Killer Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘Despite a lifelong history of political agitation and years of confrontation with the government over the JRC, you really don’t think Sir Geoffrey Ryland had his enemies?’ said Mariner.

  Flynn sighed. ‘Of course he did, in the same way that all politicians have enemies, but not the kind who’d put a bullet in his head in the dead of night on a quiet country road. There is no grassy knoll in Cheslyn Woods.’

  ‘But you said it yourself, the search of his house was delayed. You don’t think that’s strange?’

  ‘It was a couple of days, that’s all. We’ve no reason to think anything had been touched in the interim. Anyway, I’m not paid to think about the whys and wherefores. I’ve been given a very specific brief. And if you think about it, it all adds up politically.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Ryland was the government’s champion of fair play,’ said Flynn. ‘The last thing they want is to have his good name tarnished in any way after his death. And however good they are, everyone makes mistakes.’

  Mariner pounced. ‘What kind of mistakes?’

  ‘I’m not being specific. You know how it is. After a famous figure dies there’s nothing the red tops love more than to dig up some dirt, especially to prove that the deceased wasn’t such a shining example after all. Then, half the time, you find out that the muck is being spread by the other side, taking another chance to prove that this government isn’t what it claims to be. I’m talking generally here. All I’ve been asked to do is check what there is and pass on any information.’

  ‘Have you passed me on?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘So that if I go public on it they’ll be prepared.’

  ‘I hardly think news of your existence is going to threaten the stability of the government, do you?’

  ‘And you really think that’s the only reason you’re looking into Ryland?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Flynn picked up his pint. ‘So let it drop, will you?’

  ‘You brought me into this, remember? What did you expect? “Thanks for telling me, now I’ve got a name to put on my marriage certificate, should I ever need it.” All I’m doing is trying to find out more about the old man I didn’t know until he was dead. You can’t blame me for that.’

  ‘I’m saying, don’t go stirring up trouble for the sake of it. What with the explosion, and now this. You’re not at your best right now. Don’t start reading too much into things.’

  Mariner left Special Branch HQ feeling dissatisfied. Flynn was a friend but he wasn’t telling him everything. And he sure as hell wasn’t listening.

  * * *

  From his hotel room Mariner phoned Maggie Devlin, an old friend of his mother’s he’d met for the first and only time at Rose’s funeral last year. He was in two minds about contacting her. As a psychologist and trained counsellor she’d be all over him like a rash, but he wanted to find out if she’d known. Mariner recalled her mentioning that as a student she’d been actively involved with human rights organisations like Amnesty International. With her social conscience, the chances were that she and Sir Geoffrey Ryland would at least have had some shared interests. It’d be good to meet Maggie again, just to say hello, but as the only available link with his mother’s past he also wanted to pick her brains. He was in luck. She sounded delighted to hear from him and could meet him that evening. Next up he phoned Anna. As before, her mobile was a no-go, so he tried the landline. Becky picked up. Mariner had always liked Anna’s friend, but she sounded tired and a bit low. ‘I’m not supposed to tell you this but babies are hard work,’ she said. ‘We’d like to keep Anna for a few days, is that okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ It bought him a little more time, should he need it.

  ‘It’s wonderful having a live-in babysitter, and she’s doing some valuable research.’

  At that point Anna must have asked for the phone. ‘What research?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, take no notice. It’s just Becky being Becky.’

  ‘You haven’t put down a deposit on a house.’ He was joking really, but she didn’t notice.

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ She was keeping something back, but Mariner was too preoccupied to pursue it. They talked about nothing for a couple of minutes until he rang off. Then he showered and changed and ordered some unexpectedly good soup and a sandwich from room service.

  He’d arranged to meet Maggie in a Soho bar. He was there ahead of her and beginning to wonder if he’d come to the wrong place when she breezed through the door, her hair wild from the windy evening and with her dramatic black cloak billowing out behind her. ‘Tom! How lovely to see you again.’ Mariner caught a whiff of incense as she kissed him on both cheeks, before studying him at arm’s length. ‘You look knackered.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  They had to battle to get through the crush at the bar, and grabbed a couple of bar stools before ordering drinks from a very camp waiter.

