Blood Guilt (27 page)

“I have thought on it.”
Harlan looked grimly from the plastic cup in his hand to Jim. “Three to ten
days.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that even if
Ethan’s alive, he won’t be much longer unless he’s found. Don’t you remember
your survival training? Three to ten days is how long a person can survive
without water.”

For a heartbeat longer,
the two men held each other’s gaze. Then Jim turned and hurried away. It
suddenly occurred to Harlan that there was a question he hadn’t asked. One he
badly wanted the answer to. “Have you told Eve what’s happened?” he called
after Jim. But he was already gone.

Weariness throbbed in
Harlan’s head, pulling him into sleep. Looking into the darkness behind his
eyelids, he saw a parade of people. Everyone who’d ever meant anything to him
was there. All of them merging, like droplets of spilled blood. Then he was
facing a mirror. But instead of seeing himself, he saw Nash. He clamped his
hands around Nash’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could to no effect. “Where
is he?” he desperately demanded to know. Suddenly, as if he’d dissolved into
the air, Nash was gone. But Harlan was still squeezing, only now his hands were
on his own throat. They seemed to be glued there. His head felt like a balloon
ready to pop. “Eve,” he choked out. “Eve.”

When Harlan awoke Eve
was there, sat at his bedside, like a prayer answered. She looked worried, but
calm. Harlan drank in her face, her scent, and felt it ease through him like
whisky. Smiling, he stretched out a hand and she took it between hers. But she
didn’t smile back. “How long have you been there?” he asked.

“A while. How are you
feeling?”

“They’ve got me pumped
so full of drugs I can’t feel anything much at all.”

“You called out my name
in your sleep.”

The dream suddenly came
back to Harlan. A little shudder ran through him. “I was having a nightmare.”

“About me?”

“No. I wanted you to
save me.”

“From what?”

“Myself.”

A sad smile played over
Eve’s lips. “I wish I could, Harlan, but I can’t. No one can save you but
yourself.” She glanced at the bulge of Harlan’s bandage showing through the
sheets. “Only you can decide what’s enough.”

What’s enough
?
Harlan didn’t have to think to know the answer to that question. Finding Ethan.
That was the only ‘enough’ there was for him. He didn’t say this to Eve. He
didn’t have to. She’d already read it in his eyes. She sighed. “Jim’s right.
You do have a death wish.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“Who do you think told
me you were here?”

“What else did he tell
you?”

“Not much, just that
you’d been stabbed. He was pretty cagey, even by his standards.”

“Did he mention Ethan
Reed?” Harlan knew Jim wouldn’t have, but he had to ask anyway.

“No.”

“What day is this?”

“Thursday.”

Harlan’s brow
contracted. He’d been in hospital two days. Which meant that at the most
optimistic estimate, Ethan had seven or eight days to live. In all probability,
Ethan would already be suffering the symptoms of severe dehydration: he’d have
a headache and nausea; a raised body temperature and increased pulse rate; his
muscles would be tingling and twitching; his vision growing dim; he might even
be starting to hallucinate. Of course, that was assuming he was still alive at
all. Which he almost certainly wasn’t.

“What’s going on,
Harlan?” asked Eve. “Who did this to you?”

Harlan told Eve what’d
happened. He left out any mention of Jones. Not because he didn’t trust her to
keep it to herself, but because he was afraid how it would affect the way she
looked at him. She knew, of course, that he was capable of the kind of drunken,
self-destructive violence that’d led to Robert Reed’s death. But cold,
calculated torture? She’d always despised that kind of violence. If she found
out he was capable of it, would she ever again be able to look at him with the
same purity of love that she was doing now? He doubted it. And with that doubt
came the realisation that he needed her love more than anything, more even than
he needed to suffer for his guilt. Without it, there could be no light at the
end of the tunnel for him. Just darkness.

Bright-eyed and
tight-lipped with tension, Eve listened. When Harlan finished, a light of hope
flickering in her voice, she said, “So you got him. You got the guy who took
Ethan.”

