He said slowly, âIt's not that I don't appreciate the offer. But you know â you must know â that you being charged with handling stolen goods and Sophie being charged with handling stolen goods are entirely different things. You're a professional. You do this â don't bother to deny it â for a living, and you have done most of the time I've known
you. We get you in court, you're going down for a very long time.
âWhereas Sophie's a decent, respectable, hard-working girl who made a silly mistake. She's not responsible for who her parents are â I don't hold that against her and neither will the judge. He'll see a twenty-year-old girl who had too much to drink in a disco and did something foolish. He'll accept that she didn't know what the necklace was. She should have guessed it was stolen, but not that it was evidence in a murder case. I'm guessing she'll get probation or community service. Jane will get her necklace back, and you and I can go on chasing one another's tails for a bit longer.
âI will have you behind bars, Terry. But I'd like to have it clean. I don't want to cheat, even if it is only you and me that know.'
âYou can't have Sophie,' Walsh said softly.
âI don't
want
Sophie,' growled Deacon. âBut she's the one who did this so she's the one I'm going to charge. It's not a huge deal. She'll get a slap on the wrist and be told not to be such a silly cow in future.'
âIt's a huge deal to me,' said Walsh fiercely. âBecause if she ends up with a criminal record, everything she's achieved is for nothing. She worked hard at school. She's working hard now. She's putting distance between my background and her future. Don't think she's ashamed of me, because she's not. She loves me. She knowsâ¦not everything but enough. And she knows she doesn't want to live like that. She doesn't want a life of privilege paid for, even in part, by my ill-gotten gains. That's why she's
shovelling horseshit for a living. She loves me, but she doesn't want to be like me.
âYou charge her with handling stolen goods, all that goes down the tubes. For the rest of her life, no one will ever believe that she wasn't a fully paid-up member of the Walsh family business. One silly mistake shouldn't cost her everything.'
He sat up straight in his chair. âWell, I can do something about that. If she was anyone else's daughter caught buying a stolen necklace, like you say, it wouldn't be any big deal. She'd do her community service and stay out of trouble, and that would be the end of it. But Sophie is
my
daughter. I've put her in a situation where one stupid mistake could get her stuck with my reputation for the rest of her life. And I'm going to get her out of it. Turn a blind eye, Jack. It's good for her, good for you, good for me. Let it happen.'
Deacon actually found himself thinking about it. But he shook his head. âI can't.'
They stared angrily at one another, two strong stubborn men, both doing what their consciences demanded. If the Cuban missile crisis had been down to them, the world would have burnt.
The study door opened. Caroline Walsh came in, still cradling Jonathan, carrying the post. âA letter for you,' she said quietly, proffering it to her husband.
Deacon had been a policeman for thirty years, a detective for twenty-five of them. Also, he wasn't stupid. He saw that the envelope had been opened. Either Caroline Walsh had taken to checking her husband's mail or it hadn't just
arrived. So she wanted Deacon to know what was in it.
Walsh looked quickly at her, took the envelope but put it on the desk, face down. âThanks.'
âI think you should read it,' said Caroline, her quiet voice with its cut-glass accent implacable.
Still Walsh hesitated. âNow?'
Deacon breathed heavily. âGo on, Terry, it's obviously part of the show. Let's by all means see what's in it.'
Walsh bit his lip. Then he took out the letter and pushed it, still face down, across the desk to Deacon. Deacon picked it up and read.
He felt his heart thumping, the blood darkening his face. He clenched his teeth to stop himself saying something precipitate. He read the letter again, to make sure it said what he thought it said. Finally he lowered it, regarding Walsh over the top. His voice was thick with gravel. âThis is pretty low, Terry, even for you.'
âI was afraid you'd think that. Which is why I wasn't going to show it you. Not right now.'
âSome things can't wait,' said Caroline Walsh, gently rocking the baby.
âWhen
were
you going to show me?' demanded Deacon. âAfter you'd given up trying to bribe me any other way?'
âI suppose,' admitted Walsh reluctantly, âin a way. It was never meant as a bribe. I never expected to be having this conversation with you â not now, hopefully not ever. When I started looking into this it was as a friend.'
âA
friend
?' exploded Deacon. He picked up the letter in order to slap it down again. âYou saw it as an act of friendship, to make me choose between my duty and my son?'
