I had no words for how it felt to watch them arrest Harry. My protests that the gun was indeed mine fell on deaf ears, and as the lead officer closed the van doors on Harry, he turned to me with a smug leer.
“I suggest you get your story straight and then come and find me, because until then, I’m holding your friend. And don’t think I won’t charge him, because I will. Just like I’d have charged you if you’d coughed to it when I asked.”
“You know it’s not his.”
“I only know what I’m told,” the officer said. “And he’s saying it is.”
My fists twitched. I could smash this bloke’s face in any day of the week and still sleep like a baby, but I didn’t have time for that shit. If he was serious about charging Harry, then I had to find Jonah, Dicky...anyonewho I could pin that damn-fucking gun on.
“Of course,” the officer continued when I didn’t respond. “I could take your new statement seriously and believe that the gun belongs to you, but I don’t think you really want me to do that.”
“Why would I say it if I didn’t want you to take it seriously?” I spat.
“Because you haven’t thought it through. I’m familiar with everyone who lives and works on this farm, Mr. Carter, but your record makes a more interesting reading than most. Add a firearms charge onto that and I doubt you’d see the light of day for quite some time. Think on that while I question your friend.”
The police left the farm, taking Harry with them, and the yard was plunged into sudden darkness. Mani called to me. Dazed, I went to him and brooded fruitlessly against his neck until I remembered Shadow.
I trudged to the top field to fetch him in, but he wouldn’t come. A month ago, I’d have hurdled the gate and chased him around. Now, I didn’t have the stomach for it—literally—or the time to sit on the fence and wait for him.
“Joe?”
I tossed an unseeing glance over my shoulder. “Em, go back inside. There’s no reason for us both to be out in the rain.”
“Never stopped you putting me to work before.” Emma hopped up on the fence beside me. “Why are you shouting at him? You know that makes him more stubborn.”
“I don’t know anything. If I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess, eh?”
“That’s not fair, but we can’t let Harry take the rap for this. Even a minor charge could ruin his career.”
“It’s not a minor charge. Jonah stashed a sawn-off in Shadow’s stable.”
Emma’s sharp intake of breath seemed unnaturally loud. “A gun? Where the hell did he get it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. If we know where it came from, then we’re a step closer to getting Harry off the hook. He could go to prison for firearm possession.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” My shout rang out across the dark field. Somewhere in front of us, Shadow snorted and stamped his feet. I sighed, and the sensation of wandering amongst nightmares returned. “I don’t know what he was thinking when he said the gun was his. Or if he even knew that’s what he was coughing for. But I won’t let it stand. If I can’t straighten this out with Jonah, I’ll find a way of proving it’s mine.”
“Joe, they’ll put you away for years with your record.”
“So? That’s better than Harry taking the heat.”
“Neither of you should be taking the heat. It’s Dad’s gun—or, at least, he brought it here. Just tell the police that.”
I shook my head. Even if I could bring myself to do it, the police had already decided that my word was bollocks enough to ignore. If they got their hands on my father, that was one thing, but I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d gone to ground—Dicky too. Which meant that while the coppers had someone already fessing up, they wouldn’t much care about hearsay.
Emma whistled and then called to Shadow in a sweet tone I rarely heard from her. The bastard ambled over like a motherfucking Labrador, and the defeat only added to the weight in my chest. I passed her Shadow’s head collar and slid off the fence. “I’m going to find Jonah. If I’m not back by morning, I’ve probably killed him.”
* * *
I’d spent more of my life than I cared to remember searching for my father, but I searched for him now with a new urgency. His bedsit was dark and silent, and I came up blank at his usual haunts, but where on any other night I might’ve given up and gone home, tonight I pressed on and drove northwards, out of town towards Bodmin.
Jonah had taught me to gallop on the moors—to loosen the reins and set a horse free the way you couldn’t in a fenced-off field. Over the years, I’d come to prefer beach riding or hacking through the woods, but I remembered the little shacks Jonah had sheltered us in when the weather had caught us out. There was one in particular that had been his favourite. Off the beaten hikers’ path, it was perfect for an old drunk to hole up in.
Not so perfect for finding your way to it in the dark, but despite my many flaws, my sense of direction was pretty hot, and my father and grandpa both had taught me to recognise landmarks that were unlikely to change much as the years rolled by—ancient trees and the shape of the hills. With the help of the moonlight, I was set.
The shack I had in mind was a mile away from the road. I ditched the van at a tourist spot and set off on foot. Twenty minutes later, I saw the shack in the distance. No lights, but as I got closer, I smelled my father’s cherry tobacco, and relief warred with dread in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I knew that by morning, nothing would ever be the same.