“Looks like it.”

“It’s over then.”

Harlan shook his head.
“Ethan’s still missing.”

“But surely there’s
nothing else you can do to help find him.”

“Assuming it was Nash
who abducted him.”

“Of course it was. Who
else could it be?”

Harlan thought about
Jones. He thought about the prison segregation ward where he’d been housed
alongside other inmates who weren’t fit for general population – serial
rapists, paedophiles, child killers. “There are a lot of bad people out there.”

An edge of irritation came
into Eve’s tone. “Do you think I don’t know that? I lived with a policeman for
over ten years, remember?”

“Sorry, Eve, I didn’t
mean to patronise you. You’re right, Nash almost certainly is the kidnapper.
But I’m just trying to point out that things aren’t always as they seem.”

“And I’m just trying to
find something to hold onto, something to give me the strength to endure.”
Tears formed in the corners of Eve’s eyes. She looked away from Harlan. He
squeezed her hand. He wished he could tell her what he knew she wanted to hear
– that the nightmare would soon be over. But he couldn’t. When she returned her
gaze to his, her tears had receded and she managed a faint smile. “Whatever the
truth is, whatever happens from now on, I want you to know how proud I am of
you. You’ve done something…” she searched for the right word, “wonderful.
Surely it’s got to make you feel better about yourself knowing you saved that
boy’s life and prevented that man from hurting anyone else.”

Do I feel any better
about myself
? wondered Harlan.
I’ve taken a life
and saved a life
.
Does one cancel out the other
? He didn’t know. All
he knew was that the guilt was still there, festering like a pus-filled sore.
Perhaps it would never be healed, not even if Ethan was found alive. “I did what
I had to do. Nothing more.”

Eve shook her head.
“There you go again, always down playing the good things you do. In a way, I
suppose it’s comforting that some things about you never change.”

A nurse came to check
Harlan’s vitals. After she was done, Eve said, “I’ve got to get back to work.
Do you want me to come see you again?” There was a tentative quality to the
question.

“Yes,” Harlan replied
without hesitation. He suddenly found himself thinking about Susan. He wanted
to see her – to try and hold her up. “Hopefully I won’t be in here much
longer.”

Eve stood to leave. She
looked down at Harlan a moment, before stooping to kiss his forehead. A kiss he
felt through the painkillers, like soft, warm hands caressing his entire body.
“I love you,” he murmured.

“I know.”

As Eve turned away,
Harlan said, “I don’t have a death wish. I just want another chance.”

“I know,” Eve said
again, then she left.

Harlan closed his eyes,
still feeling Eve’s kiss. Images came at him like bullets. He saw Ethan
chained-up, filthy, starving. He saw Susan trying to hold herself together for
Kane, but crumbling inside.
She needs you there with her
. The thought
urged him from his bed. Grimacing as his stitches pulled, he swung his legs off
the mattress. His head reeled and blood pounded in his ears as he stood up.
Trembling, he clutched the bedside table for support. Another nurse entered the
room, pushing a medication cart. She rushed to his side, saying, “You shouldn’t
be on your feet.”

Harlan didn’t have the
strength to resist as the nurse gently but firmly guided him back onto the
mattress. “I need to speak to the doctor and find out when I can leave.”

“I can tell you right
now that you’re not going anywhere for a few days at least. So you might as
well just relax.”

Relax
,
thought Harlan,
how the hell am I supposed to do that
? As if in answer,
the nurse handed him a pot of pills and poured some water to swallow them with.
She wheeled the cart from the room, pausing to give him a glance that said,
don’t
even think about getting out of bed again
. The pills quickly did their job,
numbing his physical, but not his mental pain. As a heavy blanket of medicated
sleep dropped over him, the images pierced his brain again. Ethan dying slowly.
Susan falling apart fast. And there was nothing he could do for either of them.
In his sleep, he wept with frustration.

