A Line of Blood

by McPherson, Ben

  ‘And we’ve pulled you into it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Again, no need.’

  ‘Max mustn’t find us like this.’

  ‘He won’t, Alex,’ she said. ‘He won’t.’ Then she patted me on the back, brought the embrace to an end, and sent me back to my own bedroom.

  21

  I arrived at the police station at nine.

  I had left Arla to sleep, called Fab5 and asked him if he could take Max to school. Max hadn’t wanted to go, and we had argued furiously over this.

  ‘Normality,’ I said, over and over again. ‘We need to keep things as normal for you as possible.’

  ‘But this isn’t normal, Dad.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, but this is the nearest thing to normal I can provide.’

  ‘But nothing’s normal, Dad. Not even nearly.’

  Max had eaten his cereal in angry silence, playing a game on my phone; he was dressed and sitting on the staircase when Fab5 rang the bell.

  I sat waiting in a large room with white-painted brick walls. In the middle of the room were four blue plastic chairs and a small Formica table. One of the fluorescent tubes overhead was flickering its last, beating out a rhythm that my brain could not lock into. The ceiling was made of suspended plastic panels. There was no window.

  Millicent entered with two uniformed officers. I wondered for a moment whether they were the two from the night before, but decided they couldn’t have been. Union regulations. Millicent drew up a seat opposite me. We sat staring at each other across the table. She looked tired, but no worse than I was used to her looking these days.

  ‘You look good,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you. I do not.’

  I looked around at the officers, who were hovering by the door. What do you do in this situation? Do you kiss? Are you allowed to hug? I reached out and took Millicent’s hand.

  ‘Sir,’ said one of the officers. Twenty-five. Fresh-faced. Whole career ahead of him. ‘Sorry,’ I said. I withdrew my hand.

  The other officer, female, plump and cheerful, shook her head in mock approbation. I guessed she was a little older. She said something to her colleague and left the room.

  The finality of that gentle metallic slam. Steel door in a steel frame. The young officer locked the door, then collected a chair from by the table, and went to sit in the corner of the room.

  ‘So I’m in custody, but they didn’t charge me yet,’ said Millicent.

  ‘They aren’t going to charge you. You didn’t do it. You have your alibi.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I was never in this situation. And I was only at the radio station for an hour, max. What if they ring the radio station, and decide I lied to them? I never knew I was going to have to defend my alibi.’

  ‘Have you called a lawyer?’ I said.

  Millicent shook her head. I took out a list of criminal defence solicitors that I had made from the internet and slid it across the table towards her.

  ‘Just a moment, sir, ma’am,’ said the officer in the corner. He walked to the table and looked down at the sheet of paper.

  I caught Millicent’s eye, mouthed ‘I love you.’

  The edges of her mouth twitched upwards. A parody of a smile. ‘I guess I’m lucky you guys didn’t cuff me to the table,’ she said to the officer.

  ‘Right,’ he said. He picked up the sheet of paper.

  ‘This is going to be OK,’ I said.

  ‘We don’t know this is going to be OK, Alex.’

  The officer turned the sheet of paper over, held it up to the light. What was he looking for?

  ‘So far everyone has been really nice and polite. But they didn’t really start to ask me questions yet. Who knows how that’s going to go?’

  The officer decided he was satisfied with the sheet of paper. He pushed it across the table towards her and went back to his chair.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘I guess at some level I deserve this, don’t you think?’

  I drew breath, made to speak, but she cut across me before I could begin. ‘Because what I did to you and to our marriage was bad. I took something that was only a little broken, and broke it a whole lot more. But what I did to Max is worse: I can see that now. Only Max can’t punish me by leaving me, so you will.’

  ‘Millicent, shut up,’ I said very quietly. ‘Shut up and listen to me.’ I took her hand, but she shook me off.

  ‘Sir,’ said the officer in the corner. ‘Sir, please.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. I turned to Millicent. ‘I’m sorry, Millicent. I shouldn’t have done that.’ I looked over at the officer in the corner. ‘We need to talk about what you’re going to do.’

