It was something we shouldn’t be talking about. Not here. My statement to the police had been honest but incomplete. I hadn’t mentioned the drawings of the butterflies or told them about Jake talking to the boy in the floor. I wasn’t sure why, beyond the fact that I couldn’t make any sense of it myself, and because I wanted to protect my son. That all this was a grown-up’s burden to shoulder, not a seven-year-old’s.

“Yes, Jake,” I said. “That is who you meant. Okay? This is serious.”

He thought about it.

“Okay.”

“We’ll talk about the other thing later.” I stood up, realizing that what I’d said wasn’t quite enough, and that he deserved to know more. “But yes, they found him.”

I found him.

“That’s good,” Jake said. “He was scaring me a little.”

“I know.”

“Although I don’t think he was meaning to.” Jake frowned. “I think he was just hurt and lonely, and that was making him a little bit mean. But they’ve found him, and so he won’t be lonely now, will he? He can go home. So he won’t be mean anymore.”

“It was just your imagination, Jake.”

“It wasn’t.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Okay?”

I gave him the serious look I always attempted when I wanted to draw a line under a conversation. It usually had no authority whatsoever, and a minute later one or the other of us would end up shouting, but today he nodded. Then he swiveled on his chair, picked up the juice box, and began drinking it seemingly without a care in the world.

The door opened behind me, and I turned to see DS Dyson entering, carrying two cups of coffee. He held the door open with his back for DI Beck, who marched in past him. She was brandishing papers and looked as tired as I felt: a woman with a million things to do, determined to do each of them herself.

“Mr. Kennedy,” she said. “I’m really sorry about your wait. Ah—and this must be Jake.”

Still distracted by the juice box, my son ignored her.

“Jake?” I prompted. “Can you say hello, please?”

“Hi.”

I turned back to Beck. “It’s been a long day.”

“I completely understand. This must be very strange for him indeed.” She leaned down toward him, pressing her hands against her knees a little awkwardly, as though unsure how to talk to a child. “Have you ever been in a police station before, Jake?”

He shook his head but didn’t answer.

“Well.” She gave an awkward laugh, then stood up. “First and last time, hopefully. Anyway—Mr. Kennedy. I have your statement here. If you could just read through it, make sure you’re happy with the contents, and then sign it. And your drink is here too.”

“Thanks.”

Dyson passed me the coffee, and I sipped it while I scanned the statement on the table. I’d explained about Norman Collins, what Mrs. Shearing had told me about him and Dominic Barnett, and the man who’d been at the door whispering to Jake last night. All of which had led me to investigate the garage, wondering what Collins might have been looking for. That was why and how I’d found the remains in there.

I glanced at Jake, who was now sucking at the end of his juice box, the liquid rattling at the bottom, and then I signed on the final page.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to go home tonight,” Beck said.

“Okay.”

“Possibly tomorrow night as well. Of course, we’re happy to arrange alternative accommodation for both of you over that period. We have a safe house nearby.”

My pen hovered over my signature.

“Why would we need a safe house?”

“You don’t,” she said quickly. “It’s just property we have available for use. But I’ll leave my colleague, DI Pete Willis, to talk you through all that. He should be here any moment, and I can leave you in peace. In fact, here he is now.”

The door opened again, a new man coming in.

“Pete,” Beck said. “This is Tom and Jake Kennedy.”

I stared at the man, and everything else in the world seemed to disappear. It had been such a long time, and the years had been kind to him, but while he was much leaner and healthier than I remembered, adults changed far less than children did, and I still recognized him. A jolt of recognition in my heart, followed by a hundred buried memories bursting forth and blooming in my head.

And he knew me too. Of course he did. By now he would have learned my name and had time to prepare himself for this. As he approached me, professional and formal, I imagined nobody else would have noticed the sick expression on his face.

Glass smashing.

My mother screaming.

“Mr. Kennedy,” my father said.

Thirty-two

It had been a very confusing day, Jake thought.

He was extremely tired, for one thing—that was the fault of the thing that had happened in the night, but he couldn’t remember much about that. He’d been half asleep at the time. But then he’d still been very angry at Daddy for what he’d written, and when the police were there, and Daddy had said Mummy was dead as though it were nothing, he’d lost his temper. That wasn’t good, but he hadn’t been able to help himself.

The anger had faded through the day, though, and that was confusing in itself. But then, sometimes arguments disappeared like mist did first thing in the morning. In the classroom, though, he’d felt lonely and had wanted to hug Daddy a lot more and tell him he was sorry, and to hear Daddy tell him that, actually, he was too.

It had felt like things might be better then.

And then Owen had done what he’d done, and so had Jake, and there had been Miss Wallace’s office to face as a result. That actually hadn’t been so bad in itself, except for two big reasons. One was that the Packet of Special Things was back in the classroom, which meant it may very well be at the mercy of the evil Owen, which was an unbearable thought. Can you look at me, please? Miss Wallace had needed to say it twice, because Jake couldn’t take his eyes off the closed office door. And reason number two: he knew Daddy was going to be disappointed and angry with him for getting in trouble again, which meant that things weren’t going to get better for a long time. Or maybe ever, at this rate.

Perhaps Daddy might even write horrible words down about him too.

Jake suspected that he wanted to.

But then, when he got back to the classroom, the Packet appeared to have been left untouched, and the possibility had occurred to him that maybe he should hit people more often. And at pickup time, Daddy hadn’t seemed angry with him at all. He’d actually argued with Mrs. Shelley! Which was certainly brave, Jake thought. But! More importantly, Daddy had been on his side. Even if he hadn’t said it outright, Jake could tell that he was. Even though he hadn’t gotten a hug, that actually made things seem as good as if he had.

And now they were in a police station.

That had been fine at first because it was really quite interesting, especially as everybody had been very nice to him, but he quite wanted to leave now. And then the next thing had happened—the new policeman coming in—and everything was even more confusing now, because of how Daddy was behaving. He’d been fine with the other police people, but he looked pale and scared now, as though this were a classroom for him and the new policeman was someone like Mrs. Shelley.