She nodded.
Toreth considered options. If he'd been at I&I, he could have started putting together a profile for the ident system and called in a paediatric interrogation specialist to keep the evidence as untainted as possible. However, there was no way in hell Warrick or Dillian would let him take Valeria to I&I.
"Did Katty see him?"
"Maybe. I didn't talk to her. She went home with her mummy, like I did — she was crying. I didn't cry."
"Good for you. Your friend — does she ever come round here to, um, to play?"
"Yes, sometimes. Uncle Val . . . " She looked up at him, the expression in her dark eyes reminding him of Warrick again: curiosity and calm intelligence. "Are you investigating?"
Shit. "Yes, I am. But unofficially. Do you know what unofficially means?"
She squinted thoughtfully. "Kind of."
"It means . . . not because of my job. On my own." It had to be worth a try. "Secretly."
"Secretly?" As he'd hoped, the idea seemed to appeal. "Does Uncle Keir know?"
"Ah . . . no, he doesn't. Nor does anyone else."
"Auntie Dillian?"
"No." Christ, he hoped he wasn't going to have to go through the entire list of their mutual acquaintances.
She pondered the answer for a while, then said, "Auntie Dilly won't like that."
"Maybe not."
"So I won't tell her. You shouldn't tell her either," she added seriously. "Granny says don't tell people things if they'll get upset."
Words to live by. "Kate . . . your granny's a very smart woman."
Valeria nodded slowly. "I want Granny," she said, and he saw the tears beginning to well. And then, "I want Daddy," and the flood started as she reached out for him.
Oh, fucking hell.
He held her close against him, wishing fervently that he had one of his investigation team here to do this part for him. Mistry, for preference. She'd hold Valeria's hand and blow her nose and somehow get half a dozen useful bits of information in the process. Comforting witnesses was something Toreth had written out of his job description, along with various of the other tedious but necessary chores. What was the point of being a senior if you had to do crap like this?
A soft, startled exclamation caught his attention, and he looked up to find Dillian in the doorway. The expression on her face made up for the damp patch growing on his chest — absolute, unbelieving shock.
He nodded to her. "Dillian."
She came into the room, hovering by the bed, obviously wanting to take Valeria away from him but seeing no way to do it. He decided to make it easy for her.
"Valeria?" He eased back a little, lifted her chin. "I have to go."
She nodded, accepting another incomprehensible adult necessity. Still, it took her a while to let go of him.
As he went to pass her, Dillian halted him, her hand on his arm. "Keir said you stopped him going in to see Tar," she said in a low voice.
"Yes."
"Thanks." Her hand tightened. "I mean that."
He couldn't help his reply, or the harsh tone. "I didn't do it for you."
The hurt showed in her dark eyes, which were usually so calm, so arrogant — so like Warrick's, and he took a vicarious pleasure in it before she covered the expression and walked past him to the bed.
Toreth killed some more time by offering to fetch a takeaway for a rather late dinner. He'd half expected Warrick to insist he'd cook, but constant tea-making seemed to be satisfying his usual crisis-induced domestic urges.
It was a relief to be out of the house, and he took his time, changing his mind more often than was strictly necessary before he finally selected Italian. As he sat in the restaurant, nibbling bread sticks, he considered the information he'd got from Valeria and the worries her outburst had begun to stir.
Valeria could want her granny as much as she liked, but she wasn't going to get her. If someone had tried to murder Tarin — and he reminded himself that so far that was only a suspicion — then there was a chance Kate could also be dead. He'd never asked Warrick the details of how he'd arranged his mother's release. Now might be a good time to find out exactly what had happened. How could he do that without arousing any suspicions on Warrick's part?
There were several possible reasons why Tarin was in hospital. The first was that he'd had a genuine accident. Even with traffic control, such things could happen. However, if the Transport Division investigation concluded the collision had been accidental, that could simply mean that any saboteurs had been talented.
