Chapter 12

Kate parked her Mini on Vancouver Street for the second time that day and climbed out, Gareth at her heels as Vinny and Mel edged by, slowly looking for a second spot. They’d decided to bring Mel’s car too, as four coppers and one potentially uncooperative witness-slash-prisoner in a Mini was just asking for trouble. She and Gareth waited well back from the view of the big bay window for Mel and Vinny, before leading them all to the door. There was a lot more noise coming from inside than there had been earlier. She checked her watch. Six fifteen in the evening.

She pushed the doorbell, and a few moments later, she was greeted by a scowling Tariq Ahmed.

“What do you want?” he sneered.

“Mr Ahmed, we have some questions we need you to answer.” She stepped back a little to clear an exit from the building for him. “Would you come with us, please?”

He snorted at her. “My family has just sat down to dinner. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Family sat down to dinner? Is it just me, or does that so not sound like a family in mourning? “I’m very sorry to intrude, Mr Ahmed, but I’m afraid I must insist.” She stepped closer, reading his body language. She knew what was coming.

“Go away.” He gripped the door, clearly ready to slam it in her face. “Kaffir,” he added and threw his shoulder into swinging the door closed.

Kate was ready and had her booted foot jammed against the plinth to stop the movement.

He growled in frustration and stepped forward to push her out of the way. As he cleared the doorway, Gareth and Vinny grabbed his arms, then tugged him past Kate and onto the garden path, twisting his arms behind him.

Children’s faces appeared at the window, looking out at the scene, their shock and fear evident in the wide-eyed stares and fists stuck in their mouths.

Vinny spun Mr Ahmed around so he was facing Kate again.

She nodded towards the window. “Mr Ahmed, don’t make your children watch you getting arrested. Please, calm down and come with us quietly to help us with our enquiries.”

His lip curled contemptuously and his eyes narrowed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Kate sighed and nodded her head. “As you wish. Tariq Ahmed, you are under arrest on suspicion of conspiring with terrorists to commit murder. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but you may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you say can be used as evidence. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”

He threw his head back and worked his jaw. Kate could see it coming and dodged to the left, avoiding the mouthful of spit he hurled her way. The venom and hatred she could see in his eyes was more than enough to confirm his involvement to her. What kind of man could do that? Regardless of everyone else who died, his own daughter did too. Could he really have been involved in that? Surely no father would condemn his daughter to such a fate.

“Do you understand, Mr Ahmed?” She waited for him to nod his assent before turning and leading them out of the garden. Her Mini was parked closest, so Gareth and Vinny bundled him into the back, Gareth climbing in beside him while Vinny took the front passenger seat.

“Meet you back at the station,” Mel said as she headed for her own vehicle.

“Right,” Kate said to her back as she got into her car and pulled on her seatbelt, all the while wondering why Mel had even bothered coming along with them. Kate could have dealt with the situation just with Gareth and Vinny.

She shook her head, turned on the car, and pulled away from the kerb as an awkward silence filled the car.

It should have taken ten minutes to get back to the station, but the maze of closed roads around the town centre resulted in bumper-to-bumper traffic. So instead they sat, waiting. Waiting for the lights to turn green, then red, then green, and finally red again before they inched forward and through the junction. Then they waited as the car crawled towards the roundabout, all the while the silence growing thicker, heavier, darker until it was wrapped around them like a boa constrictor, crushing them. She could almost see it—the sinewy body wrapping around Ahmed’s wiry frame and squeezing. His eyes bulged, and his breathing had become laboured under its weight. Silence could be as powerful a tool of interrogation as questioning sometimes.

By the time they arrived at the station and he’d been booked in, Clare and Timmons were waiting outside the interview room where Ahmed sat…waiting some more.

“Has he said anything?” Timmons asked.

“No, sir,” Vinny said. “Spat at your main woman here, mind.” Vinny clapped Kate on the shoulder. “She’s got under his skin, just a bit, if you ask me.”

“We didn’t, but that’s good to know, Vin,” Clare said with a smirk to take the sting out of it.

Vinny just shrugged it off as Clare turned to look at Kate. “What do you think? You up to questioning him?”

Kate gave the question the proper consideration it needed. It would be tough going in there. No doubt about it. She was going to accuse him of planning the bombing that could have killed Gina, had seriously hurt Stella, and had cost the life of his own daughter and the lives of twenty-one innocent victims. Including Gregory Walsh. The proper consideration took less than half a second. “Without doubt.”

