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Abraham thinks of Lucy Locke. ‘Yes,’ he lies. ‘Very much so.’
‘Will Daniel Locke make a full recovery?’
‘I can’t comment.’
‘Are you going to arrest him?’
That question comes from Emma Douglas. It forces him to confront her. ‘At this time,’ he says, ‘our efforts are focused squarely on recovering Fin and Billie Locke.’
Emma opens her mouth for another question. Hepre-empts her, raising his hands. ‘That’s it for now. Thanks for coming out. Please take care on the roads during the storm clear-up.’
Abraham turns his back. Emma asks her question anyway. ‘Did Daniel Locke kill his children for money, or was there some other reason?’
2
Abraham doesn’t recognize the officer stationed outside Daniel Locke’s room. He introduces himself and shows his warrant card. ‘Been here long?’
‘About four hours, sir.’
‘Had any breakfast?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Moment you get a chance, make sure you do. And sit down while you have it – none of this eating on the go. The hospital’s given Locke the all-clear?’
‘Just now.’
Abraham glances at Cooper and the uniformed officers he brought along. ‘Let’s do this.’
3
Seventeen hours since he last saw Daniel Locke. Amazing, the difference. Gone is the Bair Hugger, the saline drip and the vital-signs monitor. Locke sits in an easy chair by the window, wearing hospital-issue clothes. His gaze is fixedon his lap, leg jigging to a silent beat. In one hand he holds a writing pad, in the other a sharpened pencil. His skin looks flushed, almost like he has sunburn. He doesn’t acknowledge his visitors with a look. The leg jig speeds up a notch. Then it stills.
‘Daniel Locke,’ Abraham says. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Fin and Billie Locke.’ He follows with the standard script.
When he’s finished, Locke raises his head. His eyes are frightening, their mineral-blue colouring fierce and unyielding – as if they’ve absorbed all the violence of last night’s storm. They’re also wet with unshed tears.
‘Took you long enough,’ he says.
Abraham lets the retort settle. Locke tears the top sheet from his pad. He scrunches it into a ball and drops it into the plastic-lined bin beside his chair. Then, slowly, he stands. Anticipating trouble, the uniformed officers give him space. They’re carrying tasers, PAVA spray and collapsible batons – but they won’t need any of it, because Locke slides the pad and pencil into his pocket and holds out his wrists, ready to be cuffed.
‘This is a hospital, Daniel. Lots of vulnerable people. Unless you’ve a particular desire for trouble, I’ll not add to their burden by parading you past them in handcuffs.’
Locke rolls his shoulders. ‘No trouble from me.’
‘I’ll have to take that pencil.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Their eyes meet.
Nobody moves.
Finally, his gaze drifting to the window, Locke raises his hands above his head. Abraham extracts the pencil from the man’s joggers. In his peripheral vision, he seesCooper bend to the waste bin and retrieve the plastic liner.
Outside, Locke searches the sky. Then he examines Abraham. ‘Fin,’ he says. ‘My son. Did you recover him?’
‘Get in the car.’