by Tana French
I was too tired to get properly angry. Frank was bullshitting, I said. Its what he does best. He wouldnt have me on his squad even if I wanted to be therewhich I dont. He just didnt want you trying to get me to come home. He figured, if you thought I was where I belonged . . .
Sounds about right, Sam said, yeah. He stared down at the coffee table, rubbed dust off it with his fingertips. So youre staying in DV? For definite?
If Ive still got a job after yesterday, you mean?
Yesterday was Mackeys fault, Sam said, and even through all the exhaustion I saw the hard flare of anger across his face. Not yours. Every single bloody bit of this is on Mackey. IA arent eejits; theyll see that, same as everyone else does.
It wasnt just Franks fault, I said. I was there, Sam. I let things get out of control, I let Daniel get his hands on a gun, and then I shot him. I cant put that on Frank.
And I let him run with his lunatic bloody idea, and Ive to live with that. But hes the one who was in charge. When you take that on, you have to take responsibility for whatever comes out of it. If he tries to dump this mess on you
He wont, I said. Not his style.
Seems to me its exactly his style, Sam said. He shook his head, shaking off the thought of Frank. Well deal with that when it comes. But say youre right, and he doesnt shaft you to save his own arse; youre staying in DV?
For now, I said, yeah. But down the line . . . I hadnt even known I was going to say this, it was the last thing Id ever expected to come out of my mouth, but once I heard the words it seemed to me that theyd been waiting for me to find them ever since that luminous afternoon with Daniel, under the ivy. I miss Murder, Sam. I miss it like hell, all the time. I want to come back.
Right, Sam said. His head went back and he took a breath. Yeah, I thought that, all right. Thats the end of us, then.
Youre not allowed to go out with anyone on your squadas OKelly elegantly puts it, no shagging on the company copier. No, I said. Sam, no; it doesnt have to be. Even if OKellys on for taking me back, there might not be an opening for years, and who knows where well be by then? You could be running a squad of your own. He didnt smile. If it comes down to it, well just stay under the radar. It happens all the time, Sam. You know it does. Barry Norton and Elaine Leahy Norton and Leahy have been on Motor Vehicles for ten years and living together for eight of them. They pretend to carpool, and everyone including their super pretends not to know.
Sam shook his head, like a big dog waking up. Thats not what I want, he said. All the best to them, and all, but I want this to be real. Maybe youd be grand with having what theyve gotI always figured that was one reason why you didnt want to tell people about us, sure: so you could maybe come back to Murder, someday. But Im not after a shag, or a fling, or some half-arsed part-time thing where we have to act like were . . . He fumbled inside his coat; he was so exhausted that he was pawing at it as if he were drunk. Ive been carrying this around with me since two weeks after we started going out. Remember, we went for that walk round Howth Head? It was a Sunday?
I remembered. A cool gray day, soft rain weightless in the air, wide smell of sea filling my chest; Sams mouth tasted of wild salt. We walked on the edges of high cliffs all afternoon and ate fish and chips on a bench for dinner, my legs were killing me, and it was the first time after Operation Vestal that I can remember feeling like me.
The day after, Sam said, I bought this. On my lunch break. He found what hed been looking for and dropped it on the coffee table. It was a blue velvet ring box.
Oh, Sam, I said. Oh, Sam.
I meant it, Sam said. This. You; us. I wasnt just having a laugh.
Neither was I, I said. That observation room; the look in his eyes. Was. Never. I just . . . I got lost along the way, for a while. Im so sorry, Sam. I fucked up every way there is, and Im so sorry.
I love you, for Christs sake. You going off undercover like that, I nearly went mentaland I couldnt even talk to anyone about it, because no one knew. I cant . . .
He trailed off, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. I knew there had to be some delicate way of asking this, but the edges of my vision kept warping and flicking and I couldnt think straight. I wondered if there could have been a worse time for this conversation. Sam, I said, I killed a person today. Yesterday; whatever. I dont have any brain cells left. Youre going to have to spell it out: are you breaking up with me or proposing to me? I was pretty sure which one it was. All I wanted was to get it over with, do the good-bye routine, and chug the rest of the brandy till I knocked myself out.
Sam gave the ring box a baffled look, as if he wasnt sure how it had got there. Jesus, he said. I didnt . . . Id it all planned: dinner somewhere nice, with a view, like. And champagne. But I supposeI mean, now that . . .
He picked up the box, opened it. I couldnt catch up; the only thing that registered was that he didnt seem to be dumping me, and that the relief was purer and more painful than I could have imagined. Sam disentangled himself from the sofa and got down on one knee, clumsily, on the floor.
Right, he said, and held out the box to me. He was white and wide-eyed; he looked as stunned as I was. Will you marry me?
