Blood Guilt Read online

  Harlan’s lips curled in disgust. “Two fucking years.”

  “I know. It’s a joke. But it was enough to teach him to be cautious. After he got out, he worked as a jobbing handyman, and managed to stay off our radar for a good few years. Then, in 2001, a woman whose house he was working on caught him stealing jewellery. The police searched his digs. They turned up a small amount of cocaine and a boxful of toys.”

  “Jones said Nash sold toys on the streets.”

  Jim shook his head. “These were used toys. The woman identified several of them as belonging to her kids.” His voice grew thick with import. “Get this, Nash admitted he’d been stealing from the bedrooms of children at houses where he worked. He was always careful only to take things that would’ve been assumed to be lost rather than stolen – teddy bears, toy soldiers and cars, things like that. But it’s pretty obvious now that he was working up the nerve to take not merely toys, but the kids they belonged to as well.”

  “Let me guess, he wasn’t charged.”

  “He got a small fine for possession. But his business was ruined, so he was forced to head south again. This time he didn’t make it as far as London. He stayed with a relative in Birmingham. That’s when he met his first girlfriend.”

  “Mary Webster?”

  “No, but I’ll get to her in a minute. Her name was Coralee Edmunds. She gave him bed and board in return for working on her house, and they started sleeping together. They’d only been together four or five months when she found child porn on his computer. She called the police, and Nash ended up with a ten month jail sentence. He served just over half of it.”

  “Another joke. Nash must’ve been laughing.”

  “Apparently not. A psychiatric report prepared for his parole hearing says he was suicidal with remorse.”

  “Remorse!” Contempt hissed through Harlan’s voice. “Remorse that he’d been caught, not for what he did.”

  Nodding agreement, Jim continued, “On his release, Nash stayed in an offender’s hostel in our own fair city for a while. After that our knowledge of his movements becomes hazy. He seems to have travelled around a lot, doing odd-jobs, often sleeping in homeless shelters. We also know now that he became acquainted with William Jones around this time. According to Jones, they met up several times over the course of a couple of years to talk about photography and exchange photos.”

  “They exchanged a lot more than just photos,” said Harlan. “Jones is in this right up to his fat neck. You know that some guy other than Nash went to the caravan and painted Jamie.”

  “Yes, but Jamie never saw his face.”

  “So fucking what? It was Jones. You know that as well as I do.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I know, or think I know. If Jamie can’t ID Jones and Nash won’t give him up, we need physical evidence to tie him to the crime. And as of now we’ve got nothing – no fingerprints, no hair, no semen, no saliva.”

  “What about the painting?”

  “We’re searching Jones’s house for that.” Jim looked meaningfully at Harlan. “But it seems somebody’s destroyed all his paintings.”

  “There was no painting of Jamie there. I’m sure of it. It must be somewhere else.”

  “Obviously, but where?”

  Harlan was silent, eyes narrowed, thinking that five minutes alone with Jones would be enough for him to find out.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” said Jim, reading him. “You’re in deep enough shit already. Trust me, we’re not gonna let the fucker off the hook.”

  “I hope not. I really fucking hope not.” Harlan’s voice cracked dryly. He took a sip of water. “So tell me the rest of Nash’s story.”

  “There’s not much left to tell. After Jones was banged up, Nash dropped off the radar again. We’re filling in the gap between those years, 2005 and the present.”

  “I’m guessing this is where Mary Webster comes into the story.”

  Jim nodded. “Mary Webster’s an eighty-three year old spinster, all but bedridden with arthritis. From what she’s told us, Nash has been her carer since late 2007.”

  “Her carer? What the hell does a guy like Nash know about caring for anybody but himself?”

  “According to Miss Webster, he’s the kindest, gentlest person she’s ever met.”

  Harlan let out another hiss of breath. “Has she been told what he’s done?”

  “Yes, but she won’t have a word of it. You know what these old women are like, deaf to everything but what they want to hear. You can’t blame her, really. She’s got no family. Lives in a big wreck of a house. Without Nash, she’ll more than likely have to go into a care home.”

  “How did Nash get to be her carer in the first place?”

  “He came knocking on her door, offering to do some repairs. They got chatting and he told her he needed a place to live. She took him in, and he’s been there ever since.”

  “Have you found anything at her house?”

  “The transit van was in the garage. It’d been washed inside and out. Apart from that, we’ve found nothing. If there was anything, Nash most probably got rid of it after Jamie escaped.”

  That was pretty much the answer Harlan had expected. After all, Nash had been in the process of getting rid of evidence when he’d pounced on him. He closed his eyes momentarily, thought about Ethan, and sighed. “Has Susan Reed been told what’s happened?”

  “She’s been told what she needs to know – that we have a man in custody who we think was almost certainly involved in her son’s abduction.”

  “How’s she holding up?”

  “Not too well, by all accounts.”

  Again, this was what Harlan had expected to hear. Neil had been Susan’s support, her strength. Without him, she had no one to lean on. A pain that no amount of drugs could numb washed through Harlan as he pictured her waiting alone to hear news of Ethan. “I take it you got nothing from him.”

