‘What?’ For several seconds Mariner relived the moment when he’d been told about his mother’s death, that sudden sense of distorted perspective, when everything around him faded to nothing. He and Eleanor had only just been getting to know one another and now she was gone. Mariner felt numb. Someone, it seemed, was scattering poison over every branch of his family tree and systematically destroying it. A sixth sense told him this wasn’t natural causes. ‘How?’ he wanted to know.
‘Someone got into her house and knocked her about a bit. It probably didn’t take much.’
He should have insisted on that alarm. ‘When did this happen?’
‘They think sometime Saturday afternoon or evening,’ said Flynn. ‘She’d lain there a couple of days. The gardener found her when he turned up for work on Monday morning. I’m sorry. It’s a God-awful way to go.’
‘I was there that afternoon,’ said Mariner, dully. If only he’d taken up her invitation and stayed longer.
‘You may have been one of the last people to see her alive. Thames Valley police will want to talk to you as a significant witness.’
‘How do they know I was there?’
‘A journalist you spoke to remembered you.’
‘I didn’t speak to any journalist.’
Mariner went straight away to see Jack Coleman. ‘We seem to have reached a sticking point with the Albanian,’ he said. ‘How about I go down to the CPS and see where they’re up to, apply a little gentle pressure if necessary.’
‘Can you do it tactfully?’ Coleman was remembering his retirement celebration.
‘You know me.’
Coleman gave him a curious look. ‘I thought I did.’
Mariner decided to keep the conversation with Flynn to himself for now. It would be news soon enough, but there was no reason for anyone here to connect it to him.
* * *
Anna was cooking dinner when he arrived home that evening, but she left what she was doing to come and hug him. ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘I’ve got Jamie into Manor Park for a night’s respite. I thought it would give us time to talk — and anything else we feel like doing.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Mariner was torn, he really was. ‘I’ve got to go down to London in the morning for a couple of days,’ he said. ‘Follow up on an extradition. The Albanian.’
She was crestfallen. ‘I thought that was Charlie Glover’s case.’
‘Coleman wants a more senior officer down there.’ Extending the truth again. He’d be able to add the skill to his CV soon.
‘How long will it take?’
‘Might be a couple of days.’
‘Oh, great,’ breaking from him, she resumed preparing their meal and Mariner turned to go. ‘You’ll be back for the appointment, I trust?’ She said, without turning.
For several long seconds Mariner mentally floundered, trying to work out what she was talking about.
‘With the genetic counsellor,’ she said eventually, exasperated by his ignorance.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Only you were the one who wanted it.’
‘I did. I do. Look I’m sorry about London. It’s just bad luck. And Jamie was pretty good last night—’
But tonight was different. Jamie refused to go to sleep and as the night progressed Mariner and Anna got more and more irritable with one other. Finally Anna was reduced to her usual tactic of sitting on her brother’s bed to persuade him to stay there and Mariner went to bed alone. He woke up at three fifteen. There was a light on downstairs and he could hear movement. Panicking, he got out of bed and crept down the stairs. Anna was filling the kettle.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘What does it look like? Now Jamie’s finally gone off, I’m wide awake.’
‘I thought we had intruders.’
Anna dropped her gaze to his boxers and a sly smile crept over her face. She giggled; a magical sound that he hadn’t heard for way too long. ‘And you were going to ward them off with that?’
‘All revved up and no place to go,’ said Mariner wryly. ‘But since we’re both awake now—’
Through her fatigue she managed to be incredulous. ‘You had really better be joking!’
‘Can’t blame a man for trying. Come here.’ He held out his arms and she walked into them collapsing, exhausted, against him. Moments later her mouth was locked over his and she was pushing down his shorts. Wrapping her legs around him, Mariner was poised to consummate when, over her shoulder, like a spectre of the night, Jamie appeared in the doorway. ‘Fuck!’ said Mariner.
‘Tom!’ Anna slapped him between the shoulder blades.
