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I just shook my head, mumbled, ‘Nothing.’
Haven’t you done enough? Nanna would have said.
‘He likes his camo, doesn’t he?’ Duckworth asked. It sounded as if he was talking to himself. Musing.
‘I’m sorry?’ my mother said.
‘Camouflage trousers.’
‘Matty doesn’t wear camo,’ I told him.
‘Maybe you just haven’t seen it.’
‘It’s not exactly his style. He’s more of a cashmere and Oxfords kind of guy.’
The other detective cut in. ‘Mrs Brennan, I wonder if we could ask you a personal question.’ He flicked his eyes in my direction. ‘It might be best in private.’
My mother nodded again, motioned for me to go to my room. She’d been rendered practically speechless ever since the revelation about Matty’s parents.
I wondered whether she’d had the same thought as me when they mentioned the hatchet. If her brain had gone straight to the one in Matty’s sports bag.
I hesitated a moment, thinking maybe I could persuade her to let me stay, then figured I’d learn more by appearing to acquiesce. I could hear plenty with my bedroom door open.
Jones waited till I’d gone, then cleared his throat.
‘Did Matty ever hurt you, Mrs Brennan? Abuse you physically or sexually?’
I heard the embarrassment in my mother’s voice.
‘No, of course not.’
‘And in your, erm. . . personal relations, did he ever suggest bondage or any sort of rough activities?’
‘No. God.’
‘What about anal sex?’ Duckworth asked. Unlike Jones, he didn’t have the manners to sound uncomfortable.
‘I’m a Christian, detective.’
‘So that’s a no?’
‘Of course it’s a no.’
‘And he never hurt your daughter? Never touched her inappropriately?’
‘No, he did not.’
A swell of acid rolled around my stomach, a sickly feeling in my throat. I’d never told her about the night Matty couldn’t find a towel, still didn’t know what it meant. Or if it counted as ‘inappropriate’.
‘Ever notice any mud on his camo trousers?’ Duckworth asked.
‘What?’
‘Ever seen—’
‘My daughter already told you. He doesn’t wear camo.’
‘What about his apartment? Ever notice anything there? Stains, a bad smell. Anything strange.’