  ‘That bomb that went off. Are you involved in that?’ Maggie asked when they were alone.

  ‘If it was a bomb,’ said Mariner. ‘No one seems to know yet. But yes, I’m involved in more ways than you’d think . . . we were there, just going into the church when it happened. I helped in the rescue operation.’ Mariner fought to deflect the recurring mental image. ‘It was unimaginable; blood and glass everywhere.’

  Ever the counsellor, Maggie couldn’t help asking. ‘Have you talked to someone?’

  ‘Others ahead of me in the queue,’ Mariner said. ‘But I’m used to the rough stuff. I’m all right.’

  ‘So you said,’ she gave him an appraising look. ‘And yet you flinch every time there’s a loud noise. Did you know that?’

  Mariner hadn’t. ‘I’m just—’

  ‘—tired. Mm.’ She didn’t believe him. Their drinks came. ‘You’re still with Anna?’

  ‘Yes. We’re thinking about having kids.’ It just sort of came out.

  Most people would have reacted with delight and enthusiasm. Maggie’s response was more measured. ‘And you’re okay with that?’ She was a bloody good counsellor. Could read him like a self-help guide.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. Then: ‘No.’ It was a relief to say it.

  ‘Anna’s idea.’

  ‘She’s just become godmother to her friend’s little girl and it seems to have changed everything. She’s besotted.’

  ‘That’s a pretty normal female response,’ said Maggie. ‘And how old is she, mid- to late thirties? She’s approaching that “now or never” age too,’ she went on. ‘Conscious that the biological tide is beginning to turn against her.’

  ‘Exactly, so now babies are practically the only topic of conversation.’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I’ve sort of gone along with it, I suppose.’ She waited patiently. Good sense of timing. ‘Anna’s right, now that Rose is dead there’s no one else.’ No one that Maggie knew about yet, anyway. ‘And I can see that it might be nice to create a family of my own. We’ve got something solid, or at least I thought we had. In many ways it’s the natural next step, but actually doing it, that’s something else. If I’m really honest, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Is it to do with the explosion?’

  ‘Partly, it has to be.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You know my history,’ said Mariner. ‘I don’t know if I’m up to it.’

  ‘Have you told Anna that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Keeping it to yourself may not be the best strategy.’ It was a more diplomatic line than others would have taken. ‘Why do you think you’re doing that?’

  ‘Anna’s so excited about it. I guess I don’t want to spoil it for her. I agreed, because at the time it didn’t seem like a bad idea.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘Maybe it’s finding out who my dad was.’ Mariner thought she was going to fall off the high stool. He r
eached out to steady her.

  ‘You know?’ She was, quite literally, open-mouthed.

  ‘You’ve heard of Sir Geoffrey Ryland?’

  Finally the polite façade gave way. ‘God in heaven, you’re kidding me!’

  ‘So you didn’t have any idea?’ In the last few days Mariner had wondered about that.

  ‘None,’ said Maggie. ‘When we talked after Rose’s funeral I was absolutely honest with you. The only suspicion I had was that black limousine.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘But now I know, it seems so obvious.’ Mariner raised his eyebrows. ‘The physical likeness for a start.’

  ‘Yeah, funny what you can see once it’s pointed out.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘My God, I’ve been so slow on the uptake.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ryland was around when we were at college,’ she said. ‘We hung around with his crowd. A whole group of us met at the first ever CND rally at Aldermaston. After that we used to congregate regularly in a bar not far from here and put the world to rights. That was how I got involved in Amnesty. Students did that then. We really thought we could make a difference. These days kids are too preoccupied with paying off their student loans and getting a foothold on the property ladder to worry about politics.’

  ‘So you knew Ryland too?’

  ‘I was closer to one of his friends, Norman Balfour.’

