Page 82 of Deja New
“Perry has a violent history, he confessed, he’s too stupid to have done it alone, which means his family helped, that’s all.”
That was notall. “So you won’t report this. You won’t write about it.” Cajoling hadn’t worked. Getting angry hadn’t worked. Perhaps shaming would work. “You won’t lift a finger to save an innocent man? To expose a shoddy investigation? You won’t take the trouble?”
“Oh, that’s not my place.”
She blinked. “Not your— Itisyour place. It’s your essential function, what you are paid by Gloucestershire County to do.”
“I’m not paid to make enemies of the constabulary. And I’ll take their word over that of a drifter.”
“Oh, I’m a drifter now? Is that right? Because during the trial, you wrote that I was a ‘poor beloved local girl, brutally murdered by a monster who will face God’s judgment thanks to the tireless efforts of our heroic Campden constabulary.’ ‘Brutally murdered’ is redundant, by the way.”
He had been fool enough to be complimented when she quoted his words back at him, but had no use for her editorial opinion, if the ugly flush spreading from his eyebrows to his chin was any indication. “Perhaps you’ve made it all up, then.”
She clenched her teeth so her jaw wouldn’t drop. She had been doing that with such frequency, she had a constant headache starting about an hour after she woke up until, after fretting in her bed for hours, she finally fell into an exhausted asleep.
“Made it up? To what end? What possible reason would I have to leave my life in London to return to this wretched town and pretend to be a murdered woman?” She had no chance of swaying him to her point of view, which she should have seen earlier, and was done holding back. “Why would I—or any sane person—do something so daft? Please. Enlighten me. Please, dazzle me with your journalist acumen. I’m sure I will be fascinated instead of repulsed.”
“Girls like you,” he said, gaze flicking again from her face to her chest and back up, “like attention.”
“Men like you,” she said, standing, “don’t know the first thing about girls like me. And your office reeks of grease. You might try eating something besides chips. You’ll lose weight and your breath won’t smell as bad. Regrettably, you’ll still be bald.”
Then it was execution week: John tomorrow, his mother Wednesday, his brother Thursday. They anticipated her plan to disrupt the proceedings
(disrupt? I’ll torch the building if I have to, they’ll see a firestorm)
by closing the executions to the public, and forbidding her access to anyone in the station.
She packed. Again. She couldn’t save them, and was afraid to stay. Her resolution to tell the truth coupled with her waspish tongue had made her more enemies than usual; this town was no place to linger. She genuinely feared a late-night visit from any number of disgruntled men. Especially since she was already “dead.” Whatever they did to her, there wouldn’t be a trial.
The worst part for her (the worst part for the Perrys was entirely different) was that unpleasant things like this had happened to her before. She couldn’t remember her earlier lives, exactly, except in dreams that faded the longer she was awake. All she knew was she had betrayed the innocent and they always paid for her lies, while she never did. Her first memory was helping her mother making her third birthday cake. Her second was the strong sense that she must always take responsibility for all that she said and did. She made it a point never to lie, something that frequently brought her trouble, and never wavered from that conviction. But a clear conscience was worth the trouble, and she had thought that this time, this life, she had it licked.
I did the right thing, she told her diary. She had been keeping one since she was eight, but wouldn’t for much longer. What was the point of being careful, of never lying, of being sure of all sides before picking one?
Later, when she was writing it all down, she laid it out, almost as if someone who wasn’t her would be reading it:
From the moment I read about my murder, I did the right thing. How can it count for nothing? How can they all be executed?
I don’t understand it.
I’ll never understand it.
