Joe

I had no words for how it felt to watch them arrest Harry. My protests that the gun was indeed mine fell on deaf ears, and as the lead officer closed the van doors on Harry, he turned to me with a smug leer.

“I suggest you get your story straight and then come and find me, because until then, I’m holding your friend. And don’t think I won’t charge him, because I will. Just like I’d have charged you if you’d coughed to it when I asked.”

“You know it’s not his.”

“I only know what I’m told,” the officer said. “And he’s saying it is.”

My fists twitched. I could smash this bloke’s face in any day of the week and still sleep like a baby, but I didn’t have time for that shit. If he was serious about charging Harry, then I had to find Jonah, Dicky . . . anyone who I could pin that damn-fucking gun on.

“Of course,” the officer continued when I didn’t respond. “I could take your new statement seriously and believe that the gun belongs to you, but I don’t think you really want me to do that.”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t want you to take it seriously?” I spat.

“Because you haven’t thought it through. I’m familiar with everyone who lives and works on this farm, Mr. Carter, but your record makes a more interesting reading than most. Add a firearms charge onto that and I doubt you’d see the light of day for quite some time. Think on that while I question your friend.”

The police left the farm, taking Harry with them, and the yard was plunged into sudden darkness. Mani called to me. Dazed, I went to him and brooded fruitlessly against his neck until I remembered Shadow.

I trudged to the top field to fetch him in, but he wouldn’t come. A month ago, I’d have hurdled the gate and chased him around. Now, I didn’t have the stomach for it—literally—or the time to sit on the fence and wait for him.

“Joe?”

I tossed an unseeing glance over my shoulder. “Em, go back inside. There’s no reason for us both to be out in the rain.”

“Never stopped you putting me to work before.” Emma hopped up on the fence beside me. “Why are you shouting at him? You know that makes him more stubborn.”

“I don’t know anything. If I did, we wouldn’t be in this mess, eh?”

“That’s not fair, but we can’t let Harry take the rap for this. Even a minor charge could ruin his career.”

“It’s not a minor charge. Jonah stashed a sawn-off in Shadow’s stable.”

Emma’s sharp intake of breath seemed unnaturally loud. “A gun? Where the hell did he get it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. If we know where it came from, then we’re a step closer to getting Harry off the hook. He could go to prison for firearm possession.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” My shout rang out across the dark field. Somewhere in front of us, Shadow snorted and stamped his feet. I sighed, and the sensation of wandering amongst nightmares returned. “I don’t know what he was thinking when he said the gun was his. Or if he even knew that’s what he was coughing for. But I won’t let it stand. If I can’t straighten this out with Jonah, I’ll find a way of proving it’s mine.”

“Joe, they’ll put you away for years with your record.”

“So? That’s better than Harry taking the heat.”

“Neither of you should be taking the heat. It’s Dad’s gun—or, at least, he brought it here. Just tell the police that.”

I shook my head. Even if I could bring myself to do it, the police had already decided that my word was bollocks enough to ignore. If they got their hands on my father, that was one thing, but I’d heard through the grapevine that he’d gone to ground—Dicky too. Which meant that while the coppers had someone already fessing up, they wouldn’t much care about hearsay.

Emma whistled and then called to Shadow in a sweet tone I rarely heard from her. The bastard ambled over like a motherfucking Labrador, and the defeat only added to the weight in my chest. I passed her Shadow’s head collar and slid off the fence. “I’m going to find Jonah. If I’m not back by morning, I’ve probably killed him.”

* * *

I’d spent more of my life than I cared to remember searching for my father, but I searched for him now with a new urgency. His bedsit was dark and silent, and I came up blank at his usual haunts, but where on any other night I might’ve given up and gone home, tonight I pressed on and drove northwards, out of town towards Bodmin.

Jonah had taught me to gallop on the moors—to loosen the reins and set a horse free the way you couldn’t in a fenced-off field. Over the years, I’d come to prefer beach riding or hacking through the woods, but I remembered the little shacks Jonah had sheltered us in when the weather had caught us out. There was one in particular that had been his favourite. Off the beaten hikers’ path, it was perfect for an old drunk to hole up in.

