‘Did you not think your family would miss you, when you left?’
‘Miss me?’
His confusion made her look for a double meaning in her own question. His off-key responses had her constantly reappraising, reconfiguring where to go next. Nathan often took words literally. That, and the apparent OCD, made her think briefly about the spectrum and the possible need for a diagnosis before trial. If it came to that.
‘I don’t mean would they notice your physical absence. I mean, would they miss you emotionally, do you think?’
It was apparent from his delay that this wasn’t something he’d considered. In fifteen years of solitude and reflection he clearly hadn’t entertained this notion at all. Dana found it bizarre. How could he be so certain they were glad he was gone? Even if he was sure his parents hated him and wanted him gone: at some point, surely he’d consider the possibility that they missed him?
‘I, that is, I… no. I don’t think so, no. My parents would’ve… uh, they thought it was time for me to leave. Maybe, beyond time.’ He paused, then threw in something else. ‘Jeb would have been angry, though.’
Dana needed to pursue those two things carefully: why it was beyond time, and why Jeb would be angry. They meant something. They meant something significant.
‘Your parents felt that twenty-three was old enough to move out, is that it?’
Nathan flinched before replying, and Dana realised that wasn’t it.
‘Uh, possibly. Most people have moved out by that age – university, new job, the military: some reason or other.’
He was misdirecting. She wanted to push it and push it fast, but she had to move at his pace: guide and goad. Driving on would also hasten the moment when she’d have to tell him that his parents were dead.
‘But that isn’t why, is it, Mr Whittler? There’s a deeper reason than that.’ Dana saw him wince, as if she’d leaned over to strike him. ‘Regardless of your age, they felt 2004 was overdue for you to get out.’ She pushed. ‘Not so much leave as… escape?’
It was a hunch. If the parents thought his leaving was overdue, but Jeb would have been enraged by it, maybe the reason Nathan ran was not overly religious parents. She’d been inclined to assume his sudden departure was a rebellion against zealotry and imposed piety; now she was beginning to feel she might have been wrong.
‘Escape, yes. It was, yes.’ He was welling up, looking away to the corners. ‘Horrible, horrible. I don’t want to talk about it.’
But you have to, thought Dana. I can’t close this case without knowing why you ran.
‘You mentioned having to hand over nearly all your income, Mr Whittler. Was it a strict household?’
‘Strict? Not… yes… I mean, not unusually, I don’t think. My parents were quite religious, stern by modern standards. But not bad parents, really. Parents are, uh, very influential, don’t you think?’
The question stabbed her. The pen stayed poised over the page, quivering. Dana caught her breath then took a moment to formulate an answer. Nathan hadn’t asked what her own parents were like: he was too smart to be so direct. He’d fired from an angle; from a sniper’s knoll. And hit.
‘We can’t always escape what they make us, that’s true. But there’s no reason we have to behave like them either. I try to take what I can from childhood, then move on. Don’t you agree, Mr Whittler?’
‘That’s a noble aim, Detective. But no; I don’t think that’s possible. Their influence is in the marrow – literally. It can’t be exorcised, can’t be wished away. A large part of us is always shaped by what we experience as a child. I could never truly escape it.’
He looked straight at her: ‘I don’t think anyone can.’
She tried to swallow that down. It was impossible for Nathan to know about her life – impossible. And yet, and yet. He could infer it, sense it; understand enough from conversing with her to have some inkling. It made her fear she was that transparent with others: that they were discerning what she fought to hide.
‘We do our best, though, don’t we, Mr Whittler?’
‘Oh yes, I think so, Detective. I mean, for men, fathers are the key, aren’t they? We expect something more from them, somehow, purely because we share gender. We look to them for… values, example. Is it the same for girls with their mothers?’
No, she thought, it isn’t. But mothers can have a hideous, overbearing, dark impact. If you have no power, if what happens in your life is beyond your control.
‘Not really, no,’ Dana replied. ‘We’re supposed to be close to our mothers, as you describe. But it doesn’t always work out that way.’
‘No, no,’ he agreed. ‘Sometimes, a big something comes along and rips all that to shreds. Leaves debris, really.’
Her silence would seem to him like assent. Which it was.
She needed to get away from this; could feel it unravelling her.
She had to switch the focus back on to Nathan’s home life and what had made him run. They already had Jeb’s take on it: he had seen a house of tight discipline, pared-down piety; a deliberate refusal to engage with the modern world. Jeb had heard no music: instead, quiet contemplation, the threat of cellars; a plethora of Bibles and strictures. Dana could picture such things – had lived them. She knew the iconography, the sounds, even the taste of the air. It chilled her to be wrenched backwards.
But Nathan hadn’t seen that house: not quite as Jeb saw it. They’d witnessed the same things but had viewed them differently. She was close, but she wasn’t quite nailing it. Nathan’s answers were scattergun, deliberately imprecise: he dissembled when he turned the issue back on her. He was hiding something, able to hold back because he hadn’t had to address it. She wasn’t asking the right questions.
‘At some point, Mr Whittler, I feel your family life took a turn for the worse. I feel sure of that. How old were you when that happened?’
‘Eight, or maybe nine. About then.’
It was a hoarse whisper. She could feel the crackle in it, the giving way of the ice.
‘What happened?’
Nathan shied away, turning his back. She thought about speaking, or even about reaching out, but decided against both. Nathan had his face buried in his hands. It felt like he was hiding. She understood that he had an acutely developed sense of shame, and not always for himself.
Eventually he sniffed then wiped his nose carelessly with a sleeve. His face was blotchy and he looked pale and drawn. She considered stopping the interview or calling the doctor, but Bill would lacerate her if she didn’t keep going now. And, she felt, rightly.
Besides, Dana had an overwhelming need to know.
And Nathan had a latent need to tell.
‘I… uh, okay. My brother, Jeb…’
Nathan stopped, blinked hard and swallowed. He reached for the cup with a shaking hand then changed his mind.
‘Take your time, Mr Whittler.’
He nodded. ‘Jeb was really big for his age. I mean, nearly two metres, and wide with it. He used to bully me a little, push me around. But, in reality, I was so small and young I didn’t matter. He could shove me about quite easily, any time he wanted, so he didn’t bother much.’
Nathan was staring at his reflection in the mirror, forearms resting on his knees. Again, that compulsive nail-draw down his fate line.