Daniel got up at half past five in the morning and ran a ten-mile circuit of Victoria Park and South Hackney. Normally he wouldn’t do a long run like this during the week, but today he needed it. The run used to take him an hour and twelve, but now he could do it in an hour and five if he pushed himself. He strove to get at least a minute faster every year. There was something death-defying in that achievement.
Running came more naturally to Daniel than most other things; flight often seemed the most logical course.
He had not slept, but he pushed himself to keep to time. As he ran, he concentrated on different muscles. He tightened his torso and felt it twist from side to side. As he ran uphill, he concentrated on his thighs and the push in them as he maintained the pace. He had lived in this area of the East End for nearly eight years and now knew every inch of the park, which he could see from his bedroom window. He knew every tree root that prised bumps in the paths, like fingers awaking from the dead. He knew the places that would be cool in summer and the parts that could be icy in winter. He knew the areas which flooded when the rains came.
Every now and again thoughts came to him. When he brushed them aside Daniel realised that they had slowed him down.
Now, as he turned towards home, his thoughts returned to the letter. He couldn’t believe that she was really dead.
Dead. His foot caught a rock and he lunged forward. Unable to catch himself, he fell his full length, scraping the skin off his knee and grazing his forearm and the heel of his hand, drawing blood.
‘Fuck,’ he said out loud, picking himself up.
An old man, with an overweight Labrador, tipped his cap at him. ‘You all right, son? You fell hard. The light’s always funny at this time.’
He was breathing too hard to reply, but he tried to smile at the man and held up one hand to let him know that he was fine. He tried to continue with the run, but blood from his hand was running down his arm. Reluctantly, he jogged along Old Ford Road and up the cream stone steps in front of his flat.
Daniel showered and bandaged his hand, then dressed in a pink shirt with white collar and cuffs. The wound on his hand throbbed when he fastened his cufflinks. He took a deep breath. Since meeting the boy and receiving the letter, the hours had been assaulting him. Looking at himself in the mirror, he pulled his shoulders back in an attempt to clear his mind. He didn’t want to think about the letter today. He felt the way he had when he was a child: confused, forgetful, not sure how it had all started or why it had fallen apart.
Daniel had arranged to meet Charlotte at the Croll family home and take her to the police station. It seemed strange that she had slept through her young son being picked up by the police and he wanted to take this opportunity to speak to her.
Richmond Crescent was resplendent in the August sunshine: smart sash windows gleaming above stark white ledges. Daniel climbed the steps to their door and loosened his tie. The bell was embedded in porcelain, decorated with painted flowers. Daniel pressed once, and cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder at an antique Bentley parked on the kerb. He was about to press again when the door opened to reveal an older woman in an overall, holding a duster.
‘Please come in,’ she said with an accent that could have been Polish. She dipped her head and moved towards the living room, pointing with her duster to the stairs. ‘Mrs Croll in kitchen.’
Alone in the hall, Daniel took in the fresh flag irises, the Chinese vases and silks, the dark antique furniture. He put one hand in his pocket, not sure where the kitchen was. He followed the smell of toast down a staircase covered in thick cream carpet, worrying that his shoes would mark it.
Charlotte was wearing sunglasses. She was slumped over a coffee and the paper. Sun streamed into the basement kitchen and reflected off its white surfaces.
‘Daniel,’ exclaimed Charlotte, turning round. ‘Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be ready in a minute. Forgive me, I have a headache and it’s just so bloody bright in here even at this God-awful hour!’
‘It’s gonna be a hot one today,’ Daniel nodded, standing in the middle of the kitchen and holding his briefcase in both hands.
‘Sit down, have a coffee.’
‘Thanks. I just had one.’
‘My husband called at the crack of dawn. It was two in the afternoon in Hong Kong.’ She put two fingers to her temples as she sipped her orange juice. ‘He was asking me if Sebastian had actually been arrested or not? He got terribly annoyed with me. I told him I didn’t think so. Is that correct? I mean … it’s just because Sebastian knew Ben … but then they do seem to be terribly serious …’
‘He has been arrested, but he’s not been charged. He’s been formally cautioned, and he’s being questioned for murder, and this might go on for a few days. Better prepare yourself. At this stage, I think you’re right to be helpful. We’ll see how today goes.’
Charlotte’s face froze for a second. In the bright sunlight, Daniel noticed the heavy make-up clogged in the wrinkles around her mouth.
‘We just have to help him deal with this in the right way. We don’t want him to incriminate himself, but we want to make sure he answers the questions as fully as he can. If he doesn’t say something now that’s relevant later, it can go against him in court,’ Daniel said.
‘God, how utterly ridiculous … the poor child being put through all this. The case won’t go to court, will it?’
‘Only if the police have enough evidence to charge him. He’s a suspect at the moment, nothing else. They don’t have any evidence, really, but the forensic evidence is key. We might get that report back today, and hopefully that will discount him.’ Daniel cleared his throat. He wanted to believe his own comforting words.
‘Sebastian’s never been in any trouble like this before?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not. This is all just a terrible mistake.’
‘And he gets on fine at school – no problems with the other kids, or … academic issues?’
‘Well, I mean, he doesn’t adore school. My husband says it’s because he’s too bright. They don’t challenge him enough, you know.’
‘So he does have problems, then?’ said Daniel, raising one eyebrow at Charlotte and noticing the strain on her throat as she defended her son.
‘He gets frustrated. He really is quite brilliant. He takes after his father, or so Ken keeps telling me. They just don’t know how to deal with him at school, how to … release his potential.
‘Do you …’ Charlotte paused, removing her sunglasses. Daniel saw that her eyes were suddenly bright with expectation. ‘Shall I show you some of the work he’s done? He really is quite an exceptional child. I really don’t know how I produced him.’
Charlotte wiped her palms on her trousers and skipped up the stairs. Daniel followed. He made an effort to keep up with her, up to the ground floor and then up again to Sebastian’s bedroom.
On the first floor, Charlotte turned the brass handle and opened Sebastian’s bedroom door. Daniel felt wary about entering, but Charlotte beckoned him inside.
The room was small. Daniel took in the Spider-Man bedspread and the powder-blue walls. It seemed quieter than the kitchen and was darker, the window facing north. It was a private space disturbed, and Daniel felt as if he were intruding.
‘Look at that picture,’ said Charlotte, pointing to a charcoal drawing pinned to the wall. Daniel saw an old woman, with a hooked nose. The charcoal had smudged in places, and the woman’s eyes seemed full of warning. ‘Possibly you can tell that it’s me. He did that for me at Christmas. One of our artist friends says it displays a quite precocious talent. I don’t think there’s much of a likeness, but apparently it conveys a sense of character …’