Clare nodded. “Vinny, go in with her.”

“Actually, ma’am, I think another female officer would be better,” Kate said.

“Why?”

“I think it offends him. To be questioned by a woman. I think it will throw him off balance even more and increase our chances of getting an emotional outburst from him. And that’s the only way he’s going to give us anything.”

Clare and Timmons exchanged looks.

“Good thinking,” Timmons said and tapped her forehead with his knuckle. “I’ve got my eye on you, Brannon. You’ll be after my job next.”

Kate grinned. “Nah, I wouldn’t want your office until it’s been aired for a year or two at least.” She chuckled as he threw back his head and laughed heartily. It sounded out of place, but at the same time it sounded right. When everything felt wrong, sometimes it was the tiny things that made the world slip back into shape.

“Okay, then, you and me,” Clare said.

Kate shook her head again. “No, you have too high a rank. It shows him respect. It’ll make him feel important to have someone so high up the chain in there. We need to make him feel insulted. I want a standard PC, someone who looks young, fresh-faced. Maybe even like they’re on their first job.”

“Belt and braces.” Timmons stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Brown fits that description pretty well. Looks young enough and only a PC, as requested.”

Kate had to agree, and while she didn’t like the idea of working with her closely, needs must. “She does.”

Timmons seemed to watch her carefully before he spoke, “Right. Brown?”

“Here,” Mel said as she slipped into the corridor, slightly out of breath.

“You and Brannon, interview room one.” He pointed a finger at her. “Follow Brannon’s lead, and do not screw this up.”

Mel frowned but said, “Yes, sir.”

Timmons pushed open the door to the video suite, holding it open for Clare. He looked at Kate. “Earpiece in for this one.”

Kate nodded, slid into the video suite, grabbed one of the earpieces that would allow her to receive comments and direction from them, and picked up a second for Mel. “Do you have a photo pack ready?”

Timmons shook his head. “What do you want in it?”

Kate swallowed and told him what she needed, then watched his jaw clench.

“Jackson, Collier, get it sorted. Brown, you wait outside until they’ve got it all, then take the file into Brannon.” Each of them nodded, and Gareth and Vinny set off to gather what she’d asked for.

“Is his brief here yet?” Kate asked. As he’d been arrested, they had to wait for his solicitor to arrive before they began questioning him.

Timmons nodded. “Five minutes ago.”

“Then I’ll go and start the tape while I wait for Mel.”

Timmons grinned and tapped her forehead again. “You do that.” He winked at her and let the door close behind her.

“Looks like you’ve fallen on your feet.” Mel’s voice had the hard edge of bitterness to it. “Do you have to blow him every day or just once a week to get him to treat you like that?”

“Excuse me?” Kate whirled around, glad she hadn’t opened the door to the interview room yet.

“You heard me.”

“I did. And at the risk of repeating myself, excuse me?”

Mel stared at her belligerently. Daring her to deny the accusation.

Well, Kate had no problem with that. “DI Timmons is the best DI I’ve ever worked with. Yeah, he’s a bit politically incorrect. Yeah, he’s a bit old school. But he’s a copper who respects hard work and results. You bring him those, and he doesn’t care who’s doing the bringing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Believe what you like, Mel. But Timmons is a good bloke who respects his team and knows how to get the best out of us.” She looked Mel up and down. “We don’t have to perform sexual favours for him to try and improve our careers.” She smiled sweetly. “How’s that going for you, by the way?”

Mel’s face darkened further. “Fuck off.”

“No thanks. Like you said, I’ve landed on my feet here. Moving away from Norwich, away from you, was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“You bitch.”

Kate shook her head sadly. “Maybe. But maybe it’s something you should think about a bit. What do you want, Mel? I mean, you’ve fucked everything up at Norwich. Clare’s moving up further and further, and you’re still a PC. You’ve been in three years longer than I have, you passed your sergeant’s exam two years before I did, but you’re still on the bottom rung. Not even moved over to CID. You’re stagnating there, and it’s making you bitter and jealous. And you know what? That’s fine by me. I don’t have to deal with you beyond this task force. But maybe it should bother you.” She grabbed hold of the door handle. “Now, do not fuck up this interview, or you will regret it.”

