Page 94 of Playing By Ear

“There was a community center beside the bus stop—it’s long shut now—and someone in there phoned 999. Someone else moved me inside the center so I wouldn’t hear…” Jamie sniffed dryly, not quite sniffling. “Apparently it was a bright day, so the shade was up on my pushchair, so I didn’t see. Not that I would remember if I had seen.”

“Was your mum—” He didn’t know how to ask this, or whether he should.

“It was quick, so they said. Maybe that’s the story they told us kids to make us feel better. They said she didn’t suffer.”

But she had suffered, from a condition that was still misunderstood by many. How many women, Perry wondered, had lost hope in the throes of brain-chemistry fluctuations brought on by hormonal changes and sleepless nights?

Perry slipped his arms around Jamie. “I’m sorry she wasn’t part of the life you remember.”

Jamie nestled his face into Perry’s neck. “Sometimes it feels like my fault. It’s stupid, but if I’d not been born, she wouldn’t have got depression, and she’d probably still be alive. Or maybe I was a pain in the arse to care for.”

“All babies are pains in the arse. That’s why they’re cute, so people will love them anyway.”

“I know it’s not rational. What’s even less rational is wishing someone had pushed her in front of that bus. Then I’d have a-a crusade to bring them to justice, you know?”

The notion pinged Perry’s journalistic Spidey sense. “Is it possible someone did that?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie pulled away and picked up his mug. “Yesterday I asked Evan to check for me.”

“Oh.” Perry’s breath rushed out in relief. “Ben said you’d given Evan a slip of paper. I was curious, but then after”—he paused, not saying after my world imploded—“I forgot. Can Evan find answers?”

“Maybe. He’s got access to police files, whatever PIs can legally look through. If nothing else, he can check ONS records for her cause of death and whether there was an inquest.”

Perry waited for him to explain why anyone would want to kill his mother. But no more words came.

He stroked Jamie’s back. “Thank you for telling me. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

“It was so much easier than I thought it’d be.” Jamie huffed out an astonished laugh. “I don’t open up to people, Perry. Like, ever. Not to make you feel special or anything.”

Perry pulled Jamie close and just held him. He wasn’t special, they were. Perhaps only together could they find the courage to be real.

“It must be important if you wanted to talk at the BNB,” Belinda said as they strolled along the edge of Hogganfield Loch with their coffee and treats from Rita’s Sweeties.

“It is.” Jamie looked back at her bodyguard, Rory, who was close enough to ward off trouble but not close enough to hear them.

After sharing his mum’s sudden demise with Perry, Jamie had lain awake half the night planning what to say to Belinda, how to convince her to make peace with the Coyles by selling off the business. The MacKrays had seen so much death, anyone would think them cursed—or, fairly, that they’d brought it on themselves. Maybe Jamie now held the key to changing the family’s destiny.

They arrived at the Bad News Bench, where Jamie used his boot to scrape off a dried-up, thematically appropriate splotch of bird shite from the edge of the seat before sitting down.

Belinda handed Jamie a phone with a steel-gray case. “From now on, use this to call or text anyone in the firm or the family.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me. It’s completely private.” She pushed the power button. The screen displayed two icons: the Android logo and a stylized M. “It’s got dual operating systems. A normal one and a hidden one.”

Jamie took the phone and thumbed the M. A rudimentary screen appeared, with icons only for text, phone, and email, plus a red warning-sign triangle.

Belinda pointed at the triangle with a long, rose-gold fingernail. “That’s the panic wipe. Tap it, put in your PIN, and it erases all your messages like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Also, the phone has no camera, GPS, or microphone, even in normal mode.”

“How do you know it’s secure? Whoever makes these phones could hack into them, right?”

“Firstly, no, they’re unhack-able, and secondly…” She gazed lovingly at the phone in Jamie’s hand. “They’re ours.”

“We make these?” He caught himself. “I mean, you make these? MacKray Enterprises?”

“Our developers created the operating system. Aunt Norma says it’s perfectly legal, which infuriates the police and MI5.” She smirked. “Not to mention the FBI, DEA, BfV…”

“Who’s that last one?”