Ill be honest with you, Lauren: Im devastated to think of Tim in prison for a murder he didnt commit. But at the same time, Im excited, because its an opportunity for me. For me and him, for us. Years have pa.s.sed, Francine is dead, and Tim needs my help. I have hope burning inside me again. Its agony, but I prefer it to the numb detached feeling I had before when I thought all I had to look forward to was a life spent watching Sean watch football.

In order to help Tim and save both our lives (yes, that really is how it feels) I first need your help, Lauren. I dont know who killed Francine. You do, I think. Please, please, tell me whats going on. Or tell the police. Please be brave. Do the right thing. Dont let Tim pay the price for someone elses wrongdoing. I know youre too good a person to let that happen. I know youll read this and decide that the man Ive described in this letter-the Tim I know, with all his mysteries and flaws, all his fears and hypocrisies, all the love he feels that he cant express-deserves better than to be framed for a crime he didnt commit.

Yours sincerely, Gaby x (07711 687825)

18.

12/3/2011.

"Youve never seen West Side Story?" Liv squealed at Simon across the arm of the waiter who was sc.r.a.ping bread crumbs off the white paper tablecloth with something that looked like the blade of an ice skate. "I cant decide if thats touchingly quaint or just culturally impoverished. Chris loves it. You have to see it."

"Hes not interested," said Gibbs.

"'One Hand, One Heart," Simon practiced saying the songs t.i.tle, tried to imagine himself reading out the lyrics to more than a hundred wedding guests.

"Its the song Tony and Maria sing when theyre imagining getting married," Charlie told him. "They know it cant happen for real, so they stage an imaginary wedding in her bedroom and sing their tragic duet. Its a bit much to make Simon read both parts," she told Liv. "Is there a reason why I havent been asked to sing Marias part, or am I being paranoid?"

"Youre tone-deaf, and Im not singing anything," said Simon self-consciously. Theirs was the only occupied table, and the room was small enough for the waiters to overhear them.

In her message this morning, Liv had described the restaurant as "casual" and "intimate"-two words that, for Simon, didnt belong together at all, though he could see that they might if you were the sort of person who slept with other womens husbands. "Like dining in your own home, almost!" Livs text had promised. Simon strongly disagreed. His home wasnt a cellar, didnt have a low dome-shaped ceiling of roughly spiked white plaster, and didnt contain men in suits who asked him if everything was all right every twenty seconds.

"We dont want it sung, we want it tastefully read aloud," said Liv. "By your delightful husband." She beamed at Simon.

"'We?" said Charlie. "You mean you and Dom?"

"No. Me and Chris. Chris and I." Liv reached for Gibbs hand. Charlie kicked Simon under the table. He kicked back, knowing shed misinterpret it. Her kick, at a rough guess, had meant, "Look at them squeezing hands in public as if theyre a proper couple." His meant, "Stop staring, for f.u.c.ks sake."

He wondered about Gibbs elastic-band ball. It hadnt made an appearance so far this evening. Was it at home with Debbie?

A waiter moved toward them, holding aloft the widest tray Simon had ever seen. More food he had no appet.i.te for. What had Charlie ordered for his main course? He couldnt remember. He hadnt enjoyed the starter shed chosen for him: slices of mozzarella with very thin, dark, strong-tasting ham, all covered in yellow-green oil and flecks of something.

"Doms happy for me to sort out the finer points of the ceremony," said Liv. "Hes up to his eyes in work as usual. Ive chosen all the other readings with him in mind, and Ive chosen this one for me and Chris. Weve chosen it."

"But youre not even going to be there," Charlie said to Gibbs.

"Arent I?"

The waiter set down their plates in front of them. Simon was relieved to see a steak on his. Hed have liked chips with it. Instead, he had what looked like a varnished clump of potatoes in a small cylindrical ornament.

"You and Debbie are coming to Livs wedding?" Charlies voice radiated disbelief. She kicked Simons leg again.

"Kick Gibbs," he told her. "Hes the one youre talking to."

"Not Debbie," said Gibbs. "Just me."

"I know what youre thinking, Char," Liv said. "Obviously its not going to be easy for Chris, but at the same time, how can he not be there? Thatd be worse, for both of us. Itd be like . . . look, this is a bit of a horrid a.n.a.logy, I know, but if I were in hospital, dying, Id want Chris there."

"A bit of a horrible a.n.a.logy? Liv, its a double helping of horrible with a side dish of grim as f.u.c.k."

"You can say no," Gibbs told Simon.

"It isnt grim, any more than 'One Hand, One Heart is tragic," Liv said indignantly. "How can a death-defying love song be tragic? We dont all choose to look at the world through Charlie Zailertinted gla.s.ses."

"You said you wouldnt lose it, whatever happened," Gibbs reminded her.

Simon wondered what theyd expected to happen.

