Page 61 of Carbon

Shit. “So that’s it? You just look for him, and if you find him, he’s going straight to jail?”

“When I find him. Not if. When. He’ll have a trial first, but I doubt he’ll get bail. He’s already proven he’s a flight risk.”

Nye sounded so confident that the last bit of hope I had for Ben leached away. “I can’t help you anymore.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I don’t know anything.”

He shook his head, and his next words sent a chill down my spine. “I’m not so sure about that.” His eyes didn’t leave mine as he stood up. “Right, I’m going to search the cottage and then have a chat with your mother. Wish me luck.”

What was that saying about keeping your friends close but your enemies closer? If there was something in the cottage, I wanted to see.

“Can I come? Not to talk to Mother, but to the cottage?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in helping?”

“It’s better than sitting here.”

He thought for a few seconds, then sighed. “Okay, as long as you don’t touch anything. Are you getting dressed first?”

I looked down at myself, still wearing flannel pyjamas decorated with children’s cartoon characters. “I should probably take a shower.”

“In that case, I’ll speak to Carolyn first and get it over with.”

“Nye?”

He paused halfway to the door. “What?”

“Good luck.”

* * *

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” I asked Nye.

“The police have released the scene now.”

“You have a key?”

“Your father left it for me. Remember, don’t touch anything.” He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and then opened the door.

I’d never been inside the caretaker’s cottage, not even when Gerald lived there, and it seemed nobody had redecorated since the seventies. I inhaled deeply, hoping to smell some trace of Ben, but all I got was the mustiness of old carpet and faded wallpaper. If not for his belongings still scattered around, I’d have wondered whether he ever existed.

The front door opened straight into the tiny lounge, and Nye stood in the centre for five long minutes, thinking, as his eyes took in the details. Black fingerprint powder covered every surface, and the tattered remains of blue and white crime scene tape hung from the door frame.

Nye wandered through to the kitchen, where clean dishes were stacked up in the drainer next to the sink, before heading up the narrow staircase. I should have been here on Saturday night following a very different man to the first floor, and I wanted to scream at the injustice of it. What cruel quirk made fate snatch our happiness away from us?

“Looks as if Beau left in a hurry,” Nye said. “Doesn’t seem like he took much.”

Nye was right. Toiletries still sat on the bathroom vanity unit, and when he opened the wardrobe, clothes filled the shelves. The place sat frozen in time, waiting for an owner who would never return.

“What did my mother say?” I asked Nye as he pulled open the top drawer in the battered wooden chest opposite the bed. Underpants were folded neatly on one side, socks on the other.

“Nothing useful. A handful of expletives, some rambling about Angelica’s many talents, and then she started crying. I don’t think Dorothy likes me now either.”

“Why?”

“She glared at me like the tears were my fault.”

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