‘It’s a struggle.’
‘And these would seem to pretty well confirm it.’ Reaching into the bag again, Flynn passed Mariner half a dozen letters bound by an elastic band. Yellowing slightly, they were written in his mother’s sloping italic hand, and among them was a programme for a Promenade concert at the Albert Hall.
‘The Sibelius,’ Mariner said.
‘Significant?’
‘My mother’s got the same programme. I found it among her things last summer.’
‘They must have gone together.’
Mariner looked again at the date. ‘She would have been pregnant with me at the time.’
‘Romantic.’
Tucked inside the programme was a card, half the size of a postcard and decorated with sprigs of holly, advertising the Christmas Special at Pearl’s Café: purchase one hot drink and snack and get another free.
‘Nothing new under the sun,’ observed Flynn. ‘BOGOF existed even back then, or in this case POGOF. Pearl’s Café must have meant something to them. Very Brief Encounter.’
‘Except that Celia Johnson wasn’t up the duff.’
The last items, sandwiched between the letters, were a couple of press cuttings. Recent newspaper reports of cases Mariner had worked on, a photograph of him that had accompanied a piece about the death of local doctor Owen Payne a couple of years ago. ‘And all this was in a security box?’ he asked.
‘These are the entire contents. According to the bank Ryland had accessed it not long ago, too, sometime in November.’
‘Christ.’ Dazed, Mariner sat back a moment trying to assimilate the meaning of it all. His father, a man in the public eye whom he’d known and yet not known at all, a man until recently very much alive and well, successful and wealthy, and apparently perfectly aware that he had a young son growing up not so very far away. This area of his life that had been void was suddenly filled with a huge persona, not just anyone, but Sir Geoffrey Ryland, and Mariner was overwhelmed by it. It was too much to take in right here, right now. He’d deal with that later. In the meantime he steered the conversation back to the questions that came naturally. ‘So I finally find out who he was, weeks after he gets shot. Are the press on anywhere near the right track about that?’
‘It looks like it,’ said Flynn. ‘I mean, I’m not party to the main investigation, it’s being led by DCI Griffin. But she has a good reputation. For a change the media have got a lot of the facts right. Ryland’s chauffeur, Joseph O’Connor was a former client. The JRC successfully backed his appeal against a possession-with-intent charge in 1998.’
‘Do you know the history?’
‘Vaguely. O’Connor was arrested for driving around North London in a van with a large quantity of H stashed under the boot. O’Connor claimed he had no idea it was there.’
‘If his conviction was quashed then doesn’t that mean he was right?’
‘That part’s a bit hazy. As you know, the Commission was created in response to cases like the Guildford Four and the Birmingham Six, to look at wrongful convictions and to root out police corruption. It was one of Sir Geoffrey’s bug bears. A lot of people felt that he’d been appointed to the chair for that reason. From what I understand O’Connor’s conviction was overturned on a technicality, mainly because his statement had been coerced. I don’t think there was much question that rules were broken during the interview. Let’s face it, that sort of thing happened all the time back then, didn’t it? Trouble is that dodgy interview techniques can cloud the issue of whether a suspect is actually guilty or not.’
‘Ryland must have believed he was innocent otherwise why would he have taken him on as a chauffeur.’
‘Self-justification? Ryland had a point to prove where O’Connor was concerned. There’s no doubt that at the time of his conviction O’Connor was spending a lot of time in the company of some major league drug dealers. They split into two factions soon after his arrest, and he may have been innocent of the original crime, but it looks as if he made contact with one of his old acquaintances after the dust had settled.’
‘Or they got in touch with him,’ Mariner said. ‘Why have the press have dubbed it a revenge killing?’
