Killer Lies (Reissue)

by Chris Collett

  ‘You found out about your mother.’

  ‘It didn’t take much to chat up the girl on reception. She was an easy lay, and the first time I shagged her in one of the empty guest rooms, she told me, “You’d better wear a condom, I don’t want to get pregnant. In the right place though, aren’t I?” I didn’t know what the little cow was on about, until she told me that Hollyfield used to be a home for unmarried mothers. She’d seen all the old records in the basement. When she told me the old name, I knew it. Mam was always threatening to send me back to “Our Lady”.’

  ‘You knew you were adopted.’

  ‘I was never allowed to forget it, that I was a bastard-child that nobody wanted. I was worthless and I deserved everything I got.’

  ‘So the girl found your records?’

  A laugh. ‘I didn’t trust her. A couple of weeks later I demonstrated how weak their security was, broke in and found them myself. All things come to those who wait. I’d given up on ever knowing by then. I’d tried for years to discover who’d dumped me with those evil people, but each time I just hit a brick wall.’

  ‘It must have taken you a while to track your mother down.’

  ‘Her address was on the record card. It might have been harder if she was nobody, but when you live like she did it’s easy to find out. That’s what really hurt, seeing the kind of life she’d had and knowing that I could have been part of it.’

  ‘Giving you up destroyed your mother. She suffered every bit as much as you did.’

  ‘Who fucking cares! It was her choice and her decision. She didn’t have to give me up. She could have afforded to keep me. But she couldn’t stand the stigma. I’d rather have been aborted than brought up in the hell hole where she left me.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault. She was forced into a bad decision.’

  His voice rose in anger. ‘She could have kept me if she’d really wanted to. Your mother did. What’s more important, your child or your reputation?’

  ‘You can’t just take over my life,’ said Mariner.

  ‘I can recreate it though, given the right resources, and with you out of the way it can be done.’

  ‘You’re planning to contest the will?’

  ‘I have DNA proof that Diana Ryland was my mother. That I’m her flesh and blood.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, surely.’

  ‘Ah, it won’t be easy, I know, but it can be done. It has to be. I didn’t want it this way. It would have been much better for everyone if Sir Geoffrey had continued to play ball. Those regular little payments would have helped me to start my new life.’

  ‘So it was blackmail.’ Knowing he was right brought Mariner no comfort.

  ‘It was gratifying to know how easily I could get at them. He was desperate to keep me away. He said that seeing me again after all those years, and learning what had happened to me, would kill her. Ryland paid me to keep my distance, and everything would have been fine if he’d continued to co-operate. But then he let me down in the small matter of my inheritance. I wasn’t being unreasonable. I was prepared to wait, but I was meant to get everything; enough to keep me in luxury for the rest of my days. Then Ryland said that there wasn’t just me. He told me about you, taunted me with you. You’d made something of yourself, and what’s more you could get me into a lot of trouble. I thought he was bluffing, so next time we met he brought proof.’

  ‘At Pearl’s Café.’

  ‘Hah! A bunch of fucking useless photos and press cuttings. For an intelligent man he was pretty stupid. He told me you were the polis. Ooh, that really scared me. But he’d ruined it. At the time you didn’t even know he was your dad, but he was going to tell you. And then he would write you into the will, too. That way he said it would be fair. Fair! As if anything in life is fair. I couldn’t have that. I had to do something, rather sooner than planned.

  ‘I’d read all about Joseph O’Connor and the controversy surrounding his release. All I had to do was set him up. It all went brilliantly at first. Special Branch completely bought it, as I knew they would. It was simple. But then you came along and started interfering with that too. The others were happy to accept O’Connor as the fall guy. Seemed like justice was finally being done. But you couldn’t let it go, could you?

  ‘Not that it mattered, at the end of the day. Ryland had given me enough information to find you. Pompous bastard didn’t even realise what he’d done. I hope you appreciate the effort I went to with the name, by the way. Weren’t quite the Poirot you think you are with that one, were you?’