The only thing I wanted to do was laughnot at him, just at the sheer screaming pitch of crazy that day had managed to hit. I was scared that if I started I wouldnt be able to stop. I know, Sam said, and swallowed, I know itd mean you couldnt come back to Murdernot without special permission, and . . .
And neither of us is going to get any special treatment any time soon, I said. Daniels voice brushed along my cheek like dark feathers, like a long night wind coming down from some far mountain. Take what you want and pay for it, says God.
Yeah. If . . . God. If you want to think about it . . . Another swallow. You dont need to decide right now, sure. I know tonights not the best moment for . . . But maybe it needed doing. Sooner or later, I need to know.
The ring was a simple one, a slim hoop with one round diamond glittering like a dewdrop. I had never in my life pictured an engagement ring on my finger. I thought of Lexie slipping hers off in a dark room, leaving it beside the bed she had shared with Chad, and I felt the difference slide into the crack between us like a narrow blade: I couldnt put this on without knowing that it would stay on, for good.
I want you to be happy, Sam said. That stunned look had faded out of his eyes; they were clear and unfaltering on mine. Whatever that takes. Theres no point if youre not going to be . . . If you cant be happy without coming back on the squad, then tell me.
Theres so little mercy in this world. Lexie sliced straight through everyone who got between her and the door, people she had laughed with, worked with, lain down with. Daniel, who loved her like his blood, sat beside her and watched her die, sooner than allow a siege on his spellbound castle. Frank took me by the shoulders and steered me straight into something that he knew could eat me alive. Whitethorn House let me into its secret chambers and healed my wounds, and in exchange I set my careful charges and I blew it to smithereens. Rob, my partner, my shieldmate, my closest friend, ripped me out of his life and threw me away because he wanted me to sleep with him and I did it. And when we had all finished clawing chunks off each other, Sam, who had every right to give me the finger and walk away for good, stayed because I held out my hand and asked him to.
I want to go back to Murder, I said, but it doesnt need to be now. It doesnt even need to be soon. Someday, sooner or later, one of us will do something brilliant and well have all the brownie points in the world, and then well ask for special permission.
And if we dont? If we never do anything brilliant, or if they say no anyway. Then what?
That win
g brush again, along the line of my jaw. To go consenting.
Then, I said, Ill survive. And youll have to put up with me bitching about Maher for the rest of our lives. I stretched out my hand to Sam and I saw the look that was dawning in his eyes, and as he reached over to put the ring on my finger I realized there was no jagged black terror falling through me this time, no wild scream at the irrevocable thing inches away and rising, I wasnt frightened at all; the only thing I felt was sure.
* * *
Later, when we were cocooned in the duvet and the sky outside was turning salmon-colored, Sam said, Theres one more thing I need to ask you, and Im not sure how to do it.
Ask away, I said. Comes with the territory. I waved my left hand at him. The ring looked good on there. It even fit.
No, Sam said. Something serious.
I figured at this point I was ready for anything. I turned over on my stomach and propped myself up so I could look at him properly.
Rob, he said. You and Rob. I saw the way you were together, the two of ye; how close you were. I always expected . . . I never thought I had a look in.
This one I had not been ready for.
I dont know what went wrong between ye, Sam said, and Im not asking. Ive no right to know. Just . . . Ive some idea what you went through, during Operation Vestal. And after. I wasnt trying to be nosy, nothing like that; but I was there.
He looked up at me, steady gray eyes, unblinking. There was nothing I could say; my breath was gone.
It was that night with the headlights, the night I went to get Rob at the crime scene. I knew him well enough to know that otherwise he would disintegrate, just smash into a million pieces, but not well enough to guess that he would do it anyway, and that all I had done was draw the flak my way. We did something good; I thought that meant no damage could come of it. Its occurred to me since that I may be a lot dumber than I look. If I learned one thing in Murder, its that innocence isnt enough.
Im not Lexie, Im not clockwork, specially not when Im wrecked and stressed and wretched. By the time the terrible sinking feeling kicked in, I had moved to DV, Rob had been bounced into bureaucratic limbo somewhere and all our bridges were burned to bitter ash; he had gone so far away I couldnt even see him on the other side. I didnt tell anyone. I got the boat to England before dawn one sleety Saturday and was back in my dark flat that nightthe plane would have been faster but I couldnt take it, the thought of sitting still for an hour each way, squashed elbow to elbow between strangers. I walked up and down the deck of the boat instead. On the way back the sleet came down harder, soaked me to the bone; if there had been anyone else on deck they would have thought I was crying, but I wasnt, not even once.
Sam was the only person I could stand to be around, then. Everyone else was on the other side of a thick, wavy glass wall, they yammered and gestured and pulled faces and it took all the energy I had to work out what they wanted from me and make the right noises back. Sam was the only one I could hear. He has a beautiful voice: a country voice, slow and calm, deep and rich as earth. That voice was the one thing that made it through the glass and felt real.