“What will you do? Tell all your little friends that I hurt your feelings?”

Kate shook her head. “Timmons will bury your career. You’d be lucky if you get to be a PCSO by the time he’d be finished with you, and any hopes you have of advancement…forget it.”

“Bullshit.”

Kate shrugged. “Try it and see.” She pushed open the door and closed it shut quietly behind her. She leant back against it, giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. How had she ever been blinded by those blue eyes and that dimple? How could she have been so stupid not to see it before? All Mel cared about was herself, and it had never been clearer to Kate how close she’d come to ruining her own life with her ex. As painful as it had been, Mel sleeping with Clare had been the biggest favour either of them had ever done for Kate. It had taken off the blinkers and let her escape a relationship and a job that was getting her nowhere.

Now she had everything she had dreamed of: a job she truly loved—well, on most days—colleagues who cared for and respected her, and a boss who respected her for the job she did and the skill she’d shown. Who clearly cared for her well-being too. And that was before she even started to think about Gina, and Sammy, and Merlin. When she’d left Norwich, her life had been empty. Now she was rich with love and fulfilment, and she was fucking proud of everything she’d achieved in just a few short months. Bring on the next fucking year.

She straightened up and crossed the room, taking a seat at the table, across from Ahmed and his solicitor. Pressing the button on the tape recorder, she waited for the loud beep to end before she spoke.

“It’s Sunday, the thirteenth of December, the time is seven twenty-four p.m. I am Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon. Gentlemen, please identify yourselves for the tape.”

“Mr Chris Oxford, solicitor,” said the suited man next to Ahmed.

Ahmed stared at her belligerently.

“Mr Ahmed?”

He said nothing.

“Very well. For the record, also in the room is Mr Tariq Ahmed. We are still awaiting the arrival of a colleague, so we shall just wait a few moments, if that’s okay with you, gentlemen?” Kate didn’t require an answer. Not that she expected one anyway. Ahmed wasn’t going to talk to her. Not yet.

It was ten minutes before Mel arrived, slid the file in front of Kate, and sat in the chair beside her.

Ahmed’s sneer grew.

“For the tape, Police Constable Melissa Brown has entered the room at seven thirty-four p.m., and we are now ready to begin this interview. Mr Ahmed, at your home this evening, you were arrested on suspicion of conspiring with terrorists to commit murder. You were read your rights. You are still under caution at this time. Do you understand?”

He said nothing.

“Mr Ahmed, you must answer the question.”

Nothing.

Kate looked at his solicitor. “Perhaps you should advise your client to answer the question so we can move on.”

Oxford nodded and leant over to whisper in Ahmed’s ear.

“No comment,” Ahmed said.

It was a start. “Thank you. For the tape, that was Mr Ahmed’s voice. This morning, my colleagues and I informed you of the death of your daughter in the bombing incident at the Ann Summers shop in King’s Lynn town centre yesterday morning. Is that correct?”

“No comment.”

“As part of our duties, we carried out a search of your property and found a number of items of interest to us.” She slipped the picture of the ball bearing from the file and placed it on the table. “This is a picture of an item entered into evidence, reference AHVS1802. Do you recognise this item, Mr Ahmed?”

“No comment.”

“It was found in your daughter’s bedroom.”

“No comment,” he repeated with a smirk twisting his lips.

“On top of her wardrobe.”

“No comment.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Tests show that it has traces of explosives on it consistent with those used in yesterday’s attack. Did you know your daughter was hiding a suicide vest in your house, Mr Ahmed?”

“No comment.”

“Were you aware she had explosives in there while your other children slept in the same house?”

“No comment.”

“Your son—your eleven-year-old son—sleeps in the room next to Nadia’s, doesn’t he?”

He frowned. “No comment.”

“Lucky, lucky, lucky boy.” Kate slipped the picture from the file that haunted her. She swallowed down the bile and emotion that rose again and would render her unable to do the job she needed to do as she turned the page and set it down in front of Tariq Ahmed. “This little boy wasn’t quite so lucky.”

Ahmed’s jaw and throat worked as he swallowed back whatever words he wanted to spew at her. He sat back on his chair, pulling away from the image of Gregory’s pushchair as much as he could. Oxford blanched, his colour draining at the sight, and he scribbled notes across his pad, clearly trying to distract himself from the image.

