Page 74 of Don't Let Him In

A dark cloud passes over Jensen’s face at the mention of Nick’s name. “Oh my God,” he says. “That man. Jesus Christ. That man was a crook. He was a madman.”

Jane and Ash glance at each other. “Could we possibly ask you a few questions about him? If that’s OK?”

Jensen looks at his fat golden watch and then up at Jane and nods. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s go and sit down.”

He takes them to a small booth in the corner and offers themanother drink before settling back into the banquette and saying, “So, what’s the deal with you and this terrible man? How is he in your life?”

Jane lets Ash tell the story, show Jensen the screenshot of the now-deleted LinkedIn profile page and other pictures of Nick on her phone, and Jensen looks at each artifact with interest and listens intently to the story, only stopping Ash after she says, “He told us he was a co-owner of this place.”

“No, no, no, no. Ridiculous. No. Jesus Christ, that man. I don’t know where Luke found him. He said he was an experienced restaurateur, but he had a CV that just didn’t make any sense. Then he said he’d been on the run from a stalker all his life, had had to change his identity, blah blah blah, and Luke got cold feet and cut him loose. Luke said he’d been OK about it, that he had taken it in his stride and they’d left on good terms, handshakes, etc.

“But then when the wine bar opened a few months later, this guy, Nick, he started trying to sabotage the business, using fake usernames to leave horrible reviews on social media. He even sent inspectors in after claiming to have seen a rat. And fuck me,” Jensen laughs wryly, “there was a rat, the cleanest, sweetest rat, and they took it away to a rescue center because as far as they could tell, it was a domestic pet. Three guesses how it got into the kitchen. Then this woman starts complaining about being sexually assaulted by a member of our waiting staff, which was just the most patently ridiculous scam as the guy she was accusing was gay, zero interest in any woman’s breasts, let alone hers. But more bad reviews on social media from this woman. Clearly it was him. Nick. And the whole thing, it was… it was distasteful. Petty. So petty, so vindictive. All because we didn’t want to go into business with a chancer with no money. But this guy, he had this air about him, as if he thought he was more than he was? You know? He thought he was special. Important. And then, in the end, I think it got too much for Luke. He felt responsible for this man and his behavior and the impact it was havingon our business. And he took his own life, and as soon as that happened, it all stopped. All of it.” Jensen shakes his head.

Ash feels a slick of darkness pass through her at these words.

Jensen sighs. “Such a stupid, childish vendetta. So cruel. So tragic. And now you say your mother, she is dating this man?”

“Well,” says Ash, “she was. But he’s disappeared.”

“Good riddance,” says Jensen. “Let us pray, for your sake, that he stays lost.”

But Ash is not listening. She is deafened by the echo of Jensen’s words, ricocheting around inside her head.

“So vindictive… Such a stupid, childish vendetta.”

She thinks of Nick Radcliffe’s weird grudge against her father and a chill runs down her spine.

SIXTY-EIGHT

The man who killed Ash’s father is much smaller in real life than the giant who’s lived inside Ash’s head for over a year.

He’s a slightly built man, and no more than five foot ten. The meaty hands that Ash had pictured over and over again are the size of a normal man’s hands, his face is softer, the skin looser, his eyes sadder. He has lost weight. He smiles at Ash as she approaches, raises himself from his seat about two inches and then lowers himself again. There is a strange moment where it looks like he will shake her hand, but he doesn’t and she is relieved.

She hasn’t told her mother, or indeed Jane, about arranging this visit. The theory behind this visit is so wacky and fantastical that Ash can barely believe she is pursuing it. Having only just convinced her mother that she is behaving rationally and sanely, she does not want Nina to start doubting her again.

He’s called Joe Kritner, the man who killed Ash’s father. He is thirty-two years old. He has parents who love him but who couldn’t keep him safe from himself. His face has been imprinted on Ash’s psyche for so long: his pale, wide, fleshy cheeks, a thin line of a mouth, brown hair flopping onto a prematurely lined forehead, eyes filled with nightmares. They’d been shown the CCTV footage: her father in shorts and a hoodie, his headphones on, a little dance in his body as he stands at theend of the platform, glancing back and up at the display every now and again to check the timing of the next train. And then Joe Kritner appears, slow at first, stopping every so often to turn to look at the display, inching ever closer. Then, as the lights of an approaching tube light up the CCTV footage, her father takes a step closer to the edge of the platform and Joe Kritner brings up his pace, and then there he is.Right there.For a big man, Joe Kritner moves so smoothly, so effortlessly, the two meaty hands against her father’s shoulder blades, the two milky lights of the train… and suddenly there is only one man on the platform.

Joe Kritner turns away the moment it is done; he doesn’t pause to look at the aftermath, he just turns and stares down the full length of the platform and puts his hands against his own chest, leaving them there for just a second, almost as if he is wiping away the traces of her father’s hoodie from his palms. He starts to walk slowly and, in the footage, people appear who had not been in the shot before, they appear and they look horrified and they push Joe Kritner onto a bench and restrain him there as tube workers arrive in high-vis with walkie-talkies, and then the police, and then, finally, finally Joe Kritner is removed and the footage shows an empty, postapocalyptic-looking platform. The drama is over. All that is left is for the clean-up team to arrive.

During police questioning, Joe Kritner had talked about the big “Silver Man” who had made him do it. He’d shown them the money he’d been given—fifty pounds in shiny ten-pound notes. The Silver Man had talked about a bomb. A terrorist attack. The Silver Man had told him what to do. Joe had mentioned him over and over again—but then he’d talked about all sorts of incredible and nonsensical things during questioning. The big Silver Man had sounded just as bizarre as everything else.

“Hi,” says Ash. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Joe shakes his head. “No, no, it’s fine. Honestly. Fine.” He speaks with a slight stammer. “How are you?”

The question throws Ash slightly. “Oh,” she says. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

They are in a small room on upholstered chairs. Joe Kritner has no restraints. According to the officials, he represents no physical danger now that he is medicated, but still, Ash thinks, you see it in films, the prisoner pretends to take their meds, spits them out when no one’s looking. There is an officer in the room with them, but Ash feels horribly anxious, on the verge of panic. This is the man, after all, who killed her father.

She clears her throat and makes herself sound brave. “I wanted to ask you,” she says, “about the Silver Man?”

She sees something pass across Joe’s eyes. “Yes,” he says. “I remember that. I remember talking about him. I think, though, that I might have made it up? Because of my problems? You know?” He grimaces apologetically and reaches to scratch the back of his neck.

“Do you really think that? Or is that what people have told you?”

“I just don’t know. To be honest. No, that’s not right. It’s complicated. I feel like there was a Silver Man. But when I think about the Silver Man, my head tells me to stop being so stupid, that there’s no such thing as silver men, and what I did to your dad, that terrible, bad thing, it was my responsibility. Fully my responsibility. And I just made up the Silver Man to have someone to blame for my own actions.”

“But what if he was real? Is that possible? I mean, does he have a face? Or was he just a voice?”