‘It’s not in the public domain yet, but the killers used the victims’ blood to write a message to that effect on the window. The two factions are rivals in an ongoing tit-for-tat turf war, as violent and deep seated as the one you’ve got going on between the Johnsons and the Burger Boys on your patch. The MO is a perfect example of a drug-related hit executed by one of these gangs, identical to others we’ve seen in the last couple of years. The only deviations are the fact that, in this case, the innocent bystanders happened to be VIPs and the unusual location.’
‘How’s that explained?’
‘The drugs were in the car being shifted around London until the Rylands’ trip to Oxfordshire got in the way. The assassins must have seen it as a golden opportunity. They were right to. Out in the sticks nobody saw or heard anything.’
‘But why would O’Connor get involved in that stuff again and risk what must have been a steady job?’
Flynn clearly hadn’t anticipated this level of interrogation, but he played along. ‘Why does anyone get involved with drugs? It’s bloody lucrative. Ryland might have employed O’Connor, but it was only as a driver. He wouldn’t have been paid much, would he? And it was the perfect cover for transporting drugs around. Who’s going to stop and search a diplomatic car? He might have only done it the once. Perhaps he was presented with the right offer and was tempted.’
Seemed like a nice guy, the girl in the bookshop had said.
‘And are you happy with the theories?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know all the details. I’m only on the secondary investigation team, but from what I know, it’s where all the evidence points. They wouldn’t be following that line for nothing.’
‘So if it’s that straightforward, why involve Special Branch at all?’
‘Ryland’s position. The Home Office has to make sure we get it right.’
Mariner had a feeling that it wasn’t quite all, but Flynn’s tone implied that he’d no more to say.
‘So what else can you tell me about Ryland?’ Mariner asked instead.
‘Recent history? Probably not much more than you already know.’
Mariner felt a sudden unbearable surge of anger. ‘Well, at least I know now why he pissed off and left us. He must have been an ambitious son of a bitch.’
‘You don’t know that. Maybe there was good reason—’
Mariner’s glare cut him off. ‘Like what?’
Flynn gave an impotent shrug. ‘He kept your photographs. You must have meant something—’
‘Sure. So much that in over forty years he couldn’t be arsed to get in touch or come and see me. Not exactly living at the other end of the planet, was he?’
‘You have no memory of him at all?’
‘No,’ though despite the emphatic reply, something niggled at Mariner; a vague recollection that he could hardly give substance to. At his mother’s funeral Maggie, a friend of hers, had mentioned a limousine she’d seen pulling away from their flat shortly after Mariner was born. The two men sat through a long silence.
‘Does this mean I’ve got half siblings?’ Mariner said at last.
Flynn shook his head. ‘There are no kids. The people we’ve dealt with most have been Ryland’s mother, Eleanor Ryland, and his staff. Diana doesn’t seem to have much family either, apart from a sister who lives abroad. She’ll be flying in for the inquest. Oh, and they had a dog; company for Mrs Ryland probably. Judging from the amount of Valium we found at the house she was of a somewhat nervous disposition.’
More silence. Flynn would make a great partner in an interview. ‘How long are you here for?’ Mariner asked.
‘Back first thing tomorrow.’
‘And if I need to ask more questions?’
‘Give me a call any time, though like I said, I’m not completel
y in the know.’
‘Listen. I’d like to tell Anna about this in my own time. It’s going to take a bit of getting used to. Is this likely to become public knowledge?’
‘No reason why it should.’
‘Good. So we can keep this to ourselves for now?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks.’ Mariner held up the photos. ‘And I can take these with me?’
‘I can’t imagine how they’d be relevant to our investigation. Happy New Year, mate.’
‘Happy New Year.’
* * *
Outside the pub the two men went their separate ways. While Flynn returned to his hotel, Mariner dropped down off the main street into Gas Street basin to walk back along the canal to his own place, hoping that he still had it to himself. He covered the distance in record time, pounding along the towpath, barely noticing anything around him. The thoughts exploding and ricocheting around his head commanded his attention. Through all the uncertainty, he’d been aware that his father might be out there somewhere and simply not interested in him. Yet, at the same time, there’d always been the more acceptable alternatives — that the man had died, emigrated, or at the very least had never been told of his son’s existence. But now Dave Flynn had turned all that on its head.
