Читать книгу Dan Sharp Mysteries 6-Book Bundle - Jeffrey Round - Страница 32

Dan got up before six, in the dark. He called to leave a message for Sally saying he was taking a few days off and asking her to cancel his appointments. He set the diary on his desk in his calm, green-toned office. He’d thought long and hard about what he was about to do. He picked up the phone again and dialled the law firm that had requested him to find Craig Killingworth. He heard it ringing in someone’s empty office until the answering service picked up. He spoke slowly and clearly. He had proof of what happened to Craig Killingworth, he said, and would turn it over once the person who was paying him revealed him or herself, but not before. Fuck his job — he’d quit before he went any further without knowing who wanted him to prove that a man was dead.

He spent the morning restoring his home to some semblance of order. He discovered things he’d forgot he had, including a few knick-knacks going back all the way to his time with Bob. It was unsettling how physical objects brought back the past, as if it lay waiting around the corner and could return of its own volition at any time.

A solicitor called in the afternoon. His client had agreed to meet with Dan the following afternoon. When he hung up, Dan wasn’t a hundred percent sure which one it would be, but he had a pretty good idea.

He’d just sat down to supper when he was startled by the doorbell. Had the police returned? This time they would find Craig’s diary, if they had. He pulled the curtains aside carefully and looked out. At first it didn’t register. There was a gathering of small figures, including a miniature nun and several others wearing animal masks. He opened the door.

“Trick or treat!” they screamed.

He’d forgotten entirely. He went back in and scrounged around the kitchen, still very much in disarray. At first he couldn’t find what he wanted. Then he saw it, overturned and dumped on the shelf under the sink. It was intact. Even Ked hadn’t been able to find it. He returned to the porch and handed over his secret stash of Kit Kat chocolate bars.

The following day at three o’clock, Dan turned up at the coffee shop on College Street to find Ted Killingworth waiting. He looked much as Dan remembered — black turtleneck, rock star glasses, and a silver strand around his neck. Everything pricey. Everything annoying.

“Surprised?” Ted asked from behind the cobalt glare of his lenses.

“Should I be?”

“No. You’re a very smart man. That’s why I hired you.”

Dan waited. He wasn’t going to make things easy for Ted.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I hired you to find my father after all these years.”

“It’s not my business to know why.”

“No, but I have a strong suspicion that you find me a trifle on the despicable side.” Ted waited, but Dan gave no response. “I’d like very much to reassure you as to my motives.”

Dan nodded. “Shoot.”

“I spent years trying to understand why my father left, but I never found a satisfactory answer. Sometimes I hated him” — he shrugged — “mostly I hated him. But other times I wondered and even worried about him. Why didn’t he care enough to let us know how he was? The days of wondering are mostly behind me now, but I’ve been an addict for most of my adult life and I feel as though I’ve spent too many years paying for something that wasn’t my fault.” He removed his sunglasses. The dull glaze was gone. “For the record, I’m in recovery. At least that’s what they call it.”

Dan offered a smile, his first concession in Ted’s direction. “How’s it been so far?”

“The first week was like a year in hell, the second even longer. Some days it rains fire in my hands and back, other times I feel like I might implode.” He looked at Dan. “You’ve caught me at a vulnerable moment. I think that’s the reason I’m here right now.”

“You think that learning what happened to your father will undo some of the damage?”

“Maybe. At the very least I’m hoping it will give me some peace of mind.” Ted suddenly looked worried. “Will I be shocked by what you’ve found?”

“You might. What are you expecting?”

Ted considered this. “I don’t think he’s alive. I’d be very surprised if you told me otherwise. I never really bought the story that he left us for another woman. I think we would have heard from him eventually. I think something happened to him, but I don’t know what.”

“Your instincts were right. As far as I can tell, he isn’t alive. When I said I had proof, I meant proof of a sort. I can’t produce his body. As for why he left, it wasn’t for another woman.” Dan caught Ted’s glance and held it. “Your father was planning to leave your mother for another man: a gardener named Magnus Ferguson.”

Ted’s mouth gaped. He recovered quickly. “Okay, well — you’ve delivered on your promise to shock me. Can you prove it?”

Dan walked him through the evidence, explaining his father’s relationship with Magnus, the false charges concerning the assault on his mother. He brought out the letter Ted’s father had sent to Magnus the day he killed himself, laying it on the table as Dan explained what he knew and what he’d merely surmised.

Ted looked at it for a moment then looked away, marshalling his composure. “I assumed he was dead, but it never occurred to me that he might have killed himself.” He smiled ruefully. “I shouldn’t have had a hard time coming to that conclusion. Like father, like son. I’ve been trying to kill myself for years.”

Dan handed him the diary along with his father’s letter. Ted pushed them back across the table. “You keep them,” he said.

“I’ve got copies on file.”

Ted shook his head. His voice came out a crabbed whisper. “You keep them. I can’t bear to touch them.”

Dan returned the diary and letter to his case. “What are you going to do now?”

Ted looked out the window. “I’m going to tell her that I know.”

“You’ll destroy whatever relationships exist in your family.”

“I know,” Ted said, looking back at Dan. “It’s what I intend to do. At least I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve destroyed her in return. And I won’t stop there. I’ll make sure everyone she knows and respects hears what she did.”

“It won’t bring your father back.”

“No, it won’t.” Ted seemed to be considering this. “Is there any chance of reopening the case?”

“To bring criminal charges against your mother?”

Ted nodded.

“She could probably be charged with aggravated assault or causing mental anguish with intent to harm. Something like that.”

“But you don’t think it’s very strong.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not a lawyer, Ted. You’d have to ask someone better informed about such things. The diary and tape are pretty strong evidence, but there’s still no body. No proof.”

“She didn’t kill him with her own hands, but she might as well have. Why is there no justice for such things? All these years she let us think …”

“What? That he was alive? That he left because of another woman? Would it have made a difference if you’d known the truth?”

“Look at me!” The voice was quiet, but insistent. “Look at what I’ve become. This is what not knowing has done. She told me … she told me he left because he didn’t give a fuck about us. And I believed her. Thom and I both believed her. I spent twenty years believing it, and hating him for it, and this is what it’s done to me.”

“I understand. But you might want to think about it, all the same.”

“I’ll think about it.” Ted got unsteadily to his feet. “Believe it or not, I’m very glad to have met you.” He pulled on his overcoat and nodded at Dan. “It’s my birthday today,” he said. “I’m thirty-five years old. Time to start living.”

The door closed behind him. Avril Lavigne droned under the whir of a cappuccino machine grinding the coffee to strength. Dan was glad finally to be able to call the case closed. He hadn’t found Craig Killingworth, but what he’d found had brought the man back to one of his sons, at least. Where there had been a blackened reputation — shame and hatred and a damaged psyche — now there could begin the restoration of a proper memory, for whatever it was worth.

If and when the day came that Craig Killingworth’s bones could be scooped out of the bay, Dan thought, that part of him could be put to rest as well. Till then, at least, there was this small triumph to be thankful for.