Читать книгу Dead Secret - Ava McCarthy - Страница 12

‘If it’s my lawyer, I don’t want to see him.’

Jodie trudged down the corridor after Groucho. From behind, he looked bulky with protective gear, his heavy leather duty belt creaking with every step. He spoke over his shoulder.

‘This guy’s no lawyer. He’s a real live human being.’

Jodie frowned. ‘But I didn’t sign any visitation form. I didn’t ask to see anyone.’

‘Got the paperwork upstairs, your signature’s on it.’

‘That can’t be right.’

‘You saying it’s a fake?’

Jodie’s step faltered. Visitors had to be approved by inmates in advance, with a signed form submitted to the Department of Corrections. She hadn’t signed one, but the niggling in her gut told her she knew who had.

She trotted to keep up. ‘This visitor, is it a guy called Novak?’

‘You should know, you put his name down on the form.’

‘Is it him?’

Groucho relented. ‘Yeah, it’s him.’

Shit. Matt Novak. The reporter who’d written to her, asking for an interview; the guy Dixie kept urging her to see. Dixie, who was locked up for falsifying cheques and counterfeiting identification documents; who could copy a signature after seeing it only once, in Jodie’s case probably from the painting Mrs Tate had brought in to show the class.

Groucho swung round to face her, his belt clinking with keys and cuffs. ‘Do we have a problem here? You saying the paperwork’s not legit?’

Jodie took in the grumpy lines of his face, the pouches under his eyes. The guy had a tough job. The first to unlock the inmates in the mornings, he usually took the brunt of everyone’s resentment. Jodie let him do his job, never gave him any lip. In exchange, he wasn’t above bending the rules, often letting her stay longer in the art room than she should. But rumour had it he was close to retirement now, and Jodie guessed he wasn’t about to risk his pension by breaching major rules.

She dropped her gaze, then made herself shrug, sidestepping the fuss that would only get Dixie into trouble.

‘The paperwork’s fine. I guess I just forgot.’

He gave her a long, penetrating look. Then, with a quick glance around, he stepped up closer and pointed a finger at her face.

‘You need to watch out for Magda. She’s a psycho, and she won’t be in Seg for long.’

Jodie opened her mouth to reply, but he’d already turned on his heel and was continuing on towards the visiting room. She hurried after him. The blare of loud voices echoed through the closed door, like the racket of a large, unruly class left unattended. She hung back, her stomach knotted, while Groucho stepped in to deal with the Officer in Charge.

She’d never had any visitors. No family to worry about how she was doing, no friends who hadn’t already moved on. All except for Nancy, who’d written two or three times, asking if she could come. But Jodie wouldn’t see her. They’d be strangers now, separated by Jodie’s pain and by the magnitude of what she’d done. A visit like that would take down both of them.

Groucho gestured her forward, and Jodie hesitated, suddenly tuning in to the sound of children in the room. She swallowed hard.

She’d get in and get out. No chit-chat with Novak, just a long enough visit to allay suspicion over Dixie’s handiwork. If she was quick, she might even get back to the art room before it closed and retrieve the mannequin she’d replaced inside the cupboard.

Jodie lifted her chin and stepped forward through the door. The din of voices filled the air. She took in the rows of tables and chairs, all occupied by inmates and their families. Most of the women in prison here were mothers.

She averted her eyes from the toddlers in the play area, and let her gaze travel the room. The windows in here were larger than most. Sunlight slanted through the grilles, casting trellises onto the floor. Jodie’s eyes followed the grid lines to the far corner of the room, where a dishevelled-looking man sat alone, drumming his fingers on the table.

Her arrival snagged his attention. He clambered to his feet, as she started off across the room. Up close, he looked younger than she’d thought: probably about her own age, mid-thirties at most, though his raggedy, days-old stubble made it hard to tell. She stood in front of him, assessing his unkempt, curly hair, the wrinkled shirt, the crumpled jacket slung across the back of his chair. He looked like he belonged in prison more than she did.

‘I’m Jodie Garrett.’

‘Yeah, I know. Matt Novak.’

He made as if to shake her hand, then glanced at the Officer in Charge and seemed to think better of it. He gestured instead at the chair opposite his, and waited for her to sit down before resuming his own seat.

‘Thanks for agreeing to see me.’

‘Actually, I didn’t.’ She went on, forestalling objections. ‘My cellmate forged the paperwork on my behalf, she thought the visit would do me good. I disagree.’

His expression shifted into neutral while he processed the information. He regarded her with clear, slate-grey eyes.

‘And yet you’re still here.’

‘I’m here for five minutes. We can talk about the weather or your favourite baseball team, but I’m not interested in discussing my past with you, Mr Novak.’

‘I think you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.’

He gave her a long, assessing look, and eventually, he added,

‘I was in court for your trial. You haven’t changed much. Thinner maybe.’

‘You were doing a story about me back then, too?’

‘No offence, but my story’s not about you.’

‘I see. Who, then?’

