THE UNWILLING SON an absolutely gripping mystery thriller that will take your breath away

by Jane Adams

  ‘What a bleak place.’

  ‘In summer it can be beautiful. Vast skies and the ocean just on the horizon, but I agree that February may not be kind.’

  ‘He’s not going to want to see us.’

  George shrugged. ‘Does that matter? It’s either us or the police. We put it to him that way, he might see sense.’

  Shaw grimaced. ‘I think it’ll be us and the police,’ he said. ‘I can’t see Beckett letting any of us off the hook.’

  ‘Can you blame him?’

  Martyn Shaw shook his head. ‘No. Not in the least. I don’t pretend to like this though.’

  A security light came on as they got closer to the house and a dog barked from somewhere beyond the garden wall. It was just after ten p.m.

  George hammered on the door. The sound echoed loudly and the barking of the dog became more frenzied. Farrant came to the door and peered through the narrow glass at its centre. It was clear that he recognized Martyn Shaw at once, for his expression changed from one of mild concern at the arrival of such late visitors to one of hatred.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To come in would be nice,’ Shaw said mildly. ‘It’s very cold out here, David.’

  Farrant scowled at Shaw’s familiarity. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. I’ve nothing to say.’

  ‘I can wait, so can my friend here. And if we don’t manage to talk to you tonight, you’ll find the police camped on your doorstep tomorrow. You will anyway, but they might make less of a noise about it if you cooperate now.’

  ‘You’ve no authority here. You come here threatening me? I’ll call the police myself.’

  Martyn Shaw shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. He paused, then said, ‘DI Beckett was very upset, you know, that I was the one to tell him about James. He thought you might have done him that courtesy.’

  Farrant froze. ‘I know nothing about him.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you do, but I was the one who had to tell Beckett whom he might be looking for. He wasn’t pleased to think you’d been holding out on him, David. He was talking about a press conference when we left him. Scheduled for ten in the morning, I believe. You’re not the only one who can manipulate the media, you know. I’d make a bet that DI Beckett’s pretty good too.’

  Farrant hesitated for a moment more, then unlocked the door and pulled it wide open. He stalked away from them down the hall and into the room beyond.

  George raised an eyebrow at Shaw. ‘You ever think of changing your profession,’ he said, ‘let me know.’

  ‘I got us in,’ Shaw acknowledged, ‘but I think it’s your turn now.’

  George nodded.

  ‘I really don’t know what happened to Morgan’s son,’ Shaw told him. ‘But I do believe he might be the one carrying on Lee’s work, and I’m pretty certain Farrant suspects that too.’

  Farrant was waiting for them in the living room at the back of the house. The curtains were open but the room lights blocked the view of the night beyond the window, merely reflecting their own images back on them. Farrant clutched a cut-glass tumbler and the ice in it rattled as his hands shook. He offered them nothing, did not even invite them to sit down. George did so anyway, taking up position in a winged armchair while Shaw perched on the arm of a sofa on the opposite side of the room.

  ‘What happened to Morgan’s son?’ George asked him.

  ‘How the hell should I know?’

  ‘You worshipped Morgan, denied the new Prophet when he took over. You can’t tell me you didn’t keep in touch with his son.’

  ‘Where did James go to?’ Shaw asked him. ‘I know he went into rehab. I know Morgan had him drugged up to the eyeballs, pumped him full of God knows what, until the poor kid nearly lost his mind.’

  ‘That wasn’t Morgan. He didn’t give James drugs. That was Harrison Lee.’

  ‘But Morgan colluded,’ Martyn Shaw persisted. ‘Morgan himself told me. “Anything it takes,” he said. He had no scruples, David, not even where his own son was involved.’

  ‘You know nothing about it. You weren’t even there.’

  ‘No, but you were,’ George put in. ‘You know what went on. Perhaps you even colluded with Morgan and Lee. Perhaps that’s why you weren’t at the Markham house that night. Did Morgan warn you? Did you know those people were going to die?’

