Chapter 38
THE POLICE rang to say they needed to come to the house. Dom asked why, though in his heart he knew. The investigating officer said they would prefer to explain in person.
What Dom didn’t understand was why police officers always travelled in twos, like animals entering the Ark. Out of nowhere, he suddenly remembered that Harry used to have a Noah’s Ark play set when he was little: elephants, zebras, camels, even a pair of green-and-yellow snakes and one tiger. The tiger had lost his mate early on – gone the way of so many toys, into the inner recesses of the car, or into the rubble of small pieces of plastic at the bottom of the toy box. When the set was handed on to Martha, she’d insisted on pairing the tiger up with a spare lioness, she hadn’t liked it being on its own.
What the fuck was he doing, thinking about toys at a time like this? He really needed to focus. The senior officer was looking serious. It was serious. It felt wrong having the police in the house. Dom’s life was not one that was supposed to have criminal investigations and statements and defence lawyers and big, chunky coppers with their kit-laden uniforms in it. He had worked hard to make Harry and Martha’s lives comfortable, insulated from hardship and unpleasantness; safe – or so Dom had thought – from the general nastiness of the world. But since the accident, nothing had felt secure. The good life that had taken him so long, and so much effort, to build after Adele’s departure was under threat. It made him anxious. It was Harry who had brought all this into their home. Harry who sat next to him now, chewing at the skin alongside his thumbnail and staring through the patio doors.
The officer said, ‘As you know, the file has been with the CPS for a while, but they’ve now made a decision.’
Pause. Why did people pause? Why not just spit it out? Too much TV drama.
‘They are bringing charges.’ Harry didn’t react, but carried on worrying away at his thumb. ‘The key factors are the presence of alcohol in Harry’s bloodstream, the estimated speed the car was travelling when it left the road, and the injuries the passengers suffered.’ Nothing from Harry, not a comment or a flinch. ‘The formal charge is going to be…causing death by dangerous driving, with an additional charge of driving under the influence. Do you understand what I’m saying, Harry?’ the officer asked. They all waited.
Harry let his hand drop, nodded, but not a single word of denial or defence emerged from his mouth.
What the hell was wrong with him? It fell to Dom to respond. ‘It was an accident, for God’s sake. It could’ve been any of them driving that car. You’re telling me that Harry’s the one who is going to be punished for taking responsibility that night. He was the most sober of all of them. Jake was off his head! Both the girls had been drinking! Was it Jess dying that tipped the scales?’
The senior officer adjusted his jacket. ‘No. That’s not influenced the decision to prosecute, though it has had a bearing on the charge. As with every case, it’s down to the evidence.’
Dom felt the panic building up inside him at the police officers’ solid, assumptive, wrecking-ball presence in his house. How dare they sit there so impassively, hiding behind their uniforms and their supposed impartiality? They were acting as if this was nothing to do with them, while all the time it had been they who had been building the case. They were the ones who had passed the ‘evidence’ on to the CPS; they who must have made an application for a prosecution.
‘So, you’re saying that even if Jess had survived, you’d still be hounding my son.’
Harry had gone back to gnawing on his thumb.
‘Mr Westwood, we’re not “hounding” anyone. We are duty-bound to investigate every incident and ascertain responsibility and culpability, in the public interest. And in this case there is evidence that Harry’s behaviour on the night in question was a substantial contributory factor in the car crashing, and the subsequent serious injuries suffered by those involved and in the death of Jess Beaumont.’
Dom made a disgusted noise.
The officer sat up straighter, chest out, shoulders back. One alpha male fronting up up another. ‘Mr Westwood! Please. This isn’t personal. It’s the law. I suggest that you calm down a little.’ He continued, ‘The reality is that things could be worse. The CPS could have gone for the more serious charge of manslaughter, for which the penalties are much stiffer. “Dangerous driving” often does carry a custodial sentence, but any mitigating circumstances will be taken into consideration.’ The implication that Harry was somehow getting off lightly did not help to placate Dom. ‘We advise that you speak to your legal representatives, now that the case is going to trial. They will be able to explain the process and advise you on the next steps. You will need to enter a plea, in response to the charge.’
Dom cut across him. ‘Oh, don’t you worry. We’ll be taking advice all right – and we will be fighting the charge. I won’t have my son’s life ruined by this, not if I can prevent it.’
‘That’s your decision to make.’ The officer looked pointedly at Harry as he said this. The officers stood – bomb dropped – ready to leave, but before they did, the older guy deposited one final piece of unwelcome advice. ‘We want to be clear,’ a last loaded pause, ‘this prosecution is going ahead. You need to prepare yourselves for that, practically and emotionally. We’ll be in touch.’ He was experienced enough not to offer his hand in farewell.
Dom showed them out without another word. His brain had already moved on, scrolling through the implications of the charge becoming public: for Harry and Martha, and for his business. Because it would get out – and soon. ‘They’ were going to have a field day with this. Final confirmation that they could pin it all on Harry. Action, not words, that was what was needed. He went into his study to retrieve his phone. First step, call the solicitors, put a fire under their arses. He insisted that the receptionist put him directly through to Ross. He wasn’t going to be fobbed off with some note-taking junior. When Ross came on the line, Dom explained the situation, stressed the need for proactivity and booked a meeting for the following day.
It was only after he ended that call that he noticed Harry had left the room without saying a single word.
Chapter 39
HARRY SLIPPED through to the garage, intending to drive away. It didn’t matter where. Just away – from the police, from his dad, from everything. Dom’s BMW was parked in the space nearest the door, low-slung, bright red, six litres. No hybrid, planet-hugging ecoawareness for his dad – at least not outside the confines of his work. Next to Dom’s M5 was a Seat Leon-sized gap. His car was gone. For a second, Harry was shocked. But of course it wasn’t there. He hadn’t really forgotten. How could he? It was simply that driving was – correction, had been – such a natural, enjoyable part of his life that his brain seemed unwilling to accept it was over. Not that he wanted his car back. He never wanted to see it again. It was too stained by the memories of that night. Even if it hadn’t been wrecked by the crash, it could never have been just a car again. It was apparently locked up in some police compound somewhere – evidence in the case against him. A case that was now definitely going to court.