understand. Youâve been a wonderful help, a great witness and a brave girl. Donât think of it as lying, think of it as being tactful.â
âTactful?â
âMindful of the feelings of others, your mumâs feelings.â
âYouâre not angry with me?â
âIâm pleased with you.â
Relief swept through her features and a moment of tenderness overwhelmed Rosen.
ââItâs important to tell the truth at all times.â Thatâs what my grandma taught me. Truth.â
Rosen, who agreed in principle but not always in practice, smiled.
âYour grandma sounds like a very good woman.â
âSheâs the best. Because sheâs dying, I think thatâs why I feel so sorry for Thomasâs mum and dad. Do you think heâs going to die?â
âIâm not a doctor, Macy, I canât say, but I understand what you mean. Your situation has taught you to empathize with Mr and Mrs Glass, and thatâs a really good thing to do, itâs very grown up.â
She held out a hand and Rosen shook with her. Her fingers were cold and he sat on his fatherly instinct and the words
Put your gloves on
because there was the possibility that she didnât own a pair.
âIâve got to go to Lewisham Library, to pick up some books. Grandma likes me to read to her. Iâve got special permission from Mrs Dodson, whoâs head of the library, to get Granâs books from the grown-upsâ section.â
He hadnât noticed the bag on her back.
âMacy?â
She looked at him, alert and eager to please.
âRemember when we were talking this morning, in the cabin? Did you remember that thing that you said youâd blocked out?â
âItâs trapped.â She touched her head. âIn here. Itâs been bugging meall day. Soon as I remember, Mr Rosen, Iâll come and see you, straight away, I promise.â
Rosen watched Macy walk away under the weight of a bag of books, strapped from right shoulder to left hip. He looked at her pitiful offering of carnations and the scorched tarmac where Thomas had been set alight.
He walked back across Bannerman Square to the graffiti-daubed wall, bracing himself to recreate the horror of Thomas Glassâs experience in the back of a burning car.
21
4.03 P.M.
R osen worked backwards from the point where Stevie had lain Thomas down.
He dipped under the scene-of-crime tape and crouched at the pothole where Thomas had fallen into a puddle. He looked up at the spray-painted aerosol eye.
The painted eye stared directly back at Rosen. As he moved his head a little to the left, the eye held his gaze.
He stood up and walked into the charred rectangle where the car had burned, aligned the front and back of the vehicle, and positioned himself in the space next to the back left-hand door. He pictured the rising flames and imagined the complete claustrophobia Thomas must have felt, banging on the window maybe, staring out, desperation mounting.
Rosen dipped to the height of a child in the back of that car. Through the imaginary flames and rising smoke, he stared directly at the painted eye and the words,
The position of this car, this was no accident
sounded clearly inside his head.
Bang, bang, bang
, a fist on the window. A door theyâd failed to lock. A door that fell open under a watchful, sinister eye.
He rose to his full height and made his way slowly to the pothole where Thomas had fallen; imagined the mind-bending terror, hisagony; pictured Stevie running towards that place through the sodium-tinted night.
And his focus came back to the eye on the wall, the complementary black and white, the black of the oval outline, the white inner eye that housed all the details, the sinister pupil with the life-like speck of white light and the spokes linking the circumference of the eye to the centre.
âDCI Rosen?â
Snapped from the moment by the sound of a manâs