I left Rachel Haran’s wishing I felt calmer. All she had was a battered notebook and hearsay. And my father had been a good man, a good police officer. Everyone said so.
I didn’t drive home. I took the M5 and joined the M50. It took me almost two hours to drive the sixty miles to Hereford, the place that had a special spot in Rocco’s heart. Timing was almost perfect too. A little over a week ago, we’d sat outside in a courtyard café on our first official date.
Where I’d ripped him to shreds.
I parked the car on a meter in Gaol Street and cut through towards the Castle Hotel and cathedral. Without a flicker of breeze, a sheet-metal sky bore down on crushed and dry earth. Only rain and storm would clear it.
With school out for summer, buildings and buses belonging to the cathedral school took a long siesta. Nothing stirred as I strolled past and into cathedral yard where a solitary stonemason, sweat pouring off him, worked alone, sanding a column to precision smoothness.
I searched the faces of every person sitting on the grass in front of the ancient building, some stretched out to catch the sun at its deadliest, others ate picnics in the shade. Rocco was not among them.
Hoping he might be inside, I disappeared into the cool interior, the size and magnificence of the cathedral as powerful the second time around and confirmation that I was only a tiny player in the grand scheme of life.
Walking to one end of the cathedral, I crossed over and stopped before Ascension, the new art installation honouring the SAS and their families. Beneath windows of vibrant blue stained glass, in an abstract design that defied you to turn away, a striking piece of sculptured stone. Engraved at its base, the SAS regimental badge and motto, and the words ‘Always A Little Further.’ The message spoke of endurance and courage in adversity and, as far away as I was from the soldiers it celebrated, it chimed with me. Mesmerised, I got exactly what Rocco had seen and half expected him to walk out of the shadows and join me.
But Rocco didn’t come.
Dispirited, I stole back outside and cut down Church Street to the café where we’d argued, or rather I’d argued. Every table in the garden was taken. Hopes sagging, I made my way back through. About to step into the street, a waitress I dimly recognised from our last visit stepped towards me.
“It’s okay, I’m not stopping.” I was only too keen to escape what was a fool’s errand.
“Are you Molly Napier?” Her accent was French and her smile hesitant, as if she’d been handed a Photofit and wasn’t sure whether the person she was accosting was really on the run or not.
I twisted round, suspicious. “Erm, who wants to know?”
“A man with a big smile.”
Rocco. It couldn’t be anyone else. “Yes,” I said, “that’s me.” Delight shone out of her eyes. She couldn’t look more pleased if she’d won the lottery. “This is for you.” She handed me a piece of paper, with a number written on it in Rocco’s unmistakeable handwriting. Before I had a chance to thank her, she turned to serve a customer who wanted to pay a bill.
*
“How did you know?”
I coursed with lust when I saw him. When he drew close and kissed my lips, I felt ridiculously happy, safe even.
We sat outside in the shade of a courtyard bar and restaurant, a hidden surprise off the High Street. With the lunchtime rush over, and two bottles of Fentiman’s lemonade apiece, we were alone. Rocco looked good. A close-fitting T-shirt hugged his gym-fit physique, and his eyes were bright, shiny and rested, more than could be said for mine.
“I didn’t know you’d come. I hoped.”
“Hell of a long shot.”
His face cracked into a big grin that made me laugh. “It was pretty much an act of faith. Sorry about the cloak and dagger.”
“That’s when I knew it had to be you rather than some random nutter. How did you persuade the waitress?”
“Charming, isn’t she? I ate breakfast there every day for a week and I’m a generous tipper.”
“You actually moved here?” Which was dumb of me because how else could Rocco be in the right place at the right time? “What about your grandma’s house?”
Some of the shine faded from his eyes. “I feel bad about it but I’m going to sell up.”
“Not because of me, surely?” I would have hated that.
“Because life is too short not to be where you really want to be.”
I wondered what he was doing for money and asked him.
“Got a job in a bar in the new leisure development across town.”
“Seems you have it all sorted.”
“Seems,” he said with a difficult smile.
I shifted position; acutely aware that I had things to say that would not come easy. Perhaps I should heed Rachel Haran’s advice. Perhaps now was not the time. My eyes darted to the entrance of the bar. I could almost hear Scarlet’s voice urging me not to change my mind now I’d come this far.
“Are you okay?” Rocco said, leaning towards me, his hand on top of mine.
“You’ll think I’m crazy.” I thought I was crazy.
“What makes you think I don’t already?”
Suddenly afraid of revealing what I knew, I drew my hand away, wiping the frisky smile from his face. I’d spoken to Rachel Haran without much effort, but Rocco was different. Rocco mattered. I dreaded his reaction as if, by virtue of the fact it was my family who played a part in suppressing the truth, he would find me guilty too.
