24
Because I hadn’t had a visit from the police, or heard anything on the grapevine about a body, I was beginning to feel rather good about things. So good that I allowed myself to entertain the notion that I might have got away scot-free.
Then I received a telephone call from my mother.
“Brad, have you heard anything about our Brian?” She asked.
It was an innocent question, but under the circumstances it felt like a rusting knife being twisted in my intestines.
“No,” I said, straining to remain calm, “should I have?”
“Not really,” she replied. “It’s just that I haven’t been able to get in touch with him at home, and he isn’t answering his mobile. When I rang his work they said they hadn’t seen him or heard from him in a while.”
Naturally, I did my best to reassure her.
“I’m sure i
