Free Next to Die by Neil White

answer, that he thought that it was a mark of civilisation that people could have a fair trial, because the crook would be convicted if there is proof, regardless of what he did. The police had to follow rules, just like everyone else did, and the rules gave everything order. Other times, he went for the shock value and said that he didn’t care, that it was fun, rocking the system, but he didn’t really think like that. Cases did keep him awake sometimes, when he had to walk past the families of the victims when the person who took away someone precious walked free, but those were the exception. As much as he tried, most of his clients took a long walk down the cold steps, and some would never walk back up them to the harsh blink of freedom.
    But this was Sam asking.
    ‘You mean how could I do it after Ellie?’ Joe said, and his thoughts flashed back again to fifteen years earlier, sitting there surrounded by birthday cards, 18 Today banners pinned up around the living room, the house filled with police officers and the sound of his mother’s screams.
    ‘He’s still out there,’ Sam said, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the table, a sign of his agitation. ‘And when he’s caught, he’ll get someone like you to help him get away with it.’
    Joe didn’t respond at first. There were secrets he had kept for fifteen years, and it was too late to change things now.
    He took another sip of wine, a longer one this time. ‘I don’t have to defend myself,’ he said. ‘I’m beyond all that. I just help people.’
    ‘What do you think Dad would say if he knew?’
    Joe turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. ‘That’s a low blow, and you know it.’ When Sam responded only by looking at the floor, Joe said, ‘It’s time for you to go.’
    ‘What, we can’t enjoy a birthday drink together?’
    ‘You didn’t come here for that.’
    Sam looked at him, stern-faced. ‘If that’s how you want it.’
    Joe kept his gaze focused on the water as Sam scraped his chair back.
    ‘Don’t leave your family behind,’ Sam said, and then his footsteps faded as he went through the apartment.
    When he heard the apartment door close, Joe reached across and took a beer can from the holder. When he popped the ring pull, he raised it in salute. ‘Happy birthday, Joe Parker.’
     
    The evening was spent lost in paperwork, and it was nearly eleven before he took the box back inside. The beer was gone, as was the wine, and the wobble he felt as he walked back in told him that he would feel the booze in the morning.
    The case was just as he had first gleaned from Ronnie – that it was conjecture and guesswork, because Carrie and Grace’s bodies hadn’t been found – but the evidence was stronger than Ronnie hoped.
    Ronnie and Carrie lived on the ground floor of a tall Victorian house, with stone-silled bay windows and stained glass around the front door. The crime scene photographs made it look grim and cramped, with just one bedroom, Grace’s cot in one corner, squeezed in alongside the double bed. The other main room was the living room, with a kitchen beyond, the bathroom just a small room at the other end of the kitchen. The doors were plain and flat, the paint on them bubbled at the bottom, the white now a dirty cream.
    The living room was dingy, everything in brown shades, the light provided by a window opposite the fireplace, although they looked like they were cleaned rarely, with dust and cobwebs on the outside. The carpet was faded brown swirls, with worn out patches from the door. Carrie had made some effort to make the flat look nice, with some flowers in a vase on an old dresser, although the varnish on the wood was cracked and old. There were photographs of a young baby Grace in clip-frames, but the pictures looked dulled by cigarette smoke even though Grace was only two years old. The ashtrays were piled high with old butts, and in the bin in the corner of the room there was the neck of a vodka bottle, the