Ryland’s possession of those photographs meant that he was far from ignorant about Mariner, and the only thing really stopping him from making contact, archaic as it seemed now, was the protection of his reputation and his career. It was possible, of course, that he’d only recently come into possession of the photos, but if that was the case, why the entire history? One of the photographs in that little collection was of Mariner at only days old. No, what remained was the inescapable truth that Sir Geoffrey Ryland was fully aware that he had a son. He’d lived only a hundred miles away, but hadn’t wanted to know him. In the last hour Mariner’s lofty opinion of the man had plunged to the lowest depths.
* * *
Arriving at the cottage in what seemed like no time at all, Mariner was grateful to note that his new tenant didn’t appear to have moved in yet. The place was so cold inside that he could see his breath on the air. He was going to miss the solitude of this place when he didn’t have it to himself.
He’d only intended collecting Ryland’s autobiography from where he’d left it, surplus to requirement, but his mind was awash with thoughts and questions, and the empty, silent house was just too inviting to resist.
Tonight he’d been given the answer to the biggest question mark hanging over his life, but all that had replaced it were endless other questions. Why hadn’t Ryland stood by Rose? The most obvious explanation was that his career came first. He didn’t want to be saddled with a wife and a kid before he’d had the chance to make his mark on the world. Funny how, even now, women were condemned for making the same kind of choice, but men had always managed to get away with it. Interesting how powerful public image could be, too. Mariner would never have categorised Ryland as that kind of man. But he was a politician, so would be expert in creating a ‘persona,’ and the single mindedness needed to go into the profession in the first place would have stood him in good stead. Oh yes, Ryland would have been used to getting his own way, selfish bastard.
Mariner wondered how his mother had felt about it. Had there been bitter arguments, recriminations? It had been hard for her as a lone parent in the sixties and into the seventies. She’d carried that stigma with her. Growing up Mariner had noticed the way that certain people treated her. Rose had never given the impression that she’d felt abandoned or hard done by, but by the time Mariner was old enough to understand their situation she’d had years to come to terms with it.
On the other hand, Ryland could have simply been scared of the prospect of fatherhood in much the same way as Mariner was now. With a hot flush of guilt Mariner remembered his reaction three years ago when his then-girlfriend Greta had announced out of the blue that she was pregnant. He’d been shocked and appalled. They’d only known each other a year and had never even discussed the idea of children. Had Rose pulled the same stunt on Ryland? Mariner’s reaction to Greta had hardly been supportive. Luckily - if that was the word - he’d got away with it, discovering later that Greta had miscarried their baby. But if he couldn’t handle it as a mature adult of forty, how would he have felt at nineteen?
The disparity in his situation, of course, was that Greta’s actions had been calculated. Things would have been very different for Rose in 1959. The pill didn’t come in until two years later and other forms of contraception were less than reliable. Ryland would have known if he was sleeping with Rose that pregnancy was always a risk. The likely scenario, as Mariner had suspected for some time, was that he’d been an accident. But along with that rationale had been the comfortable assumption that his father, whoever he might be, had never been told he had a son. What disturbed him now was the revelation that Ryland did know about him and must have done from the start. It was beginning to look as if failing to face up to paternal responsibility could be a hereditary disposition.
Chapter Eight
Rose’s letters might help to clarify things. First Mariner arranged them in chronological order, starting from when he’d have been about three months old.
There were apologies from her to begin with for not having responded sooner to a letter Ryland must have sent: . . . but you wouldn’t believe how much time a new baby takes up. Not much time to sit and write. I know this is hard for all of us but I’m sure that in the fullness of time you’ll see that it’s for the best. Your parents only want what’s best for you and now I can understand what a powerful force that is. Already Thomas and I have our own routine and it wouldn’t fit with yours. He likes to cry for most of the evening, which would hardly help your studying.