  ‘I believe you did, David.’ Shaw picked up on George’s words. ‘I’m certain that you were warned. That you could have prevented it all.’

  ‘Twelve people died,’ George added quietly. ‘Why weren’t you among them, Farrant? In fact, where were you that night?’

  Farrant looked outraged. He slammed his glass down on a nearby table and strode across to the door, pulling it open. ‘Get out of my house,’ he yelled. ‘Get the hell out of my house or I’ll call the police. Now!’

  George glanced across the room at Martyn Shaw and then slowly shook his head. ‘It’s been a long drive tonight,’ he said, ‘and it’s going to be a long drive back. My friend over there is jet-lagged and rather upset to hear what you’ve been saying about him to the media. I don’t think we’re ready to go. Not until you tell us what you know.’

  He got up and went over to Farrant’s sideboard, sorting thoughtfully through the bottles. ‘Drink, Martyn?’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind.’

  Shaw slipped off the arm of the sofa and settled himself along the length of it, stretching out and crossing his booted feet at the ankles. ‘What’s he got then, George?’

  ‘Half-decent malt . . . Oh, I was wrong, a very decent malt. You like Macallan’s, Martyn?’

  Farrant strode back across the room and snatched the bottle from George’s hand.

  ‘James Morgan is not violent,’ he declared furiously. ‘He left the Markham house because he had a breakdown. He’s not a murderer. You want your killer, then you and I both know who he is. That child Lee brought to the house. His so-called angel. Lee was a perverted monster, destroying and dirtying everything he ever touched. It wasn’t Morgan and it wasn’t Morgan’s son.’

  ‘And where is James Morgan?’ George demanded.

  ‘How the hell should I know? Morgan checked him into a place called Friar’s Retreat. Some privately owned thing down in Kent. After Morgan died . . . after Morgan was supposed to have died and the bills weren’t being paid any more, they moved him to Briargate and then I think on to somewhere else. I heard tell he ended up back at Carlton Hayes before they shut that down. I don’t know after that. The last time I saw James Morgan was almost seven years ago. He didn’t remember who I was. He didn’t remember who his father was. He could tell you nothing about Harrison Lee.’

  ‘Did you ask him?’

  Farrant shrugged. ‘Yes, I asked him. I asked him what Lee was really trying to do. He swore he didn’t know. I don’t think he even knew what I was talking about. After that, I thought it best to leave him alone.’

  ‘And what else?’ Shaw persisted. ‘Did you ask him about the money, David?’

  Farrant stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you mean. What money?’

  ‘The money Morgan took from his followers. The money he invested in offshore accounts. The money that you believed was rightly yours because you were certain that Morgan would name you as his heir after I had gone.’

  ‘And so I would have been. Morgan changed his will after you betrayed him. I saw the will. I saw Lee countersign it. Morgan pledged control of the Eyes of God to me.’

  ‘And the money that went with that no doubt. Morgan made some wise investments as I remember.’

  Farrant’s jaw set tightly. ‘I know nothing about that,’ he declared. ‘Anyway, why are you asking me? You destroyed that final will. You took over what was rightly mine. You hold everything that Morgan had bequeathed to me. You want answers to that, Martyn Shaw, then look to yourself for them.’

  Shaw got up and paced across to the window. He stood close to Farrant, examining the man thoughtfully as if he were some new kind of insect. ‘That’s just
it, Farrant. I don’t have what Morgan left. And I knew long ago that he’d just faked his death and would want to collect. Maybe he did, I don’t know, but when I took control, if that’s what you can call it, I had nothing. Morgan owned a little place in Wales. It was his private property. He had it as a holiday place and I eventually got them to release the deeds of that, though it took for ever to go through probate because of the ongoing investigation. Meantime I’d held down two jobs and had an overdraft the size of the national debt just finishing university. I sold the house and used the money to pay off my debts and get us started again. We lived in a terraced place in Nottingham for another two years, gradually repairing the damage Morgan had done to what was left of his followers. But one thing he had taught me was how to play the markets and as soon as we could scrape the cash together that’s what I did.’ He grinned. ‘I proved to have quite a talent for predicting futures. But what Lee and Morgan hid stayed hidden. In that, I’m as wise as you.’

