by Keith Nixon
As there weren’t any spaces, Gray put his car on double yellows right outside, just beyond a roller door and against the bumper of the legally parked car in front. He scribbled a note on a piece of paper which said, “Police” and left it in the window.
Leaving Tony in the car Gray headed to the nearest house. The lowest level was a basement beneath the pavement. Steps led to the middle floor. The house was well tended and neat. Gray went up the steps, knocked.
The man who opened up had damp hair, was wearing a Joy Division t-shirt, a red mark on his cheekbone and an expression of surprise on his features. “Sol, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve got your dog, Damian.”
Boughton stared at Gray for a long moment. “You’d better bring him in then.”
***
Tony the dog lay on the hearth rug. “He’s named after Tony Wilson.” Boughton shouted through from the kitchen where he was making a drink. “The guy who ran Factory Records back in the 80s and 90s.”
“Okay.” Gray didn’t really care. He stood in the living room. Music posters adorned the walls. Four large speakers in each corner, pointing towards an armchair set in the centre of the room, which itself faced a stereo system and shelves of records, each encased in a plastic sleeve. Boughton returned, saw what Gray was staring at.
“I collect Factory stuff. It’s a fascinating story, turned the industry upside down.”
“I’m not really into music.”
“You’re missing out. Drives the wife mad, though. I’ll put something on. How about a bit of Crispy Ambulance?” Boughton started to flick through the stack of records.
“Would Tony happen to be an ex-police dog?”
“That’s right. He’d come to the end of his useful working life, apparently. Got plenty left in you, haven’t you boy?” Tony lifted his head, then lay back down.
“Don’t you want to know where I found him?” asked Gray.
Boughton slid the record out, holding it carefully at the edge. “He’s back.” Boughton blew on the record. “Which is all that counts.” He placed the record on the turntable, started it rotating, dropped the arm. A crackle came through the speakers when the needle touched. “Not many people have heard of these guys.”
Gray listened briefly, said, “I can understand why.”
“Do you want something else on instead?”
“What I want you to tell me is why you’ve been setting your dog on kids?”
“Eh? It’s Worthington.”
“As much as I’d like to believe that I know it’s you.” Boughton knelt down, stroked Tony’s head behind the ears. “The people who chased you were lying in wait. They suspected you’d go after Kirton eventually. They reeled him out as bait, and you swallowed him down.”
Boughton moved over to the stereo, lifted the arm and moved further towards the centre of the record. “This song is better.” He dropped the needle.
“It was Abbott who handed me your dog,” said Gray. “He told me he’d landed a punch on the owner. Nice scuff you’ve got on your face there.”
“You can’t prove any of this.”
“I probably could, with enough time. I’d be able to find out when you were in the station and compare it to the logon details for each of the kids attacked.”
“That was Worthington, not me. The records say so.”
“No, they say somebody with his credentials logged on. Kirton, Durrant and Abbott – they’re all problems on your patch.”
“All this is tenuous at best.”
“You know me, Damian. Do you think I’ll stop digging?”
The record finished. Boughton said, “I live here, Sol. I’m Margate born and bred. Most of the cops in the station are incomers. They don’t know what the island used to be like, how could they? Even if I’d retired after doing my thirty years in the service those three and their mates would still be kicking around, causing trouble for everyone, including me. As I get to be an old man do you think they’d leave me alone? A pig who’d picked them up time after time? No chance. They’d make my life hell.”
“You should have let the law deal with them.”
“The law? Jesus, Sol, you sound like Judge Dredd.” Another reference Gray didn’t get. “The law, as you put it, totally failed me and the citizens on my beat and will continue to do so. We’ve had our ranks stripped to the bone, the courts are overloaded with cases, the jails are full. All in just a few short years since the credit crunch.” Boughton threw his arms up, warming to his argument now. “Sure, there’s talk from the politicians about reversing the trend, but how long will it take? A damn sight longer to rebuild than destroy, that’s for sure. And in the meantime, who’s on the front line holding back the crap, Sol? Me and you, that’s who. And in between a whole generation of relatively lawless bastards are growing up with nobody to deal with them. So, I decided to.”
“I understand, Damian.”
“I knew you would. I tried to talk to you about all this, right at the beginning. After I realised my mistake with the Kirton kid. When we were outside the Ogilvy’s.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I said it was urgent we speak. I was going to try again, but I bottled it. I didn’t think you’d be keen.”
“I’d never have supported this kind of misplaced justice.”
“Are you going to take me in? Make an example of me? Undermine the already low view the public has of the police?”
“I don’t want to.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But I will if I must.”
“Jesus, Sol.” Boughton flopped down in his chair. “It’ll be a disaster.”
“You should have thought of that before setting Tony loose.”
“I did. And went ahead anyway.”
“Take retirement, Damian. You’ve done plenty of time, you’ll be okay.”
“Retire?”
