Ben Cheetham - Blood Guilt

Harlan was about to say okay, but his thoughts returned with a falling sensation to Susan Reed. “Some other time. There’s something I need to do.”

“Just do me a favour and try to keep a low profile for a few days. Garrett’s spitting blood about what happened to Jones. He knows he fucked up releasing Jones’s name to the press, and he’s desperate to make an example of someone.”

“I’ll try.” Harlan held his hand out, and when Jim took it, he said, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jim paused a breath, before adding meaningfully, “partner.”

Harlan smiled again at the word. “I’ll see you.” His hunger forgotten for now, he made his way along the street until he saw a phone-box. He called Susan Reed. She picked up instantly, as if she’d been waiting by the phone.

“I heard what happened. Mr Garrett sent a couple of his detectives to see me. Don’t worry, I stayed right here all night with Kane, just like you told me to.” Susan’s tone was breathless with eager inquiry. “What did you find out?”

There wasn’t much to tell, but what there was Harlan was unwilling to say over the phone. “Let’s meet and I’ll tell you.”

“Okay. Where?”

Harlan thought for a moment, then said, “Tom’s Cafe.” It was a grotty little backstreet greasy-spoon where he used to meet his informants. He’d used the place because of its privacy and because its name was a reminder of something that was innocent and worth preserving, worth fighting for. He hadn’t been there since Tom’s death. “Do you know it?”

“No.”

Harlan described where the cafe was. “Do you think you can find it?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it.”

“I’ll see you there in half-an-hour or so.”

Harlan headed to the cafe. He watched carefully for any sign that he was being followed, but there was none. Just in case, he went into a busy indoor market, weaved his way quickly between the stalls and dodged out of a side entrance. When he got to the cafe, he ordered a fried breakfast and wolfed it down while he waited for Susan. As usual, the place was empty except for a few shady-looking characters and a craggy-faced old guy behind the counter who’d been a permanent fixture as long as Harlan had been going there.

Harlan had just finished eating when Susan turned up. To his dismay, she wasn’t alone. Her boyfriend, Neil Price, was with her. Harlan took in Price’s cheap, baggy clothing and even cheaper haircut as, holding hands like teenage lovers, the two of them sat down opposite him. Up close, Price looked both younger and older than he had done on the television. The watery blue of his eyes, which blinked nervously at Harlan from behind thick lenses, was lined with red. And the surrounding flesh was tired, grey and marked with crow’s feet — no doubt, the result of years spent working nights. But the awkward way he held himself and the ratty fuzz of hair on his chin and upper lip gave Harlan the impression of an adolescent desperately trying to be an adult.

Frowning hard, Harlan shifted his attention to Susan. “I told you to come alone.”

“You can trust Neil,” she assured him.

“I don’t give a toss if I can trust him. He shouldn’t be here. I thought you understood, this was supposed to be between just you and me.” Harlan released an angry breath. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t get up and walk out of here right now.”

Susan’s eyes swelled with alarm. “Please don’t.”

“I’m here because Susan needs support,” said Neil, his voice reedy and tremulous. He tried to hold Harlan’s gaze, but his eyes dropped to the table after a few seconds.

Harlan scrutinised Neil, wondering what Susan saw in him. He didn’t seem her type at all — his nervy demeanour and thin, gangly frame were about as dissimilar from her husband as could be. Maybe that was it, he reflected. Maybe, consciously or unconsciously, she’d gone for someone who wouldn’t stir up bad memories every time she looked at him. Harlan sighed, his anger fading a little in the face of Neil’s timidity. “Wait outside.”

“There’s no point.” Neil worked up enough courage to look briefly at Harlan. “We don’t keep any secrets from each other.”

Harlan shifted his gaze to Susan. “Either he leaves or I do.”

“Do as he says, Neil,” she said.

A look of hurt flashed over Neil’s face, but he removed his hand from hers and obediently headed for the door. Harlan let out a long breath through his nose. “I hope you’re right about him.”

“I am.” Susan bent forward, her voice dropping. “So what happened with Jones?” Her mouth twisted as if the name had a bitter taste that made her want to spit.

“We’ll get to that in a moment. First I want ask you a couple of question about Neil.”

Susan made an impatient gesture. “The coppers have already asked me a thousand questions about him, and I’ll tell you what I told them — Neil hasn’t got anything to do with any of this.”

“You realise he fits the classic profile of a potential abductor — white male, early thirties, unskilled-”

“Yeah, I know,” cut in Susan. “But I also know that he’s the kindest, sweetest man I’ve ever met. He couldn’t hurt a fly.” Susan glanced at Neil, who was leant with his back to the window, hands thrust in his pockets, staring at the pavement. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, look at him. He jumps at his own shadow. Do you really think he could’ve taken my Ethan?”

Harlan had to admit that Price looked about as harmless as they come, but he also knew that appearances could deceive, that the sheep could turn out to be a wolf. “Where did you meet him?”

Susan heaved a sigh. “At the hospital a couple of years ago. Ethan got ill — some kind of blood infection. He was in hospital for a week. Neil was a porter on his ward. He looked out for Ethan. He looked out for all the kids. Brought them comics from his collection. Anyway, one day we got talking and, well, things just kind of happened.” A note of some old guilt entered Susan’s voice. “Not that I was looking for a relationship, or anything. Neil’s the first man I’ve been with since…since…” She trailed off.

“Where does he live?” Harlan asked quickly, as reluctant to hear the name on Susan’s tongue as she was to say it.

“With his parents over on Manor Lane.”

“What number?”

Susan told him, adding, “He’s saving to buy a place of his own.”

Harlan wasn’t in the least surprised to learn that Price still lived with his parents. It was written all over his thirty-year-old teenager’s face. “So he’s got money of his own.”

“Well he’s not with me for my money, is he?” There was a sharp, ironic edge to Susan’s voice.

“What I mean is, does he live off his parents?”

“More like the other way around. His dad’s an unemployed brickie and his mum’s a dinner lady at Ethan’s school.”

Harlan’s eyebrows lifted at this. It was a seemingly small thing, but as the cliche went, the Devil was often in the details. “What are his parents’ names?”

“George and Sandra.”

“Did Sandra know Ethan before you and Neil got together?”

“She knew him to look at, if not to talk to.” Susan blew out her breath in frustration. “Look, Neil’s got an alibi, right. He was working the night Ethan was taken. On top of which, the sicko that took my baby boy is dark haired and about your height and build. If you hadn’t noticed, Neil’s over six foot, blond and weighs about nine stone soaking wet.”

“Maybe he’s got an accomplice.”

“An accomplice? And just who the hell might that be?” Susan’s raised voice barely drew a glance from the other customers — Tom’s Cafe was a place where people knew to mind their own business.