“It’s regarding her son. That’s me, by the way.”
Ethan Harris enjoyed watching the expression change on her face. His mother ran a prestigious architects’ firm in Ocean Village and generally hired beautiful but flinty young women to guard the gate. They were practiced at dealing with salesmen, tardy couriers and freeloaders. Had this new one mistaken him for the latter? As she first took in his face, his limp arm, his stooped posture, her look had belied a curious mixture of distaste and awkwardness. But when she realized who he was, her strangulated expression wrenched itself round to an unconvincing smile. Just one more reason to hate her.
“One moment, please,” she purred, ringing up to the penthouse office. Ethan watched her intently, picking at the scar on his left handall the while—it had become a nervous tic of late. Moments later, she handed him the phone. Didn’t that say it all? Any other parent would have just told her to send him up.
“What’s going on, Ethan? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m just bored and thought I would pay you a visit. I can visit my own mother, can’t I?”
There was a brief pause before she responded:
“Okay, but I’ve got a meeting at twelve, so it’ll have to be quick.”
“It won’t take long,” Ethan replied, before handing the receiver back to the earwigging receptionist. His hand quivered more than usual, making the handover clumsy and awkward. Funny how even now he felt embarrassed by these small things.
The receptionist buzzed him through and he walked toward the lifts. Here he paused and as the phone on the front desk rang once more, he took advantage of this timely distraction, diving past the lifts and through the fire stairs that led to the basement. He had no intention of seeing his mother.
Indeed, if he had his way, he would never see her again.
132
For a moment Luke Simms was unable to speak, the blood draining from his face. Charlie hadn’t expected such a strong reaction to her question and now put her arm on Luke’s, worried the young boy was about to faint. “If you don’t feel up to this, I can wait, but it would be useful to know at—”
“He was only there a term. I hardly knew him.” Luke had regained his speech, but not his color.
His father watched on, confused, anxious and not a little scared. “What’s this about? Who is Ethan Harris, for God’s sake?”
“He’s a person of interest in our inquiry,” Charlie replied evenly.
“And you know him, Luke?”
“I did. A bit. I mean, he was at school for such a short time before he had to leave, but we were friends for a bit. He visited me in the hospital after the fire, for God’s sake. He sat at the end of the bed and offered me his sympathies...”
The devil’s in the detail, as Helen had often told Charlie. Scrolling through Ethan Harris’s educational background, she had alighted on the coincidence of him attending the same posh secondary school in Millbrook as Luke Simms. Harris had been at the school for less than eight weeks—the reason for his sudden departure was not yet clear—and his stay there was so brief it hadn’t grabbed anyone’s attention in their initial inquiries. But now it seemed supremely relevant, especially after Luke had revealed that Harris had visited him in the hospital after the fire. Helen had been right—their killer had been inserting himself into the narrative from the off.
“How would you characterize his time at your school, Luke?”
“Unhappy” was Luke’s bleak reply. “He was a tricky character—hostile, suspicious, quick to take offense if anyone mocked him. And there were plenty of people who were happy to do that. You know what school’s like.”
“Why did people mock him?”
“Because he was different.”
There it was. Charlie had read Ethan’s hospital report on the way over. In addition to an assessment of his burns and the various tests done to determine the effects of smoke inhalation, there was a small, dispassionate summary of his past health issues. It noted drily that Ethan had suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome since birth. This was caused by his mother’s heavy drinking during pregnancy and had affected the development of both his brain and his limbs. While intelligent and articulate, Ethan had had many health problems as a result of his FAS, not least mild cerebral palsy and epilepsy. It was some inheritance to gift to your child.
“He just looked different from everyone else,” Luke continued. “His features were softer, like... you know... like they weren’t quite formed. And people used to take the piss.”
“Did you mock him?”
“No... No, not at first. Ilikedhim, for God’s sake.”
“Why?”
“Because he was good at writing. Creative writing, comprehension, reviews—all that stuff. He could do it standing on his head. And he helped me—I’ve never been good at that stuff. He would have done mine for me if I’d asked him to. We got along.”
“So what happened?”
Luke hesitated now, his breathing becoming short. Charlie gave Thomas Simms a quick look, but he gently gestured to her to proceed. Like her, he was desperate to know what Luke was going to say next.
