‘Yes.’ I put a hand up. ‘Yes, I know, you don’t have to—’
‘—I’m tired of living under the shadow of your colossal fuck-up.’
You don’t have to say it, I thought. But he did. Of course he did. Because Dad was like that. He’d be talking about how I’d screwedup on the job, and what it had done to my loved ones’ lives, what it had done to the Powder family’s reputation, for decades to come, whether I did anything to clear the shadow of shame or not. Sure, he pretended it wasn’t, but what I’d done to disgrace myself was the best thing that had ever happened to my father. It had almost got me fired, and meant Arthur had to come in swinging for me. It put a leash around my neck.
‘Who told you it’s a murder?’ I asked. ‘Where’d you hear about it?’
‘It’s all over town already. The publican found her about an hour ago.’
I rubbed the back of my neck, where a ball of stress was already knotting. ‘But it’s Chrissy’s birthday.’
‘What did you just say?’ Dad narrowed his eyes, freezing mid-action as he slid a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his flanno.
‘I said, it’s my child’s birthday. I’ve got eleven kids out there that Delle and I are supposed to take paintballing.’
‘You’re taking themwhere?’
‘Paintballing. It’s a game.’
‘Evan, listen to me very carefully.’ Arthur licked his thin, sun-ravaged lips. ‘I am trying real hard,real hard, not to leap over this desk between us and put your head through that window behind you. The restraint that I am showing is frankly mind-boggling, even to me.’
‘Dad.’
‘As if I should have to sell you on the ideaat all…’ Arthur drew out a cigarette, his mean, disgusted eyes still on me. ‘This isn’t going to be some three-day slapped-together paperwork-heavy piss-in. It’s a girl stabbed to death in the pub.’
‘Jesus, really?’
‘Your reluctance to start making moves to get yourself assigned to this case, because it’s yourchild’s fucking birthdayand you’re taking him and his merry band of retards “paintballing”, is making me want to weep for you, Evan, and for myself,’ Dad said. ‘You owe me my reputation back.’
‘I get it.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘I get it.’
‘A nice, juicy murder is just about the only thing that’s going to bleach the stain of what you did out of public memory, my son.’ He jammed the cigarette between his jaws and lit up, right there in my family’s office. ‘And if you’re smart, you’ll not only solve this murder but you’ll get yourself wounded badly in the process. You could make a lot of people happy doing that, getting med-catted out of the job.’
I kept my face passive. ‘I’ll talk to Delle.’
‘You’lltalktoDelle?’
‘I’ll tell her what—’
‘Saints preserve us.’ Dad covered his eyes.
‘—what’s going on. I’ll call Twitcher.’
‘Yes, yes, go and beg for permission from the women in your life.’ Dad got out of his chair with difficulty, favouring his damaged shoulder, and exited the office, shaking his head. ‘I’m going to go chuck myself off the nearest bridge.’
I went out of the office and down the hall, hearing the front door slam closed behind my father and knowing the nausea his visit had left me with wouldn’t settle for the rest of the day. The kids were all gathered around Chris at the table on the back deck. Terrible postures. Unwashed hair. Chrissy was licking the inside of his lip where a silver stud was embedded, making the bobble at the end jut out from his face in a way that made me want to gag. The youngest Powder male held up a box wrapped in black paper for a photo, made the sign of the horns with his other hand. Then he started unwrapping it. Delle took my elbow. I couldn’t look at her. Wasn’t ready yet for my second roasting of the day.
‘What was that all that about?’
‘Nothing. Work.’
‘Is he gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did it occur to your father to come out here and say happy birthday to his grandson?’ Delle asked. Like she actually wanted my father anywhere near her or her child. ‘Would that have taken more than a few seconds?’
‘Delle, on my sixteenth birthday, Dad threw a shoe at my head for making him feel old,’ I told her. ‘Can you drop it?’