  He sighed as though his journey and the trials of the day had suddenly caught up with him. ‘Write it down,’ he said. ‘The last place you know that James Morgan was resident. All the rehab centres and hospitals before that. The names of anyone who might have treated him.’

  He glanced across at George. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably, but we’ll let Beckett ask the rest. That will do for now.’

  They watched as Farrant, his hands still shaking, wrote out the list they wanted. It covered two A4 sheets by the time he had done, as if the act of writing, once begun, was difficult to stop.

  ‘I know nothing more,’ he declared when he had finished. ‘Now go. Just go and leave me in peace.’

  ‘You didn’t ask,’ Shaw commented, ‘but I expect the other will was destroyed in the explosion. Funny really.’

  Farrant said nothing. He stood at the door until they had returned to their car and then slammed it hard.

  ‘These investments,’ George asked. ‘You think that’s why Dignan is interested?’

  ‘Your boss? We’ve met, you know,’ Shaw said. Then: ‘I would guess so, yes. Like Farrant, everyone assumed that they had transferred to me. You obviously know that we were investigated?’

  George nodded.

  ‘Well, we came up clean. I had nothing to hide then and I don’t now. I never had a penny from Morgan except the money he gave me for rent in my first year at uni. And that I’d always intended to pay back. The proceeds from his house helped to build the Eyes of God as it is now. My books are clean.’

  ‘And what was Morgan dealing in?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain. There were rumours and there were people who approached me once they thought I’d taken over. I believe he was dealing arms. I don’t want to think that. He was my mentor, my family, for a long time.’

  ‘You say that and yet you seem barely to have known James Morgan.’

  ‘James lived with his mother. He came to live with Morgan only after she died. Her death almost sent him over the edge then. He wasn’t the most stable of people. Sensitive, scared of living. He idolized his father. Morgan used to see him regularly and take him out, buy him stuff, spoil him rotten. He loved his mother. I guess she was the stable element in his life, but his father made out like he was the provider of fun, of all the stuff he wanted. It must have made it difficult.’

  George nodded. It was a game he’d seen many divorced couples play to a greater or lesser extent. ‘And the will?’ he asked. ‘The one that was destroyed in the Markham house?’

  Martyn smiled gently and reached into his coat. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Lee’s angel had it. When Morgan deserted him, he gave it to me.’

  * * *

  Sarah and Mitch arrived to collect Ray only to find the office lights left on and the place deserted. A scribbled note on the desk said, ‘Following a lead. Call later, Beckett knows.’ They were puzzling over where he might be when the phone began to ring. Sarah reached over and switched on the speakerphone. It was Rowena.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘Is Ray there? He said he might be working late.’

  ‘Good question,’ Sarah told her. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘It’s Martha really. She’s been talking to her people. The ones who come to the shelter. Ray mentioned a motorbike and this old guy remembered it and the rider. He’s apparently good for a touch every now and then.’

  ‘He has a description?’ Sarah asked her.

  ‘Yes, mid-twenties or a little younger. Shoulder-length dark hair and brown eyes. He’s slim and about medium height, but the important thing is his tattoos. Apparently, Fred, that’s the old guy, he met him coming out of a tattooist one day. She doesn’t have a shop front, only does clients recommended or who hear about her by word of mouth. Fred knows her because she’ll give him a cup of tea if he turns up at the right time. Anyway, he recognized the biker and asked Tina, that’s the tattooist, about his tattoos. She wouldn’t tell him at first but finally she let on that they were faces. Portraits.’

  ‘You can do that with tattoos?’

  ‘Apparently. There’s some special shading technique. Anyway, this Tina says that his back is covered with them. They’re the portraits of children and the pictures she copied were from newspaper clippings.’

  ‘The children Lee killed?’ Sarah guessed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rowena admitted. ‘But Martha thought you ought to be told.’

