Joe looked at it. ‘Thank you.’
Melissa went to climb into the taxi but paused. Joe was holding onto the door. She went as if to kiss him, leaned in towards him.
He turned his head so that her kiss landed on his cheek.
Melissa smiled ruefully at that and climbed in, the taxi door slamming. Joe didn’t look up as the taxi set off. Instead, he thought about what she’d said about Proctor. Dangerous.
Then realisation of something else came like a slap to his face. He’d enjoyed her company. He’d felt close to Proctor’s sister. How could that make sense? But it wasn’t to ‘Proctor’s sister’. It had been to Melissa. He shouldn’t think of her in the context of her brother. She was her own person. Good company, witty, attractive, intelligent, some fight in her.
He looked up as the taxi rounded the corner, tucking her phone number into his pocket. He couldn’t see whether she was looking back.
Then something occurred to him. If Melissa hadn’t seen Proctor for all those years, how did he know she was working at Mother Mac’s?
He threw his phone to the other side of the room. Why were there no messages, no emails? Why the silence?
The day had been long and frustrating. He’d made a quick trip into the city centre, and then spent the rest of the day pacing around, the TV flickering in the corner, the sound turned down.
He clicked off the television and the room darkened, with the only light coming from a reading lamp in one corner. He needed his memories.
He left the house and went along the uneven path, grass growing between the paving slabs. The door to the workshop was kept locked and he was the only one with a key. He remembered the day when he’d come home and found it open, the lock smashed: tools moved, his radio taken, his toolbox stolen.
The workshop door scraped on the concrete as he opened it. He clicked on the light, stepped inside and locked the door from the inside.
The air felt cold and dust floated in the glare of the light bulb. His steps were loud until he reached the thick red rug covering the concrete floor. It made his special place feel warm.
There was a chair at one end and around the space there were small tables, a thick candle on each one. He closed the thin curtain in front of the window and reached into his pocket for his lighter. Once each candle was lit, he switched off the bulb. This was the lighting he preferred, the flames like small angels dancing.
The chair creaked as he sat down. He needed his box.
He checked his phone again. Nothing.
His impatience grew. He went to the messaging app, the one he’d installed at his suggestion. It was their way of keeping in touch. No records kept. No phone logs. All of it deleted instantly.
Still nothing. The hot burn of anger swelled inside him.
He typed,
Where is it?
, and jabbed at the
SEND
button.
He didn’t always respond straight away. Impatience mounting, he typed,
I did what U asked. Now 4 me.
Ten minutes went by before a light flashed on his phone. He opened up the app:
The Green at Worsley. 8pm. Tomorrow.
His tongue flicked across his lip as he waited. His breaths shortened. The workshop seemed to contract around him. Then the light on his phone blinked again. He opened the app and groaned when he saw it.
His box. Blue metal. His treasures inside. His memories rushed through him like a film on fast forward. Smooth skin, soft white, unblemished. Wide eyes. Angry eyes. Some fighting. Others too scared. The last breaths.
Tomorrow.
He couldn’t wait that long. He tugged at his belt.
Joe was deep in thought as he headed back to his apartment.
Dangerous
. That was the word Melissa used.
But what should he do about Mark Proctor?
As he walked, his mind toyed with all the possibilities. He recalled his promise to himself, that he would kill Ellie’s murderer when he got the chance, but as the evening breeze fluttered his hair and he was assaulted by the everyday sounds of the city, he wondered whether he could go through with it. Was ending Mark Proctor’s life worth giving up all this for? He knew what Gina would say, that it wouldn’t bring Ellie back, but it didn’t stop the searing heat of revenge from burning him up.
His apartment block loomed ahead. He stalled, wondered whether he was ready to face the solitude, when someone stepped from the shadows of the high wall.
He jumped, startled, until a voice said, ‘Hi, Joe.’
It was Ruby. And she was carrying a bag.
‘I want to stay with you for a while,’ she said.
Joe groaned. He didn’t need this.
‘Go home, Ruby.’
‘No. I’m not going back.’
‘But what if you can’t stay here?’
‘It’s warm tonight. I’ll sleep outside.’
‘Come inside,’ Joe said, irritated. She’d given the answer she knew would get her what she wanted.
They were both silent as they walked through the apartment building, and once inside Joe’s apartment Ruby slumped into a chair, the leather creaking loudly. She threw her bag onto the floor. Joe went into the kitchen and put his keys on the counter. He filled the kettle. If nothing else, it gave him a few minutes to decide what he was going to do about her.
‘I’m hungry,’ Ruby shouted.
Joe rolled his eyes. She should have stayed at home if she expected its comforts. He opened the fridge: a carton of milk, half a block of cheese, two bottles of wine and a potato.
He closed it again. ‘Fancy a takeaway?’ he shouted through.
‘Chinese, please.’
Joe grabbed a menu from a collection he kept next to the microwave and took it to her.
Ruby was lounging, her long legs dangled over the chair arm. He tapped her foot to tell her to put her legs down and passed her the Chinese menu. ‘You choose and then we talk,’ he said. ‘I’ve eaten.’
