Page 31 of The Man Made of Smoke

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She held up her hand, showing her wedding ring. “I don’t know if he’s still wearing his. All I know is that your father—if that’s who it was—came to see him, and then everything went to shit. The day after that, Darren was gone. I haven’t seen him since.”

The information sent a ripple of alarm through me.

My father had a strong sense of justice, but he was also an impulsive man who struggled with his temper. Given the reason for his visit here, I hoped he hadn’t done something stupid. The idea seemed ridiculous, and I tried to tell myself that. Except it was clear that he had kept this investigation to himself, and equally obvious that I had no real idea what had been going through his head these past few weeks. Perhaps the answer towhyhe had taken his life was that he’d snapped and done something his conscience wouldn’t allow him to live with.

But I didn’t want to believe that.

“So you don’t know where Darren is now?” I said.

“Probably withher, whoever she is.”

“What do you mean?”

“You got a sister?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I just wondered. The two of them went off into another room to talk, and I couldn’t hear any of that. But your father said something about an island, and that he wanted to talk to Darren about a woman. He was too old to be someone’s angry husband, so I thought that maybe Darren might have been messing around with his daughter.”

I didn’t reply.

The island. The woman.

I knew exactly who my father had been referring to, but of course there was no way I could explain that to Darren Field’s wife. A moment later, she mistook my silence for awkwardness.

“It’s fine, by the way,” she said. “I don’t give a shit about that. I’ve got used to it over the years. Don’t ask, don’t tell. A part of me always knew what I was getting into when I got involved with him, but I never thought the bastard would actually leave me. Although I should be glad he’s gone, shouldn’t I? Strike that, actually—Iamglad he’s gone.”

She was too hurt for that to be true.

“Did my father seem angry?” I said.

“Not really. The two of them were both very serious, though. When they came out of the room, they both seemed kind ofgrim. Darren wouldn’t tell me about it. No surprises there. We hadn’t been talking much anyway. He was a bit shaken about something, though, and I was worried about him.” She laughed without humor. “What a fucking idiot, right? He was just building up to making his decision. I see that now.”

“I’m sorry.”

People come up with explanations based on the facts they have and, in terms of Darren Field’s disappearance, it was clear to me why his wife had settled on the one she had. But she didn’t have access to the same facts that I did. My father had come here to talk to Field about a murdered woman.

And then Field had vanished.

If my father hadn’t seemed angry, then that was something to cling to, at least. And Field had not left with him that day, which was probably something else. But the feeling of alarm had not lifted.

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“Don’t be.” She shook her head. “I already told you. I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Well, then. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

I turned away.

“But you’ll tell me if you hear from him?” she said quickly. “I mean—you might right? Because if your father knew him, he might get in touch? About the funeral, or whatever?”

I looked back.

The suspicion on her face had been replaced by quiet desperation now, and her fingers were clutching the edge of the door. I felt slightly sick inside. She needed reassurance I was in no position to give, and she was asking me to make a promise that I might not be able to keep.

And yet it seemed unfair to leave her with nothing.

“I’ll try,” I said.

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