by Ben Cheetham
“Still unconscious.”
“Will he live?”
“The doctors aren’t saying.”
“Who is he?”
“We don’t know. We’re running his prints.”
Harlan took out the gun. “I found this in his car.”
Jim looked at it with distaste. “Seems like every scumbag out there is carrying one of those pieces of crap these days. You’re lucky you didn’t get a bullet through your damn fool–”
Before Jim could finish, Garrett stormed into the room, and planting his hands on the table, said to Harlan, “Just what the fuck did you think you were doing? You put innocent peoples’ lives at risk out there tonight. Detective Monahan told you to stay put and do nothing.”
“I’m not a cop anymore, and I don’t take orders from anybody.”
“That’s right, Miller, you’re not a cop.” There was a tone of stung pride in Garrett’s voice. It was deeply embarrassing to him that one man, regardless of who that man might be, had succeeded where several hundred officers and detectives under his command had failed. Moreover, it was a blow to his career – it was no secret that he was an ambitious man with an eye on the Chief Constable’s office. “You’re an ex-con who’s failed to show for a meeting with his case officer. That’s a serious parole violation. I could have you put back inside.”
“So do it.”
The two men stared at each other, neither flinching. Garrett shook his head. “No. As much as it pains me to admit it, our main suspect would still be on the streets but for you. That’s why I’ve spoken to your case officer, explained that there were extenuating circumstances for your failure to show.”
“Do you expect me to say thanks?”
“No. I expect you to go home and get on with your life. I don’t want to hear your name in connection with this case again. If I do, I won’t hesitate to have you thrown back in prison. Do I make myself clear?”
What fucking life? Harlan felt like saying, but he said, “Perfectly.”
“Good.” Garrett straightened, casting Jim a stern glance as he turned to leave the room. “As soon as you’re finished here, DI Monahan, I want to speak to you in my office.”
“Yes, sir.”
Garret paused by the door and looked at Harlan. “To think that you were once one of our most promising young DIs, looking at you now it, well, it just makes me very sad.”
Despite himself, Harlan blinked from Garrett’s gaze. A familiar surge of self-loathing burned through him as he caught sight of his ragged reflection in the room’s one-way observation window. There was nothing left of that young DI to see. There was only a pitiable broken creature, with the desperate, bloodshot eyes of an animal in pain rather than a human being. He fought a sudden wild urge to snatch up the pistol and put a bullet in his reflection.
“Patronising bastard,” muttered Jim, once they were alone. “You deserve gratitude, not pity.”
“Forget it.” Harlan forced a smile. “Sounds like I’ve got you in trouble.”
Jim smiled crookedly in return. “So what else is new?” He sighed. “Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this job.”
“Bullshit. You’re the best copper this force has ever had.”
Jim gave Harlan a meaningful look. “No I’m not. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
As they made their way past the booking area to reception, Jim said, “Garrett’s got his head so far up his arse that he can’t see for the shit in his eyes, but he said one thing that makes sense – get on with your life.” He stopped at the front entrance and looked Harlan in the eyes. “Eve called me again. She’s broken up with her boyfriend.”
An involuntary rush of something close to elation swept through Harlan. “Why?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully level, not daring to acknowledge, even to himself, the strength of his feelings.
“Call her and find out.”
They shook hands. “Call her,” Jim shouted, as Harlan made his way to his car.
Harlan took out his phone and found Eve’s number. His finger hovered over the dial button, his face screwed up with indecision. One minute passed. Two minutes. Suddenly, as if it’d burnt his hand, he threw the phone onto the passenger seat. Fatigue heavy in his bones, he drove back to the flat and fell into a dreamless dead sleep.
When Harlan awoke, it was afternoon of the next day, and hunger gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He went to the kitchen and opened a cupboard at the front of which was the tumbler of sleeping-pills. He stared at it a moment, then reached past it for a box of cereal. He switched on the television and sat eating at the table. Eve smiled at him from the photo. Catching himself drifting into a fantasy about her in which they were talking and embracing, he reached to flip the photo face down. The sound of Garrett’s voice drew his eyes to the television. He was stood outside the police station, saying, “All I can tell you at this time is that there have been significant new developments in the case.”
“Can you confirm the rumours that these developments are related to an incident which took place at St Mary’s church last night?” asked one of the gathered journalists.
“No I can’t. No more questions right now. There’ll be a full press briefing later today. Thank you.”
Garrett turned and headed into the station. The cameras cut back to the studio where, after speculating about what the developments might be, the news reader announced that nearly twenty thousand quid had been raised by the all-night vigil to add to the ten thousand already on offer. Harlan’s thoughts began to slide away from the TV back to Eve. He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers crawl up his back, her mouth nuzzle his neck. As if she was right there in the room with him, he heard her murmur, “I love you.”
I love you too, Harlan thought. But before the words could form on his lips, he shook himself free of the fantasy. He jerked to his feet, grabbed his jacket and left the flat. He needed to walk, to clear his head. As he pounded the streets, though, scenes of Eve tumbled through his mind in rapid succession, threatening to overwhelm his consciousness. He was holding her, kissing her, tasting her, smelling her. They were in bed, making love. Then he was watching her sleep, stroking her hair. Memories mixed intoxicatingly with imagination, like colours on a palette, until one became indistinguishable from the other. In a kind of daze, he took out his phone and called her.
