by Candice Fox
‘It’s my fault, what happened to you,’ Jessica said. ‘I want to put it right.’
She gave me a chance to speak, but I couldn’t say anything. The words wouldn’t come, so she continued instead.
‘I’m going to accept the bequest of the Brentwood house on Bluestone Lane,’ she said. ‘That’ll exclude me from the LAPD forever, but I have a feeling coming back was going to be difficult anyway.’ She gave a laugh that was tinged by sadness. ‘I’ve been a bad girl lately. Really bad. And our relationship, me and the force, it’s been strained for a while.’
‘Okay,’ I said. It was all I could muster.
‘I want you to go and live in the house,’ Jessica said. ‘If you can afford a dollar a month, that’s what I’ll charge you in rent. You’ll be close to Jamie.’
‘Jessica,’ I said. My hands were shaking. Tears were falling from my own eyes. I wiped at them unsteadily. ‘Why would you . . . Why would . . .’
‘I’m going to do everything I can to get your exoneration up and running,’ Jessica said. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, thinking through it all. ‘It’ll be a long process. There’ll be an official review. A lawyer will take you pro bono for a civil case. I’ll testify, and so will a colleague of mine who’s been helping me, a very kind man. A scientist. I think we’ve got a good shot. More than a good shot. And after your conviction is vacated, you’ll be in a much better place to negotiate more custody of Jamie.’
‘This will ruin you,’ I said. ‘This will ruin your reputation.’
She turned to me and grinned. ‘My reputation? Oh, honey. That was dead and buried a long time ago. There are weeds growing on its grave.’
I went around the counter, grabbed Jessica and held her close. The hug came naturally, spurred by excitement, shock, but in a second it evolved into something else. A fierceness rippled through me. An ache in my bones, the memory of handing my baby over, of every cold, hard night I slept inside the walls and gates of a prison. In a flash I saw Sasha visiting me, sitting on the other side of a glass panel. I saw myself hunched on my bed, poring over photographs of my child. I gripped Jessica while fury and gratitude raged against each other inside me. Without knowing the depth of my confusion, without possibly being able to know, she laughed awkwardly, uncomfortably. A woman who was hurting, who didn’t like to be hugged. When I let her go she stepped away from me, brushed herself off, like she’d come here and said what she needed to say and now didn’t know what to do. She went to the door and stood there, and we stared at each other, the two of us looking across an impossible divide, both on the edge of something new.
‘What the hell are you going to do, then?’ I said. ‘If you can’t be a cop.’
‘I was thinking of starting something of my own,’ she said. ‘A friend suggested it. Something small. A place where I get to pick the cases. Where I get to follow my interests.’ She tapped the burrito stand with her hand, thinking. ‘I might call you up, if you don’t mind. I’ll need help.’
‘You’ll know where to find me,’ I said. She smiled, and I smiled back, because I didn’t yet know what would win in my heart, the anger at this woman or the appreciation. All I knew was that I was bound to her now. The woman who had damned me, and the woman who had saved me. The key to getting my son back, and the very thing that had taken him away in the first place. Jessica was at once my old enemy and my new friend. A little warmth was stirring in me as I stood there. Forgiveness, maybe. What Ada would have called my bleeding heart.
The automatic door buzzer sounded as Jessica walked out into the sunshine.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’m indebted to everyone who helped me during the writing of this book, including my wonderful husband, Tim, my parents, Ocean and Richard, in-laws, Lyn and Dick, and my friends and family. Gaby Naher and Bev Cousins saw me through my classic mid-book crisis, as they always do, and Kristin Sevick and Lisa Gallagher offered invaluable feedback on early drafts. The irreplaceable Kathryn Knight is my main editor. I am represented the world over by wonderful teams of publishers and editors, and without my studies at the universities I have mentioned in previous acknowledgements pages I would not be where I am today in my career.
Dr Liz Morton at the Drummoyne Veterinary Hospital was kind enough to answer some quirky questions on rodent care for me, and fans Alex Maguire and Marcel Thompson helped with research questions. There’s a crime in this novel inspired by an episode of the podcast Sword and Scale by Mike Boudet. Mike also consulted helpfully on ice cream container types.
A serial killer who resided on death row at San Quentin, who I will not name, provided some background material on life on the row and the killer mind.
This was one of the hardest books I have ever written. I wrote draft one while pregnant with my beautiful, clever and funny daughter, Violet. Subsequent drafts came along while I held her, nursed her or watched over her after she was born. Violet, in your tiny life so far you’ve taught me precious lessons about daring, persistence, patience and love, and I’m so thankful to you for them.
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Arrow Books
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Copyright © Candice Fox, 2020
Image: Background © Getty
Design: Alex Ross © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd.
Candice Fox has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books in 2020
(First published in Australia by Bantam in 2020)
www.penguin.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781473563667