It was getting light by the time Julian finished giving his statement. “How long will you be in town?” asked Tom Benson.
“A week or so.”
“Good. I’ll probably need to talk to you again.”
While Robert showed the policeman out, Julian went to the bathroom. He stood under the shower a long time, scrubbing his skin as if it was polluted. Before leaving the bathroom, he listened at the door. He didn’t want to bump into his dad, have to hear him say, what did I tell you. Henry was asleep on his bed. There was no sign of the withered thing. He woke the dog and shooed him out the room. Bone-tired, he lay down and tentatively closed his eyes. He knew he’d see the corpse, and he did. He seemed to smell it too. He lay there for as long as he could bear. Then he got up, flung open a window and sucked in great lungfuls of the morning.
Chapter 4
When Julian dragged himself to breakfast, Christine said in a concerned tone, “You look as if you haven’t slept a wink.” She made no mention of the previous night’s events. Julian noticed his dad peering at him over his newspaper. Robert gave a tiny shake of his head.
After breakfast, Julian said to him, “You haven’t told her, have you?”
“No. I don’t want to worry her.”
“She’s going to find out sooner or later.”
“I know, I know,” muttered Robert, sorting through his briefcase, obviously not wanting to hear it.
“She worries more not knowing what’s going on.” Getting no reply, Julian continued, “If you don’t tell her, I will.”
“No, you bloody well won’t.” Anger flared in Robert’s voice. He reined it in with a steadying breath. “Look, I’ll tell her this evening when there’s time to do it properly. Just do me a favour and keep quiet until then, will you?”
“What are you two whispering about?” asked Christine, approaching them.
“I was just telling Julian to make sure he gets his head down to some hard work today,” Robert lied with a smoothness that drew a surprised glance from Julian.
“He will. I’ll make sure of that.”
Robert bent to kiss his wife. He kissed her twice — once on the lips and once, with an almost fearful tenderness, on the paralysed side of her face. “See you later, darling. And don’t overdo it in the garden today.” With a last half-warning, half-pleading look at Julian, he left the house. Julian watched him get into his car and accelerate out the driveway.
“Jules,” his mum said, glancing meaningfully in the direction of his bedroom.
Taking the hint, Julian headed for his room. He sat on his bed, lecture notes spread over the duvet in case his mum or Wanda checked up on him. He stared out the window at the forest, wondering if his dad was right about the way Joanne Butcher had died, or if there was something more sinister to it. The only thing he felt sure about was that she’d died without anyone she loved around her. He thought about her mum, the teddy-bear clutched to her chest, her eyes glazed and pleading. She’d know by now that her daughter was dead. Mia Bradshaw might know, too. And there’d be others — grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins. All of them united in grief, anger and incomprehension. He heaved a sigh for the waste and pain of it.
The phone rang in the hallway. A moment later his mum knocked and said, “Jules, Mike Hill’s on the phone for you.”
Julian’s heart accelerated a few beats. Mike Hill was the editor of the local newspaper. Surely there could only be one reason for him phoning. He hurried to the door, hoping Mike hadn’t let the cat out of the bag. From the way his mum looked askance at him as he took the phone from her, he guessed he hadn’t. He went out into the garden, away from prying ears. “Hi, Mr Hill.”
“Hi, Julian. I heard what happened.”
“How?”
“Ah, c’mon now, Julian, you know what this town’s like. It’s too small for something as big as this to be kept under wraps for long. How are you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, thanks. A bit shook up.”
“That’s only to be expected. It must’ve been awful. ” Mike paused. Here it comes, thought Julian. “I was wondering if you’d mind coming over to the house this morning for a proper chat.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty tired.”
“It won’t take long.” Like a salesman sweetening a deal, Mike added, “And Eleanor would love to see you.”
Eleanor was Mike’s daughter. Julian had gone with her for a while in sixth-form. She was a year younger than him. He’d finished their relationship when he went away to university, citing the usual reasons — he wanted to be free to experience university life to the full, he didn’t want to have to lie to her about what he was getting up to. She’d cried, but said she understood. Said she wanted them to still be friends. He’d often wondered since then whether he’d made a mistake. None of the girls he’d met at university had come close to her. They all seemed to be trying on modified personas. He’d never known Eleanor try to be anything but what she was naturally — just a kind, sweet girl.
“Okay, Mr Hill, I’ll come now.” Julian hung up and went back inside.
“What did Mike want?” asked Christine.
“I’ll tell you later. I’ve got to go out.”
“What about your studies?”
“I won’t be long.”
The Hill’s lived on a street of houses more modest in size than Julian’s parents’, though still large. Julian had always liked their house. It was old and comfortable, with warm, cluttered rooms. Its lattice windows gave light and privacy. There were plenty of corners and nooks to hide in. Mike Hill greeted him at the door. He looked the same as ever — pale, smiling eyes with a keen glint in them, bald pate surrounded by long thinning hair, cigarette planted in the side of his mouth. He gave Julian an appraising look. “Well, I can see someone’s been burning the candle at both ends and the middle,” he said, speaking through his cigarette.
“I didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’ll bet.” Mike ushered Julian inside. “And I bet you haven’t got much sleep in the last few months, either.”
Julian gave him a quick sidelong glance. “Why do you say that?”
“I went to university once, too, you know. Seeing you takes me right back to those days. A bit of advice, I know you think you’re invincible, but no one is. You’ve got to learn to pace yourself.”
Eleanor came down the stairs a little hesitantly. Something in Julian’s chest squeezed at the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her for five months. Just five short months, but she was changed. Her hair was shorter, darker, more styled. She was slimmer, too, more angular, less cute. Yet, as she drew nearer, and he saw the expression in her eyes, her smile, he realised with relief that the change was only surface. Like his mum, like everything real and good, she was unchanged through change. “Hi, Jules,” she said.
“Hi,” he said back.
“C’mon,” said Mike. “You two can catch up once I’m done.”
Julian followed him into a study, its shelves overloaded with books and newspapers. Mike seated himself at a desk. “So tell me all about it,” he said, pen and notepad at the ready.
Julian told him. He described how Joanne Butcher’s corpse looked, how it smelt. Mike’s eyebrows drew together. He swallowed hard. “Jesus.”
“Will you put that in your paper?”
“People don’t need to read that. And I’d appreciate it if you don’t go repeating it to Eleanor, either.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Any word on how Joanne Butcher died?”
“No. It’ll be a few days before the coroner’s report comes in.”
“I heard some…things about her.”
“You mean, like she was prostituting herself.”
“So it’s true.”
“I can’t say for certain, but I think so.”
Julian puffed his cheeks, shaking his head. “What would make someone do that?”
“Heroin.”
“Seriously, you think she was an addict.”
“I don’t know. Again, I’m just making an informed guess. You probably don’t realise this, Julian, but there are buildings in this town where every room’s littered with used needles and scorched foil.”