He Said/She Said(122)

‘We might have found a middle way. Now, you’ve got blood on your hands, metaphorically speaking, but I think if we, ah, if we reframe this case with you as a witness for the prosecution we can get a collar on Daniel without involving you at all.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Paul. Carl had always told them there was no such thing as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

‘I’m going to have a word with an old friend of mine who runs community projects. She’s a youth worker, she’s helped rehabilitate young offenders and, um . . . vulnerable people for me before.’ Despite his history Paul made a small internal objection to the term ‘offender’ but had no quibble with ‘vulnerable’. He felt like a crab without a shell. ‘She’ll sort you out with some work, somewhere to live – no, not a safe house, but her current project is in Warwickshire, it’s far enough away for you to be able to make a new start. It’s some kind of gardening project, I think. It’ll be hard graft, but it will get you away from Daniel.’

Paul almost replied that he’d happily shovel shit for the rest of his life if it meant he could extricate himself from this mess and put Daniel away. Some part of him seemed to leave his body and swoop around the room, as if giving him a taste of the freedom that could be his. But first he had to make sure he knew what they were saying. He’d had enough of shades of grey, he needed them to spell it out.

‘But this is on condition that . . .’

‘You tell us exactly what you saw Daniel do.’

‘But what about my involvement in it?’

‘What involvement? You were a witness,’ said Woburn.

‘But I . . .’ Then he understood. Christine sat in quiet composure while Woburn tried to persuade his features into a mask of patience. She placed her palm on the table between them so that her fingertips were inches away from Paul’s and he wrestled with the impulse to hold her hand. ‘So what do you think, Paul?’ she said.