Her voice steadied, cold and certain.“You are desperate for me to ask why, aren’t you?How?Who?How did Gadd fill his journal with things that hadn’t happened yet?What did you have to do with my Dad’s death?Howcouldyou know about a little girl, building a treehouse with her Dad, all those years ago?What purpose do you want me to fulfil?”
“Oh, Kate.I can see you’re not ready to understand.The journey isn’t complete, the lessons have not yet been taught. You need more time in the crucible.”
“Bullshit.I see you.And I’ve seen your tricks.You find some part of my past, and you leave it at the crime scene when you butcher someone.So at the same time as trying to make me believe you’ve been watching me my whole life, you make me part of your ongoing bloodshed. You make me believe that solving one will give me the answers to the other.And it looks so clever from the outside, but really, it’s a crude and simple trick.And it doesn’t work.”
“My mistake,” Cox said, holding up his hands, a parody of apology.“I thought you had grown.You have merely become louder. You’re drowning out the voice inside you, that truly yearns to know.To understand the suffering you’ve undergone and behold its higher purpose.”
“Why do you thinkunderstandingis so important?I don’tcarewhy my dad died.I don’t care if it had something or nothing to do with you.I only care that he’s gone.That’s what it means to be a real person, Elijah, to have real feelings for other people.And it’s the one thing you’ll never, ever grasp, because there’s something missing from you, and I pity you for that.I pity you.”
She stood up, drew her cuffs.“Stand up.”
He hesitated, and she took a half step closer, weapon visible at her hip.Slowly, Cox rose.His knees cracked audibly in the silence.
Kate read him his rights as she snapped the cuffs closed around his wrists.“Elijah Cox, you are under arrest for the murders of Bartholomew Yang, Patricia Kellerman, and Richard Brennan.”
Cox gave a thin smile.“You’re making a mistake.Your mother will—”
“My mother is safe,” Kate interrupted.“I alerted my partner on the way here.Those three rings you just heard?”She nodded toward her phone.“That was him.We have a code, for when we can’t speak. Three rings.Received and understood.”
Her voice hardened.“But what haveyouunderstood, Elijah?After all that blood, all those sermons, all those corpses?Nothing.There is no revelation.”
“You are wrong.”
“You’re going back to jail.”
The sound of sirens began to build from the street below, faint at first, then swelling, a wailing chorus that carried up through the broken windows.
Kate stood motionless, holding him in her gaze as the light from the rooftops flashed red against the glass.
Cox said nothing.For the first time, she thought he looked afraid.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Friday March 14th
The sushi had arrived in its neat black trays, the rice still warm, the slices of tuna and salmon shining like lacquered silk beneath the kitchen light.Kate poured the soy sauce into a small dish while her mother arranged the chopsticks.The dogs hovered at their feet, alert to the sound of the containers opening, their tails tapping the floor like soft applause.
“Does this mean no more Sunday dinners?”her mother asked, once they had settled at the table.
Kate smiled.“Of course not.”
Her mother tilted her head.“Only, it feels like something’s ending.”
“It isn’t.But if you go back to the origins of the custom,” Kate said, “you and I started doing it because Dad was always working on Sundays.I don’t want to remember him like that— the man who was never there, who cared more about his stem cells than his family.”
Her mother’s chopsticks paused midway to her mouth.“That’s not the only way to remember him.”
“I know,” Kate said quietly.“It’s changing, you know?The way I think of him.The way I remember what happened.I feel as if I have a choice.I can decide what matters and what doesn’t.”
Her mother looked at her, the smallest crease of admiration at the edge of her smile.“So what does matter?”
“Life,” Kate said simply.“Life matters far more than death.”
The phone rang before her mother could answer.Kate glanced at the screen.“It’s Cheryl.”She stood up and took the call, listening, murmuring phrases of reassurance.No, he’s not here.I’m sure he’s fine.Try not to worry.I’ll tell him to call.
When she hung up, she sighed.“Cheryl’s in a state.She thinks Marcus is avoiding her.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow.“And is he?”