“You said yourself you don’t enjoy the job anymore.”
“It’s all I’ve got left and the pension isn’t what it was once the Tories stripped it back.”
“There’s your wife.”
“When we speak.”
“And your music.”
“Being stuck inside these four walls?”
“Better these than the inside of a prison cell, surely?”
“What will I do with myself?”
“Security for one of the superstores, maybe. I’m sure they’ll value your experience. And it’ll bring some cash in.”
“Great.”
“I’m handing you a lifeline here. You’ve got twenty-four hours to decide. Put your retirement request into Hamson by this time tomorrow or I’ll be back.”
Thirty Five
The call from Aplin came in much later than Gray expected. “We had some trouble,” she said. “The samples you obtained hadn’t been stored well so we found some degradation. Ironically it was the most recent material which proved to be poor.”
“This doesn’t sound good,” said Gray.
“Thankfully, whoever pulled everything together included a much older sample, which had been properly preserved. And from that we were able to carry out the DNA analysis.”
Gray wanted to scream, Come on! Instead he said, “And?”
“We found a match. The baby in the box, the hair sample you provided, and these organ materials all coincide. Your subject is the father of the child.”
***
“I know you’re there.” Gray spoke through the closed front door. He’d heard movement after he’d knocked, seen a twitch at the window. Fiona was in, for sure.
“What do you want?” She was on the other side of the wood, listening.
“To talk.”
“Go away.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Fiona, we’re going to speak whether you like it or not. Either open up or I’ll say what I have to in the middle of the street.”
“No.”
“I have s
olid proof.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I have a DNA profile that matches. From the hospital. From your father’s cancerous cells.”
“So?”
“Just think of the scandal it would cause.” Gray listened for a moment, heard nothing. “Okay, have it your way.”
Gray headed to the adjacent house and rang the bell.
The homeowner, an elderly woman, opened up. “Hello young man.”
“Stop!” Fiona, running over. “Stop!”
“What on earth is going on?” asked the old woman. Fiona began to drag Gray away.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” said Gray.
The old woman watched Fiona and Gray until Fiona had Gray inside and the door closed.
Breathing heavily Fiona said, “Why are you doing this to me?”
“You lied.”
“I need a drink.” She headed down the corridor towards the rear of the house. Gray followed. She entered a conservatory, which overlooked the garden. Gray had been in here before, talking to Jenkinson about an old case, before the Alzheimer’s had really taken hold. Fiona poured herself a large measure of brandy, took a gulp, then another, wiped her mouth. She topped up the glass, waved the bottle at Gray. “I suppose you won’t want one, being on duty?”
“All I’m after are answers.”
“Good God, Sol. You should hear yourself.”
“Your father got Zara Jessop pregnant.”
“He didn’t.”
“I told you, I have categorical proof. I have a match this morning. He’s the father of the baby in the box. It’s undeniable”
“Where did you get a sample?”
“The hospital, they keep them in cold storage.”
“You’re not allowed to take them. They don’t belong to you.”
“And you knew all about what your father had done.”
“Not true.” The lie didn’t sound convincing.
“It was you who took the baby over to Andrea. Asked Andrea to look after her.”
“No.”
“You were friends with Andrea, you were there regularly.”
“Stop it.” Fiona had another drink.
“You couldn’t stand the idea of a scandal, that your father, a respected member of the community, had got a young woman pregnant. A whore, as you put it.”
“It would have killed my mother.”
“It killed Zara. She died alone, in her flat, drunk.”
“I couldn’t help that.”
Gray couldn’t speak for a few moments, shocked at how callous Fiona sounded. Fiona’s shoulders began to shake.
Fiona wiped the back of her hand across her nose. There were tears in her eyes. “All these years I thought the baby was alive, growing up. Because Andrea told me she’d found a home for her.” Fiona paused. “So, when you told me about the corpse, I couldn’t believe it. She’d lied to me.”
“We believe the girl died of natural causes, probably very soon after you took her over.”
“And Andrea just hid her?”
“So, it seems. She probably thought there was nothing else she could do. Who could she turn to? There wasn’t even a record of the birth.”
“Oh my God.”
“It was all a tragic accident.”
“She must have felt trapped for years,” said Fiona. “We both did. Thank you for telling me.” She smiled, relieved.
“This isn’t the end.”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t just you who was friends with Andrea. So was your father. That’s how he got to know Zara.” Gray paused. “And the others.”
“Others?”
“Kerry Hudson. He got her pregnant too.”
“What?”
“But she had the pregnancy terminated and stayed quiet because she was scared of what your father might do to her.”
“No, this can’t be true.”
“I strongly suspect there will be more, if I keep going.”
“Why would you do this to me, Sol? Why?”
“I know your father undermined your relationship with Ben Clough.”
Fiona raised the glass, spun and threw it at a large framed photo of her father and mother together. The glass shattered, shredding the image, splattering it with liquid. Fiona turned away from Gray, her shoulders heaving as she breathed deeply. Slowly, she faced Gray again.