  ‘His best man.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She stopped as a thought came to her. ‘My God, Norman contacted me about a year ago. I hadn’t heard from him in donkeys, and one of the things he asked was about your mother. It was just a throwaway remark at the end of a conversation: “How’s that friend of yours, Rose?” kind of thing. “She had a baby, didn’t she?” To which I said: “Not so much a baby now. He’s a detective in the West Midlands police.” And we laughed about it. How it was the last thing we’d have imagined a child of Rose’s doing. But then he said I’d never guess what he was up to either.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘He’s a priest.’

  ‘Not what you’d have expected of him?’ said Mariner.

  The eyebrows went up again. ‘He was a bit of a lad, Norman, from what I remember. I wouldn’t exactly have had him down for a life of celibacy.’

  ‘So how well did you know Ryland?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Not that well. We were on the fringes of the same student gang for a while, that’s all. Geoff was out of our league, or so I thought. He was a pretty charismatic character even then. Back then the cause was CND and the peace movement. He was very young, but still got himself in the papers a few times, speaking at public meetings. I knew that Rose was friendly with him, but so were a lot of girls.’

  Mariner thought back to the press cuttings. ‘Like Caroline Foster-Young?’

  ‘Carrie. Oh God, yes. She came along later, I think. I remember her at a “sit in” we staged at around the time of Kennedy and the Cuban missile crisis. She was American, so those issues were close to home for her. She was very glamorous, too. I think she and Geoff went as far as getting engaged. It came a bit out of the blue when he married Diana Fitzgibbon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What you might call the ridiculous to the sublime. In many ways Diana didn’t seem at all Geoff’s type, restrained, where Carrie was wild. And it seemed to happen quite suddenly, unless time is altering my perspective.’

  ‘Ryland was thinking of going into politics,’ said Mariner. ‘Maybe he needed a different type.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ she agreed. ‘Diana certainly had a dramatic effect on him. After meeting her he gave up drinking and smoking, took the pledge.’

  ‘What happened to Carrie?’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing her much after that. I’m guessing she went back to the States.’

  ‘And not long after that, Mum and I moved up to Leamington,’ said Mariner. ‘Do you know why that was?’

  Maggie frowned. ‘No. That was rather sudden too, or seemed like it at the time. Needs must, I think. Your mother needed some support with childcare and your grandparents were there to provide it. How are you feeling about all this?’

  Mariner took a moment. ‘I don’t know. Elated, confused, betrayed.’

  ‘All understandable reactions. You’ve experienced two earth-shattering events in your life in a relatively short space of time, one literal, one metaphorical. Do you have any idea of how psychologically vulnerable you must be at this moment?’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘You must consider getting some help. Please.’

  ‘You’re helping me,’ said Mariner.

  ‘I mean proper professional help,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s a miracle that you can get up in the morning, given everything you’ve been through. A physical explosion followed by an emotional one, on top of other major changes in your life. What does Anna think about your late father?’

  ‘I haven’t told her, or anyone else.’

  ‘This is becoming tedious. May I ask why not?’

  ‘I wanted time to get used to it,’ Mariner said. ‘The only other people who know are the man who told me, Eleanor Ryland and now you.’

  ‘You’ve met the formidable Eleanor?’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘I saw her once, and I’ve heard about her,’ said Maggie. ‘She’s a powerful force.’

  ‘She’s been very kind to me. Very accepting.’

  ‘So she knew about you?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start.’

  ‘She told me about what happened, about why he wasn’t around,’ said Mariner. ‘In fact, she painted my mother as some kind of saint. Was it really like that?’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘Was there ever any question that Rose wouldn’t go through with it? Was she under any pressure?’

  ‘No.’ Maggie was unequivocal. ‘It was never in doubt. She wanted her baby.’

  ‘And you think she was okay on her own?’

  ‘Yes, I really think she was. It seemed to me that she had come to terms with the idea that the father of her child wouldn’t be part of her life, and she was content with that. In fact I think she quite liked it. It appealed to her sense of adventure. The two of you against the world. Of course, I had no idea why. Knowing who he is — was — she was probably just being realistic.’