"I havent lost anything," said Liv. "Ive found a useful metaphor: gla.s.ses with lenses that enable the wearer to see only . . . dead bodies and misery!"

"Not everyones willing to blind themselves in order to be happy," Charlie said.

"This isnt getting us anywhere," said Gibbs. "Look, Charlie, n.o.body heres blind. We all know the score. We see things differently, thats all."

"I cant see me reading this." Simon handed the printed lyrics back to Liv. "Sorry. Im willing to read something else, if it matters that much to you. Something that makes the same point, give or take."

"Really?" Liv bounced up and down in her seat. "Heaven on a stick! Youll really do it?"

"It cant just be anything," said Gibbs. "It has to mean something."

Charlie laughed. "Has my sister taught you nothing, Gibbs? You pretend it means whatever you need it to mean. The exact words might be 'Call me Ishmael, but we can all tell ourselves that means, 'This is secretly the wedding of Liv and Gibbs, even though it looks like the wedding of Liv and Dom."

"'Call me Ishmael?" Liv looked worried.

"Simons only going to agree if he can read a pa.s.sage from Moby-d.i.c.k."

"I can speak for myself, Charlie."

"Im just trying to save us some time."

"You can get someone else to read 'One Hand, One Heart-anyone," Simon said. "If you want me . . . Look, Ive never read at a wedding before. Id feel more comfortable reading something Im used to."

"Such as?" said Gibbs.

"'Rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor," Simon quoted. "'And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank G.o.d; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye."

"Thats beautiful." Liv sniffed and blinked. She looked at Gibbs. "What do you think?"

He shrugged. "Up to you."

"Dont say that! I hate it when you say that, as if your opinion doesnt matter."

"In no way does that pa.s.sage make the same point as 'One Hand, One Heart," said Charlie, annoyed that they were considering it. Did it matter that much to them to have Simon read at their fake-wedding-within-a-real-wedding? "What about me?" she heard herself say. "Seriously: Ill read 'One Hand, One Heart."

"You will?" Liv cupped her hands over her nose and mouth and pressed the tips of her index fingers into the corners of her wet eyes. Simon looked away. Nothing made him feel more uncomfortable than people crying near him.

"Youre not just pretending to make me happy, so that Ill be even sadder when I realize its a big lie?" Liv asked through her hands.

Charlie sighed. "Yes, thats what Im doing, because Im the dictionary definition of evil. Are you sure you want me on the guest list at all?"

"Not evil, just against me and Chris."

"Once, maybe. Now the only thing Im against is both of you staying with people you dont love anymore."

"I think we should have both," said Gibbs.

"Evidently," Charlie quipped. "Youve got Debbie and Liv, Livs got you and Dom."

"I meant both readings: 'One Hand, One Heart and Moby-d.i.c.k."

"Yes!" Liv yelped. "I actually love that quote from Moby-d.i.c.k: earthly doubts and heavenly intuitions. Perfect!"

A waiter was approaching. Simon looked down at his plate. None of them had eaten anything. "Is everything all right? There is a problem with the food?"

"Were wonderful, thank you." Livs smile faded as he walked away. "Ive never tried to explain to you before, Char, but we do have our reasons. I didnt think youd be interested."

"They dont need to know our reasons," Gibbs muttered.

"They dont need to, but I think they deserve to."

A statement that could be taken in two ways, Simon thought. He wondered if Charlie was thinking the same thing, or if he was spotting things that werent there to be spotted. Like whatever had been removed from Tim Brearys bedroom at the Dower House before Simon and Charlie had searched it late this afternoon. Simon had felt its absence. Had Dan Jose worked out on Friday that Gaby Struthers would have been suspicious of his eagerness to evict her from Brearys bedroom? Had he disposed of something incriminating as soon as shed left? If it was that incriminating, wouldnt he have got rid of it on or shortly after 16 February, the day Francine was killed?

Simon had nearly said to Charlie on the way to the restaurant that this was the most puzzling and frustrating case hed ever worked on, but hed held back, knowing shed have laughed and called him a drama queen. This was his boy-who-cried-wolf moment, Simon acknowledged to himself. Hed complained before to Charlie, countless times, about cases that were so unfathomable, they made his brain hurt. He should have kept quiet, saved his hyperbole for Tim and Francine Breary, the couple that made no sense at any point in their story.

He hates her, so he stays. He leaves her, then, finally free, attempts suicide. He tells Dan and Kerry Jose he cant ever go back to the Culver Valley because Francines there, then goes back to look after her when he hears shes had a stroke. He smothers her, admits it, and expects everyone to believe he had no reason for doing so.

Beside him, Liv was saying, "Doms happy at the moment, because he has no idea. In a way I do still love him, Char-in the way that I love you, or Mum, or Dad. Gibbs loves Debbie in the same way, probably."

"I dont love your parents at all, or Charlie, so . . . yeah," Gibbs agreed. "In the same way."

