EPILOGUE – A Week Later
He suspects, just from how relaxed she seems to be, that Grace quite likes the ambiance of the large house with its colourful murals and mismatched furniture. She probably won't ever admit it, but Boyd has a hunch it reminds her very much of the dilapidated student house she lived in at the end of the 'sixties. The one he's heard her telling Eve about more than once. Right down to the lingering smell of marijuana, no doubt. Which she probably won't ever admit, either. Some things are best left mysterious, after all. Seated next to him on the elderly sofa, she sips her tea as she listens to the end of his – suitably edited – monologue. It might be Saturday, he might be off duty, but he has a nasty feeling he sounds far too much like a police officer as he relays their version of events to Anna and Summer.
The two women listen carefully, only interrupting him when they need him to clarify something. No unnecessary questions or commentary. He appreciates it. When he reaches the very end of his tale, a thoughtful silence falls over the room. Outside, the afternoon breeze gently stirs the leaves on the garden's untidy trees and shrubs. It's tranquil and it's not.
"And that's what the coroner will record?" Anna asks. "Misadventure?"
"I think so," Boyd confirms, nodding. "Ruby's what we call an unreliable witness, but her statement, such as it is, corroborates everything Louise told DCI Llewellyn's officers about what really happened that afternoon."
"And Louise?" Summer demands.
Not missing the cold edge of hostility in her voice, Boyd replies, "In theory she could be charged with conspiracy to prevent a lawful and decent burial, but I think it's unlikely. If charges were brought, the CPS would probably decide it wasn't in the public interest to prosecute."
"How can that be right?" Summer asks, looking at each of them in turn. "My father's dead, and no-one has to pay for it? How is that justice?"
It's Grace who says, "It must feel very unfair, but without anything to contradict Louise's version of events, there's nothing the police can do. Gavin Chapman isn't here to confirm or deny that he gave your father the pills that she claims killed him, and after so long there simply isn't any helpful physical evidence left. I'm sorry."
Her movements quick and sharp, Summer gets to her feet and strides across the room, heading out into the overgrown back garden without another word. Watching her go, her mother says, "Mike never touched hard drugs. Neither of us did."
Boyd doesn't disbelieve the claim. He says, "We're fairly sure Gavin was dealing. Not big time, but a few pills here and there amongst friends and acquaintances. Again, it's difficult to find out exactly what he was up to after so long – no-one who knew him is being particularly talkative – but it's entirely possible that he accidentally got hold of a bad batch of pills. It's not unknown for the toxicity levels of some to be off the scale, sadly."
"So Mike tried Ecstasy and it killed him," Anna murmurs, looking out of the window at her daughter.
"I'm sorry," Boyd says, and he really, really is. A renewed surge of hatred for those who produce and distribute the illegal drugs responsible for so much tragedy and pain catches him almost by surprise, and it does nothing to soothe the deep wounds he thinks he'll never fully learn to live with.
"Well, I suppose at least we now know what happened," she says, a clear attempt at bravery. "Thank you for everything you've done, Peter. And you, Grace."
Next to him, Grace nods in acknowledgement and says, "It's important that you try not to blame Louise. She may legally have been an adult, but she was young and very naïve – easily manipulated by someone much older and wiser."
"Gavin?"
"Yes," she confirms before Boyd can speak. "She says it all happened very fast, and that he convinced her that if they went to the police claiming Michael's death was an accident they wouldn't be believed, that burying him where he died was the best option for both of them. I've listened to the tapes of her interview, and I have to say that in my professional opinion she's telling the truth. She was scared… terrified, in fact… and Gavin played on that. He had a long criminal record going back years, and he wasn't going to run the risk of going back to prison, not when he thought there was an alternative."
Before Anna can react, Boyd adds, "I'm inclined to agree with Grace. I think Carol's overdose made Louise realise that the past really wasn't a closed book, and it was time to tell the truth. She's had to live with the guilt for a long, long time. Some would say that's punishment enough."
He's not surprised that she says, "I might be able to accept that, Peter, but I don't think Summer ever will."
"Give her time," Grace murmurs.
"That's all I can do, isn't it?" A long brooding pause is followed by, "Carol really thought there was something going on between Mike and Louise?"
