Best of British Crime 3 E-Book Bundle. Paul Finch

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      She looked shocked by that, and not a little hurt. ‘You think you’re the only one who’s suffered all these years?’

      ‘I’ve never said that …’

      ‘And you think you’re completely blameless for what happened? I’ve said I’m sorry, but you haven’t. And whose side do you think Tom would have been on?’

      Heck had again tried to head upstairs, but once again turned sharply to face her. ‘That’s a low blow, Dana.’

      Many faces from the past haunted Heck’s dreams at night: not just the dead ones, but the living ones too – bereaved spouses and families; the innocent victims of rape, robbery or violent assault, unable to make sense of or even comprehend the dreadful things that had been done to them. But none were quite like the face of Tom, his older brother, who the last time Heck had seen him, had been more etched with angst than it seemed possible for a human being to experience and survive – which, of course, Tom hadn’t.

      When Heck spoke again, it was with shaking voice. ‘I did what I did to try and get justice for Tom.’

      ‘Surely it doesn’t surprise you that not everyone saw it that way?’

      ‘What does it matter!’ he shouted, before realising that he was shouting and hurriedly lowering his voice. ‘We can’t change the past.’

      She laughed. ‘Are you telling me you would if you could? I don’t believe you.’

      ‘Well … you’re right there, Dana. Because frankly, this crap has been going on for so long that I can’t imagine any other way of life. Which is why I’m not interested in having this discussion. Not now, not ever.’ This time he did head upstairs.

      ‘How noble of you, Mark,’ she called after him. ‘Accepting a lifelong penance. It’s less noble of course that you’re condemning me and Sarah to the same thing.’

      On the upper floor, he heard the bath running. Lauren came along the landing, carrying towels, wearing only her vest and knickers. There were bruises on her arms and legs; sticky red trickles streaked her shin from the knee she’d hurt in the crash. By her agitated expression, she’d heard some of the commotion below.

      ‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asked.

      She nodded, taking her bag from him. ‘If your sis would rather I wasn’t here, that doesn’t bother me. I can find a bed and breakfast.’

      ‘A bed and breakfast?’ He chuckled. ‘In this neighbourhood?’

      ‘I’d sooner sleep under a motorway bridge than somewhere I’m not wanted.’

      ‘Forget it. That rumpus was about something else.’

      ‘Don’t get on with her, eh?’

      ‘There’s a history there. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.’

      ‘I’m not exactly worried, Heck. But I’m surprised. Perhaps you don’t know how lucky you are.’

      ‘Come again?’

      She eyed him coolly. ‘To have a sister you can still talk to. I’m guessing you’ve never lost anyone close.’

      He returned her gaze for a long moment, and said simply: ‘You’re wrong.’

      Then he carried his holdall into Sarah’s bedroom, closing the door behind him.

      Lauren didn’t see him for another hour. First, she had a long soak in the tub, which was just what the doctor ordered. Once she’d put some fresh clothes on – a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, she checked her room out; it was neat but basic. Before going downstairs, she peered from the window.

      Rows of rooftops led off in all directions, beneath tangles of television aerials. Immediately below, there was a small paved yard with a brick outhouse next to the gate, which had probably once been a toilet. Over the other side of that lay a narrow backstreet cluttered with council wheelie-bins. Again she was reminded of Leeds, this time specifically of Chapeltown. And like Chapeltown, this place was a relic; a throwback to an era that was now forgotten. Hearing movement on the landing, she stuck her head through the door. The bath was running again, and Heck, stripped to his shorts, was standing by the airing cupboard, helping himself to some towels. Like hers, his lean, pale body was bruised all over. He looked tired and sallow-faced. When he finally went into the bathroom, he was limping. He was hardly the heroic knight of medieval fable, she thought as she went downstairs – suddenly feeling warmer towards him. But at least he was doing something to help her.

      In the living room, Dana was seated in an armchair. She’d cleaned the remnants of her meal, turned off the television, and was reading an evening paper.

      ‘Sorry we just turned up like this,’ Lauren said from the door.

      ‘I’m glad you did.’ Dana folded her paper and stood. ‘I don’t see enough of Mark.’

      Lauren remained at the door. ‘There’ll be no comeback for you, if that’s a concern. No one’s going to follow us here, or anything.’

      ‘Never entered my head that they might. But if you guys are in trouble, maybe there’s more I can do to assist than put a roof over your head for the night?’

      ‘We’re fine, honestly. This whole thing actually looks a lot worse than it is.’

      Dana shrugged. ‘Well, Mark’s a police detective and a pretty good one, so I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.’

      ‘I think he does.’

      An awkward silence followed. Then Dana produced some car keys. ‘I haven’t got much food in. I mean, I wasn’t expecting anyone. But I can always nip down to the supermarket …’

      ‘You mustn’t go to that trouble.’

      ‘You need to eat.’

      ‘Is there a take-away round here?’

      ‘Two or three.’

      ‘That’ll do, I’m sure.’

      Dana pocketed the keys. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on for you, at least. You must be desperate for a brew.’

      ‘Yeah … that’d be great, thanks.’

      Dana smiled and went out into the hall. A short while later Heck came down, clad in a blue tracksuit. Lauren had now moved to the mantelpiece. An old-fashioned clock sat in the middle; at either end there was a framed photograph. The first portrayed a pretty young teenager with a pixie-like grin; no doubt this was Heck’s niece, Sarah. The second showed an elderly couple, both dressed smartly as though at a wedding. The man was burly, with granite features and dark, slicked hair. The woman was pretty but mousy, grey curls jammed under her tidy little hat.

      ‘I suggested we get a take-away for tea,’ Lauren said. ‘Save your sister cooking.’

      ‘Sure. Tim Chan’s is just round the corner. It’s always been good.’

      ‘You СКАЧАТЬ