way downstairs with slow, reluctant steps. “Come on, come on,” she urged, thrusting his coat and trainers at him. He put them on and sloped after her, head hanging. She stepped out the front door, but he hesitated to follow. Her eyes swelled with frustration. “What the hell’s the matter with you? You understand what’s going on, don’t you?”
Kane nodded, without meeting his mother’s gaze.
“Then you know that every second you waste standing there may cost your brother his life. Now get in the car.”
Kane’s face crumpled as if he was about to cry, but he remained otherwise motionless.
“I said get in the fucking-” Susan caught her anger with a deep breath, before continuing firmly, but gently, “Please, Kane, do as I say.”
Kane glanced back at Harlan. “Will you come with us?”
For a second time that morning, Susan’s eyebrows lifted high. A little tremor of relief passed over Kane’s face as Harlan said, “Of course I will.” Avoiding Susan’s inquiring gaze, Harlan struggled into his shoes and followed Kane to the police car. The boy sat between him and Susan, nervously picking at his jeans, as the car drove blurringly fast to the edge of the city and beyond. Every once in a while, a voice crackled over the two-way radio, inquiring as to their location. Other than that and the driver’s response, the journey passed in silence. An hour and a half or so later, they pulled into a car park around the back of a police station on the outskirts of Manchester. Jim was waiting for them. He gave Harlan a surprised glance, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him.
“This way, please.” Jim ushered Susan and Kane into the building. They made their way along a corridor to a room where DCI Garrett, DI Greenwood, DI Sheridan and several other detectives awaited them. A faint frown tugged Garrett’s brows at the sight of Harlan, but as his eyes moved to Susan a well-practiced smile of grave welcome chased it away. Slimy bastard, thought Harlan, approaching a two-way mirror, on the other side of which eight figures were lined up. All of them roughly Nash’s height and build. All of them wearing black balaclavas. They looked like a gang of terrorists.
Garrett held his hand out to Susan. She was slow to take it. “It’s good to see you again, Susan. And you, Kane. Has the procedure been explained to you?”
“No,” said Susan.
“It’s simple. One at a time, each of the men will approach the mirror and say, be quiet or I’ll kill you and your brother. All you have to do, Kane, is say if you recognise any of their voices.” Garrett gestured at the line-up. “We’re confident that one of those men is the man who took your brother, but-”
“If one of them is him, it’s no thanks to you he’s in there,” cut in Susan, with a meaningful glance at Harlan.
Garrett’s smile faltered, but remained fixed in place. Ignoring the acid remark, he continued, “But if you can pick his voice out it’ll really help strengthen our case. Now take your time. And don’t be afraid to ask if you want any of them to repeat the words.”
Garrett gave a signal and one of the detective’s spoke into a mic. “Number one, step forward and read the line.”
Susan laid a hand on Kane’s shoulder as the first figure approached the mirror and read from a card in a flat, emotionless tone. “Be quiet or I’ll kill you and your brother.”
Harlan didn’t recognise the voice. Kane indicated that he didn’t either with a shake of his head. The next figure stepped forward, and the next, and the next. All of them elicited the same response: a shake of Kane’s head. The fifth figure recited the line. Harlan tensed, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through him. He recognised Nash’s voice instantly, even though it sounded different. It had an unusually gentle, almost soothing quality, maybe acquired through years of caring for Mary Webster, or maybe adopted to hide its owner’s true nature. Po-faced, Harlan looked at Kane. The boy seemed to consider for a moment, then shook his head. “Are you sure?” Garrett asked him.
“Yes.”
“It’s just that you hesitated.”
“Only because the voice sounded kind of strange.”
“Do you want number five to say the line again?”
Kane shrugged. Garrett gestured and number five was ordered to repeat the words. This time, Kane didn’t hesitate. “It’s not him.”
“Take your time, darling,” said Susan.
“I don’t need to. It’s not him.”
Harlan exchanged a glance with Jim. His ex-partner’s carefully expressionless face reflected his own, but Harlan knew him well enough to read disappointment in his eyes. Nash stepped back into line, handing off the card. None of the other voices caused Kane to hesitate. After shaking his head at the last figure in the line, he said, “It’s none of them. He’s not here.” He looked up at Susan. There was the first hint of tears in his voice. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
Susan squeezed her son’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“Your mum’s right,” said Garrett. “You’ve been very brave and done all you could.”
“So does this mean Nash isn’t the one who took my Ethan?” Susan asked.
“Not at all. It merely means Kane didn’t recognise his voice, which when you think about it is hardly surprising. In fact, I think there are some real positives to be taken from this.”
“Positives?” A frown darkened Susan’s features as she glanced at the two-way mirror.
“I’ll have to ask you and Kane to wait in the corridor a moment while I talk to my colleagues.”
At a glance from Garrett, DI Sheridan ushered them out of the room. “What about me?” asked Harlan.
Garrett looked at him with his police face, not his politician face. “You stay where you are.” There was a hard, authoritative edge to his voice. He waited for DI Sheridan to close the door, before continuing, “William Jones won’t be bringing charges against you. Before you thank me, know this, if it were up to me I’d prosecute you to the full extent of the law. But it’s not up to me. Apparently some people think you’re a hero. I’m not one of those people.” Garrett leaned in close to Harlan, his voice dropping to a furious hiss. “I know what you really are.”
Harlan fought a sudden strong urge to break eye contact. “And what’s that?”
“You’re a menace to society. A madman.”
Madman. The word lodged itself like a splinter in Harlan’s mind. Others of his own making joined it. A killer, a potential murderer, a monster. Is he right? I s that what I am? Not wanting to give Garret the satisfaction of seeing that he’d gotten to him, he forced himself to hold his gaze a moment longer. His voice almost toneless, he said, “I wasn’t going to say thanks,” and turned to leave.
“One more thing, Miller.”
Harlan paused, but kept his back to Garrett. He watched the fifth figure in the line-up being cuffed, ready to be returned to the cells. Garrett coughed as if something was stuck in his craw, before saying, “Mr and Mrs Sutton’s solicitor will be in contact about the money.”
“Money?” Harlan echoed vaguely, only half listening. The line-up participants were filing out of the neighbouring room, all of them still wearing their balaclavas, but only one cuffed.
“The reward money for finding their son. The Suttons want to thank you personally too.”
Harlan shook his head. “Tell them the best way they can thank me is by spoiling Jamie every chance they-” He was cut off by a scream so full of hysterical rage it barely sounded human. It was followed by the sound of a scuffle in the corridor. He yanked the door open in time to see DI Sheridan struggling to restrain Susan as, eyes bulging like a demented cartoon character’s, she clawed at the handcuffed man, missing him by inches. “Where’s Ethan?” she shrieked. “What have you done to my baby boy? You sick fuck! I’ll fucking kill-” Her words were choked off by DI Sheridan hauling her backward.
Harlan stepped between Susan and Nash, who was being hurried away by a couple of uniforms. She lurched forward again, hands flailing. He winced, his stitches pulling painfully as she staggered against him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her. She briefly strained to break loose. Then, suddenly, her body went limp and she was sobbing, and he was doing what he’d thought he couldn’t do, he was holding her head on his shoulder, shushing her. He looked at Kane, who was shrunk back against a wall, pale and staring. He tried to reassure him with his eyes, before transferring his gaze to Garrett. The DCI, his face flushed with dismayed embarrassment, was already forming an apology on his lips, but Harlan spoke first. “Jesus! What is this? Fucking amateur hour?” Keeping one arm around Susan, he walked her out of the station. The sound of Garrett giving someone the hair-dryer treatment