  ‘I’m going to ring a lawyer.’

  ‘We need to formulate a plan. I don’t know how long they’re going to give us.’

  ‘And I just told you the plan, so we’re done with that. I’m going to ring a lawyer. Thank you for bringing me the information. You can go.’

  ‘Millicent, you are not yourself.’

  She looked up at the ceiling. The light was still advertising its own imminent death. I wondered if the flickering was making her nervous. It was certainly putting me on edge.

  Millicent ran her thumb and middle finger over her eyebrow, then looked me directly in the eye.

  ‘No. I mean this, Alex. I seriously breached the mother/son clause. And now Max hates me. Doesn’t he?’

  ‘OK, yes, he hates you.’

  She was gulping air now; her nostrils flared; she was fighting not to cry. ‘Well, look at that,’ she said. ‘I guess I was hoping you would contradict me, Alex. Stupid, no?’

  ‘No, I think you’re right. He does hate you. I hate you too, if I’m being honest.’

  I could see the blood pulsing in her neck but the colour had drained from her face; she looked utterly undone. I glanced across at the police officer but he was looking at something on his phone.

  ‘I hate you a bit, Millicent. Just at the moment.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look around you. Look where we are.’ The gunmetal door, the painted brick walls, the police officer in the corner. He was staring at us now. I leaned in to Millicent and lowered my voice. ‘It was hard to read what Max wrote. What he knows.’ The door opened and the female officer appeared in the opening. She nodded to her colleague, who got up from his seat and put away his phone, staring all the while.

  ‘Ms Weitzman, it’s time to go.’ It was the female officer. Millicent stood up. I stayed in my seat.

  Millicent looked at me and swallowed hard, sniffed noisily.

  ‘I hate you now, Millicent. I don’t think it’s for ever,’ I said. ‘I can pretty easily imagine a world where I don’t hate you. Max will stop hating you too, although it might take him a little longer. It’s a process, too.’

  She considered this. When she spoke, it was in a very small voice, her face very close to mine. ‘It’s too late for us.’

  ‘It’s never too late. I love you, and no matter what you did, I will always love you. And I understand now that that means I have to forgive you.’

  ‘Well, you’re a bigger person than I am.’

  ‘Ms Weitzman, now.’ A hand in the small of Millicent’s back, a uniformed arm, guiding her towards the door.

  She stood in the doorway, the officers towering over her in her plain clothes and her flat shoes; I wanted to tell Millicent that everything would be OK, that we would fight this.

  Instead I said, ‘Do you think I could say goodbye to my wife?’

  The officers exchanged a look. The WPC nodded at me. ‘You do have that right.’

  ‘Can I hold her?’

  ‘I think that’s more a question for your wife.’

  I looked at Millicent. She nodded cautiously, stood stiffly as I held her in my arms.

  ‘You’re strong,’ I said. ‘You’ll be out soon.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘maybe,’ and stepped backwards out of the embrace.

  The sadness in that tight lit
tle smile as they led her from the room.

  I looked at the open door. I looked at my chair. Was I supposed to wait here? No one had said. I sat back down at the table. After five minutes the female officer returned and led me back through countless corridors towards the front desk.

  ‘When can I collect her?’

  ‘That depends, sir.’

  ‘There’s nothing to charge her with.’ Why have you stopped being cheerful?

  The officer came to a stop, and for a moment I thought perhaps I had spoken my thought, but she simply said, ‘Your wife is under arrest on suspicion of murder, sir.’

  ‘When can I come for her?’

  ‘The custody clock started at 03.00 hours.’

  ‘So I come and get her at three tomorrow morning? You let her go after twenty-four hours, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s not for me to say, sir. Really her lawyer should be advising you on that.’

  I considered this. Perhaps I should have taken control. Perhaps it had been a mistake to expect Millicent to choose her own lawyer.

