupid genius kid he was always banging on about. Apart from having met Dayna, school sucked worse than when he was at Denningham. Nothing was as terrifying as the Milton Park gangs. The boys at his old school might have made his life a misery day and night, but at Milton there was underground evil – malicious violence wherever he went.

Just what was wrong with him?

. . .
because it can’t be rockier than the one I’m already on
.

Carrie woke feeling as if there was suddenly a radiant light waiting for her at the end of the black tunnel that she’d been trapped inside since Friday.

‘I know it’s the drugs,’ she told Leah, who was sitting on her bed, watching her as she woke up.

Leah nodded. ‘I made you tea.’ She passed the mug to Carrie. ‘There was a call,’ she said, but Carrie ignored her.

‘The last time tea tasted this good was after I gave birth to Max.’ The crippling pain that would have gripped her the last few days at the mention of her son’s name was finally dulled by medication. She didn’t care what she took or how much, but when Leah called the doctor out late last night she’d begged him for help. He handed Leah three prescriptions. He told her to monitor Carrie’s intake.

‘I had a car take the girl home.’

Carrie nodded. It came back slowly. Dayna . . . Max’s bedroom . . . the scent of him . . . the mess of him . . . what Dayna had said – or not said – it was all there, packed into her mind, but none of it was hurting as much.

‘I think the girl’s in shock too,’ Leah continued. ‘I tried to talk to her, but she was virtually silent. I can’t help feeling she knows something.’

‘Of course she does.’ Carrie surprised even herself by the normality of her tone. ‘Do you remember that guy who wiped his family out years ago?’ Carrie propped herself up on the pillows. Leah was nodding. ‘I was so bloody nervous about the interview.’

‘But you nailed him.’ Leah picked up the remote and lifted the blackout blinds. Sun exploded into the room.

‘I just remember thinking,
he knows what happened. Get him to tell you
.’

Silence as the two women sipped their tea and recalled the show. Carrie’s hands trembled as she brought the mug to her lips. ‘I’m nervous as hell again,’ she whispered over the rim. ‘For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel . . .’ she hesitated, trying to identify how she was feeling. ‘I feel out of control, Leah. This time last week, everything was just normal. It’s not like we’re given clues as to what’s around the corner. If I’d thought even a tenth of this was going to happen, I’d have . . .’ But she couldn’t finish. She sipped her tea and burnt her tongue.

‘It’s called life, Carrie. If I believed in God then I’d say that he wanted us to live it to the full and enjoy every moment as if it were our last. To have no regrets.’

‘I didn’t do that with Max.’ Carrie wanted to cry but there was nothing there. The pain in her heart was reduced to a dull throb. ‘I wasn’t a good mother, was I?’

‘This is not the time to be reprimanding yourself. That won’t bring Max back.’ Leah handed Carrie her robe. ‘Why not take a shower?’ Leah hesitated before continuing. ‘Look, Carrie. I came up to tell you that Dennis left a message overnight. There’s been a development. He wants us down at the station by ten if you can manage it.’

Carrie wondered why Leah hadn’t jolted her awake the moment she’d learnt this but in her new, calm state, she realised that Leah had wanted her to sleep, to absorb the drugs, to let a tiny fraction of normal life percolate her body.

‘Fine,’ she stated. ‘I’ll get up. But do you know how I did it? Do you remember?’ Carrie’s eyes swam and she went dizzy when she stood up. She leant against the wall.
A development?

‘Did what?’ Leah steadied her.

‘How I got that man to confess to killing his family? It turned out he wasn’t even in Europe like the police had thought. He’d paid someone else to travel on his passport. A lookalike to con the CCTV at the airport. He stayed behind, shot his wife and kids while they slept. Then he set fire to the house.’

‘Insurance scam, wasn’t it?’

Carrie nodded, which she instantly regretted as her brain swilled in her skull. ‘He had a mistress. He was living a double life.’ She put on her robe and tied the belt. In the bathroom doorway, she stopped and turned. ‘I became his friend, Leah. In those thirty minutes, I was the only person in the entire world that he trusted. It was as if the camera crew wasn’t there, the audience was off his radar, and he wasn’t thinking of the millions of viewers at home. He just couldn’t live with the guilt. He couldn’t stand to be the only one who knew. He had to tell someone. Me.’

