said. “And cleaning up after ourselves afterward.”
“Admirable,” Jake said. He turned and walked back into the living room.
Pete shook his head. “He’s a character, that one.”
“Yes. He is that.”
“I’ll be in touch about any developments.” He handed me a card. “But in the meantime, if you need anything—and I mean anything at all—my details are there.”
“Thank you.”
I watched my father walk off down the driveway, head bowed slightly, and turned the card around in my hand. As he got into his car, I looked past him at the reporters gathered beyond it. Most of them had left now. I scanned the faces that remained, looking for Karen.
But she was gone.
Forty-two
This is the last time, Pete told himself. Remember that.
The thought was something to cling to while he sat in the bright white interview room at the prison, waiting for the monster to arrive. He had been here so many times over the years, and each occasion had left him shaken. But after today, there would be no reason for him ever to return. Tony Smith—always the focus of these visits in the past—had been found, and if Frank Carter refused to talk about the man they were looking for now, Pete had already made the decision that he would walk out of this room and not look back. And he’d never have to suffer the crawling aftermath of being in Carter’s presence again.
This is the last time.
The thought helped, but only a little. The air in the silent room felt full of anticipation and threat, the locked door on the far side throbbing with menace. Because Carter must also know this was likely to be their last meeting, and Pete was sure he would be determined to make it count. Until now the fear of these encounters had always been mental and emotional. He had never been physically afraid before. But right now he was glad for the width of the desk dividing the room and the strength of the shackles the man would be wearing. He even wondered if, subconsciously, all those hours in the gym had been spent preparing himself in case a moment like that ever happened.
His heart leaped as he heard the door being unlocked.
Keep calm.
The familiar routine unfolded: the guards entering first; Carter taking his time. Pete steadied himself by concentrating on the envelope he’d brought, which was on the desk in front of him now. He stared at that and waited, ignoring the bulk of the man who finally approached, then sat down heavily across from him. Let the tables be turned, for once—Carter could wait. Pete remained silent until the guards had retreated and he heard the door closing. Only then did he look up.
Carter was staring at the envelope too, a curious expression on his face.
“Have you written me a letter, Peter?”
Pete didn’t reply.
“I’ve often thought I might write one to you.” Carter looked up and smiled. “Would you like that?”
Pete suppressed the shudder he felt. There was little chance of Carter discovering his home address directly, but the idea of receiving even forwarded correspondence was intolerable.
Again, he said nothing.
Carter shook his head in disapproval.
“I told you last time, Peter. That’s the problem with you, you know? I make this big effort to talk to you. I go to all these great lengths to tell you things and be helpful. And sometimes it feels like you’re not listening to me at all.”
“It ends where it begins,” Pete said. “I understand that now.”
“A bit too late for Neil Spencer, though.”
“What I’m interested in is how you knew that, Frank.”
“And like I said, that’s the problem with you.” Carter leaned back. The weight of him made the chair creak. “You don’t listen. Honestly, what do I care about some fucking kid? That’s not even what I was referring to.”
“No?”
“Not at all.” He leaned forward again, suddenly more engaged, and Pete resisted the urge to flinch. “Hey—here’s another one. Do you remember what you said about people in the outside world forgetting me?”
Pete thought back, then nodded. “You told me it wasn’t true.”
“That’s right. Ha, ha! And you understand that now, I guess? You get how wrong you were. Because all along there was this whole bunch of people out there you didn’t know about who have stayed real interested in me.”
Carter’s eyes gleamed at that. Pete could only imagine the amount of pleasure he must have taken over the years, knowing he had fans like Norman Collins visiting the house where Tony Smith’s remains