Kate knew it would never work. That picture would stay with him for the rest of his life.

“I’m showing Mr Ahmed KLHS80936, a picture of one of the victims of the bomb blast. Gregory Walsh was two years old, Mr Ahmed. His mother had been in the card shop next door, to buy Christmas cards for her family, when your daughter detonated the explosives that had been in your house. An innocent baby.”

“My daughter was an innocent victim too. Not the monster who did this. I do not deserve this abuse. I have done nothing.”

Kate placed a third picture on the table, the same one she’d shown Mrs Ahmed earlier. “KLHS003657, a picture from CCTV footage before the bomb went off. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

“Yes. See? She was just a victim of this hideous crime too.”

Kate set another picture down, the expanded view of the first picture showing Nadia Ahmed with her burqa held open to expose the modified suicide vest—the explosives, wires, and blocks of shrapnel taped to it all clearly visible. “KLHS098736, a picture showing the device and the individual wearing it. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

“No comment.”

She tapped the image. “Is this or is this not the same girl you just identified as your daughter in image KLHS003657?”

“No comment.”

“Is it?” She let her voice rise, she wanted him to think she was getting frustrated with him and too emotional to think clearly. She wanted him to think he had the upper hand.

The growing smirk on his face let her know she was on the right track. “No comment.”

She pulled another picture from the folder and placed it on the table. Then she waited until his gaze dropped from hers and fell to the page. He scraped the chair backwards and jumped to his feet, pointing at the picture and hurling a string of fast-paced Arabic at her until he landed against the room’s back wall.

“KLHS078956, a picture of human remains from the blast site. Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

The picture was truly horrific, and Kate was eternally grateful she hadn’t eaten anything all day. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it down if she had. All that remained of Nadia Ahmed was captured in that image: Her head, her left shoulder, and half of her arm had been severed from the rest of her body and blown clear. The rest of her body had been torn apart by the shrapnel strapped to her. The force of the explosion had made her own bone fragments into weapons dug out of bodies of the dead and injured alike.

“Please, Detective, you’re upsetting my client.” Oxford tried to cover the picture with his pad, but Kate pushed it away. No way was this bastard getting off that lightly.

“I’m sorry about that. If he will answer the question, we can move on.”

Oxford stood up, rested his hand on Ahmed’s shoulder, and spoke quietly to him.

She had no idea what he said to the man, and, frankly, she really didn’t care. She wanted him to tell them what he knew, that was all. They could all have nightmares for the rest of their miserable fucking lives for all she cared. She knew she would. “Is this your daughter, Mr Ahmed?”

Oxford guided him back to his seat, hand still on his shoulder. “Please answer the detective’s question and then she can remove that picture, Tariq.”

“Yes.” Ahmed’s voice was a mere croak as he spoke. “Now get that out of my sight.”

Kate picked up the picture so he was no longer faced with it, but she didn’t put it away. She tapped the ball bearing picture again. “Do you know what this is, Mr Ahmed?”

He nodded.

“For the tape, please.”

“Yes.”

Kate waited.

“It’s a ball bearing.”

“And do you know why it was in your daughter’s bedroom?”

“No comment.”

Bollocks. “Did you know she was hiding this vest in there?” She pointed to the picture showing Nadia in the vest.

“No comment.”

Okay, Plan B. “Very well, Mr Ahmed.” She turned to Mel, but watched Ahmed out of the corner of her eye. “Have the other officers finished bringing in the rest of Mr Ahmed’s family?”

Mel’s eyes widened a little, but thankfully she played along. “I don’t know, Sergeant. Would you like me to go and find out?”

Kate nodded. “Yes, if they’re here, we’ll go and talk to them. I’m sure Mrs Ahmed will have more to say when she sees this picture of her daughter.” She laid the page in her hand back on the table as Mel stood and started for the door.

“No! Don’t. My wife is a proper woman, not like you. She will—she cannot… She must not see this.”

“Then save her from it,” Kate said, ignoring the insult. “Tell me what you know about your daughter’s plan to murder all these people.”

“My daughter was no murderer. She was a soldier of Allah.” He picked up the photo and held it to his lips. “She will live in heaven forever for her sacrifice.”

“Her crime.” Kate pushed the picture of Gregory to the front again.