Leah nodded slowly. ‘I remember. You were amazing.’

Carrie stiffened. This time it wasn’t for fame or glory. It was all about Max. Her face fell serious and her voice dropped back into its businesslike tone. ‘I want the girl on the show, Leah.’ And she turned, closing the bathroom door.

 

Brody was reluctant to call Fiona but he had no option. ‘It’s my job,’ she said kindly. He knew that within twenty minutes she’d be pulling into the parking area of the estate. He didn’t want her in his flat so he took the familiar route to wait for her.

‘Whassup, man?’ A couple of youths slammed a ball against a wall, allowing it to ricochet off the bricks from one to the other. A tired-looking woman with a towel round her head strained out of an adjacent window.

‘Shut the fuck up wit dat ball. I been working all night long.’ She banged the pane closed and the youths just laughed, continuing with their monotonous game.

‘My son,’ Brody said. He scuffed the kerb. ‘You know him? Well, he’s dead.’

The beating of the ball stopped.

‘No way, man.’ One of the lads caught the ball under his arm and they swaggered up to Brody. They would know his face, Brody was sure of that, and he knew their voices. There were a dozen or so lads that he’d occasionally chatted to since he’d lived here. Gruff, belligerent encounters at first, followed by inquisitiveness that maybe he had some gear, some booze. They weren’t bad, exactly. More defensive and out to protect their territory. They didn’t like strangers. They didn’t know any other way.

‘He was stabbed at school.’

Brody heard the pair mumbling together and imagined them shaking their heads, staring at their feet, not knowing what to say.

‘I told you that place ain’t worth shit. Nowhere’s safe these days, man.’

‘Yeah. Well.’ Brody strained for the sound of Fiona’s smooth engine. He hadn’t meant to talk about it, but they’d have seen Max hanging around when he visited. It would perhaps make them think.

‘I do know your son. He dat skinny boy who don’t say much to no one.’

‘Probably,’ Brody replied. He heard the hum of Fiona’s Lexus.

Fiona wound down her window. ‘Hey.’ Her voice was sweet yet solemn. She got out and guided Brody to the passenger seat.

‘He should have said a lot more,’ Brody mumbled as he got into the car. Fiona asked what he was talking about. ‘Then he might still be alive.’

 

‘Get to the point, detective.’ He knew Carrie would be on her way. He wanted to hear it before she arrived; avoid the hysteria. Brody sensed they were in the same interview room again. He could smell stale cigarette smoke, recognised the acoustics. Seconds later the door opened and he knew it was her before she even spoke. Was it her perfume? The little gasp she made? The way her bracelets jangled as her arm fell by her side or the sound of her footsteps as she approached the table? Brody tensed. She had that effect on everyone, he imagined, but it was all the more potent and alarming because he couldn’t see her.

‘What is it?’ his ex-wife asked. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Carrie,’ Brody said, a little surprised by her unusually calm voice. He heard her pull out a chair, making four around the table. He’d asked Fiona to come in with him; didn’t entirely trust himself not to react to whatever was said.

‘Brody. What is it?’

Brody said nothing.

‘Now that you’re both here, I can tell you that one of my officers found a knife at first light this morning. They were scouring the area around the streams on the way down to the railway. It’s a dismal, disused stretch of land about a quarter of a mile behind the school. It was wrapped in a plastic bag and hidden in a storm drain.’

‘Hell, that’s a breakthrough.’ Brody needed a glass of water. His throat was dry and his lips cracked.

‘We believe it might well be the weapon used in the attack on your son.’

‘How do you know?’

Brody frowned at Carrie’s monotonous voice. He could almost smell the drugs coursing round her body. He didn’t blame her.

‘Well, of course we don’t know for certain yet. Forensics are running the usual tests. We should know in a few more hours if there’s a blood match.’

‘Blood?’ Brody and Carrie said together.

‘The weapon had blood on it, yes.’ Dennis sighed and waited, which indicated to Brody that there was more. He was adept at reading the tiniest clues. ‘The type of knife wasn’t exactly what we were expecting, even given the initial findings in the pathology report. The youths round here tend to stick to one of a few blades, based on our survey of the knife amnesty haul and previous incidents. It usually follows a slight trend as well as what’s locally available on the black market.’