  Mariner managed a half laugh. ‘All the time it was staring me in the face.’

  ‘After that, everything fell neatly into place as if it was meant to be. Even Adolf Hitler chipped in to help. From then on it was just a question of when and how.’

  ‘You’ve tried to kill me before.’

  ‘I didn’t try too hard, not at first. An untimely accident, wrong place at the wrong time, it seemed like a good idea. If that bastard in the Merc hadn’t come along it might have happened, but I wasn’t too worried that it didn’t work out because now it’s given us this opportunity to talk. And it only delayed the inevitable.’

  ‘But why do you need to kill me too?’ Mariner said. ‘I don’t need anything. I could sign over my claim on the estate.’

  ‘Easy to say that now, but I was brought up on broken promises. People never mean what they say. They change their minds all the time. Let you down. And I’ve come this far, I’m not sure that one more death will make any difference. This way it’s tidier.’

  ‘But the Rylands were worth a fortune. There would be more than enough for both of us.’

  ‘Share it? Oh no. I never was any good at sharing anything. And why should I? The money belongs to my family. It was my mother’s. Your father just married into it.’

  ‘Why have another death on your hands? You’ll have killed four people.’

  ‘Five, but hey, who’s counting?’

  The penny dropped. ‘You killed Eleanor, too.’

  ‘Only from necessity. While she was still around everything would revert to her. I hadn’t planned it. After all, she was not long for this world anyway. All I’d intended to do was check that there was nothing nasty in her will, to make sure that there wasn’t anything detrimental to me. But then I thought, why wait? Why not save time and finish her off too.’

  Mariner felt sick. ‘I led you to her, didn’t I?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’d been following Ryland for months thanks to the tracking device on his car, and he was a regular visitor there. But it was helpful to know when she’d be on her own. I’d been trying to work that out.’ And Mariner had told him.

  ‘So what’s it all for?’ he asked wearily, his head throbbing and concentration beginning to flag.

  ‘I want my villa by the sea, where it’s warm and sunny, with my own swimming pool and a BMW convertible. Cyprus probably. I did a tour there while I was in the army. There are some lovely places out there. The army taught me a lot, but I don’t intend taking orders from anyone again.’ There was more movement, scuffling. ‘Well, it’s been great talking to you, but I have to go now. Enjoy having my life, but don’t worry, in this temperature and without food and water, it won’t last long.’ The voice was receding.

  ‘Where am I?’ Mariner called out in desperation.

  ‘Just think of it as coming home.’ There was a brief flash of light, followed by a clunk, and darkness and silence again prevailed.

  Mariner knew he should make some effort to move towards that light, to try to get out of here, but he had no energy. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was rest his aching head and sleep. Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Armed with a warrant to obtain the relevant information, Jack Coleman accompanied Knox up to Scotland himself. ‘I’d no idea my last week on the job would be so exciting,’ he said, grimly.

  ‘No, sir,’ but Knox wasn’t really listening. H
e was staring out of the tiny cabin window at the precariously wobbling wing, his hands gripping the arm rests until his knuckles were white. Even Coleman’s concession of a pre-fight drink had failed to calm his nerves. It didn’t help of course that the aircraft was a small fifteen-seater shuttle that creaked and rattled its path through the sky. All things considered, he couldn’t decide if this was a fair trade for a couple of nights away from home. Selina hadn’t taken it well, and if he hadn’t dodged at the right moment, he would have found himself explaining something else to the DCI.

  ‘Not long now,’ said Coleman.

  ‘When we find him, I’ll make bloody sure the boss knows what he’s put me through,’ Knox retorted. But he didn’t express what he knew must have crossed Coleman’s mind, too; that it might be a case of ‘if’ and not ‘when.’

  Knox’s discomfort came to an end just over an hour later as they touched down at a grey, cloudy Glasgow airport in the early afternoon. Picking up a hire car they took the M8, travelling north of Glasgow and into the open country to Wicktown, a bleak and functional collection of buildings strung out along a narrow main street that was more the size of a large village.