  Sarah thanked her and when she was off the phone dialled Beckett’s number. Mitch had gone pale.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked her.

  ‘The portraits on his back,’ Mitch said. ‘In Irene’s dream. The angel had the images of children carved into his skin.’

  Sarah regarded her thoughtfully. ‘That’s not as much as I’d like to do to him,’ she said. ‘Hello. Beckett, this is Sarah Gordon. We haven’t met but I’m sure you’ve heard of me.’

  She told him quickly what Rowena had related to her and then asked him, ‘Where’s Ray? He left me a note to say he was following some lead and that you knew about it.’

  Beckett hesitated long enough for Sarah to reach her own conclusions. ‘You don’t know where he is, do you? He’s off somewhere on his own.’

  ‘We did know,’ Beckett assured her. ‘He followed the biker back to Mallingham. We had him under observation and then we lost him.’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ Sarah told him. ‘And you can tell me just how the entire police force in Mallingham could manage to lose someone the size of Ray Flowers.’

  She slammed the phone down before he could protest, then searched her pocket for her car keys. ‘Bloody incompetent . . .’ She stopped, her voice breaking suddenly. ‘I think you’d better drive,’ she said to Mitch. ‘I don’t think I could see too well just now.’

  * * *

  George had called Dignan and Shaw had used a pen-light torch to read out the list that Farrant had given them. Dignan had promised to get on to it right away and keep them informed.

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late tonight?’ Shaw commented when they had finished.

  George laughed. ‘Dignan doesn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘He rests for a few hours a day in a coffin filled with his native soil and he’s never thought that other people might need a little more.’

  Shaw laughed. ‘Well, this other person does. I’ve lost track of the last time I did more than doze.’

  ‘We’d better get in touch with Beckett,’ George told him. ‘Keep him up to date. The number’s in the directory.’

  Beckett was clearly as exhausted as Martyn Shaw, but his news put all thought of sleep from their mind.

  ‘We lost him,’ Beckett repeated when he’d finished telling them what happened. ‘We were literally one, two minutes behind. We found what was left of his mobile phone, it had been smashed into a wall, but there was no sign of Ray. Sarah Gordon’s on her way here. I tried to put her off but she was in no mood to listen.’

  ‘Ray will be all right,’ George told him with more confidence than he felt. �
��He was in the force for a long time.’

  ‘So was Bryant,’ Beckett reminded him.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Ray Flowers was not amused and, had he been forced to admit it, he was afraid, though the two emotions competed so equally that he could not have said which one had control. The young man had guided him away from the building site and through another empty lot, moving from shadow to shadow with the certainty of a cat stalking prey. Behind him, Ray could hear increasing activity as the first two officers were joined by others. A police car, siren wailing now, as brash as the first one had been stealthy, careened into the narrow street and screeched to a halt just before it hit the bollards.

  ‘You must be popular,’ his companion commented.

  Ray snorted. ‘I’m an ex-police officer. Loyalty means something.’

  ‘Even one who betrayed his superiors?’

  ‘They were corrupt. They deserved it.’

  The younger man seemed to be considering that, because he fell silent again, just urged Ray forward with the pressure of the unseen weapon in the middle of his back.

  Again Ray pondered heroics. Again he dismissed the idea. He wasn’t lithe or fit enough for that sort of thing and he had felt the wire-sprung muscles of the younger man’s arms, seen the speed with which he could move. Ray knew himself to be outmatched.

  ‘In here.’

  ‘Here’ was an old garage with broken doors and peeling paint. The young man pushed Ray inside and reached to close the door with his free hand, then abruptly he moved away, releasing Ray from the threat of the thing pressed into his back.

  Ray turned. Anger overriding fear. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘I needed to get you here. I didn’t want to be followed and you had me followed.’

  ‘Damn right I did. What the hell else should I have done?’

  The young man’s eyes flickered away from him and then his gaze came back to rest upon Ray’s face. Even in the dark he was aware of its intensity.