The Whole Truth

They came early because they know how busy this place gets at the weekend, and in this weather, shady spots in the garden are at a premium. But once in possession of a prize position, they’re taking their time. On the next table, there’s another middle-aged couple with their daughter and what’s clearly her fairly new boyfriend: he’s smiling a lot and trying a little too hard. Further over, a gaggle of kids is trying to climb the huge old willow tree. There’s jazz coming from the marquee and people are sitting about on the grass because for once it’s dry enough to do that in an English summer. The whole thing is almost too perfect.

‘I’m considering the mussels,’ begins Asante’s father carefully, ‘or perhaps the Cumberland ring.’

His mother laughs, reaching for her glass of Pinot Grigio. ‘Honestly, Kwame, you manage to sound like a diplomat even when you’re ordering sausages and mash.’

He smiles at her; it’s an old joke. He was a Ghanaian trade attaché for more than twenty years.

‘I’ll go in and order,’ says Asante, making to get up, but his mother stops him.

‘No need to rush. Let’s have a chat.’

Parent code for ‘you never tell us anything’. He stifles a sigh.

‘How’s the job going?’ His father now. They always ask, as a point of honour, even though they’ve never really reconciled themselves to their only son going into the police. It simply baffled them, even when he was accepted on the fast-track graduate scheme. But they were, as always, too well bred, too ‘diplomatic’ to say so. Your children must be allowed to make their own choices, even if you’d much rather they opted for medicine or the law, even – if all else fails – the City.

‘It’s good,’ says Asante. ‘Better than Brixton.’

‘In what way?’ His mother, ‘showing an interest’.

‘The job’s more varied. And the town. More interesting people.’

‘Oh yes?’ says Caroline in that alert-for-a-girlfriend tone all mothers seem to develop. But then again, as Asante reminds himself, he isn’t just an only son but an only child.

‘Don’t get too excited, Mum,’ he says. ‘I don’t get out much. Those people I mentioned – they’re the ones I’m arresting.’

* * *

‘Bloody hell,’ says Gis, sitting back.

‘I know,’ replies Ev, finishing the last of her coffee. ‘And for once in this bloody case, we don’t have to just take her word for it. There’s the NDA.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, frowning and pulling the sheet of paper back towards him, ‘but it’s not that explicit, is it? It just stops them talking about her. It doesn’t say why. There’s absolutely nothing about the grooming or the kid or anything.’

‘True – but we know Fisher slept with Young. I saw the picture – and believe me, there is absolutely no mistaking what they’re doing.’

‘But all that proves is that they had sex. Not that Fisher forced him to do it. Don’t get me wrong,’ he says quickly, ‘I’m with you. I’m just anticipating what the CPS will say. No one knows the full story but them.’

Ev points at the logo at the head of the paper. ‘Niamh Kennedy must, surely? If she drafted this thing?’

Gis shrugs. ‘Possibly, though perhaps not all the details. But I bet you any money you like she’ll hide behind client confidentiality even if she does.’

Ev frowns. ‘Well, I reckon she knows a hell of a sight more than she’s saying. I remembered, after I spoke to Zoe – last time they were in she called Fisher “Marina”. Like you would if you were friends, rather than just lawyer and client.’

Gis sits back again, staring up towards the house. Janet is at the kitchen window. She looks up and gives them a wave.

‘I reckon you’re right,’ he says after a moment. ‘For what it’s worth, I reckon Caleb Morgan may well be just the last in a whole line of poor naive saps Fisher’s done this to.’

‘Only this time it’s different,’ says Ev. ‘This time, the sap’s fighting back.’

* * *

‘We can easily drop you, Anthony,’ says his mother, opening the car door. ‘It’s barely even out of our way –’

But he was prepared for this – he knew they’d offer, and he knew he’d need a good excuse.

‘It’s fine, Mum, really. It’s a beautiful day and I can walk back across Port Meadow. It’ll do me good to get some fresh air.’

He knows she’ll struggle to argue back at that, but she still gives it a go.

‘You don’t exactly have the right shoes for a hike, darling.’

He smiles. ‘OK, confession time. There’s something I want to check. To do with a case.’

She purses her lips. ‘If it’s work-related it should be done on work time.’

‘That’s just it, Mum. It’s not exactly “official”.’

* * *

Ev checks her watch and reaches for her bag. ‘I think that’s everything, boss. Young’s coming in this afternoon to give a statement, so I’ll give you a call afterwards.’

‘Good work,’ he says. ‘I’d see if Somer’s free to sit in on that as well, if I were you.’

‘Already done,’ she says, smiling. ‘And I’ve let Fisher’s lawyer know we’ll want to talk to her again tomorrow.’

She gets to her feet. ‘I have to go.’

He makes a face. ‘Your dad?’

‘Yeah,’ she says with a sigh. Only a small one, but even that feels disloyal. ‘My dad.’

* * *