The Temptation

by Vera Morris

  Frank didn’t say anything.

  ‘We did well financially out of the last one. Mr Pemberton was more than generous. We’ve had a few small cases over the past few weeks; kept everything ticking over nicely. Hope you’ll be able to manage without me and Mabel for a week. Who’s doing the cooking? You could make a few omelettes, Frank.’

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to get into the fresh air. ‘We’ll manage, Stuart. I hope you and Mabel have a lovely honeymoon in London.’

  ‘Thanks, Frank, and thank you for being my best man. Mabel’s looking forward to seeing some shows and doing a bit of shopping. Not my favourite place, London, but she didn’t fancy Blackpool.’

  Frank stood up. ‘I’m going to get a breath of fresh air. I’ll see you before you go.’

  Laurel placed a hand on his arm. ‘Are you all right, Frank? Would you like some company?’

  ‘No thanks, Laurel. See you later.’

  He walked towards the beach. He wanted to get away from people and the way they looked at him. A man who had killed another man. He sensed people felt differently about him: wary, unsure – frightened? Although the verdicts on the three people murdered by Hager had been given as a mercy killing and two suicides, rumours were rife. The official line was David was kidnapped by Tucker and Hager, motives unknown, and Laurel had suffered the same fate. Hager had killed Tucker – that was true, and Frank had killed Hager in self-defence. This information didn’t stop local and national speculation. David being returned safe to his parents after being missing for two years was also a big story. Both Adam and David refused to talk to the papers, having been bound to silence like the rest of them. The lies made Frank sick to his stomach, and the fact he couldn’t do anything about it made it worse.

  He turned into the road leading to the beach car park and the café. He walked over the pebbles, some as large as duck eggs, the soles of his new shoes slipping on the smooth surfaces. Ahead, and to his left, the marshes stretched out towards Southwold. The grey of the alders matched his mood.

  How must Carol feel? All she knew was David was safe at home. Perhaps when he was older and realised everyone makes mistakes, he’d be more understanding, and a reconciliation might be possible. Would she go to court to seek justice for herself? Or had Adam made a bargain with her: a good settlement if she gave up all rights to see David? He could imagine Adam doing that; he would know how to manipulate the law.

  What of David himself? Was he concerned about the men who’d ruined and caused the death of his friend, Peter? How could he understand why the men who’d used young boys for their pleasure, weren’t brought to justice? What effect would that have on his character?

  He walked towards the sea, flat waves hissing against the shore, picked up some flat pebbles and skimmed them over the waves. Time to go back and wave goodbye to Mabel and Stuart. Perhaps he’d persuade Laurel to go for a walk over the heath to the Eel’s Foot at Eastbridge. He wanted to find the easy companionship they’d shared before this case started.

  By the time he got back. Stuart was loading two cases into the back of his Humber Hawk.

  ‘Thought we were going to miss saying goodbye to you.’ Stuart grasped his hand. ‘Look after yourself, Frank, while we’re away.’

  ‘I will. Where’s Laurel?’

  ‘Gone off with that nice Dr Neave, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Mabel said.

  Stuart raised his eyebrows.

  Dorothy rushed out of the house, waving a piece of paper.

  ‘We’ll have a brand-new case for you when you get back,’ she said triumphantly.

  Frank cocked his head. ‘What have you been up to?’

  She waved the paper under their noses. ‘It could be very profitable. A telephone call from a very important person. He needs our help and he doesn’t care how much it costs him. He wants the best. He wants the Anglian Detective Agency.’

  He smiled. ‘The best, eh? That’s what I like to hear.’

  Laurel came out of the house. ‘I can see Dorothy’s told you. It’ll be good to have something to get our teeth into.’

  Stuart and Mabel were looking undecided, as though they weren’t sure if they should take a honeymoon.

  Frank opened the car door. ‘Off you go. We’ll get the details and talk it over when you get back. No decisions will be made without you.’

  They got in quickly, as though he might change his mind. Stuart tooted his horn and they were off, everyone waving furiously.

  ‘I’ll supervise the cleaning up,’ Dorothy said. ‘What are you two going to do?’

  ‘Would you like a walk, Frank?’

  The burdens of frustration, guilt and sadness seemed to slip from his shoulders. ‘Yes, I would. Over the heath and through the woods to the Eel’s Foot?’