‘Fuck,’ repeated Jamie. ‘Want a drink now.’
By five in the morning when sleep still wouldn’t come and while it was still pitch black outside, Mariner got up.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I may as well go.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Feeling like a seasoned commuter Mariner travelled down to London on the train again and went straight to the International CPS. He was there by mid-morning and caught them out.
‘We’re snowed under,’ the clerk confessed. ‘Haven’t had a chance to look through all your paperwork yet. Can you call back a little later and I can tell you where we’re up to?’
In other circumstances Mariner would have hit the roof, having travelled all that distance, but this time it suited him very nicely. ‘Sure. I’ll come back in a couple of hours.’
* * *
The probation office that Rupert Foster-Young had checked in with was near to his flat, and was part of an old Victorian primary school with separate gender-specific entrances. Mariner went into the one marked ‘boys.’ From the reception desk he was directed along a corridor of classrooms transformed into open-plan offices. He stopped at the door of 3A and approached the woman at the nearest desk. ‘I’m here to talk to Brendan Wise.’
From inside the office a young man with black tousled hair looked up from what he was doing. ‘Inspector Mariner?’ Wise got up and came over extending a hand in friendly greeting.
‘It’s Tom,’ Mariner said.
‘You wanted to talk to me about Robert Foster-Young?’ The swagger put the streets all over him, but Wise’s accent was cultured, and devoid of any regional accent.
‘Rupert Foster-Young,’ Mariner said, hoping there hadn’t been some kind of blunder.
‘No, you mean Robert,’ Wise corrected him. ‘That’s what he calls himself now — Rob, to be more accurate.’
‘He changed his name?’
‘Only that part. Think about it. Would you want to be banged up in Chapel Wood with a name like Rupert?’
Mariner smiled. ‘Point taken.’
‘Before we go any further, do you have some identification?’ Wise was unabashed about making the request and Mariner obliged with his warrant card, hoping he wouldn’t need to justify the visit. But all Wise said was, ‘Let’s go for a walk. I need some more fags.’
‘Rob was one of my success stories,’ Wise went on. They were out on the pavement again, dodging old ladies and mothers with pushchairs and toddlers in tow. ‘He got out on licence. He’d served four of his seven years and in most respects he’d stuck to his sentence plan.’
‘In most respects?’
‘He complied with the educational programme, attended all the courses.’
‘What kinds of courses?’
‘Computer studies, electronics — is that relevant?’
‘It might be.’ If it means he’d be capable of fitting a tracking device to my car.
‘I can look up exactly what he did back in the office.’ They’d come to a small corner newsagents. ‘Won’t be a tick. Anything I can get you?’
Mariner shook his head and Wise disappeared inside the shop, reappearing minutes later with a pack of Marlboros. He ripped them open with the urgency of an addict, lighting up as they walked, and making Mariner wonder if he’d
once dabbled in other substances, too.
‘Rob was meant to have cleaned up his act inside too,’ Wise said, blowing out smoke. ‘But that didn’t quite happen. As I’m sure you’re well aware, it’s almost easier to get hold of drugs on the inside than it is on the streets.’
Mariner had heard that. ‘He was released early,’ he said. ‘So he wasn’t considered a risk.’
‘He behaved himself. And he’d never been a real danger to anyone else.’
‘I thought he was in for aggravated burglary.’
‘He was high at the time. And he demonstrated remorse for his crime.’
‘Surely he could get high again?’
Wise shot him a look. ‘The decision wasn’t mine, it was down to the parole board, who obviously thought it worth the risk.’
‘Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘Sure.’ They’d arrived back outside the school and stood side by side on the pavement while Wise finished his cigarette. ‘Besides, Rob’s mother was ill at the time, too.’
‘With what?’
‘Cirrhosis of the liver, exacerbated no doubt by long-term drug and alcohol abuse. It’s a terrible thing to say but it was the making of Rob.’
‘In what way?’
