The Third Shadow

Six

Twisting my neck back the other way, the window doors meanwhile framed a sad, sillhouetted tableau: Olivia seated there at the table, her hands gesturing towards her sister-in-law's back over at the kitchen, Sarah's neck drooped, fists thrust against worktop. Nuzzo and Ciavarella had left a couple of minutes earlier; something like this, there were innumerable things to attend to.

"So," Diane finally enquired, finally pausing from her munching. "This just a social call or you need a favour?"

We'd spent more than twenty years as colleagues, the last half of those in combination as DCI and my most trusted sergeant. She knew me too well. Knew me better than anyone - this including daughters, late mothers and ex-wives.

"Both," I attempted in reply.

"Always were a terrible liar Jim."

There are official channels for international police cooperation of course, and these would duly be followed. In the meantime, I didn't see any harm in having a little unofficial dip of my toes in the water.

"Finished that pasty yet?"

"Almost."

"Good. You'll be needing a pen and paper..."

*

I stayed there at the bungalow with Sarah and Olivia for the rest of the afternoon and evening. Would return again the following morning.

An analyst would no doubt conclude that my actions weren't entirely selfless; that as a lonely old divorcee I found a nostalgic comfort in female company. And yes, this might have been part of it. But there was a very practical reason too for my more or less continued presence in the house. I just didn't want to leave them to themselves I suppose, was afraid of what might happen.

Yes, the thing I remember most about that forty-eight hour period is the silence. There was something brooding to it. Something ominous, almost delicate, like if it cracked you feared it would explode. An edgy, precarious silence stretching on and on, minute after minute, hour after hour.

It was a silence which, that first mid-afternoon, was briefly punctuated by the unenthusiatic scrape of forks against plate. I'd heated up the lasagna which Signor Caputo had brought, insisted that they eat, but neither was able to muster more than a couple of mouthfuls. In situations like this the daily mundanities of life - eating, washing, sleeping - can seem somehow surreal, as incongruous as laughter at a funeral.

The tension almost tangible, it came as something of a relief when Sarah rose to her feet and headed towards the window doors, announced she was going for a walk on the beach.

"Clear my head. Try to, at least."

Olivia and I were left to stare down at the cluttered table space between us, the lunch plates and cutlery adding to the tea mugs, espresso cups and juice glasses from earlier. She got to her feet to begin clearing it all away, but I stopped her with a hand to forearm, motioned that she should sit down again. I'd see to it in a moment, I told her. There was something I wanted to ask her first. Her nod seemed resigned, as if she'd already anticipated what would come next.

"How would you describe their relationship?" I asked. "Lee and Sean's?"

There was a shrug. "As you'd expect from two brothers who grew up without a father, only had each other."

"Without a father?"

"Virtually, let's say. Ran off with another woman not long after Lee was born. Bracewell's their mother's surname, not the father's. Lee would be the first to tell you that Sean's much more to him than just a big brother. That's why... Why..." She glanced down at her stomach, eyes glistening. "If it's a boy, we've decided to call him Sean."

I nodded. "Quite an honour."

The closeness of the brothers' relationship was something which was never in question. Not only would it be confirmed by Sarah that same afternoon, but also in the coming days by various friends and work colleagues back in Nottingham. According to detectives there, the expression 'thick as thieves' featured more than once during their enquiries.

"Quite different though, aren't they?" I continued. "I mean, it would only be natural if Lee's business success caused a certain amount of..." I searched my mind for a more euphemistic way of putting it, but could find nothing satisfactory. "Well, fraternal jealousy I suppose."

The idea was quickly dismissed however. "Oh, I don't think Sean's the type of guy to be overly bothered about wealth and status. As long as he and his family are comfortable, I'd say that's fine by him." A diagonal raising of eyes suggested that my line of enquiry had provoked something though, a potential glimmer of truth. "I think if Sean were jealous of Lee it would be because of his lifestyle. You know, that he was a bit of jack-the-lad, didn't settle down until recently. It can't be easy getting married so young like Sean and Sarah did. All your friends out partying but you having to stay at home because you can't afford a babysitter." The eyes now rolled towards ceiling, as if in disgust. "And she makes his life a living hell, really. Always nagging him, criticising him for things." She now fixed me with an earnest gaze. "If anyone's jealous of Lee's success it's her, not Sean."

All of which was interesting perhaps, but we seemed somehow to have drifted off course a little. I attempted to steer us back.

"Never known the pair to argue then? Cross words. Not even once?"

"No, not really." There was another shrug. "In my experience, men just don't have that level of emotional intensity. Just banter really, nothing serious behind it."

"And the night of the disappearance, you didn't notice any tension between the two?"

But her patience now seemed to have waned. "Look, Mr Jacks---"

"Jim," I insisted.

A sigh escaped her lips. "Look, Jim. I know what it must look like... you know, with Lee's passport not anywhere to be found. But you're going nowhere with this line of questioning, I assure you. I've already told you, Lee thought the world of his brother." With that she rose back to her feet, began clattering crockery.

A man doesn't spend half a lifetime on the force without developing a certain understanding of human nature. When people go on the defensive, nine times out of ten it's because they're hiding something.

"Nothing?" I persisted. "There was nothing at all?"

She paused from stacking the dirty dishes, looked down at me. Sighed a second time. "Look, Sarah's probably going to tell you Lee was a bit... a bit distracted maybe. Faraway."

Not just Sarah, as it would turn out, but one of the waitresses in the Vecchia Napoli pizzeria too. The other three had given their orders, she would recall to one of Nuzzo's officers, but she'd had to wait for the dark-haired one to be physically prodded by his wife before giving his, so absorbed had he seemed in the shimmery movements of the acquarium occupants behind. Then there was the soon-to-become-famous photograph too of course - that unfixed gaze, the thrust-down brow.

"And yes," Olivia admitted. "Maybe he was at times. Distracted, I mean. But that's normal for Lee. Got a business to run. Can never relax completely. Never... you know, never quite pull the plug from the socket."

It was exactly same thing which Heather always used to accuse me of, I reflected. She could never understand that the bad guys don't call a truce when you put your key in the front door. That certain images don't simply dissolve, mental processes shudder to a halt. It's not for nothing that police officers constitute one of the highest percentages of divorcees amongst professional groups.

It's strange though, when a man gets to his sixtieth birthday, he just doesn't expect to become one of them any more.

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