The Reckoning on Cane Hill: A Novel by Steve Mosby

direction. Was John in there now? Presumably so. But I had no wish to see him, and it was obvious from Eileen’s manner that she didn’t want whatever peace he’d found since leaving the police to be disturbed.
    ‘Of course,’ I said again, then stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee. And the advice.’
    ‘I’m not sure how much help I’ve been.’
    She walked me over to the door. But as I opened it, I realised I was still wondering. That I couldn’t quite leave it.
    ‘How is he?’ I said.
    ‘He’s fine.’
    But she said it too quickly, the same way I’d responded after her words had brought a flash memory of Lise to my mind. And it wasn’t so different, was it? Here I was, a ghost from her husband’s past, threatening the new life – the hard-won peace – that had been established over the past year and a half.
    ‘I’m glad,’ I said. ‘Thank you again.’
    As I stepped out, Eileen seemed to relent slightly.
    ‘He’s working on a new book,’ she said. ‘It’s about ... that man.’
    Despite the warmth of the morning sun, I felt a chill at her choice of words. That man . I knew who she meant, of course. Even though he was dead and gone, we’d never successfully identified the 50/50 Killer; we had no idea who he was or where he’d come from. He stood anonymously at the focal point of the whirlwind of violence he’d unleashed on the city, and on John Mercer in particular.
    And Mercer was working on a book about him? I didn’t know what to say. The thought of him revisiting that case -poring over it; maybe obsessing over it – was unnerving, and I now understood Eileen’s unease a little better.
    ‘I don’t know if it’s healthy,’ she said, reading the expression on my face. ‘But he’s fine right now, and I’ll take that. It seems to be what he needs.’
    ‘Well, then. That’s good.’
    ‘And for now, he’s happy.’
    But there was an undercurrent to the way she said that. And another one a moment later, when she closed the door gently but firmly without saying goodbye.

Mark
    Mercy
    As I sat down for my second interview with Charlie Matheson, I knew I was going to have to approach things very differently from the first.
    The advice Eileen had given me remained fresh in my mind: there was no telling how much of Charlie’s story was true. Certainly, she hadn’t died in the accident. Beyond that, some parts of her account could be entirely accurate, while others might be fantastical elaborations with only a hint of basis in reality. It was my job to begin to delve into that. And I would need to be gentle with her while I did it.
    Because you have to be careful with vulnerable people .
    And of course another difference from yesterday was that this time I believed the woman really might be Charlie Matheson.
    ‘Detective,’ she said as I sat down in the chair beside the bed.
    I switched on the camera on my lapel.
    ‘How are you feeling today, Charlie?’
    ‘Better. Thank you.’ She nodded once. ‘I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday, just before you left.’
    ‘You don’t need to apologise.’
    ‘Oh, but I do. That’s really not like me. At all. I don’t like losing control, and I was annoyed with myself afterwards. Itwas just that everything was – is – so confusing for me at the moment. This is all so overwhelming.’
    ‘Which is understandable.’ I tried to smile reassuringly. ‘And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too if it seemed like I wasn’t taking you seriously.’
    ‘You believe me now?’
    ‘I believe you’re who you say you are.’
    ‘Did you talk to Paul?’
    ‘Yes. He was very upset, as you can imagine.’
    ‘Oh? Not pleased, then?’
    ‘Well ... it’s complicated.’
    ‘I suppose so. How is he?’
    ‘He’s engaged.’ And just as when I’d spoken to Carlisle yesterday, there didn’t seem any point in sugar-coating the facts. ‘His new partner is pregnant.’
    The look on her face when I said it was heartbreaking, but she only allowed the