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Perhaps the officers saw the desperation in my face, because DC Miles exchanged a glance with DS Malik and she shrugged, and then nodded.
“We’re terminating the interview with Jacintha Cross. The time is… eight oh two a.m. on Sunday, fifth February.”
She clicked off the recorder and then leaned forward to me.
“Thank you, Jack. I know that can’t have been easy, but you’ve been really helpful. We’re going to hang on to your phone, okay? But if you need to call anyone, you’re welcome to use the phone here.”
“Can I go home, then?” I asked. My voice was croaky. Malik grimaced sympathetically and shook her head.
“I’m really sorry. It’s still a crime scene. Have you got anyone you can stay with in the meantime?”
I shut my eyes, trying to think, running through the list of people I could call on. My brain felt like it was short-circuited, little fritzes of false connections flashing up and disrupting my attempts at figuring this out. Gabe—slumped over his computer. Gabe—his head flung back, his throat spewing out of his skin, like something out of Alien. Gabe. Gabe.
“My sister,” I said at last. “I could go to my sister. She lives in North London. Could you call her?”
“Sure. What’s her name?”
“Helena. Helena Wick. 07422…” I ground to a halt. Shit. What was Hel’s number? I’d learned it by heart years ago, back when I first started doing penetration testing and didn’t have Gabe to call on if things went south. But I was so tired I could barely remember my own name, let alone anything more complicated. “07422…” I tried again, and this time the remaining digits came with a rush, like a nursery rhyme, reeled off without pause. “I think that’s right. It’s a long time since I dialed it from memory.”
“No probs,” DC Miles said. “Leave it with me.”
He disappeared and then came back a few minutes later and said, “She’s expecting you. We’ll give you a lift in a patrol car.”
I nodded. A sense of immense weariness was washing over me. The police interview might be over—but somehow the idea of calling Helena had made me realize something I should have known all along: that this nightmare was only just beginning. I would have to tell Hel what had happened. And then her husband, Roland. And they would have to tell their twin girls—something two little four-year-olds should never have to understand. How could they comprehend something I could barely process myself—that Uncle Gabe would not be coming to see them ever again? That he was gone?
And after Hel, it would be Gabe’s parents, and our friends, and the bank and the broadband company and—and—and—
I thought back to when our parents had died, the numbing stream of admin, the endless spreadsheets that Helena had compiled. Inform the mortgage company. Tell the insurers. Cancel the TV license. Write to the GP. It had gone on and on and on for months.
I couldn’t do it all again. Gabe hadn’t even made a will, that I knew of. Why would he, when he was barely thirty and as healthy as anyone we knew?
“Jack?” DS Malik said, and I looked up, and realized the police officer was speaking to me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. My lips were dry and stuck together. “I—I wasn’t listening. Can you say that again?”
“We’re ready to go,” she said gently. “If you want. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. But it wasn’t true. I wasn’t okay. I would never be okay again.
Hel was standing on the doorstep as the patrol car drew up outside their neat little white-painted London semi, her face twisted with worry, a worry that cleared, but only slightly, as we came around the corner.
“Jack.” She hurried down the checkered front path and I fell into her arms, burying my face in the familiar scent of her hair. “Oh my God, Jack,” she said again, and her voice cracked. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it’s true.”
“We’ll leave Jack with you, Mrs. Wick,” DS Malik said. Her tone was sympathetic. “Is there a number we can use to be in touch? We can’t release her phone yet, unfortunately.”
“Yes,” Hel said. She sounded distracted. “Yes, of course. I mean, I guess… mine? Probably? You’ve got it, right?”
“Yes, we’ve got it. Is there a landline to the house?”
“Yes,” Helena said. She made a frantic motion to someone inside, who I guessed was Roland. “Rols, Rols, can you give them a card?”
“Sure,” Roland said, and I heard his footsteps retreat up the hallway and then come back.
“Thank you, Hel,” I said. I pulled away from her, but she kept hold of my hand. “I’m so sorry—this must have been—”
“Fuck that,” Helena said shortly. Her hand tightened around mine, her grip crushing my ring into my knuckle, so hard it was almost painful. “Don’t be stupid, Jack, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”
She took the cards Roland held out to her and passed them to DS Malik.
