Witch(52)

“I know,” I whispered through my tears.

“And as for your father not being proud of you,” Vincent said, “he should be ashamed of himself. Not only is he your father, but your sergeant, too. He should never have put you in this situation. I bet he’s lying awake at night, his dreams haunted by the Smith family. As your sergeant and father, he should have set an example...”

“He was just trying to help me...” I started.

“He was just trying to help himself,” Vincent said.

“I know you’re right.” I looked up at him. “He was more interested in saving himself from being embarrassed by me. And knowing that hurts more than anything. To know that he is so ashamed of me, he would risk his career and...”

“He wasn’t ashamed of you ten years ago,” Vincent cut in. “You weren’t there that night your father, Mac, and Woody changed their statements to make Molly Smith look like she was out committing burglaries when, really, she was upset, desperate, and in search of the man she loved. They were police officers, if they couldn’t have protected her in life, the least they could have done is protect her memory. Instead, they lied about that poor girl – made her look like a thief to protect whoever she had gone to meet that night. That isn’t being a good copper. What they did isn’t something to be proud of.”

“You’re really angry about that, aren’t you?” I said, looking into Vincent’s almost jet-black eyes. It wasn’t just his eyes, his face had lost that boyish look and he suddenly looked older and drawn somehow. He looked how I felt, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m angry for you,” he said, looking away and standing up. “I feel angry for all those good coppers who go into work every day wanting to make a difference. It’s people like your father who ruin it for cops like us. How will the public ever have trust in us, if we don’t even trust ourselves to do the right thing?”

“But what can I do?” I said, knowing in my heart what Vincent said was true.

“If you want those nightmares to go away, if you want to stop seeing dead people every time you close your eyes, you have to tell the truth,” Vincent said.

“But how do I prove it?” I said. “The statements have been submitted. The road has been cleared. The autopsies have been carried out.”

“What about the incident from ten years ago?” Vincent said thoughtfully.

“No one is seriously going to believe that a dead girl came to me in my sleep and told me she was pushed into that well,” I said. “They would lock me up, all right, but not in prison – more like the madhouse. We have no proof.”

“We have those altered statements,” Vincent said.

“We need more than that,” I sighed. “As we already know, statements have a nasty habit of going missing or being rewritten. If only we could find out who it was Molly Smith was going to meet that night.”

“Have any ideas?” Vincent asked.

“I thought I did,” wiping the last of the tears from my face with the backs of my hands. “But that was a mistake.”

“Perhaps we should sleep on it,” Vincent





said thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said.

Lost deep in thought, and scratching his chin, Vincent headed towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” I asked softly.

“To get some sleep,” he said, stopping short of the front door and looking back at me.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered. “I don’t want those nightmares to come. Don’t go just yet. Stay for a while. I could cook you some supper. I’ve still got half a packet of Jammie Dodgers left.”

“Now you are twisting my arm,” he smiled at me.

“We could listen to some music,” I suggested.

“Like what?” he said, stepping away from the door and coming back into the living room.

“I don’t know,” I said, taking my iPod from the dock. “Let me have a look.”





Chapter Thirty-One

I selected a track and placed the iPod back into the dock. There was a moment of silence before the track started.

In that silence, Vincent said, “What song did you choose?”

“Shhh,” I hushed softly, placing a finger against Vincent’s lips.

Slowly, the song I Want To Know What Love Is by Mariah Carey filled the room. It was my turn to take Vincent in my arms. I pulled his coat from over his shoulders and held him close.

“I thought we were going to eat Jammie Dodgers?” he whispered in my ear, his breath warm against my cheek.