Shed No Tears
Page 36
And suffocating, in my experience. A bond so tight it makes a move across the other side of the Atlantic seem almost unimaginable, because of the base and desperate need to be near to the one person who knows you better than you know yourself.
The bad you.
The good and bad you.
The real you, not just the edited highlights.
“She said she regretted getting you involved, for what it’s worth,” I say.
“And she said you had a bright future, for what that’s worth.”
Steele jumps in. “I think in her own warped way, you meant a lot to her, Olly.”
Cairns sees right through us. “Ah, you don’t have to dress it up, Kate. I had a soft spot for you, but I had a blind spot for her. She knew that and she played me brilliantly. She knew I was dying and that I’d always felt guilty about giving her that case. She should have been on leave, or at least on reduced hours, while Paul was bad, but she was adamant she was fine and I wanted to show faith in her. It was a stupid decision. My loyalty was supposed to be to the victims, not to her, but like I said—blind spot.” He swallows. “So I lied to you. I said I’d micromanaged her so you’d shift the blame for any mistakes in the investigation onto me. Truth is, I wasn’t managing her enough. I was giving her free rein, trying to show I trusted her. And in doing that, I literally let her get away with murder. I could have gone to my grave without knowing that, I tell you.”
“What she did wasn’t your fault, Olly. In her mind, Holly Kemp had to be stopped and she’d have found a way—any way—to do it.” Steele gets up off the sofa, moves to a chair next to the bed, next to me. “You shouldn’t have agreed to take the blame for her, though. Your reputation, your legacy, all your cases, for pity’s sake, could have been called into question if this had gone much further.”
“She was desperate,” he says simply. “She said you were looking into the case again and she knew you were going to find gaps. And she was good, Kate, convincing. She admitted she’d fucked up. Said her head was so full of Paul and the boys and what was going to happen to them all that she hadn’t explored every avenue when it came to Holly Kemp and it was going to come back to bite her, wreck her career.” He runs a hand through his white hair, his face pained, almost reliving the conversation. “Lord, I felt guilty. So guilty. I blamed myself for not keeping a close enough eye on her. So when she asked me, begged me, to say that she’d told me about other theories but that I’d ordered her to focus on Masters, I couldn’t say no. And more importantly, I believed what she told me. I had no reason not to. Even when it came out about the bank records, I still believed she’d done it for the right reasons—because she genuinely believed Masters killed Holly and she didn’t want the case railroaded.” He shakes his head, staring out the window. “Do you know what she actually said? ‘You’re retired now, you don’t need the pension, what can they do to you?’ She might as well have said, ‘You’ll be dead by Christmas, take one for the team, boss.’ Thing is, though, she had a point. I’ve plenty of money. I’m pretty much untouchable—that’s one perk of dying. Whereas there she was, at the peak of her career, a whole load to lose, and two lads who’ve already lost their father. Tell me, Kate, what would you have done?”
Steele’s saved from answering by the sound of her phone ringing. “Blake.” She stands and walks into the corridor, leaving me and Cairns smiling awkwardly at each other.
“It’s been one hell of a month,” I say, just for something to say. I think by now I’ve complimented every single feature of the room, and in any case, it feels weird to be quite so enthusiastic about a place he clearly wishes he never laid eyes on.
“It has indeed, Cat, but to hell with it. Enough of this doom and fecking gloom. Tell me something happy, would you? Didn’t you have a date the other week? The first night you came around to mine with Kate.”
Two Thursdays ago. Aiden and the Americans. The conversation we still haven’t quite had. Not conclusively, anyway.
“Oh yeah, right. Well, it wasn’t a date exactly. I was meeting my boyfriend’s work colleagues.”
“Nice crowd?”
“Yeah. Yeah, they were.”
“And your boyfriend’s a nice fella?” He laughs at himself. “Lord God, would you listen to me? ‘Is he a nice fella?’ As if he’d be your boyfriend if he wasn’t a nice fella. You lose the art of small talk when you live on your own.”
“He is a nice fella, yeah. He’s Irish,” I add.
“Is he now?” This seems to please him. “And what part of the motherland does he hail from?”
“Mayo.”
“A Mayo man. Well, then he would be a nice fella. Hang onto him.”
“I’ll try.”
