Ben Cheetham - Blood Guilt

Harlan wondered if he’d have pushed for the truth if he suspected Tom of something so despicable. Or would he have preferred the comfort of ignorance too. He wasn’t sure. “That’s understandable.”

“Yeah, but now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have let it slide. I mean, if Kane really did kill Sandy, he needs help, right? Therapy or counselling, or something.”

“I dealt with a lot of counsellors when I was on the force. If you want, I can make a couple of calls, organise something.”

Forehead puckered with uncertainty, Susan sucked her lip again. “What if he hates me for it? I don’t know if I can risk pushing him away from me. He’s all I’ve got left.”

“You let me in here. He’s not exactly happy about that.”

“That’s different. You give me hope.”

“There’s a lot of good detectives on the case. That should give you hope too.”

Susan dismissed Harlan’s words with derisive flick of her hand. “They can’t do what’s necessary. They’ve already proved that.” She pointed at him. “You’re the only one who can bring my baby boy back to me.”

The weight of Susan’s words pushed Harlan’s head down. He stared at the piles of missing-person leaflets. Some had fallen over and were scattered across the floor. What a mess, he thought. He pictured Kane with the dead dog in his arms. What a fucking mess. There was no cleaning it up. It just went on and on, turning everything it touched to shit. His head began to reel again. He shakily pulled out a blister strip, popped a pill into his palm and swallowed it.

“I’d better go speak to him,” said Susan, as the music ratcheted up a notch. With a weary noise, she headed for the stairs. After a couple of minutes, the muffled sound of raised voices came through the floor. Harlan tried not to listen to what was being said, but he kept catching words — words like ‘love’ and ‘hate’. His phone began to vibrate. He took it out. It was Jim. He answered it.

“I phoned the hospital,” said Jim. “They told me you’d checked out. I would tell you you’re crazy, but you know that already”

“How’s it going with Nash?”

“That’s why I’m calling. You were right. The old woman got through to him. She didn’t even have to say anything. As soon as we wheeled her in, he started blubbing like a baby. He seems to really care about her.”

“Has he said anything?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on him. I don’t think it’ll be long now. I need you to do me a favour. We want to arrange a line-up. You remember what Kane heard the kidnapper say to Ethan?”

Harlan remembered. Be quiet or I’ll kill you and your brother. “Yes.”

“Well, the idea is to see if Kane can pick Nash’s voice out of the line-up. I need you to talk to Susan — I’m assuming you’re with her — and convince her it’s worth a shot.”

“When are you arranging it for?”

“That depends on Nash. There’s no point setting it up unless he cooperates.”

“Don’t hammer at him with his crimes. That’ll only send him back into his shell. Concentrate on Mary Webster. Make him think that if he cooperates, he’d be doing it for her.”

“That’s exactly what we are doing, and I’d better get back to it. I’ll be speaking to you again soon, I’m sure.”

Jim hung up. The music was still thumping upstairs, but the voices had dropped below hearing range. Harlan rested his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes. Love, hate. Those two words turned over and over in his mind, like a coin flipping through the air. He sighed out a long breath. The painkillers were wrapping warm hands around him. The noise outside was far away now. The noise inside was fading too. Love, hate, love, hate…

When Harlan awoke, the house was silent, except for the sound of pots and pans being moved around in the kitchen. He smelled the aroma of cooking. He glanced at the carriage-clock. Four-twenty. He’d been asleep for an hour or so. He checked his phone. No missed calls. Nash was obviously still holding out. Slowly, stiffly, he rose and made his way to the kitchen. Susan was stood at a grease-stained cooker, shoving sausages around in a frying pan. A scarred wooden table against a wall of the tiny room was laid with cutlery, salt and pepper and sauce bottles.

Noticing Harlan, Susan said, “Hungry?”

Now that she mentioned it, Harlan realised he was. “Yes.”

“I thought you would be after living off hospital food.” Susan nodded towards the table. “Sit yourself down.”

Harlan did so, and Susan placed a mug of tea and a plate of chips and sausages in front of him. She headed out the room with a second plate, saying, “I’ll just take this up to Kane. Don’t wait for me. Start eating.”

The food tasted good — better than any meal Harlan had eaten in weeks. When Susan returned, he asked through a mouthful of sausage, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s not talking to me. Won’t even look at me. I left the food for him, but I doubt he’ll eat it. Last time I saw him like this was a couple of years ago, when I first started seeing Neil. He didn’t eat properly for weeks. I ended up taking him to the doctor.”

Susan sat down opposite Harlan and sparked up a cigarette. “How about you?” he asked. “Aren’t you eating?”

She shook her head. “I can’t stomach anything. Every time I think about Ethan, about where he might be, about what might’ve happened to him, it makes me want to puke.”

Harlan finished his meal quickly, feeling Susan’s eyes on him the whole time. “You’re a good eater,” she said, reaching for his empty plate. “Rob was a good eater too. I used to love watching him eat.”

Harlan winced internally.

“Neil eats like a bird. It drives me mad watching him peck at his food.” Susan dumped the plate in the sink and scrubbed it clean.

Noticing that she spoke about Neil in the present tense, Harlan asked, “Is it over between you two?”

“He lied to me. I can’t be with someone who lies to me.” Susan spoke with decisive quickness, but there was a quiver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Everyone lies sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure, about small things. But not about things like that at a time like this.”

“He was afraid of losing you.”

Susan turned to Harlan, frowning. “What are you saying? That I should get back with him?” That same little quiver was in her voice.

Harlan no longer had any suspicions about Neil. And looking into Susan’s sunken eyes, he could see she was desperately hoping he’d say yes. But he couldn’t bring himself to. The thought came to him that she deserved better than Neil. She deserved someone who could give her a future free from debt and worries about bailiffs coming knocking, a future where she wasn’t always just scraping by.

Another thought rose to his mind: and who’s going to give her that, you?

Maybe, he replied to it.

And are you going to hold her through the night when all she can see is Ethan’s face? Are you going to be a father to Kane?

Harlan didn’t need to think about the answers to those questions. He could never be there for them in that way, even if by some incredible stretch of improbability they’d have him. He thought back to when Tom was born. Eve had given up work. They’d just scraped by on his salary, but they were happy — happier, perhaps, than at any other time in their lives. He sighed. Maybe Neil was the right man for Susan. But then, who was he to say one way or the other? He gave a weak little shrug, dropping his eyes to his mug.

Susan flinched at a knock on the front door. “Will you go see who it is? Don’t open the door. Just have a peep through the curtains.”

Harlan crept into the living-room and did as she asked. It was Lewis Gunn. He returned to the kitchen and told Susan. The knock came again. She made no move to answer it. After a moment, she said, “Go see if he’s gone.”