When we met for coffee that Monday after work, he gave me a long intent look and then said, You look like youve the flu; its going around. Ill bring you home, will I? He tucked me into bed, went to the shops to buy food, came back and cooked me stew. Every night that week he made me dinner and told terrible jokes till I laughed just at the hopeful look on his face. Six weeks later, I was the one who kissed him first. When those square gentle hands touched my skin I could feel ripped cells healing. I never fell for Sams big-thick-bogger act, I was always sure there was more; but it had never once occurred to meI told you Im dumber than I lookthat he had known, every step of the way, and known to leave it.
The only bit I need to know, Sam said, is whether its over, for you; the whole thing. Whether . . . I cant be wondering, our whole lives, what would happen if Rob got his head together and came back wanting to . . . I know how hard it was for you. I tried togive you space, I suppose they call it; to figure things out. But now, if were really engaged . . . I just need to know.
The first sunlight was exploding onto his face, turning him grave and clear-eyed as some tired apostle in a window. Its over, I said. It really is, Sam. Its all over now.
I laid a hand on his cheek; it was so bright that for a second I thought it was burning me, a pure painless fire. Good, he said, on a sigh, and his hand came up to cup the back of my head and pull me down on his chest. Thats good, and his eyes were closing before he finished the sentence.
* * *
I slept till two in the afternoon. Sometime in there Sam dragged himself out of bed and kissed me good-bye and closed the door softly behind him, but nobody rang to tell me to get my arse into work, presumably because nobody had managed to disentangle what squad I was on right then or whether I was suspended or whether I still had a job at all. When I finally woke up I considered calling in sick, but I wasnt sure who to callFrank, probably, but he was unlikely to be in a conversational mood. I decided to let someone else figure this one out. Instead I headed up to Sandymount village, kept my eyes off the newspaper headlines, bought food, went home and ate most of it, and then took a very long walk on the beach.
It was a sunny, lazy afternoon. The promenade was full of old people wandering along with their faces turned up to the sun, couples leaning into each other, overexcited toddlers tumbling along like big sweet bumblebees. I recognized a lot of people. Sandymounts still holding onto being that kind of place, where you know faces and swap smiles and buy homemade perfume from the neighbors kids; its one of the reasons I live there, but that evening it felt strange and disconcerting all the same. I felt like I had been away too long for that, long enough that the shop fronts should all have been different, the houses painted new colors, the familiar faces grown up, grown old, gone.
The tide was out. I took off my shoes, rolled up my jeans and walked out onto the sand till the water was ankle-deep. One moment from the day before fell through my head, over and over: Rafes voice, soft and dangerous as snow, saying to Justin, You bastard fuck.
This is what I could have done, in that last second before it all exploded: I could have said, Justin? You stabbed me? He would have answered. It would have been there on the tape, and sooner or later Frank or Sam would have found a way to make him say it again, under caution this time.
Probably Ill never know why I didnt do it. Mercy, maybe; one drop of it, too little and too late. Orthis is the one Frank would have pickedtoo much emotional involvement, even then: Whitethorn House and the five of them still dusted over me like pollen, still turning me glittering and defiant, us against the world. Or maybe, and I like to hope it was this one, because the truth is more intricate and less attainable than I used to understand, a bright illusive place reached by twisting back roads as often as by straight avenues, and this was the closest I could come.
When I got home Frank was sitting on my front steps with one leg stretched out, teasing the next-door cat with an untied shoelace and whistling Leave Her, Johnny, Leave Her through his front teeth. He looked terrible, crumpled and bleary-eyed and in serious need of a shave. When he saw me he folded his leg back under him and stood up, sending the cat whisking off into the bushes.
Detective Maddox, he said. You didnt show for work today. Is there a problem?
I wasnt sure who I work for right now, I said. If anyone. Plus I slept it out. Im owed a few days holiday; Ill take one of those.
Frank sighed. Never mind. Ill sort something outyou can count as one of mine for another day. Starting tomorrow, though, youre DV again. He stood aside to let me open the door. Its been very.
Yeah, I said. That it has.
He followed me up the stairs into my flat and headed straight for th
e cookerthere was still half a pot of coffee left over from my unidentified meal earlier on. Thats what I like to see, he said, finding a mug on the draining board. A detective whos always prepared. You having some?
Ive had loads, I said. Go for it. I couldnt work out what he was there for: to debrief me, kick my arse, kiss and make up, what. I hung up my jacket and started pulling the sheets off the futon, so we could both sit down without having to get too close.
So, Frank said, shoving his mug into the microwave and hitting buttons. You hear about the house?
Sam told me.
I felt his head turn; I kept my back to him, hauling the futon into its sofa version. After a moment he started the microwave whirring. Well, he said. Easy come, easy go. It was probably insured. You talk to IA yet?
Oh yeah, I said. Theyre thorough.
They come down hard on you?