Harlan wanted to look away from the photo, but he was gripped in a vice of guilt. He suddenly had the feeling that he was trespassing on forbidden ground. “She’s right, you shouldn’t be here,” he said to himself. But he knew he couldn’t leave, either. Not with Susan as she was.
“What the fuck’s that wanker doing here?”
Harlan jerked around to face the voice’s owner, grimacing at the sudden movement. From the doorway, Kane glared at him, fists balled. “Don’t talk to him like that,” said Susan, pushing past her son and proffering a glass to Harlan, which he accepted with a smile of thanks.
“I’ll talk to him however I want.”
Susan shot Kane a reproachful look. “You’ll do as I say whilst you’re in my house.”
“No I won’t. Not when it comes to him. Why should I?”
“Because he risked his life to try and help your brother.”
Kane stabbed a finger at Harlan, the same curl on his lips that’d twisted Susan’s mouth out of shape as she spoke about Nash. “He fuckin’ killed my dad!” He turned on Susan, eyes bulging. “How could you do this, Mum? How could you let him in here?”
She blinked, but her own mounting anger kept her from wavering under the force of her son’s glare. “He’s trying to make up for what he did.”
“He can’t make up for it. Nothing he can do will bring dad back.”
“I know that, but-”
“I don’t care what you say!” broke in Kane. “And I don’t care what he does. Even if he finds Ethan, I’ll still hate him and want to kill him.”
“Kane!” For the first time since Harlan had been there, some colour came into Susan’s face. “I won’t have you talk like that. Do you hear me? I won’t have it!”
“Fuck you.” Kane whirled to head back upstairs. Susan caught hold of his arm, but he elbowed her away.
“Get back down here, you little shit,” she yelled, as he hammered up the stairs.
“I won’t. Not until he’s gone.” The walls quivered as Kane slammed his bedroom door.
Susan started after him, but thought better of it. Heaving a sigh, she dropped into the armchair. “I shouldn’t have sworn at him. I hate myself when I lose it like that.”
“Maybe I should go,” suggested Harlan.
Susan shook her head. “I want you here.” She glanced at the ceiling, through which loud rap music had begun to vibrate. “And boyo’s just going to have to get used to the idea. When he’s calmed down, I’ll go speak to him.”
“It won’t make any difference. He hates me, and he’s got every right to.”
“So have I.” Susan frowned as if struggling to make sense of something, some sudden realisation. “But I don’t hate you anymore.” She added quickly, “That’s not to say I’ve forgiven you. I just don’t hate you.” She let out a long breath, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”
Harlan had never thought he’d hear it either. He replayed her words in his mind several times, trying to get a handle on how they made him feel. They counted for something, he knew that. More than something, they counted for a lot, but not enough to stop him from hating himself. Nowhere near.
“If I can stop hating you, so can Kane,” continued Susan. “He’s carried too much anger for too long. It scares me. I’m scared that if he doesn’t start letting go of it he’s gonna hurt somebody. I mean, really hurt somebody.”
Harlan’s gaze strayed to the photo and Kane’s face, its smile as untarnished as the beach and the sea. An image rose into his mind of Kane wielding the baseball bat, eyes burning with hate. A monster of his making. The vice turned a twist tighter. “By somebody, you mean me.”
“You or anybody else he takes against.” Susan’s voice grew hesitant. “I’ve never told anyone this before. About a year ago I bought Kane a puppy, a little mongrel terrier. I thought it would, y’know, do him good to have some responsibility. And at first it seemed to, but he soon lost interest. Started kicking up a stink every time I told him to take it for a walk. One day we had this big blow up after I caught him hitting it. When things calmed down, he apologised and promised to start looking after Sandy — that was the dog’s name — properly. And for a few weeks, he kept his promise. But then this…this thing happened. One morning he came running home soaking wet, carrying Sandy. Sandy was dead. He said the dog had jumped in the river. He’d tried to save it, but it drowned. That’s what he said, and that’s what I wanted to believe, but…” Susan’s voice trailed off into uneasy silence. She sucked her upper lip a moment, before continuing, “But something in the back of my mind kept telling me he was lying. I wanted to confront him, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Truth is, I didn’t want to know if he’d killed Sandy.”
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…