  ‘Alex.’ A hand on my arm. I turned and found myself eye to eye with the female detective. June.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll take this, Pamela,’ she said.

  The uniformed officer brightened. ‘Cheers, mate.’ She walked off along the corridor.

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘this is awkward.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You arrested my wife. I was just leaving.’

  We walked in silence to the door of the police station, stood on the top step, looking at each other’s shoes. The sky was overcast and the humidity unbearable, as if London were projecting a hangover back on to me.

  ‘Alex,’ said June, ‘have you ever come across the notion of the gendering of crime?’

  ‘OK, June … What is the gendering of crime?’

  ‘Men and women kill in different ways.’

  ‘What, you mean men murder strangers they don’t like the look of with knives and guns, and women murder lovers who mistreat them with poison, and smother babies they can’t take care of with pillows?’

  ‘Something like that, statistically speaking, yes.’

  ‘Bit reductive. What’s your point, June?’

  ‘The iron.’

  I laughed. I laughed as I had when I discovered the corpse of the neighbour, all rictus and dick and discordant limbs.

  The detective looked consternated. ‘Generally speaking, women use what’s to hand in the home.’

  ‘Really, June? That’s your case?’ I was laughing hard now. ‘You think Millicent is the kind of woman who uses an iron? I mean, do we even look like the kind of couple that owns an iron? Because I promise you we don’t. You really don’t know my wife.’

  Absurd. Completely absurd.

  ‘It was a Black and Decker iron. Practically a tool. How much more manly can an iron get?’

  ‘Alex,’ she said. ‘Listen to me …’

  She looked so serious, standing there sweating in her pinstripes.

  ‘No, June, you listen to me.’ I composed myself for a moment. ‘I mean, I suppose she could have stabbed him with her nail file, or beaten him about the head with her hairdryer, or tickled him to death with her makeup brush. Except, guess what, she doesn’t own any of those either.’

  Tears were filling my eyes now. I rubbed them away with the back of my hand, made myself tall, forced myself to stop laughing.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I really needed that.’

  ‘Alex,’ said the detective, ‘I’m not sure you appreciate the seriousness of your situation.’

  ‘Yes, June, if there’s one thing I appreciate, it’s the seriousness of my situation. And of Millicent’s. You think I’m not gravely concerned? But – unlike you, it seems – I know the difference between serious and absurd. And this is – and I’m sorry, because I’m trying really hard to keep the swearing in check – this is fucking absurd. I mean, I don’t want to tell you your job or anything, but Ms Mercer? In the bathroom? With an iron? Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Bottle of wine, wasn’t it?’ she said. There was no cruelty in the words, but the laughter froze on my lips.

  My hand moved involuntarily towards my face. I stopped it before it could reach the subtle tracery of dried blood, all that now remained of the blow Millicent had dealt me in the kitchen.

  ‘No,’ I wanted to say. ‘No, that’s not the same thing.’

  ‘Have you spoken to a DV team?’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘At the hospital.’

  ‘And have you considered whether to press charges?’ The sympathetic look was back.

  ‘I shouldn’t have laughed,’ I said. ‘It’s the stress of all this. I know you have a job to do.’

  She nodded. ‘You’re dealing with an intolerable burden,’ she said. ‘You need to know that we already have a twelve-hour extension on your wife’s custody. Approved by an inspector. But after that she’s out.’

  ‘What are you saying? That you want more time?’

  ‘I’m telling you how things are.’

  ‘I can’t press charges against Millicent.’

  Mr Sharpe wanted the meeting over as quickly as I did. Neither of us mentioned that he had seen me in the pub with Rose; nor did he ask where Millicent was, nor how things were at home. He knew we were having difficulties, he said. It was perhaps to be expected that Max was acting out. Had we spoken to Max about what he had done, about why he had punched Ravion Stamp?

  Yes.

