“He isn’t absentminded, you know,” she said, taking a step to her left so that she stood between me and the passage to the front door. “He has absences, but that’s a different thing. No, if he didn’t tell you he was going to Newcastle, that’s because he doesn’t trust you, and if he doesn’t trust you, I’m not sure that I should. I’m only going to ask once more,” she said, “why you are here.”
I nodded, making a conscious effort to drop my shoulders, to stay relaxed. “As I said, I wanted to speak to Sean.”
“About?”
“About an allegation of improper conduct,” I said. “About his relationship with Nel Abbott.”
Helen stepped towards me and I felt a sickeningly sharp kick of adrenaline to my gut. “There will be consequences, won’t there?” she said, a sad smile on her face. “How could we have imagined that there wouldn’t be?”
“Helen,” I said, “I just need to know—”
I heard the front door slam and stepped back quickly, putting some space between us, as Patrick entered the room.
• • •
FOR A MOMENT, none of us said anything. He stared at me, eyes on mine, jaw working, while he took off his jacket and slung it over the back of a chair. Then he turned his attention to Helen. He noticed her bloody hand and was immediately animated.
“What happened? Did she do something to you? Darling . . .”
Helen blushed and something in the pit of my stomach squirmed. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing. It wasn’t her. My hand slipped when I was chopping onions.”
Patrick looked at her other hand, at the knife she still held. Gently he took it from her. “What’s she doing here?” he asked, without looking at me.
Helen cocked her head to one side, looking from her father-in-law to me and back again. “She’s been asking questions,” she said, “about Nel Abbott.” She swallowed. “About Sean. About his professional conduct.”
“I just need to clarify something, it’s procedural, relating to the handling of the investigation.”
Patrick didn’t seem interested. He sat down at the kitchen table without looking at me. “Do you know,” he said to Helen, “why they moved her up here? I asked around—I still know people, of course, and I spoke to one of my former colleagues down in London, and he told me that this fine detective here was removed from her post in the Met because she’d seduced a younger colleague. And not just any colleague, a woman! Can you imagine that?” His dry laugh segued into a hacking smoker’s cough. “Here she is, chasing down your Mr. Henderson, while she’s guilty of exactly the same thing. An abuse of power for her own sexual gratification. And she still has a job.” He lit a cigarette. “And then she comes here and says she wants to talk about my son’s professional conduct!”
Finally he looked at me. “You should have been thrown off the force altogether, but because you’re a woman, because you’re a dyke, you’re allowed to get away with it. That’s what they call equality.” He scoffed. “Can you imagine what would happen if it were a man? If Sean got caught sleeping with one of his juniors, he’d be out on his ear.”
I balled my hands into fists to stop them shaking. “How about if Sean was sleeping with a woman who ended up dead?” I asked. “What d’you think would happen to him then?”
He moves quickly for an old guy. He was on his feet, chair crashing back, and his hand around my throat in what seemed like less than a second. “Watch your mouth, you dirty bitch,” he whispered, breathing sour smoke in my face. I gave him a good hard shove in the chest and he let me go.
He stepped back, his arms by his sides, fists clenched. “My son has done nothing wrong,” he said quietly. “So if you make trouble for him, girlie, I’ll make trouble for you. Do you understand that? You’ll get it back with interest.”
“Dad,” Helen said. “That’s enough. You’re scaring her.”
He turned to his daughter-in-law with a smile. “I know, love. I mean to.” He looked back at me and smiled again. “With some of them, it’s the only thing they understand.”
JULES
I left the car on the side of the track leading to the Townsends’ place. I didn’t need to, there was plenty of space to park in their courtyard, but it felt right that I should. This felt like it ought to be a furtive mission, like I ought to surprise them. The fearless relic, the one who appeared the day I confronted my rapist, was back. The bracelet in my pocket, I strode into that sun-drenched courtyard, straight-backed and resolute. I had come on behalf of my sister, to make things right for her. I was determined. I was unafraid.
I was unafraid until Patrick Townsend opened the door to me, his face stained with rage, a knife in his hand.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
I took a couple of steps away from the front door. “I . . .” He was about to slam the door in my face and I was too frightened to say what I needed to. He did for his wife, Nickie had told me, and for your sister, too. “I was . . .”
“Jules?” a voice called out to me. “Is that you?”
• • •
IT WAS QUITE A SCENE. Helen was there, with blood on her hand and her face, and Erin, too, doing a poor job of pretending that she was in control of the situation. She greeted me with a cheery smile. “What brings you here? We’re supposed to be meeting at the station.”
“Yes, I know, I . . .”