"What, not even in a close-friendy ex-skipper kind of way?" Charlie pretended to be hurt. "Thanks a lot!"

"Im not allowed to walk out on my kids." Gibbs stared down at his sea ba.s.s filet.

"Not allowed by who?" Simon asked.

"Olivia."

"I just dont want to hurt anyone," said Liv. "This way, we fulfill our obligations to the people who depend on us, and pain is kept to a minimum."

"Unless Debbie or Dom finds out," Charlie said. "In which case, there might be a bit of a max-out on the pain front, mightnt there?"

"Yes," Liv said defiantly. "But I cant make important life decisions based on fear and worst-case scenarios."

I could give you lessons, thought Simon.

"No one ever finds out the complete truth, in a nice convenient package, Char. Not even you, Simon, with your luminescent brain. Even if someone walked in now and saw me and Chris together, thats all theyd see: one instance of us being together. Would it really devastate Debbie or Dom to hear wed been together in a restaurant once? Its impossible for them to find out the emotional truth, or any more than whatever one thing they happen to witness, unless we tell them. Which we never will."

"I recognize that!" Charlie announced triumphantly. "The recycled wisdom of Colin Sellers. His influential treatise: How to Get Away with s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Around. Gibbs? Anything to declare?"

"Sellers is right," said Gibbs. "Unless you let someone film you in bed, youre not going to get caught in a way you cant talk your way out of. Most cheaters crack at the first challenge from a suspicious partner."

"Its the feelings that hurt in these situations, not the catching in bed," said Liv. "And you cant prove feelings. No one can film another persons emotional landscape."

Simon pushed away his plate and stood up. The beginning of an idea was gathering in the lower reaches of his mind, so provisional that it was trying not to be noticed. "Every cheaters different, right?" he said. "Some crack, some dont. Some hope for the best, some fear the worst."

"I could stop cheating on Dom, quite easily," Liv said. "But then Id feel as if I was cheating myself, and Chris, and . . . lifes generosity toward me."

"I sense were leaving," said Charlie, stuffing a forkful of lasagne into her mouth. "Simons not thinking about you anymore, Liv. Sorry. Good line, though."

A new waiter came over. "Sir, is everything all right?"

"Its not random. They were chosen for a reason."

"Sir?"

"What reason?"

"Im not sure what youre asking me, sir," said the waiter.

Simon wasnt asking him and wasnt interested in discussing. He needed to get out of the restaurant so that he could think. As he unlocked his car, he heard Charlie call out to Liv, something about practicing her Puerto Rican accent. He had no idea what she was talking about.

- "Youre still here," Sam said to Proust, who was sitting in his dark office with the door ajar. Sam hadnt seen him; hed sensed the presence.

"Im like a small boy with a gap in his teeth." The Snowmans voice emerged from the shadows. "Hoping to catch a glimpse of the tooth fairy bringing a shiny new pound coin."

"Prepare to be disappointed," said Sam. "Ive got nothing new and shiny for you. Ive got the same Dower House liars Ive had from the start, all still lying, sticking to the new story: Jason Cookson was outside cleaning the lounge windows when Francine Breary was killed, and they all somehow forgot to tell us originally. Oh, and they all got confused in exactly the same way too-all mistakenly telling us he was in the lounge the first time we interviewed them. And theyre all echoing what Kerry told Charlie yesterday, about Tim Breary picking up the pillow he used to smother Francine and holding it at chest level-suddenly, that details part of each of their stories and they all express it in exactly the same way: 'chest level. Before you say separate them and twirl them, weve tried. No luck so far."

"Luck?"

"Sir, weve talked and threatened and sweetened and done everything. If you think you could do better, go ahead and try."

"Are those the only two options, then? You doing badly or me doing better? How about you doing better? Or Sergeant Zailer, since I notice shes involved herself: CIDs very own Woman in Black, whose spirit we cant seem to lay to rest." A strange noise emerged from the blackness: a sigh-groan hybrid. "Switch on the light, Sergeant. Or shall we have a seance? If theres a chance your initiative might try to make contact . . ."

"My initiatives been at it all day and cant think of anything else." That sounded too final. "Im sure Ill feel differently in the morning," Sam qualified, turning on the light. The Snowman was pinch-rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger as if hed invented a new obscene gesture.

"We shouldnt neglect the possibility that Tim Breary killed his wife, sir. He says he did, and Charlie could be right: it might be a double bluff. Breary knows suspicions going to fall on him, so he preempts, confesses, gets his disciples on board. Between them, they make the whole thing feel so shaky that we a.s.sume there cant be any truth in their lies."

"Disciples?"

"Im fairly sure Brearys the mastermind of whatevers going on," Sam said. "For what its worth, I still think hes our man. He had no money of his own, no income. Francines death meant he could cash in her life insurance policy. No one else had a motive as far as I can see."