Witch(51)

I pulled off my coat and dropped it onto the sofa. I heard Vincent close the front door and come into the living room. He looked at me.

“Spain?” he said again, obviously still mulling over what I had said out on the road. “You can’t go to Spain.”

“Why not?” I said, looking back at him.

“Because I’ll miss you,” he said half-jokingly.

“You’ll be the only one who will,” I said, bursting into tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Vincent hushed, crossing the room and taking me in his arms. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because I’m losing my freaking mind, that’s why,” I sobbed against him. “I wish I had never gone back to the farm that day, I wish I’d never been anywhere near that road. I wish I’d never killed those people.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t?” he whispered, holding me tight.

“That was just me wishful thinking...”

“But what about those tyre marks and...” Vincent tried to comfort me.

“Like you said,” I whispered, easing myself out of his arms, “they could have been left by anyone at any time. The mystery cow...” I tried to joke, but it was no good, and the tears started to flow again.

“Don’t upset yourself, Sydney,” Vincent said, wrapping his arm about my shoulder and easing me down to sit on the edge of the sofa.

“I’m such a mess,” I cried.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he whispered, softly brushing the hair from my face with his fingertips.

“I wasn’t talking about my hair,” I sniffed. “I was talking about how I feel inside. I always do the wrong thing. However hard I try, I screw up. I just want someone to be proud of me.”

“Your father, you mean?” Vincent said, as if being able to see right inside me – understand me.

I slowly nodded my head, tears flowing freely down my face now.

“If he can’t see what an amazing daughter he has, then it’s your father’s loss,” he said, pulling me close so my head came to rest against his shoulder. “We all make mistakes, no one is perfect.”

“How do you know I’m amazing?” I said, trying to control the flood of tears. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a kind person,” Vincent whispered. “I know you care about things.”

“How?” I asked him.

“Because I can see how tormented you are about those people who died,” he said, taking my face gently in his hands and looking at me. “Most people couldn’t give a damn about them. They were just nobodies. To you – even though you didn’t know them – you’re suffering because of what happened. And I don’t think it’s just guilt. You know that a wrong has been done and you know it has to be put right.”

“I’d been drinking,” I suddenly said. “The day I killed those people I’d been up at the farmhouse with Michael. We fooled about a bit and I had some whiskey. The control room was trying to raise me on the radio and I knew my father would be out looking for me. I panicked. I ran from that house, I was speeding and not concentrating on the road as I was too busy looking for gum to mask the smell of whiskey on my breath. It was then...it was then.... oh, God I’m so sorry for what I’ve done...” I bent forward, racked with uncontrollable sobs.

Vincent eased me up into his arms again. “Shhh...” he whispered.

“I have to tell you this,” I cried. “I can’t lie anymore. I can’t bear it. My father, Mac, and Woody covered for me. They lied just like they lied about Molly and what really happened that night. My father believed he was helping me, but it’s killing me inside. I’m dreaming of dead people, running around the place pointing the finger at innocent people. I just wanted to be a good cop...I just wanted my father to be proud of me for once...”

Holding me in his arms, Vincent looked into my eyes and said softly, “Being a good copper isn’t just about turning up for work on time, wearing a clean shirt, walking around in the shiniest of boots, and demanding people’s respect. It’s about doing the right thing by the people we serve – despite what they look like, who they are, and where they come from and how they choose to live their lives. Deep down, you know that, Sydney. That’s why you’re struggling now. You know it was wrong to lie about the Smith family and how they really died. That’s why you’re searching for the truth – because you know that’s what counts. All that matters at the end of the day is the truth. Without the truth, the Smith family will never have justice they deserve.”