Not so perfect for finding your way to it in the dark, but despite my many flaws, my sense of direction was pretty hot, and my father and grandpa both had taught me to recognise landmarks that were unlikely to change much as the years rolled by—ancient trees and the shape of the hills. With the help of the moonlight, I was set.

The shack I had in mind was a mile away from the road. I ditched the van at a tourist spot and set off on foot. Twenty minutes later, I saw the shack in the distance. No lights, but as I got closer, I smelled my father’s cherry tobacco, and relief warred with dread in the pit of my stomach. Somehow, I knew that by morning, nothing would ever be the same.

I came up on the shack like a ninja and burst through the door. My father was huddled in a sleeping bag on the floor, a neat cluster of empty beer cans and an open bottle of vodka beside him. He looked up at me and his eyes held little surprise.

He’d been expecting me.

* * *

Harry

So this was what it was like to be arrested. Rhys had often described his wayward younger years to me, but I reckoned that London police stations were nothing like the rural shithole I found myself in now.

For starters, the place was deserted. Aside from me, two plain-clothes officers, and desk sergeant, there were no other souls to be seen. I had no idea what had happened to the dozen officers who’d converged on the farm.

And no one seemed likely to tell me when I was the one answering the questions.

“Tell me again,” the male officer said. “What are you doing on Whisper Farm?”

“Working,” I said. “I rented a room through Airbnb. The receipt is on my phone. I already gave you the passcode.”

I’d done that as a distraction, remembering a conversation I’d overheard Rhys and his friends having years ago when getting picked up by the police had been their regular weekend party trick. “Give them everything they don’t need. Keep ’em busy while you get your story straight.”

The useless data on my phone had kept the CID officers occupied for a couple of hours, but I’d yet to figure out the second part—the explanation for the first real gun I’d ever laid eyes on, and just why I’d felt the need to claim it was mine.

Yeah, that’s right, because it had been clear from the start that the detectives knew full well that I was lying through my teeth.

“Why are you protecting Jonah Carter?” And I had no answer for them, because it wasn’t Jonah Carter I was trying to protect—it was the rest of them. Even without whatever was between Joe and me, I couldn’t live with the fear I’d witnessed in Emma and Sal when the police had thrown Joe to the ground.

“Not my boy.”

“Not again. We can’t lose him.”

I hadn’t known about the gun at the time. From what Emma had said up to that point, I’d imagined a haul of fake number plates or some knocked-off designer gear. If I’d seen the shotgun beforehand, would I have done anything different? Pondering it was a welcome distraction from my fate if the detectives began to take me seriously, but I wasn’t any closer to an answer to that either.

The police called a timeout on the interview and I was led to the front desk to make a phone call. Lacking any better ideas, I called Rhys, but he didn’t answer. So I called the farm.

Sal answered. “Joe’s not here,” she said before I could ask. “He’s out looking for his father. I’m so sorry, Harry. We’ll fix this, I promise.”

I glanced around, mindful of the desk sergeant, and turned my back on him. “That’s okay. I’m sure it will work itself out.”

“If it doesn’t, Joe will step up.”

“I don’t want him to step up.”

“I know, sweet boy, but if you think he’s going to let you do time for his father’s mistakes, then you don’t know him at all.”

I closed my eyes to the hopeless gravity of it. My heart knew that the police weren’t going to charge me for possession of a firearm. Joe’s panic when I’d claimed responsibility for the gun had highlighted me as bait, and the detective who’d brought me in had been shrewd enough to see it. I knew they wouldn’t charge me, and the detective knew it, but Joe didn’t. And he couldn’t deliver his father, he’d put himself in the frame, and I was getting the impression that the younger Carter scalp would do if Jonah couldn’t be found. “Listen, Sal. They can hold me for twenty-four hours without charging. Tell Joe to do what he can with that time. Right now, that’s all we can do.”

There wasn’t much else to say. If Sal knew that I’d put myself forward as a distraction, I couldn’t tell, and I hung up with mixed emotions. One day I’d understand the instant bond I’d had for this family, but today wasn’t that day.

I was towed to a holding cell and given the worst sandwich in the world and a bottle of water. The CID detectives informed me that they’d be back for me later, but when an hour stretched to two, and then three, I began to wonder if something had happened.