‘Your husband.’

‘Ah, I get it.’ Jodie closed her eyes briefly. ‘Successful lawyer, popular family man, tragically slain by evil wife.’

She felt her lips compress. The media had run that angle for months after the trial and she wasn’t about to submit to it again, not even for Dixie. She shifted in her seat, made a move to get up. Novak put out a hand.

‘Would it surprise you to know he was involved in fraud?’

Jodie cut him a sharp look. She thought of Ethan’s secretive nature; of the quick-thinking lies he’d routinely told, always doctoring reality to suit his own needs. Swapping one lie for another when he had to, adapting without notice to changes in circumstance.

She scraped back her chair. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.’

‘Don’t you want to hear about it?’

‘Not really.’

Novak’s flinty-grey eyes regarded her with speculation. ‘You don’t seem the type to fall for such a take-charge kinda guy.’

Jodie paused, and flung him a wry look. ‘Most people found him charming.’

‘I’ve been digging for three years, and his charm escapes me. Thought you’d be too smart for all that baloney.’

Jodie gave a rueful shrug, recalling how Ethan had been when they’d first met: clever, affectionate, impossible to dislike. He’d always worked so hard, always looked so tired from trying to do his best by his clients. But six months into the marriage, he’d already been devising small tyrannies: objecting to the time she spent with Nancy; belittling her painting; challenging her need to escape the suffocating house. Over the years, he’d flung many allegations at her, accusing her of affairs, often claiming that Abby wasn’t his daughter. Jodie had railed at him.

‘You want me to arrange a paternity test, Ethan? Is that what you want? I’ll do it, I’ll prove it to you!’

He’d smiled, looked smug. He’d always known his accusations weren’t true. He and Abby were so alike, all he had to do was look at her to see that she was his.

But Novak was right. Looking back, her radar should’ve flagged it at the start, should’ve warned that something was out of whack. In truth, her defences had been down. She’d been searching for her father at the time, desperate to find him and to finally know that maybe she looked like someone. Then suddenly she’d found out he’d been dead for twenty-three years.

He’d died in an accident at the age of nineteen. She’d talked to a few of the people who’d known him, come away with an impression of a quiet young man, kindhearted, well-liked. The discovery had left an aching emptiness, and Ethan had been there to fill it.

Jodie gave the journalist a level look.

‘People make mistakes, Mr Novak.’ She eyed his wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair, willing to bet he’d spent the night in his car. ‘I’m sure you’ve made your share.’

He dropped his gaze, seeming to take in his own appearance for the first time. He shifted uncomfortably, then flung her a challenging look.

‘So how come you stayed with him so long?’

Jodie debated whether to answer, then relented to make up for her pointed glance at his clothes. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d never had a home, and I badly wanted to give my daughter a stable one. Is that so hard to understand?’

He looked at his hands, clenched them together. ‘No. No, it isn’t.’

He went silent for a moment. Briefly, she wondered if she’d hit a nerve. He didn’t exactly look like a guy with a stable home life. She dismissed the thought and got to her feet.

‘Look, I’m sorry you were misled about the visit, but I really have nothing more to say to you.’

He gave a humourless laugh and shook his head. ‘I should’ve known.’

‘Known what?’

‘You were just the same in court, all polite and aloof. Like a brick wall.’

Jodie raised her eyebrows. He charged on.

‘You don’t make it easy for people to help you, do you? God knows, your lawyer did his best for you, but what could he do with all that remote, ice-queen bullshit?’

Jodie blinked. It wasn’t the first time her self-protective shell had been mistaken for coldness. But she’d learned things the hard way: better by far to appear distant than afraid.

Novak was glaring at her, and she wondered just what he had at stake that had got him so riled up. He leaned forward, and when he spoke again his voice was low.

‘You said in court that Ethan was a monster.’

Jodie felt her posture stiffen. Novak went on.

‘You said he was evil, twisted.’

‘I won’t talk about this, I told you.’

‘A family annihilator, isn’t that what your defence attorney called him? A father who kills his own child?’

Jodie flinched. Her hearing seemed to tune in and out, Ethan’s voice washed in on the ebb and flow.

‘The water wasn’t cold, she didn’t wake up.’

Her gut churned.

‘Your attorney brought up other family annihilator cases,’ Novak said. ‘Other fathers, cold-bloodedly murdering their own children. Devoted family men, losing control.’

‘Stop it—’

‘Happens more often than people think, right? Several cases a month, your attorney said. All those monsters. Just like Ethan.’

Jodie managed a whisper. ‘I can’t do this, I told you—’

‘Only no one believed you, did they? No one believed he was a monster.’ Novak’s eyes were latched on to hers. ‘Well, I may be the only person who does.’

Jodie turned to go. Novak jerked to his feet.

‘Wait!’

She shook her head, moved away.

‘Listen to me Jodie, you need to hear this.’ Novak’s voice grew urgent, louder. ‘Ethan is still alive.’