In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner (Inspector Lynley, #10)(186)

“I don't need Sam's loyalty. Or your help, for that matter. I didn't kill Nicola.”

Jeremy shifted his glance from his son to the desktop. “No one's saying you did.”

“But if you think you have to lie to the police, that must mean … Dad, do you think I killed her? Do you honestly believe … Jesus.”

“Now, don't get yourself twisted. You're red in the face, and I know what that means. I didn't say I thought anything. I don't think anything. I just want to ease the way a bit. We don't have to take life as it comes so much, Julie. We can do something to shape our destinies, y'know.”

“And that's what you were doing? Shaping my destiny?”

He shook his head. “Selfish bastard. I'm shaping my own.” He lifted the brochures to his heart. “I want to get dry. It's time. I want it. But God knows and I know: I can't do it alone.”

Julian had been round his father long enough to recognise a manipulation when he heard one. The yellow flags of caution went up. “Dad, I know you want to get sober. I admire you for it. But those programmes … the cost …”

“You c'n do this for me. You c'n do it knowing I'd do it for you.”

“It isn't as if I don't want to do it for you. But we haven't the funds. I looked through the books again and again and we just haven't got them. Have you thought about phoning Aunt Sophie? If she knew what you intend to do with the money, I expect she'd lend—”

“Lend? Bah!” Jeremy swept the notion aside with the brochures he held. “Your aunt'll never go for that. ‘He'll stop when he wants to stop’ is what she thinks. She won't lift a finger to help me do it.”

“What if I phoned her?”

“Who're you to her, Julie? Just some relative she's never seen, come begging for a handout from what her own husband worked hard to make. No. You can't be the one to do the asking.”

“If you spoke to Sam, then.”

Jeremy waved the idea off like a gnat. “Can't ask her to do that. She's been giving us too much as it is. Her time. Her effort. Her concern. Her love. I can't ask her for anything more, and I won't.” He heaved a sigh and shoved the brochures back into his pocket. “Never mind, then. I'll soldier on.”

“I could ask Sam to speak to Aunt Sophie. I could explain.”

“No. Forget it. I c'n bite the bullet. I've done it before …”

Too many times, Julian thought. His father's life spanned more than five decades of broken promises and good intentions come to nothing. He'd seen Jeremy give up drink more times than he could remember. And just as many times, he'd seen Jeremy return to the bottle. There was more than a simple grain of truth in what he said. If he was going to beat the beast this time, he was not going to go into battle alone.

“Look, Dad. I'll talk to Sam. I want to do it.”

“Want to?” Jeremy repeated. “Really want to? Not think you have to because of whatever you owe your old man?”

“No. Wantto. I'll ask her.”

Jeremy looked humbled. His eyes actually filled with tears. “She loves you, Julie. Fine woman like that and she loves you, son.”

“I'll speak to her, Dad.”

The rain was still falling when Lynley turned up the drive to Maiden Hall.

Barbara Havers had actually provided him with a few minutes' distraction from the turmoil he felt over what he'd learned about Andy Maiden's presence in London. Indeed, he'd managed to exchange the turmoil for an anger over Barbara's defiance that hadn't been the least palliated by Helen's gentle attempt to wring reason from the constable's behaviour. “Perhaps she misunderstood your orders, Tommy,” she'd said once Havers had taken herself away from Eaton Terrace. “In the heat of the moment, she might have assumed you didn't intend her to be part of the Notting Hill search.”

“Christ,” he'd countered. “Don't defend her, Helen. You heard what she said. She knew what she was supposed to do and she chose not to do it. She went her own way.”

“But you admire initiative. You always have done. You've always told me that Winston's initiative is one of the finest—”

“God damn it, Helen. When Nkata takes matters into his own hands, he does it after he's completed an assignment, not before. He doesn't argue, whinge, or ignore what's in front of him because he thinks he's got a better idea. And when he's been corrected—which is damn seldom, by the way—he doesn't make the same mistake twice. One would think that Barbara would have learned something this summer about the consequence of defying an order. But she hasn't. Her skull is lead.”

Helen had carefully gathered together the sheets of music that Barbara had left behind. She placed them, not in the envelope, but in a pile on the coffee table. She said, “Tommy, if Winston Nkata and not Barbara Havers had been in that boat with DCI Barlow … If Winston Nkata and not Barbara Havers had taken up that gun …” She'd gazed at him earnestly. “Would you have been so angry?”

His response had been both swift and hot. “This isn't a bloody issue of gender. You know me better than that.”

“I do know you, yes” had been her quiet reply.