Gentle and expectant, he took my hand again, looked deeply into my eyes, turning my insides to mush, straining my resolve.
“Lies destroy, Molly. Honesty will only hurt for a short time.”
I sat up a little straighter and, before I changed my mind, told him precisely what had happened to his sister.
From shock and fury to disappointment and pain, every emotional reaction was mapped in his expression. Not once did his grasp slacken or let go.
By the time I was done, my chest was tight. Sad-eyed, he didn’t speak.
“And now you know why you were leant on.” Whatever Haran said, I was certain Stanton and, possibly, Childe had bowed to pressure from my father. My dad might have been a good copper, but it didn’t make him immune from bending and breaking the law to protect his family.
Hands tell you a lot about a person. They carry tension and grief, kindness and hate. Rocco’s balled into fists.
“When I think of that bastard, Mallis, how he lied to my family, even told my mother to back off.” Clipped and justifiably angry, Rocco’s ire was visceral. Thankfully, it wasn’t aimed at me. “Why would that snake protect your father?” he said, incredulous.
“Because my dad had dirt on him.” I explained.
“And he threatened you? Why didn’t you say?”
Because I didn’t trust you. I gave a lame shrug.
He glanced away, thinking and raging. “If only your father had done the decent thing all those years ago.” I knew this only too well. “You really believe Zach is innocent?”
I’d been so sure, but what if I were wrong? “He’s not guilty,” I said doggedly.
“Then if not him, who?”
I shrugged and quietly told Rocco about my visit to Rachel Haran. He didn’t look thrilled when I mentioned that she was open to the idea that Drea’s death was accidental. “Trust her?” he said, with a penetrating look. “Forgive my cynicism.”
I smiled warmly, took his hand. “Rachel is not my father or Mallis. She didn’t admit it, but I think she tried to investigate Mallis for corruption when she was a serving police officer at the MET. She’d like nothing more than to bring him to justice.”
“And your dad?”
“I’m less certain how it will pan out. My father won’t confess, but Zach might.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t have a choice.” Sitting there with Rocco only confirmed what I already knew to be true. I couldn’t condemn myself to living the rest of my life with lies and duplicity.
Rocco absently rubbed his thumb against the top of my hand. “I’m sorry for me, but I’m sorry for you too.”
His expression scorched me. I didn’t want his pity. I’d never wanted that. To divert him, I asked a question that had bugged me since the night Rocco had broken into my house.
“You said your gran told you something when she was dying.”
Rocco nodded. “She received an anonymous note, telling her to look into your brother.”
Who from, I wondered. Couldn’t be either Bowen or Scarlet. Bowen was too eager to exploit the situation and Scarlet was hell-bent on taking the secret to her grave. There was only one person I could think of, not that it mattered anymore because he too was dead, and that was Barry Bevan, Richard Bowen’s biological father. It would have been one last hurrah and a finger up to the man who’d threatened him.
“So, what happens next?” he said, puncturing my thoughts.
“Next?”
“To us.” He scrutinized me as if examining a rare piece of porcelain. Did he think I would break into pieces without him?
“Rocco,” I said solemnly. “I’m not sure.”
“I meant what I said the last time we spoke.”
He watched every move on my face. Did he spot the inexplicable panic stuttering inside me? I’d always been bad at commitment, but what Rocco asked of me, in the circumstances, made me doubt my own judgement. I’d screwed up so many times. “That’s lovely,” I blurted out, “and I’m flattered, but this is so messed up.”
“Then help me straighten it out.”
My phone started to ring. Zach. Flickering with irritation, I cut the call.
“Stay,” Rocco murmured, guaranteed to ensure I wouldn’t resist. “Please,” he said, leaning across, finding my mouth, slow kissing me until my heart jittered and my brain turned liquid.
As we drew apart, a beep from my phone alerted me to a text message. Zach again:
‘URGENT. NEED TO SEE YOU NOW. ON MY WAY TO YOURS’ xx
I let out a groan, texted him back, told him I couldn’t reach him for at least forty minutes. It didn’t take membership of MENSA to work out why Zach needed to see me. In his head he was on a damage limitation exercise or, put another way, out to save his own skin. I explained to Rocco who was incredulous.
“You’re not going?”
“I have to.” Somehow, I had to explain to Zach that the police would want to talk to him and our father.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
I pressed a finger against his lips. “This is my mess to sort.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Zach couldn’t trap a fly. Deep down, he’s a coward. Always has been.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow. I promise. Same time. Same place.”
I put his new number into my phone and kissed him. As I walked away, Rocco’s eye boring into my back, I knew I’d made the wrong call. I was simply too proud to admit it.