  Their first stop was a courtesy call to the nearest local police station, where Coleman had expressed a hope of meeting a man of his own generation — someone who could remember back to Our Lady of Lourdes. They were to be unlucky. DC Tyrell was in his mid-thirties and had recently transferred from Dunfermline. But he was able to direct them to Hollyfield Grange.

  The retreat-turned-health club was a solid grey stone manor house some way out of the town, whose long drive cut through an avenue of stunted trees. An expansive, gravel car park was crammed with luxury vehicles, from four-by-fours to sports coupes. Duncan, the manager, was older than Knox had expected, around fifty, with immaculately groomed hair, so flawlessly black that it could only be from a bottle. Ditto the tan. He’d already checked that they had permission to access the files.

  Inside, the building had been gutted and completely refurbished in ultra-modern glass and stainless steel. The atmosphere was hushed as he took them through plush-carpeted corridors away from the main reception area, past tanning rooms and therapy suites. Everyone they met, whether dressed in shiny designer sportswear or the white uniforms of the staff, seemed to radiate unnaturally good health. It was just the sort of place Mariner hated, thought Knox.

  ‘How long are you gentlemen in bonny Scotland?’ Duncan turned a dazzling white smile on Knox, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

  ‘Until the job’s done,’ said Knox, stonily.

  ‘Well, if you would care to avail yourselves of our facilities here, we’d love to have you. We’re always happy to accommodate officers of the law.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Knox. ‘But I don’t do health clubs.’ He was sure he saw Coleman smirk.

  They’d come to a storeroom, its steel reinforced door securely locked. ‘We had a break-in a couple of years ago,’ Duncan told them, isolating a key from the bunch and unlocking the door. ‘We agreed to retain the archive here but only if it was secured. The records are confidential after all.’ Pushing open the door, he flicked on overhead strip lighting to reveal a room of about four metres square, all of it taken up by rows and rows of filing cabinets. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you find what you’re looking for.’

  A quick glance showed them that the files were in alphabetical order. Armed with Diana’s maiden name, theoretically it should only have taken a matter of minutes to find her records. But when they got to ‘F’ the file wasn’t there.

  ‘—because whoever broke in two years ago, took it,’ said Coleman. ‘Our man was doing his research. Shit!’ He slammed the drawer shut from frustration.

  Something on top of the cabinet wafted up momentarily, catching Knox’s eye. ‘No, he didn’t,’ he said, grabbing the thin sheet of card. ‘He just wrote down the details and didn’t replace it.’

  The record was in the form of an index card, and stated Diana Fitzgibbon’s name, age and address, along with the names and address of the couple who had adopted the 7lb 4oz boy born on 3 July 1963. The baby hadn’t gone far. The couple who’d adopted him, Fiona and Angus McCrae, lived at Keepers Lodge, Wicktown. ‘Let’s hope they haven’t moved,’ Coleman said.

  But, without local knowledge, Keepers Lodge proved too vague an address to locate and after an hour’s frustrated searching they were forced back to the police station. ‘We have names and an address,’ Coleman told Tyrell. ‘Fiona and Angus McCrae, at Keepers Lodge.’

  ‘Well, you’ll not find either of them there,’ the sergeant shook his head. ‘Keepers Lodge hasn’t been inhabited for years. The only reason we get called out there is if there are kids vandalising the place, and even that’s not happened for months.’

  ‘Is there anyone who might know what’s happened to them?’

  ‘Give me a minute, will you?’ Tyrell lifted the phone. ‘Hello Jim, I need your help with something.’ Explaining the situation to the person at the other end, he ended with the traditional pleasantries before hanging up. ‘Jim Paterson will talk to you,’ he told Coleman and Knox. ‘He was the sergeant here until a couple of years ago. He remembers the McCraes. His house is just up the main street there, number fourteen.’

  Jim Paterson’s neat bungalow was on the edge of the village. He was awaiting them and already had the kettle on. ‘Angus McCrae died back in 1978, and Fiona passed away in St Hilda’s rest home last spring,’ he told them, as they sipped tea around a tiny kitchen table. ‘She hadn’t lived at Keepers Lodge for years. It wasn’t fit for human habitation anyway, the place was an anachronism.’

