‘I could’ve said no.’
‘She’d have done it anyway. With or without you.’
‘I suppose,’ she said, wiping her nose and her eyes.
‘That’s the Charlie we love. The one we’ll remember.’ He gestured for her to come closer, but she stayed out of his reach.
‘You haven’t told me how you found us.’ Something in her voice – suspicion? – made him sit up and take notice. She’d accepted his comfort, but he should have known this wasn’t synonymous with complete trust.
‘I’ve always wanted to help you,’ he said. ‘I felt like that from the moment you moved in, but I never got the whole picture with you. One way or the other you would sidestep me. So, I broke every single one of my own rules and started prying. I even downloaded a GPS tracker on your phone. That’s how I knew where you were.’
‘You what?’
He sighed. ‘I realise this is where I’m supposed to say I’m sorry, but you know what, I’m not. If I hadn’t done that, you’d be dead.’ And so would Charlie, he thought, and could see Helen was thinking the same. Charlie might still die.
‘What about DI Whitehouse?’
He smiled. She didn’t miss a trick. ‘I spilled your bag on accident, but I admit I did open the notebook that fell out. When I found her card, I made a note of the number and called her when I realised you were at my father’s warehouse. Except it turned out to be the wrong warehouse. Said I thought you were in trouble. She told me to wait. Then I heard screaming …’
He rubbed his brow with his good hand as the memory of the scene at the warehouse came back to him. ‘Christ! What possessed the two of you? Snooping around like that when you must’ve known what you were up against? Why didn’t you come to me?’
‘Because of your father.’
‘I’m not my father. I’m me.’
‘I thought he was involved,’ she said.
This was the part Jason had been dreading. ‘He was, to a degree.’
He told her what he’d learned from Trevor, that his father had been there the morning Mimi was killed, and also what he’d learned from Lucy about his father’s involvement with the auction house. To his relief she moved closer and put her head on his good shoulder, but he could tell she wasn’t entirely happy with the way he’d gone about things.
‘You should’ve told me this before,’ she said.
‘Really? Is that what you would’ve done if it was your father?’
He felt her breath on his neck as she sighed. ‘Probably not.’
‘There’s one other thing,’ he said. ‘If you could hand me my jacket from that chair over there.’
Puzzled, she reached for his jacket which the paramedics had removed when they put his arm in the sling, and handed it to him. He dug inside and pulled out the paper knife he’d taken from his father’s desk.
Helen gasped when he handed it to her. ‘Is this …?’
‘I think so. My father had it in his office. Trevor thought he might have been carrying something when he returned to the car after his meeting that morning. He was certainly covering something up, including his hands. Dad assured Trevor that he didn’t have anything to do with the murder, and now with what we know about your aunt, he was clearly telling the truth.’
‘Then why did he take the knife?’
‘I don’t know, but you can be damn sure I’ll ask him when I see him!’
‘Ask me what?’ said a voice from the door.
The heat left the room as Moody stepped inside. Although he wasn’t a big man – shorter than Jason – he seemed to take up all the available space, and involuntarily Helen snapped for air before it got sucked up. Jason’s jaw went tight. The only one at ease was Moody.
‘Came as soon as I heard. What happened, son?’
‘I got shot, in the shoulder. No need for you to worry.’
Helen heard the challenge in Jason’s words, as if he was almost pleased to be shocking his father. It worked. The colour left Moody’s face.
‘Who?’
‘My aunt,’ said Helen, and also derived a certain grim satisfaction when he paled even further.
Only then did Moody look at her. ‘I might’ve known. Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go, Miss Stephens. I thought I told you to stay away from my son.’
‘Dad, leave it out.’
Moody ignored him. ‘Hard of hearing, are we?’
‘No, I just like to make my own decisions,’ Helen replied.
‘It’s not yours to make. You’re nobody.’
‘Shut up, Dad! Helen …’