  ‘So what do you know about Ryland in more recent times?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘I’ve followed his career with interest and our paths have crossed at a distance a few times, because of our mutual interest in world injustice,’ said Maggie. ‘But whereas I’ve focused my interest abroad through Amnesty, he’s, of course, been more concerned with domestic policy.’

  ‘Through the Judicial Review Commission.’

  ‘Yes. I have to say I was pleased to see his name appearing on that. I know people who were involved in setting it up, but I don’t suppose he’d have remembered me even if he’d seen my name.’ She paused a moment. ‘It must be strange for you, knowing that your father worked on the other side, so to speak.’

  ‘I’ve got mixed feelings. I can’t help wondering what he thought about my choice of career.’ Mariner sipped his sparkling water. ‘How much do you know about the work of the Commission?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Maggie. ‘But I have friends who do.’

  ‘I’m having difficulty getting any detail about Joseph O’Connor’s case and Ryland’s part in it. I’d like to know more. Eleanor also hinted that Ryland was under pressure at work but she couldn’t tell me how or why.’ It was pushing the boundaries of their fledgling relationship, but Mariner just had to ask. ‘Do you know anyone who would talk to me?’

  ‘Officially?’

  ‘No, this is just me.’ He could see her weighing the argument, and rightly so. What earthly reason did she have to trust him? ‘All I really want is to talk to someone who knew him, but I don’t know where to start. For once it doesn’t help that I’m a police officer, not with the investigation ongoi
ng.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Maggie said finally, but it was a long way from a commitment. ‘Listen, you’ve been through a lot with all this,’ she said. ‘You must talk to Anna and those close to you, but if you ever need another option—’

  ‘Thanks.’ But they both knew that he wouldn’t be taking it up. Maggie had to leave soon after that, something to do with a client, so Mariner took his time strolling back to the hotel. He was, as always, amazed at how different two cities could be. Birmingham was a fraction of the size of London of course and Mariner found himself wondering how anyone could ever become intimate with such a huge conglomeration. New York, it seemed, didn’t hold the monopoly on metropolitan insomnia, and the streets throbbed with activity well into the night. Back in his room he opened the window for some air but was forced to close it again. Even its roar was bigger than Birmingham’s roar. He got into a bed that felt big and empty without Anna beside him, and thought about what she was doing now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Waking early the next morning Mariner regretted making that request of Maggie. It was asking too much. So it was a surprise when she called as he was getting dressed.

  ‘I’ve called in a favour,’ she said. ‘A caseworker at the JRC, Helena James, will meet you at twelve thirty in the bistro in Sadler Row, across the road from the Commission.’

  His ‘thank you’ was completely inadequate. And now breakfast was accompanied by the prickle of anticipation. Mariner was about to meet someone who had worked with his father on a daily basis, and who would know what was really going on. He was so wired he was certain his fellow guests in the huge dining room must be able to see it. From his table by the wall he could observe what an odd assortment they were. Most appeared to be foreign; sharp-suited businessmen, along with several families with young children, seeing the sights, people who would probably never ordinarily be in the same room together.

  Mariner only ever ate a cooked breakfast on the rare occasions when he stayed in hotels. As always, he overdid it and afterwards, stuffed to bursting with bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms, he was desperately in need of somewhere to walk it off. It was a sharp blustery day, perfect for blowing away the dulling effects of his hermetically sealed hotel room. Returning to the hotel last night, he felt sure he’d noticed a park across the road, but when he got there it turned out to be Brompton Cemetery. Better still. Graveyards, in his opinion, were highly underrated for their recreational value and invariably empty. This one, a peaceful oasis amid the city clamour, especially on a weekday, was no exception. Designed by Benjamin Baud and consecrated in 1840, the graveyard was attractively laid out around an impressive central chapel that seemed to give more than a nod to St Peter’s Basilica in Rome.