to telling a lie, one of the many reasons he’d fought so hard to keep him out of custody.
‘So how was she?’ Barnaby asked at last.
‘Pretty rough. You must have seen her yourself.’
Barnaby nodded, sluicing his fingers under the cold-water tap. Before he’d left the hospital, Jessie had been awake, sprawled on her side on the trolley, retching into a bucket. Liz had been beside her, holding her forehead, telling her that everything would be OK. Jessie had wanted them to ignore her, leave her alone, but Barnaby could sense just how badly she’d been frightened. Whatever she’d been using had nearly killed her. And she knew it.
‘The sister showed me the marks in her arm,’ Barnaby said quietly. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Months.’
‘
Months
?’
‘Yeah. I thought she could handle it. She couldn’t.’
‘And you?’
‘I looked after her.’
‘But can you handle it? Whatever it is?’
Haagen didn’t answer. He’d found two more slices of bread and examined them in the light of the candle before toasting them. For the first time, Barnaby saw the tattoos on the backs of his fingers, the four fat blue letters, J – E – S – S, and the sight of his daughter’s name brought the blood flooding into his face. He’d had faith in Haagen. He’d trusted him. He’d even given him a job in his own office, fulfilling his promise to the court. Now this.
‘Do me a favour, Haagen,’ he said thickly. ‘Just tell me what we’re talking about.’
Haagen was poking the toast with a knife. ‘Heroin,’ he said briefly. ‘Smack.’
‘You’re telling me Jess has been on heroin? All this time?’
‘Yeah. It’s good for her, too. It suits.’
‘You’re out of your mind.’
‘Not at all. She can’t handle anything else. Uppers. Downers. E. Whiz. She just gets in a muddle, gets sloppy. Even alcohol breaks her up.’
‘Handle? What do you mean, handle?’
‘Can’t take it. Can’t cope.’
‘Why should she have to? Who says she needs all this stuff?’
‘She does. I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the rest of it is so much shit.’
‘Rest of what?’
‘This…’ Haagen gestured round with the knife ‘… this shit-hole we have to live in. The strokes we have to pull to get by. Not just us. Everyone.’
‘She doesn’t have to live here. That was her decision.’
‘Sure.’ Haagen pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘And you know why?’
‘No.’ Barnaby shook his head. ‘But I’m sure you’ll tell me.’
‘You want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK,’ Haagen said. ‘Because she couldn’t stand it at home with you and that nice wife of yours. The little lies. The big lies. It made her sick, physically sick. Her words, not mine.’
Barnaby nodded, letting his anger subside, knowing he should have expected a scene like this. Talking to Haagen was something you did at some peril. Softening the truth was beyond him.
‘So you put her onto heroin?’ he said wearily. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yeah,’ Haagen agreed. ‘We tried it and it was good for us. It worked.’
‘How?’
‘It gave her peace. And a bit of quiet.’
‘And last night?’
‘Last night was different. That wasn’t smack, not the stuff we’re used to, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it was purer than usual. That can be a problem. Fuck knows.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Where did I score?’
‘Yes.’
‘Last night?’
‘Yes.’
Haagen turned away. Barnaby asked the question again. Jessie had nearly died. Someone had nearly killed her. He wanted to know who. Haagen shook his head. ‘That’s down to me,’ he said. ‘And Oz.’
‘Oz?’
Haagen beckoned Barnaby over to the window. The window was tiny, set high in the wall. Through the grime, Barnaby could see the squat bulk of a dog. When Haagen tapped on the window, the dog turned round, the cold glass clouding with its breath.
‘Bull terrier.’ Haagen grinned. ‘Never lets go.’
Two hours later,
‘So how was she?’ Barnaby asked at last.
‘Pretty rough. You must have seen her yourself.’
Barnaby nodded, sluicing his fingers under the cold-water tap. Before he’d left the hospital, Jessie had been awake, sprawled on her side on the trolley, retching into a bucket. Liz had been beside her, holding her forehead, telling her that everything would be OK. Jessie had wanted them to ignore her, leave her alone, but Barnaby could sense just how badly she’d been frightened. Whatever she’d been using had nearly killed her. And she knew it.
‘The sister showed me the marks in her arm,’ Barnaby said quietly. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Months.’
‘
Months
?’
‘Yeah. I thought she could handle it. She couldn’t.’
‘And you?’
‘I looked after her.’
‘But can you handle it? Whatever it is?’
Haagen didn’t answer. He’d found two more slices of bread and examined them in the light of the candle before toasting them. For the first time, Barnaby saw the tattoos on the backs of his fingers, the four fat blue letters, J – E – S – S, and the sight of his daughter’s name brought the blood flooding into his face. He’d had faith in Haagen. He’d trusted him. He’d even given him a job in his own office, fulfilling his promise to the court. Now this.
‘Do me a favour, Haagen,’ he said thickly. ‘Just tell me what we’re talking about.’
Haagen was poking the toast with a knife. ‘Heroin,’ he said briefly. ‘Smack.’
‘You’re telling me Jess has been on heroin? All this time?’
‘Yeah. It’s good for her, too. It suits.’
‘You’re out of your mind.’
‘Not at all. She can’t handle anything else. Uppers. Downers. E. Whiz. She just gets in a muddle, gets sloppy. Even alcohol breaks her up.’
‘Handle? What do you mean, handle?’
‘Can’t take it. Can’t cope.’
‘Why should she have to? Who says she needs all this stuff?’
‘She does. I do.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the rest of it is so much shit.’
‘Rest of what?’
‘This…’ Haagen gestured round with the knife ‘… this shit-hole we have to live in. The strokes we have to pull to get by. Not just us. Everyone.’
‘She doesn’t have to live here. That was her decision.’
‘Sure.’ Haagen pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘And you know why?’
‘No.’ Barnaby shook his head. ‘But I’m sure you’ll tell me.’
‘You want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK,’ Haagen said. ‘Because she couldn’t stand it at home with you and that nice wife of yours. The little lies. The big lies. It made her sick, physically sick. Her words, not mine.’
Barnaby nodded, letting his anger subside, knowing he should have expected a scene like this. Talking to Haagen was something you did at some peril. Softening the truth was beyond him.
‘So you put her onto heroin?’ he said wearily. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yeah,’ Haagen agreed. ‘We tried it and it was good for us. It worked.’
‘How?’
‘It gave her peace. And a bit of quiet.’
‘And last night?’
‘Last night was different. That wasn’t smack, not the stuff we’re used to, anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it was purer than usual. That can be a problem. Fuck knows.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Where did I score?’
‘Yes.’
‘Last night?’
‘Yes.’
Haagen turned away. Barnaby asked the question again. Jessie had nearly died. Someone had nearly killed her. He wanted to know who. Haagen shook his head. ‘That’s down to me,’ he said. ‘And Oz.’
‘Oz?’
Haagen beckoned Barnaby over to the window. The window was tiny, set high in the wall. Through the grime, Barnaby could see the squat bulk of a dog. When Haagen tapped on the window, the dog turned round, the cold glass clouding with its breath.
‘Bull terrier.’ Haagen grinned. ‘Never lets go.’
Two hours later,
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