was known as Amber-Lee but her surname is unknown. A local prostitute, Brenda Watson, was accompanying her at the time of the accident, Finn read. Although he could have recited it by heart.
‘She called herself Amber-Lee,’ Brenda had told the inquest. ‘I don’t think it was her real name—just a street name. She thought it sounded, you know, sexy. Like a film star or something.’
‘I couldn’t stop,’ the truck driver had said, his face stricken. ‘She just landed in front of me. There was nothing I could do.’
‘I remember the name Amber-Lee. She came to the Ward Street Shelter once,’ said the social worker. ‘We knew she was on the game and probably underage, but we can’t keep track of them all. We just don’t have the resources.’ She shrugged. ‘We can only help those willing to be helped.’
All this had been translated into the dispassionate language of the coroner’s office. Now its very blandness accused Finn anew.
There had been photographs. They were not in the folder, but were fatally imprinted on his memory. The cause of death was recorded as catastrophic head injuries. The post-mortem also found traces of old bruises and a partially healed broken rib. There are needle tracks evident on her left arm, the medical report continued. She was injecting, probably heroin, although there is no evidence of this in the toxicology report. Her veins were still viable. There is evidence of early stage gonorrhoea. Her estimated age is between fourteen and sixteen.
Michael cried as he gave evidence. But no-one 67 asked if he’d been taking drugs so no-one ever knew. After the accident, his family and friends had drawn a circle around him, offering help and advice. His first reaction had been to accept his culpability and take whatever punishment was his due. On hearing this, his mother was distraught.
‘Why on earth would you want to do that? It won’t bring the girl back. You always react so extravagantly when something goes wrong. Vic, speak to him.’
His father leaned forward. ‘Look, son. They said she just ran out in front of the car. It’s a terrible thing, but how can you blame yourself for that? Let me get Stephen to advise you. He deals with cases like this all the time.’
Looking back now, Finn could see that his parents had always adroitly handled any problems that arose in his life. He was the long-awaited only child of older parents, and, grateful for their late blessing, they sheltered and indulged him. While another child might have become spoiled and selfish, Michael was loving, funny, popular and clever. Things rarely went wrong for him, but when they did, he relied on his parents to deal with them and secured their support by the deployment of tears, anger, charm—whatever he could see might work at the time. He’d carried this approach over to adulthood, when the generally smooth progress of his life had ensured that he needed it only rarely. So it was that when, at the age of thirty-eight, he was faced with something fundamental, he had no resources with which to deal with it. By the time Moss heard his story, he had carried his guilt for so long that it was grafted to his skin. It was part of who he was.
Is that why he chose to reveal his secret to Moss? he wondered. She was claiming him as a father and he felt he owed her the truth. If she chose to reject him, he would accept this rejection as delayed justice. He had always regretted allowing his mother to dissuade him from confessing. If he’d been punished at the time, maybe his life would be different now. He would have done his penance and been absolved. He shook his head wearily. Who knows? He had acted as he did, and there were consequences, one of which might be the loss of his newly found daughter. That would be no more than he deserved. Of course, on another level, one he preferred not to acknowledge, he was resisting entanglement. He had never wanted a child. He had made that quite clear to her mothers from the outset. It was too late to change now. He simply didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with the needs of an adult daughter.
He heard Moss return from her shopping expedition, but stayed in his room. At five to six, he left the house, telling her that he’d return at eight. He left the folder on the table