  “Who?”

  “Neil Price.”

  Jim shook his head. “The only thing that guy’s guilty of is being terminally naïve. We released him yesterday. Guess what the stupid little prick did.”

  “Tried to see Susan.”

  “Got it in one. He showed up at her house, pleading for forgiveness. She called us and we slung him straight back in the cells. Apparently he was sobbing like a baby.” Jim shook his head. “You’ve got to feel sorry for him.”

  Harlan didn’t feel sorry for Neil. But he sympathised with him. The guy had made a mistake. Now he was desperate for a chance to make amends. Harlan knew all about that. “You were right, you are going soft in your old age.”

  Smiling, Jim patted Harlan’s shoulder. “I’d better get back to it. I’ll see you later.”

  “Is that it?” said Harlan, as Jim stood to leave. “Don’t you want a statement from me?”

  “We don’t need to do that right now. The doctor tells me you’re going to be in here a few more days at least.”

  Harlan’s eyebrows lifted. “What’s going on, Jim? I thought Garrett would be jumping all over the chance to bury me.”

  “I’m sure he would be if it was up to him, but things have changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “Like I said, you’ve brought a shit storm down on the whole department. Garrett got a phone call this morning. Rumour has it it was from some Home Office bigwig. Whoever it was, they made a big impression on Garrett. When he hung up, his face was white as an old turd. Without a word to any of us, he stormed out the office and drove off. I found out later that he went to see Jones. He was in with him alone for over an hour.”

  Harlan frowned with realisation. “Garrett’s been ordered to hush up my involvement.”

  “What else can it be?”

  “But why?” There was no hint of relief in Harlan’s voice, just curiosity.

  A touch of wryness pulled down the corners of Jim’s lips. “It’s always the same with you Harlan. You see everything but yourself. Think about it. Who you ar
e, what you’ve done, it scares the shit out of the politicians. They must know that if this gets out, the public will see you the same way most of us in the department do.”

  “And how’s that exactly?”

  “A hero.”

  “A hero?” Harlan’s mouth twisted on the word. He almost laughed. “The last thing I am is a fucking hero.”

  “Maybe, but most of them don’t know you like I do. They don’t know what a suicidal nut job you really are.” The wryness left Jim’s face. “All they know is you risked your life to save that boy’s.”

  “And beat a man half to death in the process.”

  “A convicted paedophile who’d been questioned and released. Just imagine the fallout if you were jailed for succeeding where we’d failed. Garrett’s future job prospects wouldn’t be worth shit.”

  “I might’ve killed Jones. Nash too.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Harlan’s eyes dropped away from Jim’s. His voice dropped too. “No, but I wanted to.”

  Jim stared down at Harlan a moment, a slight frown over his jaded cop’s eyes. Then he spoke in a husky but gentle tone. “Get some rest. Heal that wound.”

  “Anyway, I didn’t succeed,” murmured Harlan. “Ethan’s still missing.”

  “Not for much longer. I’m going to crack that bastard Nash wide open. Believe me, by the time I’m finished with him he’ll be spilling like a broken egg. And think on this, Harlan: Nash kept Jamie Sutton alive for over four months. Ethan’s been missing half that time.”

  “I have thought on it.” Harlan looked grimly from the plastic cup in his hand to Jim. “Three to ten days.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that even if Ethan’s alive, he won’t be much longer unless he’s found. Don’t you remember your survival training? Three to ten days is how long a person can survive without water.”

  For a heartbeat longer, the two men held each other’s gaze. Then Jim turned and hurried away. It suddenly occurred to Harlan that there was a question he hadn’t asked. One he badly wanted the answer to. “Have you told Eve what’s happened?” he called after Jim. But he was already gone.

  Weariness throbbed in Harlan’s head, pulling him into sleep. Looking into the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw a parade of people. Everyone who’d ever meant anything to him was there. All of them merging, like droplets of spilled blood. Then he was facing a mirror. But instead of seeing himself, he saw Nash. He clamped his hands around Nash’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could to no effect. “Where is he?” he desperately demanded to know. Suddenly, as if he’d dissolved into the air, Nash was gone. But Harlan was still squeezing, only now his hands were on his own throat. They seemed to be glued there. His head felt like a balloon ready to pop. “Eve,” he choked out. “Eve.”

  When Harlan awoke Eve was there, sat at his bedside, like a prayer answered. She looked worried, but calm. Harlan drank in her face, her scent, and felt it ease through him like whisky. Smiling, he stretched out a hand and she took it between hers. But she didn’t smile back. “How long have you been there?” he asked.

  “A while. How are you feeling?”

  “They’ve got me pumped so full of drugs I can’t feel anything much at all.”

  “You called out my name in your sleep.”

  The dream suddenly came back to Harlan. A little shudder ran through him. “I was having a nightmare.”

  “About me?”

  “No. I wanted you to save me.”

  “From what?”

  “Myself.”