“You and your pious know nothing. Judgements mean nothing in the face of our beliefs, our God. The flesh is weak, but faith, honour, sacrifice, they are eternal, and my sacrifice will be honoured amongst my people.”

“Your sacrifice? It was your daughter who gave up her life. Hers. Not yours.”

“My daughter, mine to command, mine to grant life, mine to grant death. I have given her the greatest gift she could have ever hoped for. I have granted her eternity at the Prophet’s side. The greatest of gifts.”

“Yours to command?” The words didn’t make sense; at least Kate didn’t want them to make sense. Because if they did, then it was even worse than she’d feared. Not only did Tariq Ahmed know his daughter was involved, he had condemned her to die with her victims. “You commanded her to do this?”

His lips twisted into a smile that approximated paternal pride, but how could that be? How could anyone be proud of what Nadia had done? Proud that he’d sent her to do that? How? Kate didn’t think she could be any more sickened in this case than she had been when she’d seen that overturned pushchair. God, had she ever been wrong. She wanted to hold her hand to her mouth to make sure the vomit didn’t escape, but she knew she couldn’t show that kind of weakness in front of this man. So she sat still. She schooled her features into neutrality and prayed she could maintain her professionalism for as long as this interview lasted.

Oxford put his hand out as though he could halt the flow of words now that they’d begun. “I must advise my client—”

“I trusted her with the greatest gift a father can give his child.” Ahmed ignored him. His gaze fixed on Kate as he bent over the desk, weight borne on his hands. He whispered, “Immortality.”

“Immortality?” Kate’s voice was shaky, and she only hoped it sounded more like anger than the revulsion she really felt. “She’s dead. There is no immortality.”

“Her name as a martyr will live on forever.”

“Her name as a murderer will live on only as long as the media interest does.”

He barked out a harsh laugh and flopped back into his chair again. “You know nothing of my culture, my religion.”

“Then teach me.”

“I would not waste my time.”

Kate’s hands shook in her lap, and she was glad she didn’t have to try and stop them to put evidence before him. She had only one more card to play to get him to talk. But she had this bastard. All she needed now was to tie it up in a bloody bow and get the fuck away from him. “You commanded your daughter to don a suicide vest, yes or no?”

“It was Allah’s will.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

She licked her lips and forced the next sentence into life. “You commanded your daughter, Nadia Ahmed, to go to a busy public area and detonate that device. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know she was hiding the device in your house?”

“Yes.”

“Did you build it?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did build it?”

“No comment.”

“Was it built by Saba Ayeshydi?”

“No comment.”

“Was the bomb built by Ayeshydi’s husband?”

“No comment.”

“Did you target that shop specifically because it was the scene of your greatest failure?”

He said nothing…but a frown carved itself onto his face.

Aha. “It was where you used to have a clothes shop, wasn’t it?”

“No comment.” The creases across his forehead deepened, and his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Where you were forced into bankruptcy because you were a failure as a businessman, right?”

He ground his teeth and said nothing.

Bingo!

“I don’t think this has anything to do with Allah. Not for you. You’re too pathetic and bitter for that. You picked that shop because you couldn’t face knowing it was there, thriving where you failed. You almost lost everything, didn’t you, Tariq?”

He growled but held his tongue.

“You lost the business, your stock, the building. You almost lost your house too. Didn’t you?” She shook her head slowly. “And now it was there, selling condoms, chocolate penises, and vibrators. How shameful. That was once your pride and joy. Then it was everything you hated, wasn’t it, Tariq? That’s why it had to go. Nothing to do with God or Allah or jihad. Just plain, old fashioned male ego. And you didn’t even have the guts to do the deed yourself. Sent a child in to do your dirty work for you. Your own daughter. You spineless piece of shit.”

He slapped his hands on the table. “How dare you? I gave everything I had to being a good member of society when I came here. Everything. I worked fourteen hours a day, went to mosque, prayed. But you, all of you, you’re all racist. You all decided that my shop wasn’t good enough for you. You stopped buying your clothes from me. You passed my shop without even looking inside, and I lost it all. You took it from me. Every one of you. You took my hard work and my effort and you threw it in my face.” He dropped the page back on the table. “I am a proud man. A good man. I did not deserve the contempt you all showed me. So, yes, I sent my daughter to purify the site of the evil that contaminated it. It was my service to God, my sacrifice for the good of us all, and now my honour is restored.”