Walsh passed a troubled hand across his eyes. His wife looked uncertainly at him. âThe timing's unfortunate,' murmured Walsh. âI never meant to link this offer to anything you might do for me, now or in the future. Believe that or not, as you like, but it's true.
âThe problem is, events don't happen in isolation. Things affect one another whether we want them to or not. Whether I like it or not, right now your child's future is the only weapon I have to fight for my child's future. It's crap but we can't get round it. I won't let you hurt Sophie while I can do anything to protect her. And right now I don't care about the Geneva Convention.'
Softly, persuasively, Caroline said, âPlease consider it, Jack. For Jonathan's sake, and for Brodie's. Terry's telling the truth. When he contacted the clinic in Uppsala he was just trying to help. He's supported their research for twenty years â it would be a poor show if he couldn't get a friend's child onto a drugs trial. He thought it was a last chance Jonathan wouldn't get any other way. He didn't do it because he wanted your gratitude â he did it because he was in a position to help a sick baby and he wanted to.
âBut as he says, events have a way of taking over. Now, something that it would have been our pleasure to offer you as a gift we have to put a price on. I'm sorry about that,' she said, her eyes low. âIt
is
pretty despicable. But then, the way you feel about your son, that's how we feel about Sophie. That we'd do anything to protect her. Even this.'
âAll you have to do,' said Walsh, âis leave her name out of it. You can have me. You can have your day in court
without even worrying that my high-priced legal team might get me off. I'll plead guilty. You'll be doing the town a service, Jack, you know that. Getting me off the street is much more valuable than having Sophie work in a soup kitchen for a month. And for that, Jonathan gets treated with the only drug in preparation anywhere in the world that offers a significant chance of curing him.'
âYou know that's true,' urged Caroline. âBrodie's searched the world for this chance and no one could offer it. We can. We can't promise it'll save him, but this is a highly respected clinic at the cutting edge of cancer research, and they're willing to take him because Terry asked them to. A personal favour. That's what we want in return.'
âIt's not like anyone will ever know,' pleaded Walsh. âWhat evidence there is points to me. No one but you would have thought to look that little bit further. Neither Division nor even Detective Sergeant Voss will ever suspect it was anything other than a good collar.
âAnd no one will ever hear that I got Jonathan on the drug trial. I'll hide the trail so well even
you
wouldn't find it. Do this one thing in return. Settle for me. Leave Sophie out of it.'
After he'd finished at the custody suite â the names they made him call the cells these days! â Deacon made his excuses and left. He was still officially on leave so he had every right to. Sergeant McKinney, who was doing a stint as custody officer and so universally referred to as The Prince of PACE, thought the Detective Superintendent was probably going somewhere to get drunk. And he was right. But there was something he had to do first.
The house was quiet. Paddy wasn't home from school yet. Marta, in the flat upstairs, had no pupil thumping out novice piano with two left hands. There was no sound even of a vacuum cleaner or washing machine. Only Brodie's car in the drive, and the fact that he'd had Detective Constable Jill Meadows take Jonathan home and she hadn't brought him back, suggested the Victorian villa was occupied at all.
Deacon parked his car beside Brodie's and let himself in with the key which she'd felt obliged to give him and he'd felt obliged never to use. But today time was important. He didn't want Brodie to hear a garbled version of what had happened before he got there. Actually, he didn't want
her to hear an accurate one either.
He found her sitting quietly in the living room, the baby on her lap, her body curved protectively around him. She looked up, unsurprised, at the sound of the door. He saw from her face she was expecting him.
The reason he'd sent Meadows instead of, for instance, Detective Constable Huxley was not primarily that she was a woman. It was because she could be relied on not to gabble. Most people said more than they intended to, more than they wanted to, when Brodie fixed them with her loftiest stare and demanded to know what was going on.
But Brodie had almost as many contacts at Battle Alley Police Station as Deacon had, and probably more friends. Meadows may have managed to say nothing beyond
Hello
and
How are you?
and
Here's your baby
, but as soon as she left Brodie would have been on the phone looking for information. Though Deacon had got here as soon as he could, Brodie Farrell never needed much time to wring information out of people. She'd had two hours. Whatever gossip was currently racing round Battle Alley would certainly have reached Chiffney Road by now.
But it wouldn't be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Only he and the Walshes knew that.
Brodie was on the sofa. Deacon took the chair, facing her squarely. All the way over here he'd been wondering how to start. In fact it hardly mattered how he told her, as long as he did it at once.
