Page 28 of The Man Made of Smoke

“Exactly,” I said. “Which means that it wouldn’t have mattered what you said or did, because once he’d made his mind up about something, there wouldn’t have been any changing it.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He hesitated.

“Do you have any idea why—?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t.”

Which remained true, but the question had taken on additional nuance since Fleming had asked me it yesterday. I glanced at the footpath that led away from the car park toward the Reach itself. I knew a little more about my father now. I knew he had been keeping a secret. But whether that had played into whatever happened here remained a secret in itself.

“How was my father when you saw him?” I said.

“Pretty much the same as always.”

“Did it seem to you like he was… troubled by anything?”

“I don’t know.” Aspinall frowned. “When I look back on it, all I keep thinking is that it seemed like he wanted rid of me. Like I was interrupting something, or holding him back. But maybe that’s just me overthinking things because of what happened.”

“Maybe,” I said.

I glanced over at my father’s car, which was the only vehicle parked here right now. Aspinall was a walker; like me, he had arrived here on foot. He followed my gaze and took it as a prompt.

“Ah, God, sorry. You’ll be wanting these.”

He got the keys out of his pocket and passed them to me.

“There’s no need to apologize,” I said. “But yes, I do. Thank you.”

“I locked it for safekeeping. I’m sure it would have been okay, but you get kids up here messing around sometimes.”

“I remember.”

I unlocked my father’s car and eased myself into the driver’s seat. Out of habit, I started to place my hands on the steering wheel—ten-to-two, my son—but that conjured up a memory of him attempting to teach me to drive, and I released my grip. Our growing frustration and impatience with each other back then had quickly put a stop to those lessons.

Pay attention.

Was that his voice or mine? I glanced around the car. My father had driven to his death in this vehicle, and yet it was as clean and well maintained as the house. There were no signs of disarray. Nothing that suggested a distressed state of mind. Nothing that—

Aspinall tapped on the window.

I wound it down.

“Look.” There was an awkward expression on his face. “I’m not sure if this is the right thing to tell you or not, but if I don’t then it’ll just bother me until I do. And I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again.”

“Then you should do it now,” I said.

“When your father and I were speaking… well, I asked about you. Just casual conversation, you know? The way you do. And he said you were doing great.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah.” Aspinall paused. “He said he was very proud of you.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s a shame he didn’t tell me that, isn’t it?”

Aspinall blinked quickly.

“God. I’m sorry, Dr. Garvie. I just—”

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