“He destroyed everything for me.”
“Why did you keep quiet?”
“For my mother, I loved her. Then she died. I walked away, but he got dementia.”
“What happened in the flat with Zara? When you took the baby from her.”
Fiona sagged down into a chair, all the fight gone out of her. Gray sat opposite, waited. Eventually she said, “Zara was a mess, she couldn’t cope. She didn’t have family locally and the baby was driving her to her wits end. She was struggling for money too. So, I offered to take the pressure off her and remove the baby.” Fiona fixed Gray’s eyes. “She was happy I did that, Sol. You need to believe me.”
“I do.”
“That’s when I took the baby to Andrea’s. It was late at night, nobody was around. No paperwork, either. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days. I told Andrea if she knew anybody who wanted a baby then they could have this one. I left.
“Then Zara kept calling me, saying she wanted her baby back, that it had all been a big mistake. I went over to Andrea’s. But she told me the baby had gone, that a couple had taken her.”
“And you believed her?”
“Of course. I thought Andrea was as straight as they came. I asked who the couple were, but Andrea wouldn’t tell me. Said they were from out of town and it was best I didn’t know their names.”
“It’s tenuous.”
“I’m aware how it sounds now, but back then I was highly stressed. I just needed a solution, any solution. I went over to Zara’s. She was drunk already. There was no way she could have had the baby back in that state and I told her. She came at me with a bottle, but she tripped and banged her head. She collapsed. I tried to wake her up, but she was dead, Sol. I panicked, came straight here, to this house and told Dad. He said he’d fix everything. He made a few calls – to your old friend, Jeff Carslake.”
“Good God.”
“And everything did get fixed. The death was ruled accidental and before long Zara was forgotten about by everybody except me, Andrea, and Dad. That’s why I came back and looked after him. Because he knew what happened and he wouldn’t let me forget it. If I’d been aware of everything else, I’d have taken my chances and left him to rot.” A silence fell between them for a while until Fiona said, “So, are you going to take me in, as they say?”
“I have to.”
“I know.” Fiona stood. “There’s one more thing to tell you. The baby had a name. Sophia.”
Thirty Six
The obvious place to meet was Andrea’s old house on Ranelagh Grove. It was almost empty now, just the largest pieces of furniture like the sofas, sideboards and table. The pictures were all packed and gone.
The three of them were seated in the living room: Ogilvy, Draper and Gray. He was facing the curtainless window.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” said Gray.
“I haven’t got long,” said Ogilvy, dour as ever.
“Shut up then, Philip,” said Draper. Ogilvy glared at her. “Go on, Inspector.”
“This will all be in the papers soon. They’ve already got wind of Fiona’s arrest.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard,” said Draper.
“What happened to shutting up?” said Ogilvy. Draper rolled her eyes. He asked, “And what’s our connection to all of this?”
“Your mother was entirely blameless. Jenkinson used their friendship and her vulnerable charges to look for potential partners.”
“Grooming?” asked Draper.
“Kind of. Fiona learned her father had got one girl, Zara Jessop, pregnant. She didn’t want
the scandal, so she used her position too for her own benefit. She brought the baby here. We now know the baby was called Sophia.
“Not long after Sophia’s arrival here it seemed she passed away. We’re assuming your mother hid the body because she was worried about what might happen to her. Understandable after the previous troubles she’d faced.”
“And Zara died?”
“That’s right. For now, I can’t say any more about that subject.”
Draper and Ogilvy shared a glance.
“Our father must be turning in his grave with shame,” said Ogilvy.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Philip,” snapped Draper. “He loved Mum and would have supported her regardless.”
“I know, but all this, it’s…”
“What? What is it?”
“Distasteful.”
Draper stood, loomed over her brother. “She always came second to everyone else’s needs. And you sit there, judging her. Do you know what our mother did for you? What she gave up?”
“Me? What have I got to do with all this?”
“You’re as much part of the problem as anyone else. Making Mum put aside her feelings.”
“You’re making no sense. You’re as crazy as she is. I can’t believe we’re related.”
“We’re not, Philip!”
“What the hell are you on about?” Draper realised what she’d said, put a hand over her mouth. “Tell me.”
“We have different fathers. Mum was pregnant with you when they got married.”
“Dad isn’t related to me?”
“No.”
“Why are you only telling me this now, and in front of him?” Ogilvy pointed at Gray.
“I wasn’t ever going to tell you, and he knows. From the DNA testing.”
“Jesus.” Ogilvy rounded on Gray. “Why did you not come to me?”
“It’s nothing to do with Inspector Gray,” said Draper. She flopped down into her seat. “Mum let it out years ago. Inspector Gray didn’t raise our relationship. That was me.”
“I don’t believe this.” Ogilvy put his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for everything to come out like this. I never intended it to come out at all.”
