'My fault, its all my fault. My cousin wanted to call social services. He even phoned Detective Crombie and left a message. I begged him to wait till Monday. Aunt Tricia had to go back to Wales. She left us some money, she didn’t want to leave – but her work’s crucial. …No, I don’t know her work number. She’s a medical research scientist. It’s all very confidential. Gran’s got the details, but we’re not allowed – in case we let something slip at school or something.’
Rhyllann let the words rain over him, leaning against the open kitchen door frame, away from most of the devastation. Four uniforms had arrived, one was upstairs, one interviewing Wren in the lounge, two were door-stepping neighbours. Idly he watched a cat stalking a bird in the garden, wondering if or when he should intervene.
‘Quite an imagination your cousin’s got!’
Rhyllann turned his head, unsurprised to see Crombie picking his way through the doorway. He managed a faint smile, thinking you don’t know the half of it.
Gesturing towards the broken crockery, and the cornflakes and coffee spilling from the worktops onto the floor Rhyllann said.
‘I’d offer you a drink … but.’
‘Sorry son, I made a bad call.’ Something in Crombie's tone alerted Rhyllann.
‘You set us up? Used us as bait?’
Crombie shrugged, sweeping debris from the bench to the floor, he seated himself at the table.
‘I had bodies outside all the time. One even drove your cousin home for a tenner! These guys are professional – too professional to try anything while we were watching. They waited until one squad got called away and the other followed you … we were only minutes too late.’ Crombie shrugged again, peering at the DVD case in his hands. '“Man of the House.” That’s an oldie!’ He angled it towards Rhyllann. ‘Your choice?’
‘Yeah. Half naked cheerleaders and Tommy Lee Jones knocking crap out the bad guys.’ Rhyllann snorted. ‘Real life should be like that.’
Crombie smiled agreement.
‘Detective Crombie?’ Wren balanced in the doorway. ‘What’s going to happen to us?’
Inching down the bench, Crombie patted for Wren to perch.
‘I’ve lined a foster home up. A good one. Just temp. Till your aunt gets back from Wales.’ Adding slyly. ‘Or back from the shops.’
Wren grimaced, seeming fragile next to Crombie’s bulk.
‘Wren. Wren, look at me.’ Crombie tilted Wren's chin upwards. ‘This trouble seems centred around you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Wren jerked away with a quick nod, staring resolutely over Crombie’s shoulder.
‘Son – if you know anything – if there’s anything you’re not telling me.’ Crombie waited while Rhyllann counted the kitchen clock's second hand sweeping around. After a while he sighed. ‘I see. Haven’t there been enough people hurt? Mike Stern – you – your gran – your mum.’ This caught Wren’s attention; he glanced at Rhyllann, seeking reassurance, before fixing Crombie with eyes that seemed bluer than ever in a face drained of colour.
‘Mum – what about my mum?’ He demanded.
Crombie frowned at Rhyllann. ‘Haven’t you told him?’
‘I meant to … I haven’t had a chance to explain – you don’t know what it's been like here!’ Rhyllann spluttered.
But he was talking to Crombie’s back.
‘Your mum’s …’ Even Crombie faltered under Wren’s scrutiny. ‘Your mum – she assaulted two guards. Made an escape bid. She’s back in maximum security.’
Gasping, Wren bent forward as though he’d been hit, still keeping his eyes on Crombie.
‘Lie. You’re lying. My mum. My mum – I’ve known her open a window to let a fly out.’ Wren choked. ‘Liar. She wouldn’t. Three months – her parole board’s in three months. She’s been locked up for two years!’ He turned to Rhyllann – eyes begging.
‘Tell him Annie. Tell him!’ His voice rose, cracking painfully. ‘My mum would never do that. She wouldn’t do that to me!’
Rhyllann shuffled his feet. Crombie answered for him.
‘She hoarded some valium. When they took her out for day release, she shared her coffee flask with the guards. Then hijacked the mini-bus. I’m sorry son.’
Wren’s face lifted. ‘But that’s not assault. She didn’t hurt anyone.’ He flailed at Crombie as though he could slap him into agreement. Crombie pinned him back against the bench with one arm.
‘She didn’t hurt anyone!’ Wren’s face contorted with fury.
Rhyllann spoke. ‘No but she made them look silly.’
Unable to bear anymore, Rhyllann stalked from the kitchen, into the jumble sale of a lounge. He began piling cushions back onto the sofa’s ripped upholstery, then dropped to his knees to search underneath, hunting for Wren’s notebook; wishing he could close his ears against the sobs coming from the kitchen, hating everyone in the house. Including himself.
He sensed Crombie looming over him:
‘WPC Hewes and PC Davidson will help you clear up, and secure the house. When you’re ready, they’ll take you to Mrs Reade’s. Nice lady. Salt of the earth. You’ll like her.’
Rhyllann refused to look up.
‘Son, make him understand. She drugged two officials. I want to help you, but you’re not helping yourselves. You are in danger.’
Stooping suddenly, Crombie grasped Rhyllann’s wrists, staring intently into his face.
‘Do you understand? Step out of line one more time, and I will have you locked up for your own safety.’
Rhyllann jerked away, trying to squirm free.
‘Rhyllann, please. I want your word. Promise me you won’t put yourself or your cousin in harm’s way.’ Crombie sounded concerned.
Rhyllann nodded absently, his gaze still searching the room. Crombie’s grip tightened, forcing him to make eye contact.
‘Say it son.’
From the room above Rhyllann heard drawers rolling open and shut, probably Wren, packing for them both. Strange how Wren didn't seem too bothered about his vanished notebook. Rhyllann gave up.
‘I promise.’
For a moment he thought Crombie was going to say something else, but he merely nodded.
Moments later the snarl of an unwilling engine signalled Crombie’s departure, leaving Rhyllann feeling strangely alone and vulnerable.