‘It was his wake up call. Brought home to him the damage he was doing to himself. A couple of weeks after her funeral Rob joined a rehab programme and successfully kicked his habit. His mother had left him a flat and some money, and the last time I saw him he was determined to make a go of it.’ Wise tossed down the dog end of his cigarette and crushed it underfoot, before leading the way back into the building.
‘Does he still live in the flat?’ Mariner asked.
‘He’s under no obligation to keep in touch anymore, so I’ve no idea.’
‘How did he feel about his spell in prison?’
‘Like I said, he expressed remorse for his crime.’
‘But you know that while he was serving his sentence he made an unsuccessful attempt to appeal his conviction, one that he continued to pursue after his release.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Wise. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me. Up until his mother died Rob was your typical junkie mess, with all the usual paranoia. After he cleaned up he seemed to genuinely come to terms with what he’d done.’
‘Does he still believe that he was wrongly convicted?’
‘He never complained to me. Coming off drugs is a big reality check. Puts things back in perspective again.’ Wise was speaking from experience. Mariner’s instinct had been right.
‘So you don’t think Rob harbours any resentment that his application for appeal was turned down?’
‘As far as I know he accepted that he’d got what was appropriate. He’d served his sentence and got the chance to start again. Like I said, last time I saw him he was very focused on staying clean.’
‘Did he ever mention a man called Joseph O’Connor?’ asked Mariner.
‘Not to me, but I know that name. Wasn’t he involved with the shooting of Sir Geoffrey Ryland?’ Wise studied him for a moment. ‘Is that what you’re investigating?’ Mariner didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘What the hell could Rob have had to do with that?’
‘Probably nothing,’ said Mariner. ‘But his name came up as one of a number of unsuccessful appellants to the JRC and he may have known O’Connor. I need to cross him off the list, that’s all. Can you give me his last known?’
‘Why do you need that?’ Suddenly Wise was less forthcoming.
‘I just want to talk to him,’ Mariner said. ‘Nothing heavy, I swear.’
‘Well, I can, but you should know that after he was signed off, he was planning to travel.’
* * *
The address Wise gave Mariner wasn’t far from the office and the probation officer supplied good directions. It was a second-floor apartment in an imposing but rather shabby house. Repeated ringing of the bell for Foster-Young’s place brought no response, so in desperation, hovering over the list of names from which he could deduce nothing, and risking a mouthful of abuse, Mariner tried the bell for flat 1B which hopefully would be situated directly below Foster-Young, making the occupant aware of his presence. This time a young woman came to the door carrying a baby on her hip.
‘I’m looking for Mr Foster-Young in flat 2B. He’s about forty—’ Mariner tailed off, suddenly realising that he didn’t have an up-to-date description. Fortunately, he didn’t need it.
‘Rob, yeah, I know. Don’t we, Lauren?’ she addressed this to the baby, her manner pleasant and in no way troubled by the interruption. ‘Uncle Rob looks after you for me sometimes, doesn’t he?’
‘You leave your baby daughter with—?’ Mariner stopped himself. Foster-Young had cleaned up and Lauren’s mum was possibly unaware of his dubious past. No need to alarm her, especially as Lauren appeared none the worse for her experience.
The woman was looking at him. ‘It’s just while I pop to the shops and stuff,’ she said, catching Mariner’s tone. ‘At least, he does when he’s here. He comes and goes a lot.’
‘I can’t seem to raise him,’ said Mariner. ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘Sorry.’ Lauren was beginning to fidget. ‘He’s been gone a while, visiting family I think he said.’
‘If I leave you a number, would you call me when he gets back?’
‘If you like. Shall I tell him—?’
‘No, it’s okay. We’re old mates and I want to surprise him. If you could just let me know that would be great.’ Mariner left his name and mobile number on a scrap of paper.
* * *
Mariner got back to the CPS only a few minutes late, to be told by a different clerk that they were awaiting information from colleagues in Tirana, the Albanian capital. ‘How long are you in London for?’ he asked Mariner.
