Page 19 of The Professor
He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. “I don’t want to discuss it with you.”
“Why not? I deserve to know if it has something to do with Mum.”
“I don’t want you to know, not until I’m certain.”
I stood, walked to him. “Vince, I’m not some little kid anymore, tell me.” I set my hand on the cool leather covering his arm. “Please.”
“Okay.” His jaw tensed.
“Spit it out.”
He swallowed tightly. “I think he had something to do with Mum’s death.”
I snapped my hand away and stepped back as though he’d suddenly become electrified. “What are you saying? I mean. No. That’s impossible.” I shook my head. “She died in a car crash, in the lanes, it was foggy, she didn’t see the other car, and the ditch, it was full of water and…” The next words caught in my throat like glass. She’d been knocked unconscious and drowned at the wheel, or at least that was what the pathologist’s report had said.
“Why was she even in the lanes on a foggy night?” Vince said, resuming his search. “And even if she had a reason, she was a good driver, she had a fucking amazing car and would have known where she was going. She’d lived in this area all of her life. Knew it like the back of her hand.”
“I…I…I still don’t know what you’re getting at.” I sat again, heavily this time, my bones suddenly solid and my muscles too weary to hold them.
“I mean, I think Dad wasn’t in London like he said he was. I think he was here. I think they had an argument, she drove off, and he chased her. That’s when she crashed.”
“You think he chased her until she crashed.”
“I have no idea if he meant for her to crash, but the fact is she did.”
“And he just left her to die? In the ditch? He would never do that.”
“Our father is not the man you think he is.” Vince scowled, his dark eyebrows coming together.
“He wouldn’t leave us, or Mum, if we were hurt.”
“So how come I found a receipt in his pocket, a few weeks later, from Giddy’s farm shop with the date and time on it, just hours before Mum died?”
“I don’t know. I was in Ibiza, on Tarquin’s yacht, it was his annual birthday jaunt, I always go.” I frowned. We’d alwaysbelieved Dad’s side of the story, or at least I had. There was no reason not to. “Wouldn’t the police have questioned him about his whereabouts?”
“Yes, they did.” Vince came and shoved his bum onto the desk, folded his arms, and stared down at me. “And he gave Marl Johnson as his alibi. Said they were at The Savoy. Marl even produced a restaurant bill for two…though he didn’t dine with Dad, I’d bet my left bollock on it.”
“I hate that bloke. Marl Johnson.”
“Why?” He raised his eyebrows.
“He’s a leech, and not one true word falls from his mouth.”
“Exactly.” Vince pointed at me. “You’ve hit the nail on the head.”
The dots were joining. “You think he was a false alibi?”
“I do indeed.”
“But that’s a crime.”
“Yep.”
My thoughts were colliding. The grief of losing my mother rising to the surface with this new information. I felt sick. I felt betrayed. I wanted to scream and shout and stamp my feet.
But I just sat there, staring at my biker brother. “You’ve known about this for months?”
“I’ve had my suspicions.”