Honour? Honour? Where was the honour in death? Where was the honour in murder? How could a person, any sane or reasonable person, condemn their own flesh and blood to death for the sake of a concept as fleeting and misconstrued as honour? There was nothing noble or worthy of admiration in this. There was nothing to respect in this act. Honour spoke of deeds of moral character, distinction, acts to be venerated. Kate saw nothing here worthy of reverence. Not by anyone. If this was honour, she’d take shame any day of the week. If this was what it took to maintain a man’s dignity and pride, she’d take ignominy, humiliation, and scorn for the rest of her life.

Seeming to take her disgusted silence as her listening to his insane ramblings, he leant back in his chair and continued, “Nadia was glad to do this. She knew her duty to God, to her people, to me. She was glad to offer her life to Allah as a soldier.”

Kate swallowed and let her ire settle so she could speak without screaming. “Who built the bomb?”

He said nothing.

She knew she wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. Not tonight. She was surprised they’d gotten as much as they had, if she was honest. She was willing to bet that Ayeshydi’s husband was the bomb maker. But there was one more question she had to ask. “Are there any more bombs out there?”

She’d been right. He didn’t answer. But the taunting smile on his lips made her blood run cold.

Fuck.

* * *

Kate closed the door softly behind her before she bolted for the bathroom. Having had nothing to eat all day, the acid burned her throat as she hung her head over the toilet and tried to keep her hair out of the line of fire. She heard the door open and close, and then a hand rubbed her back. She half turned her head to see Clare stood to the left and slightly behind her.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Kate said softly as another cramp gripped her stomach and she dry heaved over the bowl again.

“Don’t be. I’m surprised I’m not hanging over the bowl next door.” She tapped the divide between the cubicles, and Kate offered her a wan smile.

“Thanks.”

“You did well in there. Got a lot more than I expected out of him.”

“So much for religious zeal. It was nothing more than a way for him to get a personal revenge on all the wrongs we’ve done him.”

Clare nodded. “Yup. The very definition of those in power using religion to their own ends. Everything that’s wrong with every religion, all boiled down to one crazy sound bite.”

“You’re more cynical than you used to be.” Kate stood up and backed out of the stall. She ran the tap in the sink and held her hand under it.

“Nah, I just don’t need to hide it now I’m Chief Super.”

Kate sniggered and swilled her mouth out.

Clare offered her a pack of mints. “Here, I’ve been passing these out all day.”

“Cheers.” Kate took one and popped it in her mouth. “So, what’s next, Boss?”

Clare shrugged a little and leant back against the wall. “Until we find the husband or get any of that translated stuff back, nothing. We’ve already searched every known address for each girl, and we’re looking everywhere for Ishman Ayeshydi. Right now, I suggest we get some sleep and get ready for another long day tomorrow.”

Kate agreed, but it didn’t sit well with her. Ahmed hadn’t admitted it, but the look on his face was enough to convince Kate that there were more bombs out there, waiting to be strapped to someone else’s son or daughter and walked into a crowd. Or a church. Or a school. Or a mosque. How the fuck do you keep people safe when even those you’re trying to protect could be the very ones trying to kill you? Or was that just another weapon in the arsenal of terror? The insipid little smile that makes you think there are more out there when really there aren’t? Just to keep you guessing, just to keep you awake, and afraid. To keep you on edge. To make you paranoid about every little thing. Well, it was fucking working.

“It’s been an absolute pleasure to see you work today, Kate. The one true bright spot in all this shit.” Clare’s voice sparkled with the hint of pride and the raw edge of sadness. “I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I am truly sorry for everything that happened. You deserved better from both of us, and you sure as shit deserved better than both of us.”

She looked across the small room, and she could see genuine pain in Clare’s eyes. “I do believe you.”

Clare smiled. “You always were a good friend, Kate—”

Kate held up her hand to stop her. “I believe you’re sorry, and you’re right, I did deserve better… I do. But that doesn’t mean I can forgive you for what you did. I looked up to you. I trusted you. Fuck, you were like a sister to me.” She shook her head. “Mel cheating on me… Well, if I’m totally honest, I could see that coming. But you?” She looked away from Clare’s gaze. “I never expected that from you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She pulled open the door. “Night, ma’am.”