Then later: As Thomas gets older it will be more difficult for him to understand. I think it might be better if your visits stopped. I know it’s difficult for you to find the time and when he begins to talk it will be impossible for him to understand that he can’t talk about you.
Then when Mariner was aged two and a half: Congratulations on your engagement, Diana sounds lovely. It was quite a surprise, but I really do hope you’ll be happy. She sounds good for you, and you’re right. She mustn’t know about us, especially after all that she’s been through. You must look forward to the future and starting a family of your own together.
Thomas and I have a good life. In a few weeks we will be moving away from London and it’s best that you don’t try to get in touch. Mum and Dad are helping out so we will be quite self-sufficient. If you honour this wish I will continue to keep you abreast of Tom’s progress but if you don’t then communication will cease entirely. We each have our own lives now. We always have done, haven’t we?
The final letter was postmarked Leamington, but there was no address given at the top of the page.
It could hardly have been put more plainly. The decision to go it alone was Rose’s, something she’d been cheerful about, even proud of. The letters he’d read did nothing to suggest otherwise. The thing he’d never learn was exactly how far the young Geoffrey Ryland had gone in guiding her into that way of thinking.
Disappointingly, though not surprisingly, the letters were all from his mother’s side and so told him little about Ryland. Mariner hoped that the book would reveal more. The pile of leftover Christmas gifts was where he’d left them in the lounge, among them One of the Good Guys.
The first thing Mariner turned to was the photo on the dust jacket, which he took over to the mirror. It was in the eyes, he thought. Those in the picture were almost exactly like those reflecting back from the glass. How had he not seen that before? Because he hadn’t been looking, of course.
But as he probed more deeply, Ryland’s autobiography was disappointing. He was obviously planning to milk the book-buying public and this was a first instalment only, covering the time of his childhood and student activism up until the time he became an MP in 1967. And of course it t
old only what Ryland wanted to tell, painting a story of a charmed life. Suddenly Mariner was learning about his privileged roots. From an upper middle class family, his father went to Oundle public school before reading law at University College London. And it seemed that Ryland’s father’s thwarted political ambitions had been mostly responsible for his entry into the political arena.
Mariner was glad he’d read the letters first. Over the next hour he was presented with a different view of Ryland; a rather spoiled only child who, somewhere along the line, had seduced Rose and then deserted her to pursue a more glamorous life. A war baby, born in 1940, it would have made Ryland only nineteen years old when Mariner was born, his mother slightly older. The book described his time at university when he became politically active. It would have coincided with his meeting Rose but nowhere was she mentioned even in passing. Mariner wondered if Ryland had contacted her about the book, but thought it unlikely.
Every few chapters there was a collection of illustrations, photographs of past Ryland generations and Ryland’s childhood, as a toddler through to a teenager — looking startlingly like the snapshot of Mariner at around the same age — then at graduation, and finally photographs of Ryland’s wedding and early married life.
The wedding photos were from 1965, so Ryland was no longer a student, but he’d still been young when he married. Mariner wondered how Rose had really felt about that. In her letter she’d seemed happy enough, but was she just making it easier for Ryland? In later life Rose had stifled Mariner, becoming increasingly demanding and capricious. But all this reminded him of the other side of her, generous and considerate, that he’d known as a kid. Mariner was drawn to the photos of the wedding group. Ryland’s espoused, Diana, was the eldest daughter of Lady Elizabeth and successful businessman Sir Reginald Fitzgibbon, who had made his money from pulp products, mainly packaging. Judging by the formality of the photographs it had been a proper society wedding, morning coats and top hats, at what looked like some country pile. Was that the first hint that Rose hadn’t been good enough for Ryland? If he’d married her it would have been a very different affair. There could have been something in that because otherwise the newlyweds looked an ill-matched pair.
Killer Lies (Reissue) Page 6
