Mark Billingham - From the Dead

'I'll wait for her, you know,' Kate said.

She and Thorne were on the same bench that he, Donna and Anna had chosen almost three months earlier. The day Anna had confronted the man with the dog. Thorne couldn't even hazard a guess as to when Donna might have the chance to sit there again. She was on remand in Holloway Prison, awaiting trial for the manslaughter of Alan Langford.

'You might be waiting a while,' he said.

'It's fine,' Kate said. 'Least I can do.'

'You shouldn't feel guilty.'

'Shouldn't I?'

'None of it was your fault.'

'If I'd told her, things would never have gone as far as they did.' She leaned back. The tattoo was partially visible above the collar of her black T-shirt, the first few letters of Donna's name. 'If I'd told her what a bitch her daughter was.'

'She would've been devastated,' Thorne said. 'And she would've hated you for it.'

'If I'm honest, that's what I was really afraid of. I keep telling myself that I kept my mouth shut to protect her, but really I was trying to protect the both of us.'

'Nothing wrong with that,' Thorne said.

Three boys ran on to the grass from the other side of the park. One of them kicked a ball high into the air, and there was a good deal of swearing as they argued about who would be going in goal.

'Your friend might still be alive as well,' Kate said.

Thorne said nothing. He was not interested in blaming anyone but himself. Anna was his scab to pick at.

'Donna was really upset about that. She really liked her.'

'There was a lot to like.'

Kate looked at him. 'You two were close, yeah?'

'She was a friend, that's all.'

'And that was all you wanted, was it?'

'Yeah, I think so. I don't know.' Thorne watched the kids playing football, two Arsenal shirts and one bare-chested. 'I didn't know her long enough for it to be anything, really. It was all just… silly.'

'You should have said something.'

Thorne shook his head.

'Best to be honest, trust me.'

'Maybe,' Thorne said. Whatever his feelings for Anna had been – and beyond a few moments of sheer fantasy, they had never been overtly sexual – they had been a symptom of something else. It was time to be honest with himself… and Louise. 'So, what are you going to do?' he asked. 'While you're waiting.'

Kate shrugged, smiled. She looked much older than the last time Thorne had seen her, and she would be a damn sight older still before she and Donna could be together again. 'Go to see her. Make sure she knows I'm not going anywhere, you know?'

'She knows,' Thorne said. He believed it, but he also believed that prison was exactly where Donna wanted to be right now. It was the only place where she felt she truly belonged.

'Fancy a drink?'

'When?'

'Now? The pub, or I've got a bottle indoors.'

Thorne glanced at his watch and said that he needed to be getting back. Kate told him that was fine, that she had things to do herself. It was clear that she knew exactly where he was going. The case against Donna was still being prepared, with statements being taken from all those present at the killing and Thorne himself as the main prosecution witness.

He would not lie about the shooting, of course, but nor would he hold back when describing the extent of the provocation Donna Langford received from her ex-husband and daughter; the mental torment that drove her to pull the trigger.

Best to be honest…

'What about tonight?' Kate asked.

'Sorry, I can't,' Thorne said. Andy Boyle was down from Wakefield and Thorne had promised to take him for a drink. It was likely to be a heavy session. 'I'll call you and we can fix up a night next week, maybe.'

'It's fine,' Kate said. 'I know you're busy.'

They sat for a few more minutes, then stood up and shook hands.

'I meant to say sorry,' Thorne said. 'That day when I was going on about what you did twenty years ago.'

Kate nodded, uncomfortable.

'You said I was out of order and you were right.'

'Just doing your job.'

'I shouldn't have dragged all that up.'

'It's not like I'd forgotten it,' Kate said. 'First thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning.' She took a step away, then stopped. 'Maybe the second thing, now…'

Thorne was halfway back to Colindale when his mobile rang. Brigstocke told him he was in Jesmond's office and suggested, if Thorne were not hands-free, that he might want to think about pulling over. Thorne laughed and said it sounded serious. Then Jesmond cut in. His voice was tinny on the speaker-phone, but the severity of his tone came through loud and clear as he calmly told Thorne that Andrea Keane had walked into a Brighton police station at ten-thirty the night before.

'Where have you been, Andrea? I mean… the best part of a year .'

They were sitting in one of the briefing rooms at Becke House. It was not a formal interview, although Jesmond was seriously looking into bringing a charge of wasting police time against her.

'It might make us look a little less like bloody idiots,' he had said.

The Chief Superintendent had said a number of things since Andrea Keane's reappearance that Thorne would remember for a while. His favourite was: 'Well, the good news is she's alive. Hip-hip-hoo-bloody-ray. The bad news is we're fucked. All of us, but especially you…'

'Andrea…?'

She was sitting across the table from Thorne, holding hands with her father. She looked very different from the girl in the pictures that had been so widely distributed after she had gone missing ten months before. She was at least a stone lighter and her hair had been cut short and dyed black.

She looked terrified.

'Have you any idea how much effort went into looking for you?' Thorne asked. 'Never mind the cost…'

'I'm sorry.' She looked at her father. He squeezed her hand. 'I don't know what else to say.'

'Just tell us the truth.'

Jesmond cleared his throat. He was sitting next to Thorne, though not quite close enough to hold hands. 'Take your time, Miss Keane. I know this must be difficult.'

Thorne could not resist a sideways glance. He felt like leaning across the table and letting Andrea and her father know what the caring – sharing chief superintendent really thought. Perhaps he could pass on a few of his senior officer's more sensitive pronouncements:

'OK, we lost the case, but with her alive we've lost the moral high ground as well.'

'What's going on around here? Why the hell can't the dead stay dead?'

But Thorne said nothing, largely because, deep down, he shared many of Jesmond's frustrations. He was not sorry that Andrea was still alive, never that: the look on Stephen Keane's face was enough to cheer anyone with an ounce of humanity. Even so, Thorne was sickened by the thought of the field day Adam Chambers and his high-powered friends would be enjoying right now. The self-righteous bilge that the newspapers would print over the days to follow. The shocking final chapter in Nick Maier's nauseating expose.

'I was in Brighton for a while,' Andrea said. 'At Sarah's. Then I moved around a bit after that.'

'You were staying with Sarah Jackson?'

Andrea nodded.

Thorne sighed and looked at Jesmond. 'We interviewed her. Twice.'

'She's my mate, so she lied.'

'She deserves an Oscar, the performance she gave.'

'Is she going to get in trouble?'

'Maybe,' Thorne said. He watched Andrea nod slowly and try to blink back the tears that were brimming. 'What have you been doing? How did you live?'

'I just stayed at Sarah's flat for the first few months, until things had died down. Then she helped me get a cleaning job, cash in hand, so I was able to give her something for putting me up. Hiding me, like.'

'You've no idea,' Stephen Keane said.