Chapter 22

YOU HAVE AN EDGE

Faultess had been leaving for the last hour. But cold coffee kept him seated. Cold coffee and warm eyes. The way she looked at him made him think of her sister.

“Does Jasmine know about Rachel?” he asked.

“She knows she died—that she was murdered. You can’t protect kids these days. Rumors spread like the plague here. They rifle through the streets, and you can’t stop them. Might as well tell the truth at the out. It saves a lot of hassle.”

“How did she deal with it?”

“She’s okay. But it’s so far away for her. Before she was born.” She looked into her tea and rubbed her eyes. “Jesus, who would do such a thing to her? To all of them.” She stared up into Faultless’s eyes. “To your mum.”

“How’s your dad taken it?”

“You know what it was like at the beginning. He was going to smash down every door on Barrowmore, find the bastard, and hang him on the common. But just a year later he was under arrest, and after that he went inside. Twelve years. I honestly thought he’d tear that prison down to get out. He was going to find this guy and kill him—kill him slowly and painfully.”

“What happened?”

“Dad found God.”

Faultless remembered that Tash had described her father as godly earlier.

“Fire and damnation,” she said. “The real deal. So when he comes out of jail a couple of years ago on license, he’s got no intention of finding out who killed Rachel. He’d forgiven him, he said. And Rachel, she was—she was with Jesus.”

“Is he still God squad?”

“Dad’s practically the pope of Barrowmore. People are still scared of him, but he just doesn’t do what he used to do.”

They were quiet for a few seconds.

“Are you still on the warpath?” said Tash.

He thought carefully before saying, “I want to find who killed them.”

“You’re not a detective.”

“I’d do a better job than the bunch of layabouts who ran the investigation. I could’ve killed that Don Wilks. I had a few run-ins with him.”

“He was out to get you.”

“Everyone was out to get me.”

“Oh, poor Charlie Faultless.” She smiled and everything lit up. He smiled back, unused to the sensation.

She said, “You think the killers still around?”

“Maybe he died. Maybe he went away. Maybe”—he furrowed his brow and looked her in the eye—”he went to jail.”

Her face hardened. “You came here with a suspect in mind, Charlie? Is that it? My dad wouldn’t do that. To his own daughter?”

“He was a suspect.”

She leapt to her feet. “So were you. I can’t believe this. And we were getting on so sweetly, weren’t we. Just like you to bring an edge to things. Rachel always said that about you.”

Faultless bristled.

Tash went on. “She said you were cold, that you were sometimes like the blade of a knife.” She turned her back and folded her arms. “Christ. You come here, drink my coffee. Then blame my—”

“I’m not blaming anyone.”

“Especially not yourself.”

“I better go,” he said, rising.

“You better had.”

He touched her shoulder. She didn’t flinch. He kissed her cheek. She smelled of roses. Her skin was silk. He stayed near her face for a second too long. Wisps of her golden hair brushed his mouth. She gasped.

He said, “Seeing you was great, Tash.”

“Go find out what seeing my father’s like.”

“Maybe not so nice.”