She shrugged in that exaggerated way that teenagers have, her lips set in a scowl, and started reading the menu.
Ruby made the room look untidy straight away. It didn’t have much warmth, there were no plants or flowers, no photographs apart from one of Ellie, and blinds covered the window rather than curtains. It was tidy, though. His records and CDs were stacked neatly, the few books he had were in an oak bookcase, and there was nothing lying around. No magazines or old cups. Ruby seemed to bring some chaos into his apartment that he didn’t like.
Joe went to the record player and selected an album, a Robert Johnson collection, country blues from the thirties: just a man playing scratchy music on an old guitar. When Ruby’s scowl deepened as the hiss of the vinyl filled the room, he knew why he’d picked it: he was setting down a marker. This was his apartment. If she had any notion she could stay, Ruby would have to learn to let someone else have their way.
She tossed the menu onto the glass coffee table. ‘Chicken satay,’ she said, before sitting back and folding her arms.
Joe sat down on a chair by the window. He pulled on the drawstring to close the blinds and turned the volume down so they could talk. ‘Why are you here?’ he said.
‘Because I can’t stand living there any more. I’ve had enough.’
‘Why have you had enough?’
‘She’s an embarrassment. She fusses round me all the time, or has a go at me when I haven’t even done anything. Do some revising, or don’t stay out late, or where are you going. I can’t breathe in there.’
Joe raised an eyebrow. ‘And you think you will here?’
‘Yeah, you’re cool. You hang out with criminals and gangsters. Whatever I do shouldn’t worry you.’
‘You think?’ he said, his tone incredulous. ‘I don’t “
hang out”
with them. I represent them in court and then I come home. I don’t drink with them, I don’t go to their parties, and they sure as hell don’t come here. I’ve seen how they live, and because of that I worry more about you, because I’ve seen how easy it is to get dragged into it. If you think I’m going to let you doss here and just live your life how you fancy it, you can forget it. Do you think I got to be a lawyer by messing around and staying out late? No. I worked hard, so I expect you to do the same if you want to make something of yourself.’
‘God, you sound like Mum.’
‘Perhaps we’re both right.’ He paused. ‘What do you want to do with your life?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe a lawyer like you.’
‘And you think that’s your choice?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Not without hard work. This is the hard realities of life coming at you now, Ruby, and that’s what’s annoying you. You can’t face up to them. If you don’t, you won’t get any choice about what you do.’
‘Why are you being so mean?’ she said, tears jumping into her eyes.
‘I’m being your big brother and looking after you,’ he said, his voice rising.
‘No, you just don’t want me here,’ she said, and stood up and grabbed her bag. ‘I’ll go somewhere else.’
Joe reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘No. Stay. For now. It’s okay.’
Ruby paused before saying, ‘Thank you.’ She grinned. ‘Can I have prawn toast too?’
He sighed. ‘Of course you can. I’ll make up a bed.’
And with that, Joe had taken responsibility for his little sister.
Sam sat back and stretched, rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. No one left early on the first day of a murder investigation but the desks were slowly emptying as lines of inquiry dried up. The detectives who’d stay on the phones during the night had arrived. Sometimes calls came in during the early hours, when people caught the late news, or when long-held secrets spilled out when the caller reached the end of a bottle.
‘I’m done,’ Charlotte said, yawning.
‘Yeah, me too,’ Sam said. ‘Did you find anything?’
She shook her head. ‘Just a few hours delivering bad news. I’ll keep an eye on his Facebook page tonight, see whether anyone posts anything suspicious, but so far it’s just been people in shock. Henry Mason is just what we thought: an ordinary guy.’
‘Any of Mason’s friends know Keith Welsby?’
‘No, none. If there’s a connection, no one’s pointed it out yet.’ She stood up and took her suit jacket from the back of the chair. ‘What about you?’
‘The same. I’ve gone back through the bank statements and it reads just like a couple trying to keep a lifestyle afloat with money they don’t really have, but what’s strange about that?’
‘No unusual payments?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. He was going through a mid-life crisis, with a thing for young girls. Any large cash withdrawals or cheques cashed? Blackmail or something?’
‘What, you think that might have some link with Keith Welsby?’ Sam said.
‘He was a teacher. Was Henry Mason after one of his pupils and Welsby found out? Did a pupil confide in him, and rather than confront Mason, Welsby decided to blackmail him? Mason stopped the blackmail by killing him?’
‘That’s a good theory for explaining Welsby’s death, but how does it lead to Henry Mason’s murder?’
Charlotte let out a long tired breath. ‘Oh God, I don’t know. My head is mashed. I’ll have a think about that overnight.’
Sam logged off. ‘I’m done too. We’ll see what the morning brings.’
He picked up his jacket and left the station with Charlotte, into the dark car park, the floodlight broken, as always.
He was about to climb into his car when his phone rang. It was Alice.
‘A development?’ Charlotte said.
