Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘He fell awkwardly.’ Seated reluctantly in the back of a patrol car, Matthew answered questions around the circumstances of Sullivan’s injuries vaguely. He needed to be with Becky. Now. Swiping agitatedly at the blood and crap on the side of his face, he watched as she and Ashley were helped into a waiting ambulance. His focus was on her. It should always have been. He hoped never to have to think about or hear about Sullivan ever again. He would have to, of course. There would be an enquiry. Matthew’s aim, though, was to try to keep Ashley out of it. She needed help. That much was clear. She needed the right help though, and being cross-examined wasn’t it.
‘Right.’ DCI Davies frowned pensively. ‘And this was after you shot him?’
‘That’s right.’ Matthew looked back to where Davies stood outside the car, obviously contemplating the spurious details of his story. He didn’t believe him, but the look in the man’s eyes told Matthew he wasn’t about to dig too deep.
‘John, I need to go,’ he said, growing more anxious by the second. Once the cavalry had arrived, pandemonium seemed to break out, blue lights and uniforms everywhere. Matthew hadn’t had the chance to hold Becky more than briefly, and she’d been frighteningly unresponsive in his arms.
‘I need to be with them, John. Surely this can wait?’
Clearly hearing the desperation in his tone, Davies nodded soberly. ‘I think you probably do,’ he conceded, glancing down at the blood oozing through the wad of gauze wrapped around Matthew’s arm.
Nodding, relieved, Matthew immediately heaved himself out of the car.
‘Do you need any help?’ Davies asked him, stepping aside to allow him to pass.
Pausing, Matthew turned back. ‘No, sir, I don’t,’ he said, eyeing him levelly. ‘Not any more.’
DCI Davies lowered his gaze, at least having the decency to look contrite.
‘We’ll need statements, Matthew,’ he called after him, as Matthew headed for the ambulance. ‘As soon as you’re able.’
‘You’ll get them,’ Matthew assured him. They would go in together, as a family. Once they’d given all the information that was needed, he was taking a sabbatical, rather than enforced gardening leave. A long one. His wife needed him. God willing, she still wanted him. Matthew prayed that Becky and he could get through this intact.
He glanced worriedly at her as he climbed into the ambulance. Still she was quiet, subdued, not looking at him. Ashley was knotting and unknotting her fingers, her head bent, her hair hiding her face.
The paramedic offered him a sympathetic smile.
‘It’s a bit of a squeeze, but I thought you’d all want to travel together,’ she said jovially. Attempting some kind of normality, Matthew guessed, as if anything could ever be normal again.
‘Thanks.’ Glancing again at Becky, whose gaze was fixed on the ligature marks on her wrists, her mind no doubt playing over the horrific scenario she’d just endured, the horrific details of the ‘accident’, Matthew lowered himself carefully onto the bunk next to her. Every bone in his body ached now, every muscle. How much must Becky be hurting?
Would she ever forgive him for not telling her the whole story around Lily’s death? How could she? Matthew doubted he’d ever forgive himself. It had been a monumental mistake, one that had almost cost Becky her life. If she’d known about Sullivan, if Matthew hadn’t decided to keep the information to himself, she would have been on her guard. He’d thought he’d been protecting her. He’d actually put her directly in the line of fire. He should have trusted her. Instead he’d shut her out.
Looking down at her hands resting listlessly in her lap, Matthew wanted to reach out, but didn’t know how. Selfishly, he had no idea how he’d cope if she recoiled from his touch. And she had every right to. He waited instead, hoping that some space was all she needed. Yeah, right. He laughed inwardly at his damn, stupid naïvety. That and a whole new life with someone who cared enough to let her in.
Ashley glanced at him, as the ambulance pulled off, dipping in and out of the deep divots in the mud as it went. ‘Okay, Ashley?’ he asked her softly.
She nodded uncertainly. ‘Emily told me to,’ she said, her voice an urgent whisper.
Matthew looked at her curiously. ‘Told you to what, Ashley?’
Ashley shrank further into herself.
‘The shoe,’ she said, her gaze flicking fearfully between Becky and him.
‘Right.’ Matthew nodded slowly. ‘Ashley, who is Emily?’ he probed gently.
Ashley shrugged and looked away. ‘A friend. She died,’ she said, glancing warily back at him. ‘You’re still bleeding.’ She immediately changed the subject, her gaze drifting to the gauze on his arm.
‘I know. It’s only a flesh wound. It’ll mend. We all will, given time.’ Matthew smiled reassuringly, though he wasn’t sure that they would. He hadn’t realised how deeply the loss of her friend had affected her. He should have talked to her. He should have talked.
Growing more aware of his failings, on all fronts, Matthew glanced back to Becky. She didn’t return his glance, didn’t speak. Swallowing back the pieces of his heart, which seemed to be wedged like a thousand shards of glass in his windpipe, Matthew dropped his gaze, mentally playing over each and every one of his failures. He should have been there. Dammit. Dragging a hand across his eyes, he prayed hard, hoping if there was any kind of God up there he would make sure Becky, a woman who’d given so much of herself, would survive this, with or without him. He’d been labouring under the illusion he was being strong. He’d been wrong. There was no strength in silence, shutting his emotions away, allowing his anger to fester.
He should have been there, building a new life together with the woman he would gladly have died for rather than live without. Becky was the strong one. Stronger than he’d ever been. She’d tried to understand his self-centred preoccupation with his work. She’d been there for him, always. Now it was his turn to help her. To make sure she got through this, somehow. To make sure he was there. If he’d lost her, then so be it. He would still be there, wherever and whenever she might need him. That much Matthew promised himself.
‘Is he dead?’ Finally, Becky spoke, her tone so quiet she was barely audible.
Overwhelmingly relieved, Matthew snapped his gaze to her. ‘Yes,’ he said, not sure, even after all she’d been through, how she would emotionally process the fact.
Becky fell silent again. ‘The gunshot?’ she asked, after a minute.
Matthew glanced at Ashley. ‘The gunshot,’ he confirmed, holding her gaze briefly before turning back to Becky.
Slowly, Becky nodded. Matthew watched her intently as she drew in a long breath and held it. Reaching hesitantly for her hand, he turned it over in his, softly tracing her knuckles with his thumb, and waited, a sinking sense of hopelessness settling heavily inside him. He felt the shudders run through her, heard the sob catch in her throat, saw the tears, hot and wet on her cheeks, as she finally looked at him.
Seeing the myriad of emotions in her eyes, shock, deep-rooted sorrow, relief, Matthew caught a lump in his own throat.
‘Did I ever tell you how much I love you?’ he asked her hoarsely, uncertainly. He scanned her face, bruised and swollen, but still she was beautiful, the same beautiful woman he’d fallen in love with and never dared hope might love him back. Could she now, still? He wished he could kiss her tears away, were it so easy, that he could hold her and keep her safe forever.
Searching his eyes, Becky hesitated for an agonising long second, then, ‘Ditto,’ she whispered, placing his hand gently over the soft roundness of her tummy.
Read a preview of Sins of the Father here. The second book in the series.