The Dry (Aaron Falk #1)(67)

Dr. Leigh leaned in, frowning. His long fingers picked at the corner of the Hadler folder, unsure whether to open it. “Seriously, what the hell is this about?”

“If you could answer,” Raco said. “Were you alone in the office flat that afternoon?”

Leigh looked from Raco to Falk and back again. “Should I call my lawyer? Does she need to be here?” There was a challenge in his voice.

“That,” Raco said, “could be prudent.”

Dr. Leigh pulled back from the table as though he’d been burned.

Sullivan parked his car in the garage that was always waiting empty and unlocked for him. He got out and pulled the roller door down to hide his vehicle from view, wincing at the scream of metal on metal as it closed. He waited a moment. Nothing reacted. The alley was empty.

Sullivan went to the anonymous door next to the office’s supplies entrance and rang the bell. He glanced left and right. A moment later the door opened. Dr. Leigh smiled at him. They waited until they were inside and the door was firmly shut before they kissed.

Leigh closed his eyes and rubbed his index finger along the bridge of his nose. His excellent posture had bent a fraction.

“All right. I take it from all this you’ve been told the situation,” he said. “Yes, then. I wasn’t in the flat alone that afternoon. I was with Jamie Sullivan.”

Raco made a noise that was half-frustration, half-satisfaction, and sat back in his chair. He shook his head in disbelief.

“About time. Do you know how many hours we’ve spent—wasted—chasing Sullivan’s story?”

“I know. I do. I’m sorry.” The doctor sounded like he meant it.

“You’re sorry? Three people died, mate. You were there with me. You saw the bodies. That poor kid. Six years old and his head shot off. How could you let us chase our tails? Who knows what damage you’ve done?”

The doctor swayed a little in the chair like he’d been hit by a physical force.

“You’re right,” Leigh said. He bit his thumbnail and looked close to tears. “Don’t you think I wanted to say something straight away? As soon as I found out you’d been at Jamie’s place asking questions? Of course, he should have told you then. I should have told you then. But we panicked, I suppose. We didn’t speak up immediately, and then more time passed, and by then I—we—didn’t know how.”

“Well, I hope the delay was worth landing Jamie with a busted face last night,” Raco said.

Leigh looked up, shocked.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Raco went on. “Yeah, he was involved in a pub fight. It’s the only reason he told me what was going on. It was his head rather than his conscience that took a whack. You could’ve saved us all this trouble days ago. Shame on you both.”

The doctor put his hand over his eyes and stayed there for a long minute. Falk got up to get him a cup of water, and Leigh gulped it down gratefully. They waited.

“So you felt you couldn’t tell us then. It’s time to tell us now,” Falk said, not unkindly.

Leigh nodded.

“Jamie and I have been together about eighteen months. Romantically. But—obviously—we’ve kept it quiet,” he said. “It started when he began having to bring his grandmother in more often. She was getting worse, and he was struggling on his own. He needed support and someone to talk to, and it grew from there. I mean, I’d always suspected he might be gay, but around here…” Leigh broke off and shook his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry. None of that matters. The day the Hadlers were killed I was at the office until four o’clock and then had a break. Jamie sent me a text, and I told him to come over. It was a fairly usual arrangement. He arrived. We chatted for a while. Had a cold drink. Then we went to bed.”

Sullivan was in the tiny bathroom drying himself off from the shower when the flat’s emergency phone rang. He heard Leigh pick up. The muffled conversation was brief and urgent. The doctor put his head around the bathroom door, his face clouded with worry.

“I’ve got to go. There’s been a shooting accident.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah. Listen, Jamie, you should know, it’s at Luke Hadler’s place.”

“You’re joking. I was just with him. Is he OK?”

“I don’t know the details. I’ll call you. Let yourself out. Love you.”

“You too.”

And he was gone.

Sullivan got dressed with shaking fingers and drove home. He’d seen a shooting accident once before. A friend of a friend of his father’s. The acidic, copper stench of blood had slithered up to the back of his nostrils and lingered for what had felt like months. The memory of it was almost enough to conjure up the hot, sick scent again, and Jamie was blowing his nose when he arrived home to find two fire trucks outside. A firefighter in protective clothing met him as he ran to the door.

“It’s all right, mate. Your gran’s OK. I’m afraid your kitchen wall’s another story.”

“After you went to Jamie’s asking questions he called me, scared,” Leigh said. “He said he’d been caught off guard and had lied to you about where he was.”

Leigh looked them both in the eye. “There’s no excuse for that. I know that, and he knows that. But I ask you, please don’t judge too harshly. When you’ve been lying about something for so long it becomes second nature.”