“How did you get here?”
Zach, dressed in a brightly coloured Tropical shirt, sprawled languidly across my doorstep as if he were sunning it in Barbados. He angled his chin in the direction of a dirty camper van parked on the opposite side of the road. Looked like it was held together with baler twine and rust. “Saffron leant it to me.” One of the women in the commune.
Springing to his bare feet, he seemed less twitchy and in control. Perversely, I found this disconcerting.
He followed me down the hall and into the kitchen. I opened the back door in a vain attempt to disperse the heat inside the house. Humid heavy air pushed in. It smelt peculiarly pungent, as if the sea were around the next corner. Dark and heavy clouds banked on the horizon and there was little or no sound. A storm was brewing and the temperature riding high. After the long period of extended hot weather, it would be a monster.
I dispensed soft drinks and we took them into the living room. Zach sat. I stood.
“You said it was urgent.” I took a long deep swallow.
“It’s all fucked up.”
“You drove all this way to tell me that?”
“Molly, can you stop being angry for one second?” I didn’t respond. “Got anything stronger?” he said, staring at his glass. Without a word, I went to the kitchen and, after a rummage, unearthed two dubious-looking bottles of Retsina, the remnants of a Greek holiday. I plonked them in front of Zach. He twisted off the screw top, helped himself and offered me a slug. I didn’t really fancy it but what the hell? I nodded, screwing up my face as the first fiery swallow landed splat on an empty stomach. “God, it tastes like crushed Christmas trees.”
“More like the contents of Tutankhamen’s tomb. Have another glug. It gets better.” For the briefest moment I caught sight of the brother I used to know.
“Do you miss it?” I said.
“What?”
“Drugs.”
He looked at me quizzically, unsure why the conversation had taken an early turn in a direction he hadn’t expected.
“Seriously.”
A smile snuggled in the corners of his mouth. “Never feel more alive than when I’m jacked up.”
I studied him for a moment: my brother, Zach, all loose-limbed and luminous. “You’re talking in the present tense.” I didn’t think it was a Freudian slip.
Confusion scampered across his features. “Am I?” He scrubbed at his head, as if he had a fleabite. “Habit, I guess.”
“I’m not dim, Zach.”
He clicked his tongue. “Nobody could accuse you of that.”
“You’re using again, aren’t you?”
Zach shifted in his seat, took another pull of his drink. Grabbing his elbows, he pitched forward, hugged himself tight.
“I’m not judging.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Chancer supplies you.” My voice was so low I wondered whether Zach would hear. He heard all right.
“Regular Miss Marple, aren’t you?” His nostrils flared, and his mouth was a grimace.
“When did you relapse?”
“Why ask when you already know?”
“Since Scarlet?”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “Since you.” He looked at me through narrowed eyes, yet there was vulnerability too. Zach was terribly afraid, as well he might be. And terrified people, particularly drug addicts, are unpredictable.
I let out a deep sigh and sat down. “Think Chancer was there that night you were with Drea?”
He stuck out his chin, letting me know exactly what a piss-poor idea it was. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re trying to rearrange the blame. Not much of a friend or sister, are you?”
“Friend or family, murder is murder.”
“There you go again. Banging on. What was it Dad said? Making the evidence fit the crime.”
“Let’s leave Dad out of it for now. Chancer could have been there.”
Zach bolted forward. “You’re mad, know that? One hundred per cent tapped.” To make the point he smacked his temple with the flat of his hand.
I took another swallow of booze. So did Zach. He was right. It did improve. Most likely right about my sanity too. Maybe I was cracked.
“Jesus, Molly, I keep telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
“That it was an accident.”
I shook my head, kept chipping away. “Someone else was at the house that night.”
“No.” His knee juddered. Sweat seeped through the fabric of his ‘T-shirt’, making a deep V.
Sudden fear zapped my spine as I leant forward. “Are you protecting him?”
“Chancer? Don’t be stupid. Chancer can look after himself.” He snatched at the bottle, twisting off the cap, and topped up his glass; three fast movements.
“Then if you’re not protecting Chancer, who?”
A tick pulsed below his left eye. Zach’s hand shot out, reaching for his glass. I closed my fingers over it, pinning it to the coffee table.
He looked up, met my gaze, rage in his eyes. “Dad,” he said. “That’s who I’m protecting. He came soon as I called him. He took me home and then did things that night he shouldn’t have done. He did them for me. Me,” he roared, thumping his chest. “The only person you ever think about is yourself. Your fucking self-righteousness kills me. We’ve all made sacrifices, Molly, Scarlet especially. That’s why I wanted to see you. If he goes down, we all do, and Scarlet will have died for nothing. And that’s on you,” he said, pressing a dirty finger in the middle of my forehead.
I shook so hard I could barely speak. Zach sat, a mass of crystallised anger. As soon as I got it together, I let rip. “You think any of this has been easy for me? I love my family. I put Dad on the same pedestal Mum put Scarlet. And you’re right: Scarlet paid the ultimate price but her desire to protect was entirely bonkers. God only knows what she was thinking. Right now, all I want is justice for her and for Drea Temple. It’s what they deserve so don’t you dare tell me that all I think about is what I want.”
When my mobile rang neither of us moved until it cut out.
“Drink up and get out.” Every blood vessel in my body thudded, draining from red to white. As far as I was concerned, the police could pick him up and do their worst. No way was I going to protect him. My phone rang again.
“For Chrissakes, answer it,” Zach barked.
Staring him out, I tossed down the rest of my drink and snatched my mobile. “Yes.”
“Molly, it’s Rachel.”
“Hello.”
“I was too late. The house burnt down last night.”