“Then why keep you alive? The wheels were coming off his whole scheme. If you weren’t with him, wouldn’t it have been better to put you and Jones in the frame?”
“Maybe. But he would never have done that. Not to me, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she said, standing and moving backwards, away from me. “He was my father.”
“Stan Leckie was your father?” I said, rooted to the spot.
She nodded.
“Are you serious?” I said.
“One hundred percent,” she said.
“And you chose not to share this with me? You didn’t think it might have been a useful thing for me to know?”
She didn’t reply.
“Did anyone else know?” I said, wondering why my control hadn’t briefed me.
“No,” she said. “They didn’t. I’m sorry. I only found out myself four days ago.”
“How did you find out?”
“Remember the time I told you I was following a lead in Leytonstone? Well, I wasn’t. Leckie had called me. He’d asked me to meet him near the Serpentine. He claimed to have information about the case, for my ears only. But when I got there, he dropped this bombshell on me. It was a lot to take in. I needed time to figure out what it meant. You have a father?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him when you were growing up?”
“I did.”
“Then you can’t know what it’s like to spend your whole childhood with such a void in your life. My mother told me he was dead.”
“Why?”
“She’s a lawyer. She was very rich, even back then. She didn’t need his support. Their paths briefly crossed, one time, but it was never something that was meant to last. If they’d told Box about me, there’d have been implications for Leckie’s work. A kid’s a liability for an undercover operative, obviously. There was nothing between them, so they didn’t see the point of making it official. It was easier, and safer for everyone. And just as well for me, given how his career panned out.”
“It was a coincidence, you working for Box too?”
“A complete coincidence. He said he liked it, though, cause he could keep an eye on me.”
“So why tell you now?”
“Because you and I were getting too close to finding out what he was doing. Despite everything, I was his daughter and he didn’t want me to get hurt. And he couldn’t ask Hardwicke to pull me off the case. You can’t wear a different aftershave around a guy like that without him putting two and two together.”
“And the meeting with his snout. Here, at the workhouse. That came up straight afterwards.”
“It did. He was trying to help. He wanted to throw me something that would keep me out of harm’s way, and make me look good at the same time.”
“And something that would keep his misdirection on the rails. He wanted Hardwicke’s eyes firmly on that school.”
“That too, I guess. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away, but it was a lot to process. I’ve been all round the houses. I’ve been in shock. I’ve been confused. I’ve been angry – I even met my mother and screamed at her for lying to me. I’ve been relieved. I don’t even know what else I’ve been. I’ve just been a mess, I suppose.”
“How do you feel now?”
“That’s the funny part. My mother had told me my fictitious dead father was a good man. A good lawyer, if such people exist. And I felt empty and alone. Now, I know my father was what? A scheming psychopath? A man who killed people with wrecking balls and barbed wire? And you know what? I feel happy.”
I didn’t comment, but not for the first time in my life I was glad I’d brought a switchblade with me.
“And here’s why. Do you know what’s really important about my father? Two things are. First, he really, honestly believed what he did was right. He saved innocent lives, too, remember. And second, he could have walked away from this mess alive, with everything he’d worked for intact. But he didn’t. He came here to save me. And he died for me. Imagine that. Someone being prepared to give his life for yours. It’s humbling.”
I didn’t reply.
“The same goes for you, I realise,” she said. “You didn’t have to come back here. I should thank you, too.”
“Even after what I did to your hand?” I said.
“You saved my life. Twice. In one afternoon. Right now I’d consider marrying you.”
I looked away.
“That might be difficult,” I said.
“Why?” she said.
“You’ve got nowhere to put the ring.”
Melissa was still for a moment, then she peeled her left arm away from her chest and held it unsteadily in front of her, with the bloody jagged remnants of her wrist just below eye level. At first I could see her physically battling her neck muscles, forcing herself not to turn away. Ten seconds ticked past. Twenty. Thirty, and she still didn’t flinch.
“Don’t worry,” she said, after forty-five. “I’m not serious about the wedding. But there’s nothing here I can’t deal with.”
“Really?” I said.
“Absolutely,” she said. “Look. I may have no hand, because of you. Probably no job, either. But that’s better than having no breath in my body. My father just gave me back my past. I’m certainly not going to squander my future. I’m going to be a lot more careful how I spend my time, now, in general. And I think you should be, too.”
“I’ll try.”
“I’m serious. No repeats of the last few days. Not the crazy parts, anyway. Like what just happened here. Promise me.”
“I can’t promise. It depends on too many things.”
“What kind of things?”
“People keeping their thieving hands off my boots, for a start.”
MORE HARM THAN GOOD
With Special Thanks To:
Bill Cameron – Cover Design
Stacie Gutting – Copy Editing
Janet Reid – Literary Representation
Tom Robinson - Publicity