Swing

When Xavier came back, his face was grim. He was swinging a walking stick in one hand as he opened the car door with the other.

‘This was in the road, between the warehouse and the fence.’

‘It’s not Joe’s,’ said Kim immediately. ‘His is brown with a leather loop on it.’

‘I’m afraid he lost that one when we were inside. I think this is the replacement that Brontë found for him. He was limping quite badly when we were leaving.’

Tears brimmed in Kim’s eyes. ‘What does it mean?’

Xavier debated whether to withhold or reveal the bad news. This woman had bought him for his knees but decided not to go through with his deconstruction. She had actively and willingly helped him as much as she could. He decided he owed her the truth about her husband.

‘Logically, it probably means wherever Joe is, it isn’t his choice to be there. If it was, he’d still have his stick with him.’

She flinched. Gulped a bit and flexed her hands on the steering wheel.

‘You’re not helping Xavier. How do we find him?’

‘Without his stick he won’t have gone far on his own. We didn’t see him on the road, so he must still be in the warehouse complex.’

‘But you just said he probably wasn’t on his own.’

‘Yes.’