Darkside_ A Novel - Belinda Bauer [79]
The illness, the murders, the baby-shaped hole in her life.
In the face of each of them he was overwhelmed and useless. There had been a time when he'd thought he could help, could be of some comfort; a time when he'd thought he could make a difference.
That was no longer true.
Sometimes you just had to accept what you were.
And what you were never meant to be.
He had never cried with her, but he'd never come closer than this, and they spent minutes like that, he kneeling beside her, she rigid in his arms, her hands over her face to keep her pain to herself - her refusal to let him share it properly an indication that he was to blame, in some part at the very least. He felt that burden settle like cold lead in his heart.
Slowly she quieted and disengaged herself. He gave her kitchen roll; she blew her nose.
'OK, Lu?' he asked softly.
'Frank left the gate open,' she replied without looking at him. 'It's been banging all day.'
Jonas put his boots back on and went down the dark garden path. More snow had fallen this afternoon and he needed to clear it again. He thought how frustrating it must have been for Lucy not to be able to venture the ten yards to her own front gate for fear of falling, while all the time the gate banged. The catch needed oiling really, so it would shut more easily. When he'd shut it he would get the shovel and clear the path, in case he didn't have time in the morning. Now that he was off Margaret Priddy's doorstep, he expected to be hectic instead of bored.
Oil the gate, empty the washing machine, do the ironing, clear the path, refill the bird feeders so that the robin would keep coming to keep Lucy company. He needed to remember the little things that kept their lives functioning, but he knew that by the time he went back into the house he'd have forgotten at least one of the items. He should make a list.
Home and work. Both needed constant maintenance, like an old British motorbike. Otherwise the oil squeezed through the casings and left ugly black stains on the floor of their lives.
He thought he'd keep up the night patrols. Just for an hour or so each night; give people a sense of security. A false sense, of course - events had demonstrated that only too well - but even a false sense of security was better than nothing when fear was uppermost in everybody's mind. Yes, the night patrols were good for the village.
Jonas shut the gate.
As he did, his fingers touched something papery.
By the stars he could see it was a note pinned to the outside of the gatepost.
With his second underneath feeling of the day coiling like slime in his stomach, Jonas reached over and tugged the paper free of the shiny gold drawing pin.
_
Five Days
Elizabeth Rice watched the CSI pottering about with powder and gelatin lifts at her window, keeping up a muttered running commentary on his own methods like a fussy TV cook.
She had introduced him to the Marshes simply as 'Tim' and taken him up to her room and closed the door. She wondered whether they thought she and Tim were having sex. It couldn't be helped. When she'd called the previous night, Marvel hadn't wanted Danny and Alan alerted to the fact that they were under suspicion. He had asked her if she felt OK about remaining in the house and she'd said 'yes', because to say 'no' would have made her look weak. Actually the thought of staying there made her feel sick inside, the way she used to feel right before walking out of the wings in school plays. But being here with Tim doing his thing was fine. She hoped she would feel the same way once he left.
Tim had found a latent print going out of the window, underneath the visible one she'd first spotted. He had photographed the visible print with a Polaroid camera so that she could match it to the Marshes' shoes. She would have to do that in secret.
Secret stuff connected to a murder inquiry should have been exciting, but the thought