Page 44 of The Unforgiven

“A bond matured that was in my name. I didn’t ask any more questions.”

I followed him inside. The hallway was decorated in eighties floral chic, the flooring worn carpet, dusty and frayed, possibly nibbled by mice. “You’re going to need another bond to do it up.”

He laughed, maybe one of the first ten times I’d heard him do so. “I suspect you’ll get a bond too. Mine came at thirty-four for some reason.”

I didn’t say anything, peering into an empty living room with a big open fire that needed cleaning out, and no furniture whatsoever.

“Mia, when it comes through, take it.”

It was as if he could read my mind.

“It’s money from criminal games.”

“Not quite. This was from the legitimate part of the business. We both get a salary because of criminality.”

“Legally earned.”

“He owes it to you. And you won’t get into trouble from taking it.” He opened the door into the kitchen, which was surprisingly modern with a single storey extension creating a place to entertain or watch kids play while you were cooking. “They had this done before they sold it. I think one of the kids was planning on moving in here and managed to get his mother to cough up to have it done. There’s no sense to it; the house needs a new roof rather than a kitchen extension, but I’m not complaining.”

I put the bottle down on the kitchen island, the scent of something good cooking making me feel suddenly hungry.

“Why’ve you moved here, Nate?” I sat down on one of the stools, which definitely did not match the modern kitchen. That must’ve been something the son hadn’t gotten round to.

He opened a bottle of fizz from the fridge and replaced it with the one I’d brought, taking his time to answer.

“A few reasons. I’ve done moving around. I’m thirty-five and I want to be based somewhere.”

“Why not near your gran?” She was the woman who’d brought him up, a proud peacock over her only grandchild, and a woman who’d succeeded when everyone had told her that her grandson was doomed to be a criminal like his father.

He poured the glasses, then sat down opposite me.

“Cheers.” He clinked his glass to mine. “I take it you’ve heard the rumours?”

“You’re seeing Jenna Osei?”

“Those.”

I waited for him to carry on, not needing to hurry the details.

“We met in North Carolina at a conference where I was a keynote speaker. The forensics world isn’t that small, as you know. We talked about you. She knows about Stan – you need to know that, but you don’t because she won’t ever talk about it. We’ve kept in touch the last few months and we wanted to see how it went if I lived closer to her.” He put his glass down. “I’ve avoided Manchester all my life because of Stan, but if I don’t get over that, then Jenna and I won’t last because she won’t move from here.”

“Okay.” I got it. I was envious of it though, which I shouldn’t be.

I hated that word. Should, or any of its derivatives.

“And we get to hang out. There’s no one else in the world that knows what it’s like to be Stan Garrity’s kid and working on the opposite side of the law.” He named it, getting it out there.

Which begged another question. “Have you tracked them all down now? The rest of the half-sibs?”

“The ones I know about. Do you want to know more?”

“No. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” This was a repeat of one of our last conversations four years ago. I didn’t want to know what the other humans I shared DNA with were doing. I had my family and my team, and that was enough. I didn’t need to be curious here; they were not a case. “What’s for dinner?”

“A beef casserole. It’s usually good. And we’ve got strawberries for dessert, with ice cream. So what’ve you been up to since I last saw you? I heard about the promotion.”

I filled him in on what little of it there was. Work, the occasional boyfriend, a house move, a new boyfriend. Running. Fighting. More running. Just to stay still in my case.

“I also heard about the case you solved. The missing kids.”