“Why?”
“I’m defending myself in the trial.”
“Yeah, I heard. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Sounds weird.”
“That’s why I’m asking everyone.”
“You’re saying you’re innocent?”
“That’s right.”
He looked at her with frank curiosity.
“I got home and hung around and I didn’t see anyone until Mum got back later in the afternoon and we didn’t talk to anyone else until the police arrived. Is that any help?”
It felt like he was trying to provoke an argument. There was a silence, during which he tapped his fingers against the table.
“It must have been difficult for you, at school, being the child of one of the teachers,” said Tabitha.
“It wasn’t perfect.”
“You left when you were sixteen, didn’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought you’d be one of the people who went to university.”
“I did other things.”
“What did your parents think about that?”
“Why do you even ask?”
“Your father was a teacher. I suppose that he thought it was important to pass exams, get good grades, all that sort of thing. So maybe your dad was a bit disappointed when you left school.”
“My dad was disappointed with a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“This is my murdered father we’re talking about. And you’re talking about an ex-lover.”
“He wasn’t my ‘ex-lover.’”
“I thought that was the word for someone you’ve slept with. How would you describe it?”
“He was my math teacher and almost three times my age, and I was only fifteen.” She thought Luke gave an involuntary flinch: perhaps Laura hadn’t told him that bit. “What would you call him?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and for the first time he sounded sincere.
“I wasn’t a very mature fifteen either. Looking back, I see I was vulnerable and afraid and he was someone I looked up to and he took advantage of that.”
“That sounds like a reason to kill someone.”
“It’s one of the reasons I’m sitting here,” said Tabitha. She had surprised herself by speaking so openly. “All right. What about you?”
“What do you want me to tell you?” said Luke. “You must have heard the story by now. I left school early. I went off the rails. I left home and didn’t return. I’m not the son my dad would have chosen. He wasn’t the father I would have chosen either.”
“Did he bully you?”
“Did he bully you?” replied Luke.
“I think he did bully you,” Tabitha continued. “I think you were scared of him and crushed by him and he made your childhood miserable.” She spoke slowly and held his gaze, willing him not to look away.
For a few seconds she thought he was going to tell her something. She could see his face working with the effort to speak and not to speak. But then his expression shifted.
“Fuck you,” he said. “Oh no, I forgot, that was what my father did.”
“Fuck you too.” She sat back and they glared at each other. Tabitha wanted to shout with nasty laughter. “I need to find out something,” she said at last. “Or I’ll be serving a life sentence for murder.”
“Which is what you should be serving if you killed him.”
“But I didn’t. Or at least, I . . .” She bit down on the words. “I didn’t,” she repeated.
“So you say.”
“And if I didn’t, someone else in the village that day must have. You see?”
Luke let out a breath that was halfway to a whistle. “That’s what this is about. You’re playing detective.”
“It’s hardly a game.”
“You’re trying to find out if the bullied son could have murdered his wicked father. Or maybe just smear me a bit, spread a little doubt about. Would that be enough to get you off?”
“It might be,” said Tabitha. “You know: reasonable doubt.” Tabitha considered for a moment. “Had you made up?”
“Made up?” Luke gave a peculiar little smirk. “You mean, had he decided to forgive me for not being the son he wanted?”
“Had he?”
“I’ll never know.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Had you decided to forgive him for not being the father you wanted?”
Something in his expression changed. He looked sharp and almost ugly. “I’ll never forgive him,” he said, not angrily but deliberately, like a kind of pledge.
Tabitha felt like she’d been punched. She stared at him and he stared back, then shrugged, regaining his ironic composure: “Fathers and sons,” he said. “You know.”
“You said your father wouldn’t have chosen you. What about Laura?”
“You know mothers. She took my side. At least some of the time.” He stopped and folded his arms.
“So why did you come back?”
Luke’s face flushed red. “It was Christmas. Mum wanted to see me.”
“Was he OK with that?”
“You know what they say, home is the place where when you go there, they have to let you in.”
“You hadn’t been back for years.”
“Have you been checking up on me?”
“I didn’t need to. You know what Okeham’s like. Everyone knows everyone’s secrets.”
Who had it been? She thought perhaps Pauline Leavitt, or maybe Terry in the village shop.
“I can imagine. The ingratitude of kids, poor Stuart and Laura, that kind of thing.”
“Something like that. But you should hear what they say about me.”
“I don’t get what you’re asking.”
“You don’t go back for ages, and then when you do return he’s killed.”
“So?”
“Was his car there when you got home?”
“No. I already said.”
“And you didn’t see it?”
“No.”
“Did the police interview you?”
“They checked a couple of details.”
“That sounds a bit casual.”
“They were mainly there to reassure my mother. The main man told her that it was OK, that they’d already got the right person. Slam dunk.” He pointed an index finger at her.
“Who was he?”
“Someone who liked the sound of his own voice.” He wrinkled his brow. “His name was Dudley, I think.”
“Face like an ax?” asked Tabitha, remembering what Andy had said.
“More like a hatchet. Or a cheese grater perhaps. He kept patting Mum on the shoulder.”
“Are you going to be giving evidence?”
“Why? What about?”
“Maybe they’ll want you to talk about the impact on your family.”
“I’ll leave that to my mother.”
“You probably won’t be needed,” said Tabitha. “I imagine the witness box will be full of people from the village talking about how beloved