“Harlan?”
The sound of Eve’s hesitant, hopeful voice jolted Harlan back into the moment. He gripped the phone to his ear, heart thumping.
“Harlan?” she repeated. “Are you there? Are you okay?”
This is crazy, Harlan thought. It can only lead to more pain and suffering. Just hang up, hang up…But he didn’t hang up. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
Harlan was aware that his breathing had quickened. There was a slight quiver in his voice as he spoke. “Jim told me you broke up with your boyfriend. But he didn’t tell me why.”
“I realised I didn’t love him.”
Eve’s answer led Harlan to another question, one he didn’t dare ask – what made you realise you didn’t love him? A moment of silence passed. “I’m sorry,” he said, for want of something to say.
“Don’t be. It’s not your–” Eve broke off.
It wasn’t hard for Harlan to figure out what she’d been about to say. It’s not your fault. The implication behind her silence sent a rush of blood through his body. Suddenly, he knew that he had to see her. He just had to, no matter how his guilt burned at his soul. “Where are you?”
“At work.”
“Can you get away?”
“Why?”
“I want–” No, want wasn’t the right word. “I need to see you.”
“Okay. We can meet at my flat, if you like.”
“Where is it?”
Eve gave Harlan the address, and he told her he’d be there as soon as he could. He ran to his car, not wanting to give his guilt a chance to steal his need
, his desire. When he got to Eve’s place – a one bedroomed, modern apartment close to the city centre, about as different from their suburban semi as you could get – she was waiting for him. She not only sounded different, but she looked different too. Her hair was shorter, more styled. Her makeup was more carefully applied, more sensual. She’d put on a little weight, but in a good way. She looked more like the girl he’d fallen for than the wife he’d divorced. He stared at her awkwardly, suddenly conscious of his unkempt hair and the scruffy growth of stubble on his hollow cheeks.
“Hello Harlan.” Eve smiled, but Harlan could tell she was as shocked by his appearance as he was surprised by hers.
“Hello Eve.”
She motioned for him to come in, and he followed into an open-plan living area furnished with a cream three-piece suite that wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds with Tom’s muddy feet jumping all over it. There were pictures on the walls – including several photos of Tom at different ages, from baby to shortly before he died – and books and ornaments on a set of shelves, as well as other knick-knacks that marked the flat out as a home rather than just a place to sleep. Sliding glass-doors led to a balcony that overlooked what seemed a different city than the one visible from Harlan’s flat. He was glad to see that Eve was doing so well, but it also made him think, this isn’t right, you shouldn’t be here. “You look great,” he said.
“Thanks. You look…” Eve hesitated.
Harlan could see she was reluctant to say anything that might upset him, so he spoke for her. “I look like shit.”
“I was going to say you look like you’re ready for a good meal and a good night’s sleep.”
“And a bath and a shave.” Harlan heaved a sigh. “It’s been a long few weeks, and the last twenty-four hours have just about finished me.”
Eve looked at Harlan searchingly. “Did you have anything to do with this incident they mentioned on the news?”
Harlan nodded, reflecting that even after four years apart Eve could still read him better than anybody else he’d ever known. Her eyes widened as he told her what’d happened. “So you caught the kidnapper.”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“You could be in line for the reward then.”
Harlan frowned. “I honestly hadn’t thought about that. I didn’t do it for the money.”
“Of course you didn’t. I know that. Just like I know you’re already thinking about refusing the reward. Well you shouldn’t. That money could give you a fresh start. You owe it to yourself to accept it.”
I owe myself nothing, thought Harlan, his desire evaporating like dry ice. The only debt I have is to Susan Reed and her children. The idea that he might profit from their loss was almost enough to nauseate him. He looked guiltily away from Eve, turning as if to leave. “Do you want something to eat?” she said quickly. “I can make you a sandwich or whatever.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I should go.”
“Stay a while longer. If you’re not comfortable talking about Susan Reed, I won’t mention her name again.” Eve reached out to touch Harlan’s hand. It was only the lightest of touches, but it reignited his desire like a fire in a haystack. “Please, Harlan.”
“Okay. I tell you what I’d really like. I’d like some spaghetti, if that’s not too much trouble.” Harlan had always loved Eve’s pasta. He hadn’t eaten a meal that was worth tasting in years, and just the thought of it made him salivate.
Eve smiled again. “Of course it’s not.” She headed into the kitchen. “Look, why don’t you get a bath while I’m cooking?” She pointed to a door. “The bathroom’s in there.”
Harlan hesitated, but Eve wafted him towards the door. Like the rest of the flat, the bathroom was clean and comfortable and smelt of Eve’s perfume. He set the water running and poured bubble-bath into it. As he undressed, he noticed a razor and shaving-foam on the side of the bath. He lathered his cheeks and shaved at the sink, before getting into the bath. He stretched out, releasing a long breath, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt the knot of tension in his belly start to uncoil.