She looked up unhurriedly. âI gather you had an interesting morning.'
He nodded. âYes.'
âProductive?'
âI think so.'
âDo you want to tell me about it?'
âI need to tell you about it. First, I need to know what you've heard already.'
She looked away, dropped a feather-light kiss onto her baby's head. âI know you've arrested Sophie Walsh.'
Strictly speaking, Walsh should have destroyed the necklace. As soon as he realised what it was he should have taken it for a short sail aboard his yacht
Salamander
and dropped it into the English Channel. That would have been the professional thing to do, and Terry Walsh took a pride in his professionalism. In fifteen fathoms off Beachy Head he could be as sure as death and taxes that it would never come back to haunt him.
What kept him from doing the sensible thing was not the value of the stone. It was valuable to Margaret Carson, who'd have needed a loan to buy it. To Imogen Sanger, who was comfortably off, it had immense personal value. To Caroline Walsh it was not much more than a bauble, except that it was a gift from her daughter.
Terry Walsh was a family man, and to an extent that made him a sentimental man. This isn't always a weakness, though it probably isn't a survival trait in a criminal. Once he was aware of its history, of how it was given to Imogen Sanger, to her son and to her son's fiancée, and how it was taken away, he couldn't bring himself to drop it in the sea. The blood on it was precious blood. He wrapped it
carefully, put it in a watertight box and buried it at the bottom of his garden. Then he planted a rose bush on top of it. You'd need to know it was there to find it, and if someone knew it was there he was already in trouble. It was as safe as it could be and still where he could recover it. He had it in his mind that, one day, he might find a risk-free way to return it to its owner.
And in a way he had. Now Deacon knew the story, regardless of what he did about it there was no longer any need to keep the necklace.
Caroline Walsh didn't go to Battle Alley with her husband and daughter. Deacon advised her that he'd want a statement from her later. But she hadn't bought the necklace from a man in a disco, or lied about doing it, and while he might get round to charging her with attempting to suborn him, right now he was too busy.
Once she'd delivered Jonathan to his mother, Deacon had DC Meadows collect Sophie Walsh from the stables where she worked. He himself drove Walsh into town. He wished he could enjoy the moment more. But the triumph was for ever ruined by the price he'd had to pay.
Caroline was not a sentimental woman. She was a strong woman. She'd always known this day might come; she wasn't going to collapse in the hall and cry about it now. There were practical things she had to do. One was to call the family's solicitor, Adam Selkirk. If anyone could get Pol Pot let off with an ASBO, it was Adam Selkirk. When she'd done that she went into the garden shed and selected a sturdy fork.
âAnd her father,' said Deacon.
âWhat for?'
âHer for handling stolen property. Him for attempting to pervert the course of justice.'
Brodie thought about that. âI've heard he doesn't always recycle his drinks cans, too.'
Deacon gave a snort. âI know, it's a bit like charging Hitler with behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace. It's true, it just doesn't cover all the bases. But the important thing is it'll stick. I can use it to pin him to the dartboard. Then I'll throw all the other stuff at him and see how many trebles I can hit.'
âYou got him then. You finally got him.'
âYes. I don't think even Terry's wriggling out from under this one.'
âAnd the daughter?'
âWill get her wrist slapped, nothing more. What she did was more stupid than wicked. She was just very unlucky that the bargain necklace she bought from a man in a disco was the one Bobby Carson ripped from Jane Moss's neck two nights before. She didn't know that. There was no way she
could
know it. The magistrate will take that into account.'
âSo you get what you wanted. Terry gets what he deserves. Jane gets her necklace back, Margaret Carson gets closure on her son's crime, and Daniel gets to feel smug because none of this would have come about if he hadn't taken Mrs Carson's commission and kept going even when she told him to stop.'
There was something terribly odd about the way
Brodie was speaking. Not so much the words as the tone. Deacon couldn't be sure if it was irony, or satisfaction, or disappointment, or something else entirely. She was too quiet, her body too still. She should have been demanding details from him, trying to make them show that she'd solved his case. Instead she just sat there, nursing her baby, a cocoon of stillness enfolding her.
He tried to stick with the facts. âI don't think Jane will get her necklace back. The Walshes know where it is but they're not going to tell me. It was part of the payment for accepting their version of events. At least Mrs Carson will have the satisfaction of knowing she did all she could to find the necklace, and it's thanks to her that we know what happened to it â how Bobby got rid of it before we got to him, and why it never turned up again.'
