Page 87 of The Man Made of Smoke

“There’s corroborating evidence,” I said. “I think that—”

“No, I’m going to forget it ever happened. Because I think that’s what he wants. He wants to punish the people who were there. He wants someone to take on the suffering and live with it. Because we could have helped him, and we didn’t. And now he wants at least one of us towallowin the guilt from that.”

“We need to talk to the police,” I said.

“No! No, no, no!”

“Michael—”

The pounding on the wall intensified. I could hear shouting from behind the plaster, and then felt Sarah put her hand on my arm.

“Dan,” she said. “Stop.”

I looked down. Without realizing it, my fists were clenched.

“We should go,” Sarah said.

Johnson was incoherent now, his body racked by sobs. Despite myself, I wanted to grab hold of him. Drag him out of here.

Force him to go to the police if that was what it took.

Careful, my son.

At the sound of my father’s voice, the anger retreated a little. I took a deep breath and then relaxed my hands. Then I got a business card out of my wallet and put it down on the settee beside him.

“If you change your mind,” I said. “Call me. It might help just to talk.”

“Dan,” Sarah said.

“I’m coming.”

But even out in the corridor, I felt the urge to turn back. I stood by the closed door for a moment, trying to think what I could say to convince Johnson. There must have been words, surely? I should have been able to find them. I was supposed to be able to do that.

Sarah was already heading away, back in the direction of the elevator. Finally, I started after her. It was clear that the encounter in the flat had scared her badly, and I imagined she was also worried that one of Johnson’s neighbors was about to come out and confront us.

She needn’t have worried about that. As I followed her past the flat next door, I could hear that the banging sound had stopped now. Most likely, whoever lived there had just been angry at being disturbed.

Nobody sees, I thought.

And nobody cares.

Twenty-Five

Back in the car, we sat together in silence for a while. I drove slowly and carefully, and Sarah stared out of the passenger window. As we approached the motorway, I said:

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I was scared back there.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

The way Michael Johnson had broken down would have frightened anyone, not to mention what he’d told us. I remembered her face this morning.Do you want to go on an adventure?But at that point it had still been academic, whereas it was another thing entirely to hear the truth in person, and to witness the effect such an experience had on someone. To have it confirmed that something terrible really was happening, and that you had found yourself caught up in it.

Sarah looked at me.

“Are you okay?” she said. “You seemed angry back there. I haven’t seen you like that before.”

“I’m okay.”

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