‘No, family. Have a good evening.’ He pressed answer. ‘Hi.’
‘Your mother called. Ruby’s left. She’s gone to Joe’s.’
‘What the hell?’
‘Yeah, I know, but she sounded pretty upset.’
‘Okay, I’ll go over. I won’t be late.’
He hung up and wiped his eyes. The day had been long enough. He could do without Ruby making it longer.
Joe wasn’t surprised when the buzzer to his apartment sounded and Sam’s voice came over the intercom. He pressed the button and gave Sam a few seconds to get through before opening the door.
Ruby looked up, her mouth open.
‘I didn’t call him,’ Joe said. ‘He might just be worried.’
She stayed silent as the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. When Sam burst in, he was out of breath. Ruby looked up and folded her arms.
‘What’s going on?’ Sam said.
‘I’m staying with Joe,’ she said.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Stop me.’
Joe held his hands in the air. ‘Hey, hey, everyone calm down.’
‘I’m not here for an argument,’ Sam said.
‘So stop arguing,’ Joe said, and then, his voice weary, ‘We’ve been through it. She can stay here for the moment, tonight at least.’
Sam thought about that, before he sighed and pointed towards the door that led to the balcony. ‘We need to talk.’
Joe led the way. As he pulled on the door, Ruby said, ‘Can I use your shower? I’ll get out of your way if you’re going to talk about me.’
‘Help yourself,’ Joe said. ‘Fresh towels in the basket in there.’ And then he stepped out of the living room and into the cool evening breeze.
The hush of the apartment was replaced by the noise of the city. The clink of glasses and echoes of laughter drifted over from a restaurant on the other side of the canal – an open-air place that thrived on sunny days – and the roads provided a steady hum of tyres.
Sam put his hands on his hips. ‘So how long are you going to let her stay?’
Joe placed his hands on the rail and stared into the night. The canal twinkled, the willow trees in silhouette against the steel gleam of the water and the glare from the restaurant behind.
‘Not long,’ Joe said, his voice distant. ‘What use am I for personal guidance?’
‘What about Mum?’ Sam said. ‘We can’t leave her on her own up there. Caring for Ruby is just about the only thing that keeps her stable. If we take that from her, who knows what will happen.’
‘I’m not doing this because of Mum,’ Joe said. ‘Ruby turned up. What could I do? Send her away into the city? You know what it’s like out there. Ruby is headstrong and she’d sleep on the streets to spite us. At least this way we know where she is.’
‘But we can’t take her away from Mum.’
‘Okay, let her stay here tonight at least. I’ll persuade her to go home tomorrow.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘We’ll worry about that tomorrow.’
Sam fell silent again as he looked at the scene from the balcony. ‘We should look out for her more. I feel like we’re letting her down.’
‘No, circumstances have let her down. We do what we can. Go home, look out for your own girls.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Sam said. He looked back into the apartment, where Ruby’s bag was discarded on the floor. ‘If you need any help, you know where to find me.’
Sam turned to go, but Joe reached out and grabbed his arm. Sam stopped.
‘What is it?’ Sam said.
Joe wondered how much he could tell his brother. Sam was a policeman and he knew Joe’s secret, the only person he’d confided in. Sam would stop him, tell him that there was a different way to go about things.
But what about the promise he’d made to himself? If he walked away from that, Proctor would walk away from it too. It had driven him through his career, the steady gnaw of revenge, how he wanted just one chance to even things up.
Joe knew he needed to be stopped, or he would lose everything he had. His apartment. His job. His life. The view he treasured. He would come out of prison in sixteen years or so with no future. All he had to do was say the words and Sam would know what to do.
Joe closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he let go of Sam’s arm and said, ‘Thank you for coming. Ruby will appreciate it when she’s older.’
Sam’s eyes narrowed, but then he said, ‘No worries, Joe. Look after yourself.’
Joe stayed on the balcony and listened as Sam left. When Sam appeared on the paved canal bank below, Joe watched as his outline grew faint in the dusk light and, once he rounded the corner and went out of sight, Joe turned back into the apartment. Ruby was back in the living room, drying her hair with a towel. As he watched her, he felt everything change. She’d come to him for help when things had got bad at home. He was her big brother, and he and Sam were the nearest things to a father she had. He’d never thought about being arrested for killing Ellie’s murderer, but he’d never been confronted with him. Now the time to act had arrived, he realised that it wasn’t just about the material things but his family too. If he went to prison for killing Proctor, wouldn’t that mean that Proctor had stolen something else from them? If he acted on his promise, Ruby would lose him, and she’d lost enough in her life.
There had to be another way. He didn’t have to kill Proctor to get his revenge. All he had to do was make Proctor pay for it. The problem was the lack of evidence against him. He had to think like a lawyer, not a brother seeking revenge. If he tipped off the police, Proctor might be able to get rid of evidence. No, he had to do more than that: he had to find evidence. Joe had waited many years to get Ellie’s murderer. He couldn’t stand to watch him walk away from it.
Joe was going to get Proctor, but he would do it his way.