It's an uncomfortable subject at best, but since it can't be avoided, Boyd nods. "So it seems. I think Ruby initially planted the seed, and her own mind gradually did the rest. When she thought everyone was going to find out what she honestly thought had been going on… Well, you know what happened."
"Mike would never have done something like that," is Anna's vehement response. "Never. Louise was his half-sister, but in a way he saw her more as another daughter. The idea that he… that they…"
"It was put to Louise by the officers who interviewed her," Grace says, "and she was every bit as horrified as you by the suggestion. There's absolutely no evidence that there was ever any… impropriety… between them."
"Forget about it," Boyd advises, thought he doubts she will. "When Alison was interviewed she voluntarily admitted that she's certain she simply misconstrued how close they were, but made the mistake of listening to her mother."
"So that's it," Anna says at length, looking out at her daughter again. "It's really all over?"
"Pretty much," he confirms. Aware that it must feel like something of an anti-climax, he adds, "I'm sorry if you think justice hasn't been done."
"I don't," Anna says, surprising him. "It's a relief to finally know exactly what happened. Thank you."
Boyd nods. He wishes there was more he could say, some further comfort he could offer. There isn't. He says, "It's been difficult for all of us, but now it's time to lay the past to rest, Anna."
"For you, too?" she says, and he knows she's referring to Străjescu.
"Yes," he agrees, and he means it. He glances at Grace, gives her a small smile, then looks back at Anna. "I'm fairly sure that admitting to having a copper in the family would be a little… inconvenient… but – "
"I could probably learn to live with it," Anna tells him, straight-faced. "But don't expect to be invited to our big summer barbeque every year. Having half my guests nicked for possession… would not be good."
"I don't want to know. I really don't." He nods towards the garden, adds, "But Summer's my niece, so if you ever need anything…"
"Thank you," Anna says, getting up. She moves to a small, dilapidated chest of drawers, the top of which is buried beneath dozens of knick-knacks, and says, "I have something for you, Peter. Mihail gave it to Mike. You should have it."
Embarrassed, he says, "That's very kind, but – "
"You're the only one of his sons still alive," she points out, extracting something from the top drawer, "and besides, you were the eldest. Of course you should have it."
"Listen to her," Grace says with an encouraging smile.
Deciding that arguing with two strong-willed if well-meaning women would require far too much energy, and wouldn't necessarily end in success, Boyd stands up. He suddenly feels clumsy, awkward. "Well… if you're sure…"
She hands him a folded scrap of cloth. "It was your grandfather's."
Carefully peeling the thin folds of fabric apart, Boyd spots the dull shine of antique gold. A man's ring, he quickly discovers. Thick-banded and heavy, set with what looks like a large garnet and intricately engraved with interlocking wavy patterns. Not his taste, at all, and not the sort of thing that he'd ever consider wearing, but…
"It's beautiful," Grace says, suddenly at his shoulder. "Anna, are you absolutely sure?"
"Of course," Anna replies with a vigorous nod. "Mihail told us that Nicolae was given it by his father. He was a skilled silversmith, apparently, and he made it for his son as a coming-of-age gift. Something like that, anyway. It's yours, Peter; keep it."
It fits, Boyd discovers, but he still won't ever wear it. Far too gaudy. He's no expert, not by any means, but the design strikes him as typically Roma. Aware he still sounds somewhat bemused, he says, "Thank you."
"Think of it as your inheritance, if you like," Anna tells him. "The only thing of your father's that you'll ever have."
The only physical thing, maybe. The rest, his temper, his obstinacy, and the worst extremes of his character, Boyd's still not entirely sure about. Bad blood? Perhaps, perhaps not. He takes the ring off, puts it in his jacket pocket. He clears his throat. "I should tell you… I'm going to Gavin's funeral. As much to support Alison, as anything else."
"None of my business," Anna says, but without any discernible trace of bitterness. There's a calm, faraway look in her eyes as she adds, "Blood's thicker than water, after all."
Sângele apã nu se face…
Good blood, bad blood, it's all pretty much the same under the lens of a microscope, he knows. A conceptual oddity with no basis in fact. Or so he's been told. As Grace slips her arm through his, Boyd nods. "So they say."
- the end -