‘You always say that when you don’t want to answer me,’ said Liam.
‘I’m being honest,’ said Shepherd.
‘Mum didn’t do anything wrong, but she died. That’s not fair. If there was a God, wouldn’t He make sure that bad things only happened to bad people?’
Shepherd shrugged.
‘I know, it’s a tough question,’ said Liam.
‘But it is,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s almost impossible to answer. Every day when I’m working I see good, honest people get hurt. And often I see bad people do terrible things and get away with it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t try to do my job. Just because the world isn’t fair doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to make it fair.’ Liam frowned and Shepherd saw that another tough question was on its way. ‘I’ve got to go out for a while.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘It’s work,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be away for a few days.’
‘You’re always away. It sucks.’
‘It what?’
‘It sucks.’ Liam rolled off the bed and headed for his bedroom.
Shepherd hurried after him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Liam.
‘Look, when this is over, I’ll spend more time with you, I promise.’
‘Okay.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do.’
Shepherd peered at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go, Liam. We’ll talk about this when I get back. I love you – you know that?’
‘I know.’
‘Good. Give me a hug.’
Liam smiled and Shepherd scooped him up and held him tight, burying his face in his son’s neck. Part of him wanted to stay right where he was, with his boy, play football with him or sit in front of the television. They never spent enough time together – he was either coming in from a case, dog-tired and wanting to sleep, or on his way out, adrenaline pumping. He hardly ever hung out with his son. It hadn’t been so bad when Sue had been around, but since she’d gone Shepherd’s absences were all the more obvious. Katra did her best, but he was Liam’s father and Liam deserved more than the occasional hug. ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Shepherd.
‘For what?’
‘For being such a crap dad.’
‘You’re not crap. A lot of kids at school only see their dads once every two weeks because they’re divorced. At least I live with you.’
‘Once this is over I will make more time. I promise.’
‘Do you really have to go?’
Shepherd closed his eyes. Another tough question. The truth was that he didn’t. The Major would understand if he stayed in London. So would the rest of the guys. Shepherd truly believed that Geordie would understand, too. But that wasn’t the point, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stayed in London and his friend died in Baghdad. He had to do what he could to save Geordie, no matter the risks. ‘I’m sorry, Liam. I do.’
Shepherd switched off the ignition and sat looking at the neat semi-detached house. It wasn’t the sort of place he’d expected Amar Singh to call home. A city-centre loft, maybe, or a flat near Camden Market. Somewhere young and trendy where Amar could strut his stuff in his designer sweatshirts and state-of-the-art trainers. The red-brick house with its slate roof and carefully tended rockeries looked as if it should have been home to a middle-aged, middle-class couple, as did the car that was parked in front of the wooden garage. It was a four-year-old Volvo estate with a child seat in the back. Shepherd frowned. Singh had never mentioned that he was married.
He climbed out of his car and walked towards the front gate. It opened on well-oiled hinges and the paving-stones were swept clean. The house number was above the letterbox so there was no doubt that this was the right house but, even so, as Shepherd pressed the doorbell he was convinced that the person who opened the door would never have heard of Amar Singh.
The door opened. Shepherd looked down to see a pair of large brown eyes gazing up at him. The child in Winnie the Pooh pyjamas couldn’t have been much more than five. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Shepherd smiled. ‘I’m a friend of your daddy’s,’ he said. ‘Is he in?’
‘Who is it, Neeta?’ shouted a woman, from somewhere inside the house.
‘I don’t know,’ she shouted back.
‘My name’s Dan,’ said Shepherd.
‘He’s Dan,’ shouted Neeta, ‘but he’s a stranger so I won’t let him in.’
‘That’s very sensible of you,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,’ she said solemnly.
‘And that’s very good advice,’ said Shepherd. ‘Why don’t you close the door until your daddy comes?’
‘Okay,’ she said, and did so.
A few seconds later the door opened again. Large brown eyes scrutinised him again, but this time they belonged to a lithe Indian woman wearing tight blue jeans and a blue sweater. She was holding a toddler and had a mobile phone pressed between chin and shoulder.
‘I’m Dan,’ said Shepherd, ‘a friend of Amar’s.’
‘Come in,’ she mouthed, and pulled open the door. She began speaking Hindi into the phone as Shepherd walked into the hallway. The little girl was sitting on the stairs holding a teddy bear. Shepherd winked at her.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ said the woman, slipping the mobile phone into the back pocket of her jeans and closing the front door. ‘Everything seems to be happening at once.’
‘Dan,’ said Shepherd, holding out his hand. ‘Dan Shepherd.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Mishti.’ She smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. Her skin was flawless, the most amazing honey-gold, and her glossy waist-length hair was jet black.
‘It means “sweet person”,’ said Singh, coming down the stairs. ‘And she can be, sometimes.’ He was wearing cargo pants and a black Armani sweatshirt.
‘And my beloved’s name means “immortal”, but if he carries on like this, we’ll try to prove otherwise,’ said Mishti.
‘Sorry to bother you at home, Amar,’ said Shepherd, ‘but something’s come up.’
‘Is Gita okay?’ Mishti asked her husband.
‘She’s out of the bath and ready for bed,’ said Singh. He pointed to the child on the stairs. ‘Come on, bed-time.’
‘I went to bed yesterday,’ she said, ‘and the day before.’
‘And you’ll be going again tomorrow,’ said Singh. ‘Now, up you go.’ He lunged forward, threatening to tickle her, and she scampered up the stairs, giggling.
‘I’ll take her,’ said Mishti. ‘You take care of our guest.’ She grinned at Shepherd. ‘My husband has little in the way of social skills.’
Shepherd grinned back. ‘We know,’ he said, ‘but we make allowances because he’s so good at his job.’
Mishti kissed her husband’s cheek as she headed upstairs. Singh took Shepherd along the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Lager?’ he said, opening the refrigerator.
‘Great,’ said Shepherd. Singh tossed him a can of Foster’s and Shepherd caught it. ‘Amar, I need your help. Big-time.’
‘I guessed it wasn’t a social visit.’
‘I need to pick your brains,’ said Shepherd. ‘Can we go outside?’
‘Walls have ears?’ laughed Singh. ‘I sweep my house every week, just for practice.’
‘Force of habit,’ said Shepherd. ‘Humour me.’
Singh opened the kitchen door and went out into the garden. Shepherd followed him. A crazy-paving path wound across the lawn to a small copse of apple trees in front of a greenhouse packed with tomato plants. ‘I didn’t know you had green fingers,’ said Shepherd.
‘You thought I spend all my time with my head in electronics manuals?’ said Singh.
‘You know your stuff. I just assumed it was a full-time thing.’
Singh popped the ring top of his can and sipped. ‘What about you, Dan? Are you a cop twenty-four hours a day?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’ He opened his lager and drank.
‘What do you do for fun?’
‘I run, I suppose.’
Singh chuckled. ‘Running isn’t for fun, it’s for getting away,’ he said. ‘Everyone needs a hobby, something to take your mind off the crap we have to deal with day in, day out. For me it’s my family and the garden.’
‘I didn’t even know you had a family.’