Baldy stepped underneath a street light and she could see a mobile phone pressed against his ear. He had a good five inches on her – he was six foot two, she guessed – and he was twice as wide. She also got a good look at his pockmarked face. No question this was the same man she’d seen earlier today.
Baldy’s eyes cut to her. She was removing her sidearm when he abruptly turned and ducked down an alley between two apartment buildings.
A moment later she reached the corner leading into the alley, heard footsteps echoing. She turned into it and saw his shadow sprinting past rubbish bins. She gave chase, slowing when she reached the next corner. She turned, saw him running into the street, and followed.
Baldy wasn’t in good shape but for such a big man he ran fast and well. And he had a solid lead.
Darby was closing the gap when she heard a car door shut. Tyres peeled away in a screech of rubber. By the time she reached the street, she caught a flash of a dark car before it disappeared.
36
Jamie placed the electric clippers on top of the newspapers with which she’d covered the bathroom vanity. She’d shave her hair down after she saw Michael. He had come out of his room earlier to use the bathroom. She hoped he hadn’t locked his bedroom door again.
He hadn’t.
She slid the door open and saw him lying on his side, fast asleep.
The right side of his face was swollen.
Michael didn’t stir when she pulled back the sheets and climbed into his bed. She wrapped an arm around his waist.
Her eyes stung. Blinking back tears, she kissed his cheek and then lay close next to him, wide awake. Underneath his T-shirt she could feel the thick, rubbery scar on his chest from where the doctors had operated on him to save his life.
Michael stirred awake. His head popped up, his voice groggy, thick with sleep. He expected to see Carter – sometimes his younger brother crawled into bed. When Michael saw her, he looked alarmed.
‘What’s wrong? Are you sick?’
‘I’m… ah… okay.’
His glare was as cold and unforgiving as an X-ray.
‘What’s that… You smell like the way the air does after fireworks have gone off.’
‘Your… your, ah… face, what… ah… ah…’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ His head slumped back against the pillow.
‘Fight?’
He didn’t answer. He had turned back towards the window.
‘Direct… ah… camp director… ah… she… called.’
He sighed. ‘I got in a fight with Tommy Gerrad today.’
‘Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I had to go to Miss French’s office. While I was there, I told her I didn’t want to be there any more, so I guess you’re stuck with me.’
Jamie kissed the back of his head and hugged him. She felt his body stiffen.
He didn’t push her away, though. He didn’t remove her arm.
‘Sorry,’ she said, and hugged him again. ‘Sorry for… way Tommy… ah… ah… how he… hurt you.’
Michael didn’t answer.
‘Love,’ she said. ‘Love… ah… you.’
‘You went to him first.’
Jamie froze.
‘You thought you could save only one of us,’ he said, ‘and you chose Carter.’
‘
‘I was there, remember? I saw you.’ His voice, barely above a whisper, was stripped of emotion. ‘You went to him first.’
He was right. She had gone to Carter first. After she managed to free herself from the chair, after she had called 911, she had used the kitchen knife to cut the tape binding his eighteen-month-old brother to the chair and started doing CPR on Carter while Michael, still tied to the chair, bled out. Her focus was on saving Carter first: he was so small, had been shot twice and was losing blood fast. By the time the EMTs arrived, Michael had passed out. Michael remembered what had happened, and this knowledge had lain between them for years, lengthening the already considerable distance between them. But this was the first time he had ever spoken the words out loud and it pierced her.
Jamie’s breath came out sharp and fast. The words she needed to speak were stuck somewhere on the broken road between her brain and tongue. She kissed Michael’s neck, feeling her son’s body shudder again, and then, unable to hold it any longer, started to cry. She kissed the top of his head, tears streaming down her face, and said, ‘Sorry, Michael. Sorry.’ She whispered the word over and over again, wishing she could travel far away from this bedroom – this house. Pack up and move them some place where their memories would be stripped clean, their scars erased. Where they’d wake up and greet each day without dread, without worry.
37
Darby dialled Patrolman Gavin and told him to get on the horn and pull everyone back. The person of interest had escaped. She hung up and went looking for Coop.
She didn’t have to look far. She found him talking to the attractive woman in the tight pink shorts with the word ‘trouble’ stitched across her ass. Her name was Michelle Baxter. She had attended school with Coop, from kindergarten all the way through Charlestown High School.
Baxter reeked of beer and cigarettes. She wore bright red lipstick and had gone heavy on the makeup and eyeliner. She smiled and flirted with Coop, acting as if everyone around her had come out of their homes to attend a late-night block party.
‘Where do you live, Michelle?’ Darby asked.
‘Right here.’ Baxter waved a hand to the apartment building behind her. ‘You want a beer or something?’
‘Thank you, but no. We’re on duty. Can we talk upstairs?’
‘Sure, why not?’ Baxter stubbed out her cigarette and walked up the steps.
Coop turned to Darby and said, ‘Let me talk to her alone first. You know the deal about Charlestown – nobody will talk to the cops. I live here, so I might be able to get her to open up.’
‘The only thing that woman wants to do with you, Coop, is to find a way to get you into her bed. Besides, she invited both of us up. I think she’ll talk to me.’
The dank stairwell smelled of stale cigarettes and cat urine. Someone was playing the Stones’ ‘Gimme