After soaking in the bath, Harlan towelled himself down, dressed and returned to the living-room. He inhaled the scent of cooking, and his stomach growled. Like a moth to a flame, his gaze was drawn to the photos of Tom. After a moment, he was amazed to realise he was smiling. “Beautiful, isn’t he?” said Eve. Harlan turned and saw that she was watching him intently from the kitchen doorway, as if trying to gauge his reaction to the photos.
“He’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” There was still sadness in Harlan’s voice, but no trace of the old bitterness.
Eve’s features relaxed. She approached Harlan and stood close enough that he could smell her wine-sweet breath, studying his face as if she’d never seen it before. “I used your razor,” Harlan said, dry-mouthed, restraining an urge to grab her and crush her to him. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Eve shook her head. Hesitantly, she reached to stroke his cheek. “The food won’t be ready for a little while,” she said, as he shuddered at her touch.
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could do so she kissed him. He kissed her back, hard. The sensation was familiar, yet new at the same time. Blood pounding in his head and groin, he ran his hands up and down her back. Urgently fumbling at buttons and buckles, they undressed each other. Then they were on the floor, limbs entwined, hips grinding, rushing towards a simultaneous orgasm. Afterwards, they held each other close for a long while. When they finally drew apart, Harlan saw that there were tears in Eve’s eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked softly.
“Nothing,” she said, turning her head away as if embarrassed.
“Tell me.”
“It’s just I haven’t felt anything like that since, well, since we were first together.” Eve stood up and pulled on her underwear. “I’d better check on the spaghetti.”
Harlan stretched out naked on the rug, his body suffused with an almost floating sense of relaxation. It was as though, for a brief time at least, Eve had drawn all the guilt out of him and absorbed it somewhere deep inside her. She returned with a tray loaded with two bowls of pasta and crusty bread. They ate on the rug, Harlan pounding his food back as if there was no tomorrow. Eve laughed when he asked if there was anymore, and fetched him a second helping. When he was finished, he rested back against the sofa and sighed contentedly. He would’ve liked nothing better at that moment than to curl up in bed with Eve and drift off to sleep. “God, I’ve missed this,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Harlan. More than I ever thought I could.” The tears were back in Eve’s eyes. She swiped them away and cast him a glance, half hopeful, half fearful. “So what happens now?”
What happens now? It was a question that tore away Harlan’s thin layer of contentment, gripped him by either hand and pulled in opposite directions. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to be with Eve. On the other, he didn’t know whether he could allow himself to be with her. It wasn’t simply that he was an infertile ex-con with zero career prospects – although that was a big part of it. It was the guilt. Already he could feel it creeping back over him like a vine. Soon the weight of it would be enough to drag him, and maybe Eve too if she was with him, back down into a pit of self-loathing and despair. He would’ve rather swallowed the tumbler of sleeping-pills than do that to her again. He had to climb out from under the guilt. But he couldn’t do it by himself. He needed help. And the only person who could help him was the person who hated him most in the world – Susan Reed. He didn’t expect forgiveness, but he hoped that if he helped get her son back, she would ease his burden enough to let him have a life.
Harlan was reluctant to explain the way he felt to Eve, knowing his words would cut deep. Bitter experience had taught him that concealing his feelings wasn’t an option either, though. He sat trying to work up the nerve to put his thoughts into words, but when he ev
entually opened his mouth all that came out was a lame, “I don’t know.” He dropped his gaze. Suddenly conscious of his nakedness, he started pulling on his clothes.
“Why don’t we go to bed?”
Harlan looked at Eve uncertainly. A few minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have hesitated to go along with her suggestion, but with so many conflicting thoughts and feelings battling for space inside him he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. “We don’t have to talk,” she continued. “We can just hold each other and forget the world for a while.”
“Forget.” Harlan said the word with a sigh of longing. “Okay.”
Eve took Harlan’s hand and led him to bed. He nestled into the soft, clean-smelling sheets with her head on his shoulder and her leg crooked over his, feeling the heat of her breath against his skin. At first, her breathing was a little shallow and her body occasionally spasmed – she’d always suffered from hypnic jerks when tense. After a while, though, he felt the heaviness of sleep overtake her. He watched her and tried to exist only in that moment, but it wasn’t possible. In the end, he gently disentangled himself from her, gathered up his clothes, went into the living-room and switched on the television to check for any breaking news. There was none. The promised press conference hadn’t yet occurred.
Harlan’s phone rang. It was Jim. Heart thumping, wondering if this was going to be the call that changed everything, he answered his phone. “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice eager but apprehensive.
“Our man came out of his coma last night,” Jim said. “His name’s Carl Gallagher. He’s thirty-two years old and a real piece of work. He’s got a record for breaking and entering, GBH, and, get this, the statutory rape of a fifteen-year old girl. He also has warrants out on him for a string of armed robberies in the city.”
“So it was him. He took Ethan.”
“He’s denying any involvement.”
“Of course he is. They always do. But he did it, right? I mean, what other reason could a scumbag like him have for cruising Ethan’s street in the middle of the night?”