Sabotage was certainly a possibility to consider. Family tragedies could be used to distract corporate heads at critical times; extortionists who couldn't get to a primary target might go for less well-protected family members. A target assessment should have revealed that Dillian would make a better target, but on the other hand, Warrick had invited Tarin to his flat, so they'd obviously been talking recently. Toreth wondered if anyone else had known about that invitation. Come to that, he wondered why Warrick hadn't said anything about it to him. Probably because Toreth wouldn't have been happy about it. Given Tarin's resister connections, it was sensible to avoid contact with him as far as possible. 'Resister' and 'political criminal' might be in the process of being redefined, but that didn't mean it was safe to fraternise with one. Even — or especially — when fraternising had a more literal meaning.
The attack on Tarin could be the first shot in a corporate sab campaign — a threat made against other family members would now be that much more effective. If this were the case, Warrick should be receiving a demand soon. That wouldn't be Toreth's problem. SimTech security could deal with it. He pitied the poor fucking sabs who tried to tangle with Warrick.
On the other hand, it might have nothing to do with Warrick. Tarin might have had enemies of his own, either personal or connected with his idiotic ideals. Toreth's experiences of resisters suggested that they were fractious and definitely not above eliminating someone they saw as a threat. Resister in-fighting would be even less of Toreth's problem.
Except that . . . Toreth was connected to all of it. He made a legitimate target for corporate sabs wanting to reach Warrick. He knew far too damn much about Kate's Citizen Surveillance history. He was a para-investigator, and so a target for resisters too.
"Sir?"
Toreth looked up, startled. The waiter stood at the counter, holding the heated boxes. Toreth paid and left, still half absorbed in working through the possibilities. The more he thought about them, the less he liked them.
Dinner was quiet. The dining room reminded him of meals there at New Year, although the subdued voices made a striking contrast to the usual cheerful noise. The takeaway was excellent, and to Toreth's slight surprise everyone, including Dillian and Jen, ate well. Valeria, dressed in pyjamas but looking determinedly awake, stuffed herself.
At least her presence reduced the amount of discussion about Tarin, which was beginning to grate. Neither Warrick nor Dillian had liked the man, as far as Toreth had ever noticed. Toreth couldn't put the abrupt reversal down to hypocrisy, because he'd seen it too many times before with sudden deaths and serious injuries, but even so some consistency wouldn't hurt.
He found himself looking round the table at the others. Alicia Dean had declined an honest invitation from Jen to join them and taken her meal into the kitchen, so the table was family only. Now that Tarin wasn't there to spoil the effect, the transgenerational resemblance was frighteningly strong, and it made him think of the family portrait in the living room. Kate was missing, of course, but Valeria made up the numbers. Presumably she had been too young to be included when Cele painted the picture, or maybe she hadn't even been born.
He stopped and rewound the thought. When Cele had painted it. That opened up a possibility he hadn't thought of before.
After the meal, he left the others to clear up and went to find a quiet corner to make the call.
"Cele? It's Toreth. Have you heard?"
He listened impatiently through the usual litany of 'how awful'.
"Yeah, terrible," he said eventually.
Her next question surprised him. "Where are you?"
"Kate's . . . I mean, Jen's house. With Warrick and Dillian and a very stoney SimTech guard."
"Good. I'm glad you're there." And the genuine-sounding relief at his answer surprised him even more. "Poor Tarin. And poor old Keir. I bet it's hit him harder than you'd expect, hasn't it?"
"Yeah. Listen. I need to see you about something. It's urgent."
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you when I see you. Is tomorrow morning okay?"
"I have to be somewhere at eleven."
"Great. I'll be there before then."
"What — "
"See you soon. Bye." He cancelled the call before she had the chance to ask any more questions. Better not to display too much curiosity over the comm.
Jen and Dillian were still tidying up the remains of the meal. Toreth found Valeria sitting in the living room with Warrick, who was listening to her read. Warrick looked by far the more exhausted of the two.
When he saw Toreth, Warrick smiled, then yawned. "Time for bed, Val. I'll take you up."
She shook her head. "I want Uncle Val to."
"I don't think he — "
"It's okay, I'll do it." Toreth grinned at Warrick's startled expression.
"Well, if you're sure," Warrick said doubtfully.
