Good Girl, Bad Girl(109)

He’s looking from face to face, wanting us to agree. He must have had this argument a thousand times in his head, convincing himself before he risked talking to his parents.

“They took DNA from Jodie’s unborn child,” says Cyrus. “You’re not the father.”

“No! You’re wrong. Dad would never . . . she would never.”

Again, Cyrus looks at me. Again, I nod. Aiden believes what he’s saying, but that doesn’t make it true.

“Who knew that you were sleeping with Jodie?” asks Cyrus.

“Nobody.”

“What about your mother?”

“No, I mean, she almost caught us one day and went batshit crazy. I lied to her. I told her we were just fooling around. She read me the riot act, telling me that Jodie was underage and that she was my cousin and that Dougal and Maggie would be heartbroken if they knew and that I couldn’t touch her like that again. I told her nothing had happened and promised her that nothing would.”

“When was this?”

Aiden pauses, trying to remember. “Early September, maybe.”

“Before you knew that Jodie was pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

Cyrus seems to be calculating the dates and rearranging the timelines. “On the night Jodie came to the caravan, what happened?”

“Nothing. I mean. She was cold and tired. Some old letch at a party had groped her and offered her money for sex, but she ran away.”

“What did you do?”

“I made her a cup of tea. We talked . . .”

“You slept together.”

Aiden nods.

“Why use a condom?”

“Force of habit,” he says without irony.

“What made Jodie go home that night?” asks Cyrus.

Aiden shakes his head, unable to explain. “When she left the caravan, I thought she was going to sneak into the house and sleep in Tasmin’s room. It’s what she always did. I gave her my key.”

“What time was that?”

“Early hours. Jodie had to be up for training at six.”

Cyrus looks at the clock above the sink. It’s almost two a.m.

“You can sleep here tonight. We’ll talk to the police in the morning.” He turns to me. “Can you help me make up a bed for Aiden?”

I nod and empty the ashtray and put the mugs in the sink.

“You should call your mother and tell her you’re OK,” says Cyrus.

Aiden balks. “I don’t want to speak to her.”

“It can wait until morning.”

Upstairs, Cyrus shows me where he keeps the spare sheets and blankets. We make the bed together, although he’s pretty useless. I’m an expert at making beds with nurse’s corners. They used to check mine every day at Langford Hall.

“He was telling the truth,” I say.

“Or what he believes to be true,” Cyrus replies.

“What are you going to do?”

“Let the police decide.”

I hold a pillow under my chin and shake it into a slip.

“Do you know who killed Jodie Sheehan?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

“Mmmmmmm.”

Cyrus frowns. “You always make that sound when you don’t believe me.”

“Mmmmmm.”





60




* * *





CYRUS




* * *



The sun is almost liquid, angled so low that it slants through the blinds, reflecting from computer screens and empty whiteboards in the incident room. Aiden is sitting next to me wearing yesterday’s clothes, but he has showered and combed his hair.

Lenny is in a meeting. I can hear raised voices behind her closed office door. One of them I recognize.

Antonia glances up from her desk.

I whisper, “Who is it?”

She mouths the words: “Timothy Heller-Smith and Jimmy Verbic.”

“Why?”

She motions me to move closer, cupping her hand over my ear.

“I’m not sure, but it could have something to do with Felix Sheehan. He’s in hospital with a broken jaw and internal bleeding.”

“What happened?”

“Lenny thinks he ripped off his supplier and copped a beating. Apparently, he started off asking for police protection, but then changed his mind.”

The office door opens suddenly. Antonia jumps up as though it has triggered a motor inside her. She bustles around collecting coats and hats and scarves.

Heller-Smith recognizes me and smiles mockingly.

“Ah, it’s Dr. Haven. The shrink who won’t shrink.”

“Have we met?” I ask.

“No, but I’ve heard all about you. DCI Parvel seems very enamored. Maybe it’s a gender thing.”

This he finds funny. I glimpse the loathing in Lenny’s eyes but know she won’t say anything.

“I assume you two know each other,” says Heller-Smith, gesturing towards Jimmy.

We nod but give nothing away.

“Councilor Verbic has asked for and received a formal apology from Nottinghamshire Police for any hurt and inconvenience we have caused him. The chief constable feels that it has bordered on harassment.”