Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (best book reader .TXT) 📕

Susan nodded. “That makes it even better.”

McNulty shook his head. “No it doesn’t. If I’d known I wouldn’t have let them send you away.”

It was Susan’s turn to wipe her eyes. “We were two kids in an orphanage. There’s nothing you could have done.”

McNulty was almost pleading. “I could have tried.”

Susan rattled the ice in her glass then indicated the house. “I look forward not back. It worked out okay.”

It had been a long hard road but McNulty had to agree. He wasn’t a cop anymore but he lived in America and worked in the movie industry. The pay was good, his colleagues were friendly, and people weren’t trying to kill him on a daily basis. Today’s incident aside. He had to remind himself that life as a British Bobby wasn’t as dangerous as its American equivalent. At least when they tried to bottle or stab you they had to be standing pretty close. Gun culture meant they could kill you from across the street.

Susan put her glass down and smiled. “It did feel a bit like coming full circle though. When I heard you were filming at Chester Brook.”

McNulty gave a little laugh. “It being an orphanage, you mean?”

Susan looked closely at his expression. Realization dawned on her face. “You didn’t know.” She put added affection into her voice. “Chester Brook was the orphanage that brought me over here.”

SIX

The upshot of that was a long meeting with a man McNulty didn’t want to meet. When Susan asked him to help he gave a typically brusque and heartfelt response.

“I don’t help orphanages.”

The flipside of being heartfelt was the look on his sister’s face. He stood up to it for as long as he could but then he crumbled and agreed to meet Harlan DeVries.

The sun had gone down but the sky was still two shades away from being night. Tilly was in bed. McNulty sat with his sister on the deck overlooking the sunken driveway. The porch light threw the garage doors beneath the house into shadow. When the car pulled up behind McNulty’s, the driver got out and stood for a moment under the basketball hoop. Harsh light slanted across him, reminding McNulty of The Exorcist. The comparison didn’t fill him with confidence. Susan stood and waved for the man to come up. She looked happy to see him. That tempered McNulty’s reluctance.

Harlan DeVries was pushing sixty but carrying it well. He was tall and slim with the easy grace of a man who took life in stride. His short grey hair was neatly trimmed. His voice had the calm gravitas of Gregory Peck and his face exuded friendly trustworthiness. He could have been your favorite uncle. McNulty didn’t have a favorite uncle, so he distrusted him immediately.

Harlan came up the deck steps and stood at the railing. He sensed the hurt and hostility being generated, so he preserved McNulty’s personal space by standing at the top of the stairs. “I understand.” He gave a sad little smile. “Thank you for seeing me.”

McNulty didn’t respond. Harlan took one step forward. “Your experiences don’t paint adoption in a good light.”

McNulty didn’t stand up to greet him. “You have no idea about my experiences.”

Harlan stayed where he was. “Actually, I do.” He sighed. “When the scandal broke at Crag View, I severed all ties. I didn’t want Chester Brook being tarnished by a few bad eggs.”

“A few?”

“A lot. As it turned out. But not at Chester Brook.” He held his hands out, palms up. “If you’ll let me explain.” He lowered his arms. “I’ll tell you why this is important.”

Susan brought tea and cookies out to the deck. It was dark now but still warm enough to be comfortable, and it felt like this was a conversation best suited for outside. Darkness swallowed the surroundings, but a cocoon of light bound the three adults together. Crickets sounded all around. Harlan waited until Susan had finished serving tea, then relaxed into his chair.

“After our son was born my first wife couldn’t have any more children.” He stirred sugar into his cup. “We hadn’t intended to stop at one. When Adam was ten we felt his loneliness. We wanted him to have a brother to play with. To grow up with.”

He finished stirring and tapped the cup. It rang like a bell. “We adopted Tom when he was five.” Harlan smiled at a memory. “Adam couldn’t understand why he wasn’t always twice as old as his brother.” He let out a sigh. “We were Tom’s last chance. He’d been fostered several times but was always returned to the orphanage. He had…”—Harlan searched for a diplomatic way of explaining— “…stress issues. Bed wetting. Cutting his sheets. Things like that.”

He took a sip of his tea then looked at McNulty. “We almost sent him back ourselves but I couldn’t do it. At the age of five the children move into the permanent wing. No more adoptions after that. So we kept him. And he blossomed.” He lowered his eyes as he searched for another memory. “I remember his saying, a good while later, that the first time he felt like he belonged, was part of a family, was when we took him on vacation with us.”

He smiled again. “He settled in pretty quickly after that.”

The crickets paused and the night went quiet. Susan sat huddled in her chair, not because it was cold but to assuage the tension she was feeling. McNulty sat straight-backed and belligerent. Harlan nodded his understanding. He knew he’d have to earn this man’s trust. The crickets started up again. Harlan continued.

“To this day. As proud as I am of my sons, the thing I’m proudest of is the best thing I ever did in my life: Adopting Tom and giving him a new life.” He leaned forward and looked McNulty in the eye. “Because not everyone gets a second chance.”

The friendly tone turned hard. “And you know all about