  A sad smile played over Eve’s lips. “I wish I could, Harlan, but I can’t. No one can save you but yourself.” She glanced at the bulge of Harlan’s bandage showing through the sheets. “Only you can decide what’s enough.”

  What’s enough? Harlan didn’t have to think to know the answer to that question. Finding Ethan. That was the only ‘enough’ there was for him. He didn’t say this to Eve. He didn’t have to. She’d already read it in his eyes. She sighed. “Jim’s right. You do have a death wish.”

  “You’ve spoken to him?”

  “Who do you think told me you were here?”

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “Not much, just that you’d been stabbed. He was pretty cagey, even by his standards.”

  “Did he mention Ethan Reed?” Harlan knew Jim wouldn’t have, but he had to ask anyway.

  “No.”

  “What day is this?”

  “Thursday.”

  Harlan’s brow contracted. He’d been in hospital two days. Which meant that at the most optimistic estimate, Ethan had seven or eight days to live. In all probability, Ethan would already be suffering the symptoms of severe dehydration: he’d have a headache and nausea; a raised body temperature and increased pulse rate; his muscles would be tingling and twitching; his vision growing dim; he might even be starting to hallucinate. Of course, that was assuming he was still alive at all. Which he almost certainly wasn’t.

  “What’s going on, Harlan?” asked Eve. “Who did this to you?”

  Harlan told Eve what’d happened. He left out any mention of Jones. Not because he didn’t trust her to keep it to herself, but because he was afraid how it would affect the way she looked at him. She knew, of course, that he was capable of the kind of drunken, self-destructive violence that’d led to Robert Reed’s death. But cold, calculated torture? She’d always despised that kind of violence. If she found out he was capable of it, would she ever again be able to look at him with the same purity of love that she was doing now? He doubted it. And with that doubt came the realisation that he needed her love more than anything, more even than he needed to suffer for his guilt. Without it, there could be no light at the end of the tunnel for him. Just darkness.

  Bright-eyed and tight-lipped with tension, Eve listened. When Harlan finished, a light of hope flickering in her voice, she said, “So you got him. You got the guy who took Ethan.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “It’s over then.”

  Harlan shook his head. “Ethan’s still missing.”

  “But surely there’s nothing else you can do to help find him.”

  “Assuming it was Nash who abducted him.”

  “Of course it was. Who else could it be?”

  Harlan thought about Jones. He thought about the prison segregation ward where he’d been housed alongside other inmates who weren’t fit for general population – serial rapists, paedophiles, child killers. “There are a lot of bad people out there.”

  An edge of irritation came into Eve’s tone. “Do you think I don’t know that? I lived with a policeman for over ten years, remember?”

  “Sorry, Eve, I didn’t mean to patronise you. You’re right, Nash almost certainly is the kidnapper. But I’m just trying to point out that things aren’t always as they seem.”

  “And I’m just trying to find something to hold onto, something to give me the strength to endure.” Tears formed in the corners of Eve’s eyes. She looked away from Harlan. He squeezed her hand. He wished he could tell her what he knew she wanted to hear – that the nightmare would soon be over. But he couldn’t. When she returned her gaze to his, her tears had receded and she managed a faint smile. “Whatever the truth is, whatever happens from now on, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’ve done something…” she searched for the right word, “wonderful. Surely it’s got to make you feel better about yourself knowing you saved that boy’s life and prevented that man from hurting anyone else.”

  Do I feel any better about myself? wondered Harlan. I’ve taken a life and saved a life. Does one cancel out the other? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the guilt was still there, festering like a pus-filled sore. Perhaps it would never be healed, not even if Ethan was found alive. “I did what I had to do. Nothing more.”

  Eve shook her head. “There you go again, always down playing the good things you do. In a way, I suppose it’s comforting that some things about you ne
ver change.”

  A nurse came to check Harlan’s vitals. After she was done, Eve said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Do you want me to come see you again?” There was a tentative quality to the question.

  “Yes,” Harlan replied without hesitation. He suddenly found himself thinking about Susan. He wanted to see her – to try and hold her up. “Hopefully I won’t be in here much longer.”

  Eve stood to leave. She looked down at Harlan a moment, before stooping to kiss his forehead. A kiss he felt through the painkillers, like soft, warm hands caressing his entire body. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “I know.”

  As Eve turned away, Harlan said, “I don’t have a death wish. I just want another chance.”

  “I know,” Eve said again, then she left.

  Harlan closed his eyes, still feeling Eve’s kiss. Images came at him like bullets. He saw Ethan chained-up, filthy, starving. He saw Susan trying to hold herself together for Kane, but crumbling inside. She needs you there with her. The thought urged him from his bed. Grimacing as his stitches pulled, he swung his legs off the mattress. His head reeled and blood pounded in his ears as he stood up. Trembling, he clutched the bedside table for support. Another nurse entered the room, pushing a medication cart. She rushed to his side, saying, “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

  Harlan didn’t have the strength to resist as the nurse gently but firmly guided him back onto the mattress. “I need to speak to the doctor and find out when I can leave.”

  “I can tell you right now that you’re not going anywhere for a few days at least. So you might as well just relax.”