"What, you think I've got an ulterior motive? Give me another seven or eight years for that. Who do you think I am, Lew Marcus?"
Warrick's eyes narrowed. "Toreth, that isn't at all funny. On any level."
Ignoring him, Toreth turned for the door. "Come on."
They climbed the stairs in silence. Inside the room, she looked up at him.
"You're supposed to tuck me in," she said.
"Forget it. You can manage."
She stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. Once in bed, she looked up at him solemnly. "Read me a story?"
"You can read your own. I saw you just now, remember?" He sat down at the end of the bed. Valeria sat up expectantly, hugging her knees to her chest. "You were telling me earlier about the man you saw at school."
She nodded.
"If I asked Cele — Auntie Cele — to draw the man, could you tell her what he looked like?"
She thought about it, scratching the elbow of her pyjamas with her thumb. "I s'pose so," she said finally. "I could try."
"All you have to do is try. It doesn't matter if you can't remember in the end." He considered options for a moment. "Are you going to school tomorrow?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. Mummy didn't say if I was or not."
"How about your friend Katty, the one who saw the accident?"
"Don't know."
"Okay." How the hell was he going to arrange this without Warrick or Dillian finding out? Maybe Jen would help. The problem was that he didn't know her well enough to be sure he could rely on her to keep quiet about it.
"Uncle Val?" Valeria said quietly. "I didn't tell anyone about the investigating."
"Yeah? You're a good girl." He stood up and turned to go.
As he put his hand on the light switch, she said, "Leave it on, Uncle Val, please."
He paused. "Do they usually let you have it on?"
She hesitated. "Yes. Always."
The lie was utterly transparent. He let go of the switch. "Fine. See you in the morning."
With any luck, it would annoy Dillian.
Warrick wasn't in the room they'd shared the last time Toreth had visited the house. For a moment, Toreth wondered if he'd got the right room, then he saw the bags folded and stacked in the corner. When he checked, he found their clothes neatly placed in the chest of drawers.
Jesus, sometimes the man's tidiness really did verge on the compulsive.
It felt odd to be spending the night at Kate's house again, Toreth thought as he undressed. Odd that her shadow still lay on it so heavily. He'd spent only one New Year there before Warrick had thought better of the idea and not invited him again, but he remembered her quiet domination of the family. She had been gone for two months, and her presence seemed to have faded little if at all.
Eventually, tired of waiting alone in the bedroom, Toreth grabbed a dressing gown and went in search of Warrick. Toreth only found him because the door to the room he was in was ajar. A bedroom he didn't recognise — Tarin's, presumably. Inside it was dark, the only light coming from the street outside. Warrick stood by the window, arms folded tight across his chest, looking out.
"Are you coming to bed?" Toreth asked.
"Yes. Go on, I'll catch up." His voice was thick with tears. "I won't be long."
Oh, Christ.
Wanting desperately to leave and pretend he hadn't seen this, Toreth went over and stood behind Warrick. Pause, deep breath, then he placed his hands gently on Warrick's shoulders.
As far as he expected anything, he thought Warrick might turn round, and the idea of that, of having to hold him as he'd held Valeria, made him feel queasy. The pleasure at seeing Warrick brought low had transmuted entirely into unease. However, Warrick didn't turn, although he did lean back against him, and one hand crept up to tighten over Toreth's. Otherwise he stayed as he was, crying almost silently, the tears glistening in the light through the window. Shaking a little.
It felt very strange. Not unbearable, but strange.
Staring out of the window, through their dim reflections, Toreth thought about all the witnesses and prisoners he'd watched cry. About Sara in the hospital, years ago now, or at I&I with that bastard Carnac, or over her latest broken heart. It was easy. Piece of cake — nothing to it.
Eventually, Warrick sniffed once or twice and pulled away. "Go on," he said again. "I won't be long."
"Okay."
Back in the room, he spent a minute or so considering what would work best, then switched off all the lights, got into bed, and pretended to be asleep.
By the time Warrick appeared, the pretense had almost turned into reality. The soft closing of the door woke him enough to listen to Warrick moving in the dark, undressing, then standing by the bed.