There was a long silence, then:
“I’ve never told a soul this. Not even your late mother,” he eventually went on. “But I was a thief.”
Lloyd stared at him in disbelief. He knew what the words meant, but still they didn’t make any sense.
“In those days, when you worked at the docks, you had to belong. To a team. To a gang.”
Lloyd stared at him, wondering what was coming next.
“I chose the latter, lifting a little stock here, a little stock there, as they passed through my area. I handed the goods on and got extra money in return. I needed the money for you all, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. That time my back was broken. I didn’t fall. It was a punishment beating by a rival gang. I did what I had to to survive and if I was hard on you, it’s because I wanted you to be so much more than me. Do you understand?”
Lloyd nodded, but his emotions lagged behind his brain. He didn’t know what to think or feel.
“And I’ve hated myself for lying to you and your mother. Even your layabout brother and sister. But try to understand... sometimes you find you’ve gone too far down one road and there’s no way back. So don’t judge yourself by my standards. You’re ten times the man I’ll ever be.”
Now there were tears in Caleb’s eyes. Lloyd wept too, without embarrassment, holding on to his father’s arm. He cried for the lies he’d been told, for the feelings of inadequacy he’d felt for so many years. But mostly he cried because of his stupidity, knowing now that he had sacrificed his career in the worship of a false god.
107
Helen could feel Sanderson’s eyes crawling all over her, searching for any hint of instability or violence. They were sitting opposite Andrew Simpson once more and, although nothing had been said out loud, Helen knew her junior officer was alive to the danger of another explosion from Helen. She didn’t blame Sanderson for this. After a sleepless night, Helen looked even more exhausted and on edge than she had the night before. No wonder her colleague looked nervous.
Simpson was impassive as usual, though he appeared much more strained than before. He kept rubbing his face with his hand and massaging his temples: he appeared stressed, unhappy—he looked like he was in pain.
“So, do you want the good news or the bad news, Andrew?”
Simpson looked at Helen warily, unsure what game she had elected to play this morning.
“The good news for you is that our POLSA teams have searched every inch of your properties and found no sign of Ruby Sprackling. The bad news is they have found enough evidence of illegal surveillance and pornographic file-sharing to make the CPS very excited indeed.”
Did Helen see the lawyer’s grim smile wobble a little? She hoped so.
“So the bottom line is that they will begin drawing up charges this afternoon, unless I can give them a compelling reason not to do so.”
“Meaning?” Finally the lawyer spoke.
“Meaning cooperation. I want to go over every file, every video, every detail of these girls’ lives with you. I want chapter and verse on their activities, as well as yours. Obviously you don’t have to decide right this minute. You’ll need to confer with your legal tea—”
“Okay.” It was said quietly but firmly.
“Louder, please, Mr. Simpson. For the tape.”
“Okay, I’ll cooperate,” he said wearily. Helen was pleased to see his defiance ebbing away. Perhaps a night in the cells had had the desired effect after all. She turned to Sanderson and gave her the nod to begin. Her junior had also had a sleepless night but had spent it more profitably, poring over the details of Simpson’s decade of snooping and stalking.
“Do you like novelty, Mr. Simpson? Or are you a creature of habit?”
Simpson looked at Sanderson quizzically, before finally replying:
“Both, I suppose.”
“But when it comes to the girls?”
“Novelty, I suppose.”
“Why?”
“I get bored.”
“Of seeing the same girls?”