  Ravion Stamp did not have a spectrum disorder, as Max appeared to believe. He was a normal little boy. He and Max did not like each other, but they would be going on to different secondary schools after the summer break.

  All right.

  Perhaps we should leave it at that, then?

  Perhaps we should.

  We shook hands and left it at that.

  Caroline. I had completely forgotten about Caroline. Something – Norway? Arla? the arrest? – had erased her from my mind.

  She rang me as I left the school, asked if I would meet her for lunch at a members’ club near Manchester Square. And I went, although in truth I did not know why. It was Millicent who needed my help now, not I who needed Caroline’s.

  But I had asked to see Caroline; it had taken strength for her to ring me. She was waiting for me in the Welles dining room. It was just after half past twelve; the room was almost empty. She looked comfortable here in the club, in her elegantly expensive clothes, at this elegantly expensive table, with its lead crystal and its starched linen. She didn’t stand up, and for a moment I wondered whether I should bend and kiss her. Then a waiter appeared, and I sat down and ordered a good whisky.

  She smiled, and raised her water glass to me. She had grown her hair longer now and wore it drawn back, wound tight on to the crown of her head, where it was held with long pins. There were tiny lines around her mouth and eyes.

  ‘I wanted to apologise to you,’ I said. ‘But I’m not sure where to start.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise to me, Alex. You were very young.’

  ‘Twenty-seven isn’t young. Twenty-seven is should know better.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said.

  From above the fireplace a muscular man in a military uniform leaned forwards from the back of his horse, his sword extending outwards into the room.

  ‘Is he one of yours?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘he’s not one of mine. Mine are downstairs somewhere.’

  A waiter appeared beside me with a large tumbler of whisky on a small tray. I took it and put it on the table in front of me. I dipped my finger into my water glass and let three drops fall into the whisky.

  Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘How can you be so deft, and yet so gauche, Alex?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But the whisky’s too good not to. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

  ‘It’s not as if anyone’s going to judge me by your behaviour. They may, of course, judge you. But you have
n’t been my problem for a very long time, have you, Alex?’

  I stared at her, uncertain of what to say. She called over a waiter, ordered a bottle of wine.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I hadn’t planned to come here and be angry with you. It isn’t as if I can’t see that you’ve changed. You have a wife, and a son, and I’m sure you love them both very much. But then you needle me about where I come from, as if there’s anything I can do about my family, and it’s as if you haven’t changed in the slightest. It’s an accident of birth, Alex. Nothing more.’

  ‘And yet we’re here,’ I wanted to say, looking at the portraits on the wall. ‘Amongst your equals and my betters.’

  She was right, though. Something in me still wanted to lash out at her, even now. I have to stop rushing to judgment.

  ‘I have a temper,’ I said at last. ‘It attaches itself to the wrong targets. To the people I love. I don’t know why. I can see it now, and now that I know about it, I don’t behave as badly as I did to you. But it’s still there, and sometimes I take it out on Millicent, or on Max.’

  ‘I see.’ A look of concern crossed her face.

  ‘Never physically,’ I said. ‘I would never.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I think I learned it from my father.’

  ‘From your father?’

  ‘He came home angry from the Korean War. No one helped him. It got too much for him eventually. Although I always knew he loved me.’

  At this she looked troubled.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I’m not placing the blame for what I did to you at his door. I betrayed you, and when you asked me to leave you alone I harassed you.’

  She made to speak. But the waiter arrived with the wine. I insisted she taste it. She ordered a goat’s cheese salad, and I ordered the same.

  ‘You don’t have to accept my apology, Caroline. But I do have a need to apologise to you.’

  ‘Alex,’ she said, ‘you said your anger attaches itself to the people you love.’

  ‘Most strongly, yes.’

  She took a swig of wine.

  ‘How deliberate is your choice of words?’

  ‘Deliberate.’

  ‘You loved me, Alex.’ Almost like Millicent on that day thirteen years ago. ‘You loved me.’ Almost an accusation. ‘Well, I never knew.’