  ‘We’re actually looking for their son,’ Coleman said.

  ‘Which one?’

  Good question. Knox looked over at the gaffer. They hadn’t considered that there might be more than one, and had absolutely nothing to offer in the way of description.

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Coleman lamely. ‘He was adopted.’

  ‘They both were,’ said Paterson. ‘But I’d guess it’s Kenneth you’re after. Clive still lives in over in Dunnoch, but I’ve no idea what happened to Kenneth. He was a troubled boy, but then they were a very unusual family.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Angus and Fiona were devout Calvinist Christians. The family kept to themselves and the children were educated at home and expected to help their father on the land. The father was a gamekeeper on the estate, when it still was an estate. Been sold to the Forestry Commission now, and the big house converted to a country hotel and golf course. The boys’ education from a young age seemed to consist of pest control and repairing damage to fences and dry-stone walls. They didn’t attend the local school and you never saw them riding bikes or hanging around like the other kids. On the rare occasions when they did come into the town, it was always with their parents and they never looked happy. Often they were poorly clothed for the weather up here, and my wife used to say the whole family looked in need of a good dinner.’

  ‘You think the children were neglected?’

  ‘By modern standards, I’d bet my pension on it. These days social services would have been in and taken them away. I’ve an idea their mother was subjected to regular beatings too, but we’d no proof, and no one could ever get near enough to talk to her. People had an idea what was going on, but back then nobody discussed that kind of thing. Angus died in a shooting accident when Kenneth was about fifteen.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Coleman.

  ‘The two of them were out on the moors and Angus was shot in the thigh. Kenneth came to get help but claimed he got lost and it was almost dark before he got back to the village. Then we had to go out and find Angus. By the time we got there he’d bled to death. He must have died in agony.’

  ‘It was definitely an accident?’ Knox asked, thinking about the man they were pursuing.

  ‘The coroner recorded a verdict of accidental death. The gun could have backfired. Who was t
o say that it didn’t?’ But his words lacked a certain conviction.

  ‘Have you any idea where Kenneth is now?’

  Paterson shook his head. ‘He signed up for the army as soon as he was old enough and I haven’t seen him since, though a few years ago there was rumour that he was back in the area. His brother might know.’

  Clive McCrae still worked the land. His wife Moira took them through the spotless kitchen of their grey, pebble-dashed council semi and into the long garden, where in the drizzle, McCrae was doing the winter work on an immaculately laid out vegetable patch, breaking up the frozen soil with a fork. He didn’t give them an ecstatic welcome, but stopped what he was doing to speak to them. Knox let Coleman do the talking.

  Of his relationship with Kenneth, Clive McCrae had little to say except; ‘We were never close.’

  ‘We know that you and Kenneth were adopted.’ Coleman gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘I came after him. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that.’

  ‘Did he resent the fact that he was adopted?’

  ‘We both did, to differing degrees. Everyone assumes that adopted kids are lucky, adopted into warm loving families who desperately want them. It wasn’t like that with us. We were taken in for slave labour. Kenny found it harder to deal with, but then he had a tougher time. He was older and he hated the outdoor life. He seemed to know that what we had wasn’t normal. I didn’t fully understand that until I met Moira.’

  ‘Did Kenneth ever express any interest in knowing who his birth mother was?’

  ‘I know he blamed her for everything,’ said McCrae. ‘But since he knew nothing about her it was convenient to do that. He used to say that he hoped she was dead too, that she’d died a painful death giving birth to him, because that’s what she deserved. There was a lot of hate and anger in him.’

  ‘About his adoption?’

  ‘About everything. He was hard. But my father made him that way. Like me, Kenny hated killing animals, but we were made to set traps and then our dad would watch while we took out the dead creatures and if we ever balked, he would rub our faces in the blood. Everything was done in the name of God, even the thrashings.’