Page 15 of Worse Than Murder

‘No, they don’t,’ Carl answers for me. ‘The reason why they don’t is because they’re trying their hardest to catch the person responsible. And if they don’t, they know there are many reasons why they didn’t catch him this time. But they will. Eventually.’

‘He killed my family,’ I say, struggling to speak through the pent-up tears.

‘I know. This one is personal. It’s going to feel hard. But you’ve worked on serial killer cases before. They’ve killed others during the investigations while you’ve tried to catch them. You weren’t responsible for those deaths and you’re not responsible for the deaths of your mum and your nephews.’

‘I wish I could believe that.’

‘You will. But not for a while.’

I take a big piece of tart and chew it slowly while I think. I look over at Carl. He’s below average height for his age, not even five foot tall, yet. His hair has lightened in the strong summer sun, but he seems relaxed in his home surroundings. There’s still a pain in his eyes from time to time. He’ll be sitting on the sofa, squashed between two dogs, watching a film, but you can see that he’s somewhere else. I want to ask him where– back in his old house in Sheffield, watching his grandmother get killed? Trapped in the van the kidnappers had bundled him into? In a lonely bedroom in Sweden with a strange couple talking a language he can’t understand? He’s never spoken of what happened there. He’s always said they looked after him. But how much is he suppressing?

‘When did you get to be so wise?’ I ask him.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it, obviously, but don’t let anyone tell you getting kidnapped and sold to a childless couple doesn’t make you grow up,’ he says with a hint of a smile.

‘You’ve missed out on a large part of your childhood.’

He shrugs. ‘But look at what’s happened in its place? Mum and Dad only have one restaurant now. They were building up an empire. I hardly saw them. It took me getting kidnapped for them to realise what was important. Do you think I would have gone on camping holidays with Dad if we were still living in Sheffield and I’d never been taken? I don’t. I’m glad of the mum and dad I have right now.’

That’s given me something to think about. My head sinks to my chest. It sometimes feels too heavy to hold up.

‘I can’t take anything positive from this,’ I tell him.

‘Of course, you can’t. It’s just happened. Everything is still hurting. You’ll never get over what happened to your mum and your nephews. I still picture my gran in the living room, all that blood, but you learn to live with what you’ve got left. You can learn from what happened and adapt. It’s what Mum and Dad did. They sold all the restaurants and moved here.’

‘Maybe I should resign from the police force,’ I say to myself more than to Carl.

‘Would that make you happy?’

‘I don’t think anything will make me happy ever again.’

‘Drama queen,’ Carl says with a smile. ‘Do you know what makes me happy right now?’

‘What?’

‘Three things. Right now, at this moment, three things are making me happy. My two dogs, and this really nice tart.’

‘It is a very good tart.’

‘You don’t need to think about what’s going to make you happy in five years’ time, in ten years’ time. It’s wishing your life away. Just think about right now and the next five minutes. Right now, on this stool, talking to you with my dogs and this great pudding, I’m happy. I’ll be happy when I go back to bed as I’ll have my dogs with me. You build from that.’

‘Bloody hell, Carl, you should give TED talks.’

‘Would I get paid?’ he asks, his eyes wide with anticipation.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Oh. I won’t bother, then.’ He jumps down from the island. ‘I’m going back to bed. School in the morning.’

‘Goodnight, Carl.’

‘Goodnight,’ he says over his shoulder as he and the dogs leave the room.

I think about what Carl’s said. He’s right. I know he’s right. But it’s not easy. Everything is too raw. I look down at what’s left of the almond tart on the plate. I can’t put what remains back in the fridge. I may as well finish it off and apologise to Philip in the morning.

So, what’s making me happy right now? Right at this very moment in time, what is making me happy? Nothing springs to mind.

‘I’m devoid of happiness,’ I say out loud.