A Line of Blood Read Free Page B

packet.
    We had started hiding cigarettes from Max. He didn’t smoke them, as far as we could tell, but a pack left lying on the kitchen table would disappear. Millicent was certain that he sold them, but Max disapproved of our smoking with such puritanical disdain that I was sure he destroyed them.
    In the garden I pulled the love seat away from the wall and drank my coffee, smoked my cigarette. On a morning like this, Crappy wasn’t so bad. No dogs barked, no one shouted in the street, no police helicopters watched from above. We should sort out the garden though. The garden was a state.
    I stood on the love seat, looked back over the wall. Poor man, with his trimmed lawn, his verdant bower and his successful suicide attempt. From here there was nothing –
nothing
– that betrayed our neighbour’s sad, lonely death.
    I pushed the love seat back against the wall and stood up, finished my cigarette, tried to plan the day. Quiet word with the teacher. Phone calls to the shrink. The police, I imagined, would make contact with us.
    What had Max seen? When he had climbed the stairs behind me, what had he
seen
? That jolt, that first image, that’s what stays with you, isn’t it? Contorted face or pitiful erection? Rictus or dick? Which would be more traumatic for a boy of his age?
    I flicked my cigarette butt over the wall and went back into the house. Max was in the kitchen, all pyjamas and tousled hair, rubbing sleep from his eyes. I bent down to hug him. He sniffed dramatically.
    ‘You’ve been smoking.’ But he threw his arms around my neck and hung there for a moment, then sat down at the table. I searched his face for some sign of something broken in him, but found nothing.
    ‘Max.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘I’m going to be coming with you to school today. I need to tell your teacher what you saw.’
    ‘His name’s Mr Sharpe.’
    ‘… to tell Mr Sharpe what you saw.’
    ‘You forgot his name, didn’t you?’
    ‘Max. Can you listen?’
    ‘What? And
why
do you have to tell him?’
    ‘Because what you saw was very upsetting.’
    ‘It wasn’t.’
    ‘You might be upset later.’
    He shrugged. ‘Can I be there when you tell him?’
    ‘Sure. OK. Why not.’
    I kept expecting the police to knock on the door. Typical of Millicent to be out at a time like this.
    I made a cooked breakfast to fill the time before we left. I let Max fry the eggs, which surprised him. It surprised me too. We ate in silence, then shared Millicent’s portion, enjoying our guilty intimacy. Max went upstairs. I put the plates and pans in the dishwasher and set it running. Millicent didn’t need to know.
    Max came downstairs, dressed and ready to go. I texted Millicent to say I was taking him to school.
     
    There was a man standing outside our house. He was casually dressed – leather jacket, distressed jeans – but there was nothing casual about his stance. Perhaps he had been about to knock, because the open door seemed to throw his balance slightly off. Max had flung it wide, and there stood the man in front of us, swaying, unsure of what to say.
    ‘Who are you?’ said Max. ‘Are you a policeman?’
    The man nodded, ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He carried a briefcase that was far too smart for his clothes.
    ‘I could tell you were,’ said Max. ‘Are you going to arrest someone?’
    The policeman ignored the question. ‘Mr Mercer?’ he said. I nodded, and he nodded at me again. He told me his name, and his rank. I immediately forgot both.
    ‘You got a minute?’
    ‘I was going to take Max to school.’
    ‘It’s OK,’ said Max. ‘I can just go.’
    ‘I’d like to speak to your son actually, if that’s all right. With your permission, and in your presence.’
    No.
    ‘My name’s Max,’ said Max.
    I looked at Max.
You want to do this?
He nodded at me.
    ‘OK,’ I said.
    ‘You’re giving your consent?’
    ‘I am,’ I said, ‘yes.’
    ‘Me too,’ said Max.
    The policeman explained that this was not