Free Death Can’t Take a Joke by Anya Lipska Page A

things her friends were allowed to.’
    Kershaw remembered that, agonisingly for Hannah’s parents, it had been one of her first trips out alone to buy her favourite Cherry Coke that had thrown her into the path of Anthony Stride. ‘I just can’t imagine what they’re going through, let alone her,’ she said.
    ‘Do you know the worst thing Jamie told me?’
    She shook her head.
    ‘Apparently, Hannah used to be a real daddy’s girl, but since it happened, she hasn’t let him near her. When she wakes up in the night, Cath’s the only one she’ll let comfort her.’
    ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Kershaw. She took a swig of his tea.
    ‘I saw that …
bastard
in the street the other day,’ said Ben.
    She looked at him, alarmed by the sudden and unfamiliar ferocity in his voice. ‘Really? You never mentioned it.’
    ‘Didn’t I?’ he shrugged. ‘When I think that he’s free to stroll around while Hannah’s too scared to leave the house, let alone go to school, or go out to play … It turns my stomach.’
    ‘Do you think the Ryans need some professional help, like family therapy?’
    ‘What they need is for that cunt Stride to step in front of a bus,’ he said.
    She couldn’t remember hearing Ben use the c-word before: of the two of them she was by far the more prolific swearer. As her gaze scanned his face, she thought:
Maybe it’s you who needs the therapist
.
    ‘I know you got close to Jamie, to all of them,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘I’d have done exactly the same, a case like that. But shouldn’t you be thinking about handing over to family liaison by now?’
    ‘What, now the case is dead in the water, it’s time to dump the family and move on?’
    Ben’s voice sounded reasonable, but she saw that his top lip had thinned to a line – the only outward sign of anger he ever betrayed.
Tread carefully, my girl,
she heard her dad say.
    ‘No, of course not. It’s just … you know the score; if you go bush over a case like that’ – she shrugged – ‘you’re gonna be less focused on catching the next evil scumbag – the one we
can
put away.’
    Rocking his head back against the wall, he exhaled air through pursed lips, reminding Kershaw of the escape valve on a pressure cooker.
    ‘I know, I know. You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m not even sure seeing me does him any good – I’m only gonna remind him of what happened, aren’t I? I probably should back off a bit.’
    ‘I think that’s very sensible.’
    He grinned, any trace of anger gone. ‘Before you report for duty, Constable, stick me on a couple of bits of toast, would you?’
    Kershaw managed to smile back, but an undercurrent of disquiet tugged at her still. She had no problem dealing with conflict – to her, it was part and parcel of a relationship – but she got the feeling that Ben would sometimes simply
pretend
to roll over to avoid confrontation.
    It came to her that maybe the misgivings she’d been having weren’t exactly to do with Ben being too
nice
, but with his apparent difficulty in being
nasty
. She was no psychotherapist, but she knew that would need to change when they lived together.

Eleven
    The wooden shutter gave a single mournful squeak as it was pulled back from the wire grille.
    ‘I present myself before the Holy Confession, for I have offended God,’ murmured Janusz.
    ‘Have I heard your confession before, my son?’ asked the priest.
    Janusz peered through the grille for a beat, before realising that Father Pietruski was winding him up.
    ‘It’s been –’ a surreptitious count of his fingers ‘– a long time since my last confession.’
    ‘I was thinking you must have run away with the gypsies,’ said Pietruski, bone-dry. ‘Or perhaps even gone home to honour your marriage vows to that wife of yours, not to mention your parental duties.’
    Janusz shifted in his seat. Pietruski had been his priest for more than twenty years now, and it seemed he would always have this