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“It’s okay,” she said, her own heart fraying from the emotion of his silent sobs. But he wasn’t listening. He’d gone somewhere else, deep inside, to mourn, to grieve.
She stroked his back, caressed his neck and held him. This was his real release for all the fear and pain and uncertainty, the darkness and intimidation. He clutched her to him and his tears wet her collarbone, and he showed no shame for them.
They dressed the same way they’d undressed; helping each other, stopping to stroke and kiss and fumble. Darcy traced the tear lines on Will’s face and he kissed her fingers. They sat on the floor wrapped in each other’s arms.
“I can die happy now,” he said, finally, closing his eyes, his body more relaxed.
She smiled at his humour until she understood he was serious. They’d not talked. He didn’t know he was free.
“Oh God! I’m an idiot. Will, you’re going to be free. That’s why I’m here. We came to tell you.”
He set her back a little so he could see her face. “You’ve been listening to Pete. It’s not going to be happen, Darcy. If you want to help me you ha
ve to help Pete understand that.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
“I’m resigned to it. I’ve had an incredible life. I’ve done more than I ever dreamed possible and this, this now. I can’t tell you how happy you made me. How fucking scared I am for you, and how much I want to kiss Pete, and bash his head in, for bringing you here.”
She moved, she straddled his outstretched legs, so she could hold his face and look in his eyes. “You didn’t kill Feng.”
“We all want to believe that.”
“You didn’t kill him because he was alive six weeks after the fight.”
“What?”
“I went to Feng’s village with Bo and Robert, the photographer.”
“With Bo?” Will was confused and suddenly agitated. Disbelief was a haze in his expression, but his muscles coiled with tension
“Yes and we have witnesses Feng was alive six weeks after your fight. We have evidence you didn’t kill him.”
“But injuries?”
“You didn’t kill him, Will. He died in a fire.”
“A fire?”
“He went home to his village. He went to his great nephew’s wedding. He donated a basketball court to a youth group, and he started a fight in a restaurant. He caused a fire and died in it.”
Will looked at her as though he was deaf and couldn’t understand a word she was saying.
“You’re innocent, Will. You’re going home.”
He put a hand to his head. “That can’t be.”
“I have photographs. We’ll have witness statements. Pete has a briefing for the Ministry of Justice, and a team of doctors ready to consult on this. You didn’t kill Feng.”
Will was silent. Processing. Pete was right, he’d convinced himself of his guilt. Watching him she got anxious he’d retreat inside his head again, into that place where his most base suspicions and doubts lived.
“Why are you so convinced you killed him?”
He looked at her as though she was a stranger to him, not the woman he’d risked discovery and disaster with, not the woman he’d let see him cry.
“Because I couldn’t know for sure I didn’t.”
“For most people, that would be a reasonable expectation of innocence. Why not for you?”
