The Family Game(66)

I place a hand on my abdomen as I wonder if the life growing inside me might be any kind of protection against Robert and his family. I can’t assume being pregnant grants me immunity, although he has given me his word that I am safe for now because he needs me to do something.

If I’m really going to The Hydes tomorrow, and going in blind, then I’m going to need more protection than his word.

I pull my phone from my bag, scroll through my contacts and press dial before I can talk myself out of it. I might be stretching my luck by bringing things this worryingly close to home. The phone rings four times before he answers.

‘Hi, Deonte, it’s Harriet. You free to talk?’

‘Ah, it’s Ms Reed. Yes, you caught me at a good time. Out walking the dog. What can I do for you, ma’am?’

‘Okay, plot holes. You remember the girl with the recording, the taped confession?’

‘Sure do,’ he singsongs, happy to dive back in.

‘So, it turns out she’s got a secret of her own and the guy who gave her the tape knows it.’

‘Ooo, juicy. She killed someone too?’

‘She did,’ I say.

‘But hers was accidental, right?’

I hesitate. ‘No, no, she straight-up killed someone. She’s occupying a… grey area.’

He takes a moment to consider this twist and I can’t help but wonder if he senses something off with me. If he can read me like my own open book. ‘Ha. Okay, interesting. So, he’s confessed his crimes but she can’t report it cos he’s got something over her. Blackmail kind-a thing.’

‘Correct. And he wants her to meet him, to come to his home, to be with his family. He says he’s chosen to confide in her because of what she did, and he needs her to do him a favour,’ I explain.

‘Oh, okay. He’s gonna ask her to kill someone for him?’

I pull up short, my eyes immediately focusing on the park around me again.

Robert wants me to kill for him.

My mind hadn’t gone there, but now Deonte has articulated it, that seems entirely probable. I suppose my only USP, in his eyes, could be the fact that I’ve killed a person. I recall Robert saying he wanted to pass on the family baton. Is that what he meant?

I realize I’ve left Deonte hanging. ‘Um, yeah, it could be that. I haven’t entirely decoded what the favour is yet, but possibly,’ I manage with what I hope sounds like creative reticence.

‘Um,’ he muses, ‘but we’re still rooting for her? She’s still the hero, right?’ he asks.

‘I think so,’ I answer, tentatively, unsure anymore if we’re speaking about a plot or my actual life.

‘Well, if she goes to meet him, to hear out this request, she needs to leave a trail. And she needs this guy to know she’s left one, too. He’s got to know it won’t be easy to get rid of her without drawing a lot of focus. She’s copied that confession tape, right?’

I grimace into the receiver. ‘No. But I’m not sure she would. The tape has her crime on it too.’

Deonte laughs. ‘That a joke? This some kind of historical drama? She can just edit her crime out. She’s only gotta cut out that one bit, and then carry on, right? Easy. Done. Confession gone.’

‘Sure, but she can’t erase the fact that the guy who gave her the tape knows. If his crimes come to light, he’ll drag her down with him.’

‘Well, then, I guess she’s got two choices. She does what he asks her to do and hopes it ends at that, or—’

‘Or?’ I nudge.

‘Or she kills the tape maker and hands in the edited tape to the cops. If she’s killed someone before, she should be okay, right? In a way it’s a kind of self-defence.’

‘Is it?!’ I ask, incredulous. ‘What, legally?’

‘Legally?! Hell no! That’s first-degree murder right there. I meant in the book; in the story it seems like self-defence. We’d buy it as necessary, right – poetic justice? But, ha, no, legally it’s premeditated murder. We’d be talking life without parole.’

I swallow hard, my mouth so dry again. ‘Yeah, no, I thought so, just the way you said it was… weird.’

‘But here’s the thing, with your stories, Harriet. Morally, it’s different. I don’t know, your characters are likable, we side with them; that’s gold dust. People can get away with almost anything if they’re likable.’

‘Thanks, Deonte. God, I hope you’re right.’



* * *



After I hang up, I sit in silence and wonder to what degree Deonte was aware of the levels of that phone conversation. And to what degree I may have legally screwed myself if anything were to happen over Christmas. That said, I am certainly starting to leave a trail.





34 Leaving a Trail




Thursday 22nd December

Back at the apartment I pull some stationary from a drawer, grab a pen and begin to hand-write, for the first time in God knows how many years, an actual letter.



* * *



The clock on my desk reads 4:56 when I lay them out before me: three thick card envelopes inlayed with my initials, my cursive clearly spelling out the names and addresses. Former NYPD officer Deonte Hughley; Dermot Jones, my solicitor back in London; and my agent Louise.