gear fell to his death during a training exercise, another stupid mistake that had cost a life. But the death of friends and colleagues at least made some sort of sense: they were fighting for their country or pushing themselves to their limits, and it was the occasional price to be paid. Like any member of the armed forces, Shepherd accepted death as a possible outcome of his career choice. And as a policeman, he accepted that from time to time he'd be confronted with violence and possibly death. But Sue's death had been so unnecessary. A simple road accident, two vehicles colliding, and Shepherd was without the wife he loved, Moira and Tom had lost their daughter, and Liam his mother.
Shepherd rolled on to his front and buried his face in the pillow. Images of the last time he'd spoken to Sue filled his mind. Sitting in the visitors' room, he in his stupid fluorescent sash, she in her old sheepskin jacket and blue jeans, the small gold crucifix at her neck, arguing about what the hell he was still doing in prison. He remembered every word she'd said to him, every grimace, every flash of her eyes, the way she'd tapped the table with the nail of her wedding-ring finger, the way she'd glared at the prison officers as if they were to blame for his confinement. It was a lousy memory, one that filled him with guilt and self-loathing. If he hadn't been inside, if he'd been with Sue and Liam, maybe he'd have done the school run that day, maybe he'd have seen the truck, maybe he'd have braked sooner, but even if he hadn't and he'd hit the truck full on, then better that he'd died instead of Sue. Moira was right. Shepherd was just a policeman, one of many, and there were dozens who could take his place at a moment's notice, but Liam had only one mother and she was irreplaceable.
He cursed into the pillow, he swore and blasphemed, but even as he did so he realised the futility of his anger. There was no one to blame, no one to wreak vengeance on.
He turnedon to his back and staredupatthe ceiling. What was done was done. All he could do was make the best of the hand he'd been dealt, no matter how shitty it was.
He showered and went downstairs. Moira was in the kitchen wearing Sue's white towelling bathrobe and nursing a cup of coffee. She gestured at the robe. 'You don't mind, do you?' she asked. 'It's just . . .'
She couldn't find the words, but Shepherd knew what she meant. It smelt of Sue, her perfume, her sweat, her essence, and wearing it allowed Moira to hold on to her just a little longer.
'I know,' said Shepherd. 'It's as if she's just popped out for a while, as if she's going to be back at any moment.'
'I dreamed about her last night,' said Moira. 'I hardly slept but when I did I dreamed she was back, that it had all been a terrible mistake and that someone else had been in the car.' She smiled ruefully. 'Stupid, isn't it?'
It wasn't stupid. Shepherd had dreamed about Sue, too, and in his dream she'd told him she'd had to go away on a job for Sam Hargrove, a job so secret she couldn't tell him about it, but it was over now and she'd never be working for him again. Even asleep he'd known that what she was saying didn't make sense and he found the dream slipping away from him. He'd fought to keep her, even though he knew it wasn't real, but he'd woken up calling her name, wanting her back.
'I'll go down to the shops, get what we need for lunch,' said Moira.
'I'll take Liam to the park.'
'Aren't you going to shave?' she asked.
'I can't. It's part of the role.'
Shepherd went back upstairs and sat on the bed next to his son. Liam's face was stained with dried tears and he was hugging one of his pillows. Shepherd stroked his forehead. 'Time to wake up, kid.'
Liam rolled over sleepily. 'You're home?' he said.
'Of course I'm home,' said Shepherd. Liam's eyes widened, and Shepherd saw that on waking he'd forgotten what had happened. Now it was all flooding back. Shepherd lay on the bed and wrapped his arms round his son. 'It's all right,' he whispered into Liam's ear. 'It's going to be all right.'
'Mummy's dead.'
'I know. But she's watching over you.'
'In Heaven?'
'That's right.'
'I want to be with her in Heaven, too.'
'It's not your time to go to Heaven,' said Shepherd. 'You have to stay here with me and your gran.'
'It's not fair.'
'I know. I know it's not.'
'Is she really in Heaven, Daddy?'
Shepherd gave his son a small squeeze. 'Of course,' he said. 'She's with Jesus, and Jesus is taking care of her.' Shepherd didn't believe that. Sue was dead. A body on a slab somewhere, being prepared for burial or cremation. She wasn't sitting on a cloud playing a harp and she wasn't looking down on Liam. She was dead, and one day Shepherd would be dead, too. But what Shepherd believed and what he wanted his son to believe were two different things. He'd had an argument with Sue when Liam was three and he had wanted to tell the child that there was no Father Christmas. Father Christmas was nothing more than a marketing exercise, Shepherd had argued, and telling Liam otherwise was tantamount to lying. Sue had disagreed and insisted that children needed their fantasies. Shepherd had asked her if that included God and she'd given him a frosty look. She'd won the argument, and it had only been when schoolfriends had put him straight that Liam stopped believing in the fat man in the red suit. Shepherd rated God on a par with Father Christmas, but he had no wish to add to his son's despair by telling him there was no such place as Heaven and that he'd never see his mother again.
'I love you, Mummy,' Liam shouted. 'Don't forget me!' Then he said, 'Did she hear me, Daddy?'
'Of course she did,' said Shepherd. 'And she loves you.' Liam snuggled up to him. 'I love you, too, Daddy.'
Gerald Carpenter turned up the volume of his personal stereo. He was listening to a news programme on Radio Four, but even with his headphones on he could still hear pounding rap music from one of the cells below, the click-click of balls on the pool table, the clanging of doors closing, raised voices, forceful rather than angry, sarcastic laughter - all the sounds of association, when prisoners were let out of their cells to socialise. But even when everyone was banged up there was never a time when the wing was silent. Even in the middle of the night radios played, there were muttered conversations, snoring, the squeak of boots on the landing as an officer walked by, the rattling of keys. Even with his eyes closed there were constant reminders of where he was. His inability to control his environment was one of the worst things about being in prison. At least he had the money and contacts to ensure that his confinement would only be temporary. He could think of nothing worse than to be behind bars on a long sentence, knowing that for the next ten or twenty years everything you did was controlled by people who thought you were no better than an animal to be caged, fed and occasionally exercised.
Carpenter took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax. He filled his mind with images of his wife and son, on their motor launch at Malaga, soaking up the sun and enjoying the envious looks of the tourists on the quayside; Bonnie riding her horse, looking damn good in her jodhpurs and boots; himself walking into his local pub and buying a round, talking football with guys who had no idea what he did for a living. If everything went to plan, it wouldn't be long before Carpenter was on the outside enjoying those things for real. He'd already spent the best part of two million pounds on destroying the case against him, but if it took another twenty million it would still be a small price to pay for his freedom.
After breakfast - scrambled eggs and cheese on toast, Liam's favourite - Shepherd took his son for a walk on the local common. Liam was talking about his mother. Mostly he started with 'Remember when . . .' then relate a story from start to finish. The time she'd locked herself out of the house and had to break a window to get in. The time she'd taken him to hospital thinking he'd broken his collarbone after falling off his bike. The time they'd eaten oysters on holiday on the Scottish coast. He told the stories happily, and Shepherd listened, ruffling his hair.
They kicked the football around, then took it in turns to be in goal and had a penalty competition, which Liam won. They walked to a copse and Liam said he wanted to climb an oak tree with spreading branches. Shepherd stood underneath anxiously, but Liam was surefooted and fearless. He sat on a branch and waved to him. 'Come on, Daddy!'
Shepherd climbed up and joined him. Liam pointed off into the distance. 'Our house is there, isn't it?'
'I guess so.'
'Can you see it?'
'No, I can't.'