Brodie didn't answer. She glanced at him speculatively for a moment before returning her gaze to Jonathan's sleeping head.
âThere's something else,' mumbled Deacon.
âOh?'
âThat you need to know. That I have to tell you. You'll be angry. More than angry. You'll think I was wrong. Maybe I was. I'm not as sure about anything as I used to be.'
âTell me.'
To his astonishment she listened in silence. It was like the quiet at the eye of a hurricane: ominous, stifling, pregnant with power. Once he'd started to tell her Deacon didn't dare stop because he knew that when he did the weight of the storm would fall on him. Driving over
here he'd tried to prepare himself, to be ready for what she would say. But actually he couldn't imagine what she would say. He couldn't imagine how she would feel. After all she'd done, that had been for nothing, he'd been given one last chance. The cost really hadn't been that high. But he'd turned it down. They were never going to know if it would have saved their son's life. Probably not; but they were never going to know.
She'd throw him out. He'd never see her again. But before she did that she'd want to tell himâ¦what? What possible words could express how she felt about what he'd done â the choice he'd made? People believe that strong enough emotions go beyond words, that words can't express the soul-deep turmoil of a heart. Deacon knew better. He knew Brodie would find words like chisels, and hammer them into him with a remorseless fury that even his blood wouldn't appease.
And he knew he had to let her. It was the only penance he could offer: the right to repay hurt with hurt.
It didn't take long to tell her what he'd decided. It just felt like half his life. When he was sure she understood he fell silent. Silence â such a silence â filled the room.
He knew that she'd understood. So she wasn't struggling to get her head round it. She was sharpening the chisels.
âTerry Walsh offered to get Jonathan onto a drugs trial? At a Swedish clinic where he makes a research grant?'
Deacon nodded. Then he saw from Brodie's face that that wouldn't do. âYes.'
âA reputable clinic? Not some backstreet quack trying to cure cancer with spit and seaweed?'
âNo. A proper clinic. One of the leaders in the field. Terry's paper business has given them research funding for years.'
âAnd they knew about Jonathan? Terry told them about him â about his condition, and how sick he is. And they're testing a new drug that might cure him, and they were willing to put him on the trial.'
It was a triumph of the abridger's art: brief, accurate, to the point. Deacon grimaced. âYes. Terry had a letter confirming it.'
Brodie's look bored through his skull. âAnd you said no.'
Deep in his gut was an unfamiliar sensation a lesser man might have recognised as fear. Soon it would be audible in his voice, soon after that visible in the shaking of his fingers. âYes.'
Brodie appeared to give this some thought. âDid you think it was too late? That he's too ill to travel to Sweden? Maybe you thought, If only this had come along a month agoâ¦'
Deacon shook his head. âI didn't think that.'
âThen maybe you thought it was a cruel hoax. That Terry Walsh had nothing to offer. That it was all smoke and mirrors, and once you'd crossed the line there'd be nothing to justify it. You'd have compromised yourself and risked your career for nothing.'
Deacon drew an unsteady breath. âNo, I didn't think that either. I think what he was offering was genuine â if I'd done the deal he'd have got Jonathan on the trial. Which isn't the same as saying it would have worked, but
I think he was in a position to offer what he said he could offer.'
âA chance. A last chance.'
âYes.'
âAnd you said no.'
âYes.'
âWhy?'
This was the question he'd known would come. All the way over here he'd been trying to find a satisfactory answer. Not just for Brodie â for himself. âBecause what he wanted in return wasn't mine to give.'
âHe wanted to confess to a crime! You
know
he's a criminal â you've been trying to charge him for ten years. And he wanted to put his hands up to a crime. And you know, and I know, and Terry knew, that he was giving you the key to Pandora's box â that you were going to pull things out of it that were never going to go back in.'
âOf course he's a criminal,' agreed Deacon. Obstinacy was like gravel in his voice. âBut he didn't commit
that
crime. And I knew that, because I knew who had. I couldn't charge him with something I knew he hadn't done.'
âHe was trying to protect his daughter! That's what you do when you're a parent. At leastâ¦' She let the sentence tail off in the most hurtful way imaginable. âWhat happens next?'
âTo Sophie, nothing very much. Nobody thinks she was part of the robbery. Terry will go to prison, probably for years. Now I have a lawful excuse to pick his business apart, the whole damned empire is coming down. No one
will ever put it back together again.'