remember.’
‘Well, he’s out. He came to see me the other day.’
Another aside to the people in the room.
‘Look, can we talk?’ Tom asked. ‘I mean, can we meet somewhere?’
‘Cooperage? One o’clock?’
‘Fine.’ It was almost that now.
The Quayside never failed to lift Tom’s spirits, no matter how low his mood when he arrived. He leant on the railings for a few minutes, listening to gulls cry and grizzle, watching the tough, brown, sinewy river flow under the bridge and on towards the sea. You could smell the sea on windy days like this, imagine cliffs crumbling, the coast nibbled away, big concrete tank traps, eroded by spring and neap tides, blown as specks of grit into the eye.
Nigel, a great believer in liquid lunches, had arrived first and was already standing at the bar, holding his usual pint of lager. ‘I nearly ordered for you,’ he said, as Tom went up to him.
‘Thanks, I will have one.’
‘So. What’s the matter?’ Nigel said, as they set their pints down on a table at the far end of the bar.
‘Nothing’s the matter, he –’
‘So did he just show up? How long’s he been out?’
‘Nearly a year.’
Nigel lifted the glass to his mouth. ‘Oh well, I suppose they couldn’t keep him in for ever.’
‘You’re not his solicitor any more?’
‘No, thank God. So anyway what happened?’
‘We bumped into each other. And then he decided it might be helpful if he talked to somebody.’
‘Helpful to him, of course. Figures.’
‘I’ve said I’ll see him.’
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity, I suppose. Partly. It’s not often you get the chance to follow up a case like that.’ He smiled. ‘It’s not often you get a case like that.’
‘But he’s not a p0061tient? I mean, you’re –’
‘Oh no, no. He’s made it perfectly plain he doesn’t want treatment. He just wants to talk.’
Nigel smiled his well –oiled smile. ‘I suppose it’d be quite a feather in your cap to write that one up, wouldn’t it?’
No point trying to explain to Nigel the effect of Danny’s hot face against his stomach all those years ago. Nigel focused on the lowest common denominator of human behaviour, and over the years had become totally, devastatingly cynical. Which left him, Tomthought, not merely blind to the more-than-occasional goodness of human beings, but to the evil as well. His was a world where people looked after number one, and kept an eye on the main chance. He seemed unable to grasp that some people act out of a disinterested love of destruction. Evil, be thou my good… That had been left out of his repertoire. He was lucky.
‘No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. It was something he said, it’s been bothering me a bit. I mean –. briefly, he said it was my evidence that convicted him – and of course I reminded him about the forensic evidence, and all that, but… he didn’t bat an eyelid. He simply said, “No. It was you.”‘
‘Hmm. Sounds as if he’s read a transcript.’
This was not the response Tom had expected. Nigel put down his lager, wiped his mouth discreetly on the back of his hand and sat back on the bench seat, looking grave. Tom ought, perhaps, to have welcomed this evidence that he was being taken seriously, that his anxiety had not automatically been dismissed as groundless, but he didn’t. He wanted his concern taken seriously, and the grounds for it dismissed. Nigel’s response was just exasperating.
‘You sure you bumped into him?’ Nigel asked. ‘He didn’t come looking for you?’
Tom was not going to mention the attempted suicide, the coincidence of their meeting again like that. He knew, anyway, what Nigel would have said. Instead, he reverted to Danny’s remark about Tom’s
evidence having convicted him, recalling details of the case, reminding Nigel of the vast quantity of forensic evidence that had linked Danny to the crime, the fact that he’d been missing from school that day, the eyewitnesses who’d seen him
‘Well, he’s out. He came to see me the other day.’
Another aside to the people in the room.
‘Look, can we talk?’ Tom asked. ‘I mean, can we meet somewhere?’
‘Cooperage? One o’clock?’
‘Fine.’ It was almost that now.
The Quayside never failed to lift Tom’s spirits, no matter how low his mood when he arrived. He leant on the railings for a few minutes, listening to gulls cry and grizzle, watching the tough, brown, sinewy river flow under the bridge and on towards the sea. You could smell the sea on windy days like this, imagine cliffs crumbling, the coast nibbled away, big concrete tank traps, eroded by spring and neap tides, blown as specks of grit into the eye.
Nigel, a great believer in liquid lunches, had arrived first and was already standing at the bar, holding his usual pint of lager. ‘I nearly ordered for you,’ he said, as Tom went up to him.
‘Thanks, I will have one.’
‘So. What’s the matter?’ Nigel said, as they set their pints down on a table at the far end of the bar.
‘Nothing’s the matter, he –’
‘So did he just show up? How long’s he been out?’
‘Nearly a year.’
Nigel lifted the glass to his mouth. ‘Oh well, I suppose they couldn’t keep him in for ever.’
‘You’re not his solicitor any more?’
‘No, thank God. So anyway what happened?’
‘We bumped into each other. And then he decided it might be helpful if he talked to somebody.’
‘Helpful to him, of course. Figures.’
‘I’ve said I’ll see him.’
‘Why?’
‘Curiosity, I suppose. Partly. It’s not often you get the chance to follow up a case like that.’ He smiled. ‘It’s not often you get a case like that.’
‘But he’s not a p0061tient? I mean, you’re –’
‘Oh no, no. He’s made it perfectly plain he doesn’t want treatment. He just wants to talk.’
Nigel smiled his well –oiled smile. ‘I suppose it’d be quite a feather in your cap to write that one up, wouldn’t it?’
No point trying to explain to Nigel the effect of Danny’s hot face against his stomach all those years ago. Nigel focused on the lowest common denominator of human behaviour, and over the years had become totally, devastatingly cynical. Which left him, Tomthought, not merely blind to the more-than-occasional goodness of human beings, but to the evil as well. His was a world where people looked after number one, and kept an eye on the main chance. He seemed unable to grasp that some people act out of a disinterested love of destruction. Evil, be thou my good… That had been left out of his repertoire. He was lucky.
‘No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that. It was something he said, it’s been bothering me a bit. I mean –. briefly, he said it was my evidence that convicted him – and of course I reminded him about the forensic evidence, and all that, but… he didn’t bat an eyelid. He simply said, “No. It was you.”‘
‘Hmm. Sounds as if he’s read a transcript.’
This was not the response Tom had expected. Nigel put down his lager, wiped his mouth discreetly on the back of his hand and sat back on the bench seat, looking grave. Tom ought, perhaps, to have welcomed this evidence that he was being taken seriously, that his anxiety had not automatically been dismissed as groundless, but he didn’t. He wanted his concern taken seriously, and the grounds for it dismissed. Nigel’s response was just exasperating.
‘You sure you bumped into him?’ Nigel asked. ‘He didn’t come looking for you?’
Tom was not going to mention the attempted suicide, the coincidence of their meeting again like that. He knew, anyway, what Nigel would have said. Instead, he reverted to Danny’s remark about Tom’s
evidence having convicted him, recalling details of the case, reminding Nigel of the vast quantity of forensic evidence that had linked Danny to the crime, the fact that he’d been missing from school that day, the eyewitnesses who’d seen him
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