I smile, but Cairns senses something beneath the surface. Dad swears blind that Grandad Pat went like this in his last few months—beady-eyed and perceptive, like a medieval witch.
“You’re not sure about him, no?”
“Oh yeah, I am, but . . .” I rack my brains for something bland. “It’s complicated, that’s all.”
“No, it’s not.” He smiles, sinking down into the pillows a little; our visit has taken it out of him. “You know, I promised myself I wouldn’t become one of those ‘things only the dying know’ bores, but I will tell you something, Cat. At the end of it all, jobs, careers, nice houses, flash cars”—he grins at my bag, at the haul of goodies poking out the top—“fancy shower gels . . . They don’t mean anything. All you have are relationships. And relationships are never complicated. They either work or they don’t. They make you happy or they don’t. Look at me and Moira. When the fun stopped, we stopped. Life doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”
I nod earnestly, swallowing the bubble of tears in my throat.
“Even what’s happening inside of me, that isn’t complicated. It’s just biology. Biology gone bad, some might say, but that’s not how I see it. It’s just the biological luck of the draw, that’s all.” He raises his hand, a tiny salute. “So there you go now, Cat, love. If stage four prostate cancer isn’t complicated, I’m damn sure dating a nice Mayo man isn’t.”
What do you say to that?
How about dating a nice Mayo man whose sister died a horrible, violent death as an indirect result of your father’s utter selfishness.
Oh, and he has no idea about any of this.
Complicated enough for you?
For one beautiful, liberating second, I think about saying it. I imagine splitting the vein, telling the secret, sucking the poison right out, here in the company of this kind, uncomplicated man.
But instead I tell him another secret. Something no one else knows. Something I only realized myself just now, when Cairns talked about life boiling down to who makes you happy and who doesn’t.
“I’ll tell you what is bloody complicated, sir. Applying for a B-2 visa.” I move my chair in closer, taking hold of his hand. “I haven’t even told Her Majesty, so to misquote the song, don’t start spreading the news just yet. But . . . I’m moving to New York.”
Acknowledgments
As always, I’m hugely grateful to the wonderful Katherine Armstrong at Bonnier and Emily Griffin at Harper US. Behind these editor extraordinaires, there are also teams of equally wonderful people working hard to bring my stories to the widest possible audience—special thanks to Ciara Corrigan, Clare Kelly, Felice McKeown, Nico Poilblanc, Alex Allden, Ruth Logan, Ilaria Tarasconi, Heather Drucker, Kristin Cipolla, and Kim Racon. High-fives are also due to Jon Appleton for his beady-eyed copyedit.
Immeasurable thanks to my agent, Eugenie Furniss, who maintains the perfect balance of passionate cheerleader and calming voice of reason in every single situation.
To Alan Howarth, for helping me keep Cat’s world authentic (and for never losing patience with my endless stream of procedural questions!).
To friends and family, your continued support means everything—Mum, Dad, the Naughton and Frear families, Helen, Cat, Carla, Fiona, Steph, Lee Whittlesea
(not a gangster brought down by Tessa Dyer, but a very dear friend), and many, many more. And the crime writing community—there really are far too many of you lovely lot to mention, but special air-kisses to The Ladykillers (long may we lunch).
Colin Scott too—you keep me sane, you keep me laughing, you keep me writing. Genuinely, thank you.
And of course, Neil—who not only makes me feel like the only girl in the world, but the best living writer too. It’s hard to sum up how grateful I am—keep up the good work, baby. I love you.
About the Author
CAZ FREAR has a degree in History & Politics, and when she’s not agonizing over snappy dialogue or incisive prose, she can be found shouting at Arsenal football matches. Her first Cat Kinsella mystery was Sweet Little Lies. She grew up in Coventry, England, where she now lives.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Caz Frear
Sweet Little Lies
Stone Cold Heart
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SHED NO TEARS. Copyright © 2020 by Caz Frear. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Originally published in Great Britain in 2020 by Zaffre
FIRST U.S. EDITION
Cover design by Joanne O’Neill
Cover photograph © Westend61/Getty Images
Digital Edition DECEMBER 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-297987-2
Version 10232020
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-297985-8
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, M5H 4E3
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida
Uttar Pradesh 201 301
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com