Chapter
17

When Harlan next awoke,
a nurse was setting out his breakfast. His heart sat like a stone in his chest at
the knowledge that another night had passed. Although he had no appetite,
desperate to regain his strength, he ate everything there was to the last crumb
of toast. Afterwards, he watched the morning news. Jamie Sutton’s face was all
over it. The screen showed photos of a bright-eyed, smiling, chubby-cheeked
schoolboy who bore only a passing resemblance to the boy Harlan had rescued.
There was an interview with a po-faced detective who, apart from stating that a
suspect had been arrested, refused to answer any questions, saying only that
this was an ongoing investigation. Speculation was rife in the studio as to the
suspect’s identity and whether there was any connection to the abductions of
Jack Holland and Ethan Reed. The term ‘serial child abductor’ was bandied
around. Jamie’s rescue was a big story in itself, but the journalists smelled
an even bigger one. There was a camera shot of a police car blocking the dirt
road to the caravan, followed by a sweeping aerial shot of the treetops. Yellow
and white forensic tents had been erected over the caravan and the entrance to
the caves. A line of policemen could be glimpsed advancing slowly through the
woods, combing the undergrowth.

Tagged onto the end of
the report was a short piece about a lantern vigil that’d been held for Ethan.
Hundreds of people had gathered at a park close to his home to launch Chinese
lanterns with prayers for Ethan attached to them. The lanterns rose into the
night sky like fiery jewels, borne by the wind to some unknown destination. The
preacher, Lewis Gunn, said that the event had raised more than forty-thousand
pounds for the reward fund. There was no sign of Susan, which was hardly
surprising considering what was going on elsewhere. Even so, her absence
deepened Harlan’s anxiety for her.

Forehead drawn into
lines, Harlan turned off the television. It wasn’t only Ethan and Susan that
troubled him. It was the fact that the DI had said ‘suspect’ when he should’ve
said ‘suspects’. Clearly the police still didn’t have sufficient evidence to
bring charges against Jones.

There was a knock at
the door and Jim entered the room. “Morning. You’re looking a lot better.”

Harlan read the lines
of sombre weariness etched into his ex-partner’s face. “Do I even need to ask
if you’ve found him?”

Jim dropped heavily
onto a chair. “We’re still searching the caves, but if you ask me he’s not down
there.”

“What makes you say
that?”

“We’ve searched to a
depth of over two hundred feet. Why would Nash take Ethan so far down, when he
kept Jamie and the dead boy close to the surface?”

“Maybe he kept Ethan
somewhere else. After all, he took Jack Holland to the storm-drain, not the
caves.”

“Or maybe Ethan’s
buried somewhere in those woods.”

Harlan shook his head. “He
wouldn’t have buried him. He likes to keep their bodies where he can see and
touch them, so he can relive the crime, extend the fantasy. Have you finished
searching Mary Webster’s house?”

“We’ve torn the fucking
place apart. Pulled up every floorboard. Dug up the cellar and garden.
Nothing.”

“What about Nash. Has
he spoken?”

“Not a fucking word.”
Sighing, Jim rubbed his craggy eyes. “We’ve been going at him day and night,
but he just stares off into space like a zombie.”

“Sounds like you need
some kind of fresh angle. Has he got any family or friends?”

“Both his parents are
dead. No siblings. An aunt and a couple of cousins in Birmingham. No one he
cares about enough to stay in touch with. Mary Webster’s the closest thing he’s
got to a friend.”

“Then maybe she’s the
angle you’re looking for. Why not let her talk to him? See if she can appeal to
his conscience.”

Jim’s nose scrunched
up. “That scumbag’s got no conscience.”

“Not when it comes to
his victims. They’re nothing more than objects to him. Tools to satisfy his
desires. But Mary Webster’s something different. She’s a vulnerable old woman
with no family. She was totally in his power. He could easily have abused her.
But he didn’t. Why?”