‘A couple of days.’
‘I can do some chasing up again for you this afternoon and see where we stand,’ he offered. ‘Then I can give you a written summary to take away with you. Can you come back in sometime tomorrow?’
‘No problem,’ said Mariner. This was working out quite nicely.
* * *
There was a good chance that Rupert Foster-Young wouldn’t appear before Mariner returned home, so the next place on his list, which covered all the options, was St Dunstan’s Roman Catholic Church. Set in lawned grounds at the end of a residential street, the church was a modern light-bricked building, with a sharply angular asymmetrical tower at one end, and a wall entirely made up of a stained-glass depiction of the parable of the loaves and fishes. A handful of individuals sat in private contemplation in the sleek, pine pews. A verger directed Mariner to the office-like vestry where Father Balfour was sitting behind his desk. ‘Paperwork — there’s no escaping it these days,’ he said apologetically, gesturing Mariner towards the chair opposite. Norman Balfour still looked remarkably youthful for his age, with a round shiny face and a thick head of hair, streaked with grey. A little fuller in the face, he’d hardly changed since the wedding photos. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to talk about old times,’ said Mariner.
‘Did you indeed? And who, may I ask, are you?’
Mariner sensed a straight-talker, so he took a chance. ‘I’m Sir Geoffrey Ryland’s son.’
‘Dear God in heaven. Are you sure?’ Balfour recovered a little. ‘Forgive me. That was not the most tactful thing to say, but you’ll know that it comes as rather a surprise.’
‘Yes,’ said Mariner. ‘I haven’t had the DNA results yet, but I’m as certain as I can be.’
Balfour was studying him. It was a look Mariner was becoming accustomed to. ‘Well, well, the young Thomas. Haven’t you turned out to be a strapping lad.’
‘So you knew about me, too.’
‘Oh, yes. It’s uncanny. You look so much like him.’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘You’re in the police force, aren’t you?’ said Balfour.
‘West Mi
dlands.’
‘And is this official business?’
‘Not exactly. I’m trying to find out more about my father. I wondered if you could tell me about Carrie Foster-Young.’
‘Carrie?’ Balfour sighed. ‘Poor Carrie. She and Geoff were engaged at one time, but he broke it off when he found out she was pregnant.’
Hallelujah. And two strikes against his father.
‘She hadn’t told him?’
‘Of course not, she knew he’d been through it before.’ Balfour looked mildly embarrassed. ‘With you.’
Mariner’s heart had begun to pound. ‘But he was the father?’
‘No. That was the whole point. Monogamy wasn’t Carrie’s forte. At the time she was going out with Geoff, Carrie slept around.’
‘She was having an affair? Who with?’
‘It’s not something I’m proud of,’ Balfour lowered his gaze to the untidy desk. ‘And neither would I dignify a couple of opportunistic leg-overs by calling them an affair.’ He glanced up at Mariner. ‘Don’t look so startled. I’m the original prodigal son. Celibacy may be a requirement of this job, but it wasn’t before. Those were hedonistic days. Nor do I kid myself that I was the only one. Carrie wasn’t choosy, she slept with anyone she could get her legs astride. I thought it the duty of a good friend to warn Geoff about it before he made a commitment.’
‘You told him about her pregnancy?’
‘I felt he had a right to know.’
‘But how could anyone be sure that the child wasn’t his?’ Mariner asked.
‘Geoff had never slept with Carrie. Having already got your mother into trouble when he was a student, he was pretty determined not to make that mistake again, especially as he was about to try and get himself elected.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘What he said made absolute sense. It may have been the first time in history that women had effective contraception, but they also had control over whether they felt like using it. Geoff knew how unreliable Carrie could be, so the only way of being sure was to exercise some restraint until after they were was married. She apparently agreed, then got her kicks sleeping around with just about everybody else. It was a shock when he found out.’
Killer Lies (Reissue) Page 22