  ‘Perfect. Give me two minutes to change. You’re not going in that suit, are you?’

  ‘We’ll drive to my cottage, I can change there’

  She hugged him. ‘Just like old times.’

  He laughed back. ‘If you can call last September old times.’

  ‘It seems an age ago.’ She turned and ran into the house.

  ‘She looks lovely today, doesn’t she?’ Dorothy said.

  ‘Always looks lovely to me,’ he replied. Dorothy cocked her head, smirking.

  ‘No, Dorothy. We’re friends and partners. Nothing else.’

  ‘She’s been through a lot; it’s hurt her, perhaps more than any of us.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m very fond of Laurel. She’s a brave girl, but she feels for people.’

  ‘That’s why she’s a good detective.’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘I’m fond of you too, Frank Diamond.’

  ‘Dorothy Piff, you’ve drunk too much champagne.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘It’s been a wonderful day. Cleansed my soul. Right, I’ll get started.’ He waited by his car.

  Laurel, in a track suit, her hair in a pony-tail, ran from the house. The evening light was behind her, she seemed to be on fire. How full of life she was.

  ‘What a marvellous day, Frank. Think of Mabel and Stuart on their way to the flesh pots of London.’

  ‘A walk to Eastbridge seems small beer,’ he said.

  ‘Suits me. But I’m looking forward to a pint of Adnams at the Eel’s Foot.’

  He opened the passenger door of his car. ‘Hop in, the sooner I can get out of this suit the better. Tonight, the beer’s on me.’

  She looked at him and smiled. ‘I think you’re weakening, Frank.’

  She could be right. He smiled back but didn’t say anything.

  David, Age 15 years

  I didn’t want to go to the wedding. I knew I’d hear the buzz, buzz, buzz of people talking about me behind their hands. They’d stare. ‘They had him for two years. What did they do to him? Poor boy, he must be damaged.’ They’d imagine in their secret minds what they did to me. I know what they’d be thinking.

  Hager came at night when Tucker had gone to bed. He’d stand close to me. I pulled the blankets over my head, but he’d rip them off. He’d tell me over and over everything the men had done to Peter. How they adored his smooth skin, how Hager held him down, forced his legs apart, and the men would take turns to rape him. How Peter had suffered. Hager told me who the men were. He told me because I’d never be able to tell anyone. I would be as dead as Peter. Hager never missed any detail: the excruciating pain, the mutilation, the gut-wrenching fear.

  It’s locked in my brain forever. The only way I can get rid of it is to get rid of them. I’ll have to wait. I mustn’t tell anyone I know the names. It is my secret. I like secrets. The police and the men from the secret service, they told my father he must be silent. I must be silent. It’s a case of national security. Tucker was working for the USSR. He was a spy, passing on information from the men he blackmailed. We boys don’t matter. All the boys who were used for the sexual pleasure of the men whose names I know, don’t matter. I don’t matter. I was imprisoned for nearly two years
, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the government and the country.

  Why hasn’t Laurel done something? Without her I would be dead. When I saw her lying on my bed, a beautiful woman, I thought they’d given her to me. Was she to be my toy? When she woke up she knew who I was and realised we might be murdered. She plotted and planned. She used everything we had to fight Hager. She was brave, she made me feel brave. She was like the goddess Diana, the huntress: brave, bold and intelligent. Now she is silent. Why?

  My rage boils. The bubbles of hate expand, wanting to burst. One day, I don’t know when, I’ll let those bubbles pour over the rim and they will scald those men. The men whose names I know.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to:

  My cousin, Gladys, for her support and friendship.

  Members of the South Chiltern Writing Circle, Reading Writers and The Dunford Novelists for their friendship, helpful criticism, and craic.

  To my editor, Jay Dixon, for her continuing scrupulous work in smoothing the edges of this novel, also her support and dry humour. Still a pleasure to work with!

  To Accent Press for publishing this novel and to all the staff for their encouragement and professional help, especially Hazel and Katrin.

  To Michael O’Bryne, a retired chief constable, author of The Crime Writers’ Guide, for his helpful advice, especially on fingerprinting in the 1970s.

  To Mr Fryer, fisherman of Aldeburgh, for allowing me to use his name for a fictional fisherman in this novel. A name so appropriate for a man who catches and sells fish, I couldn’t resist it!

  To Mr T, who gave me space to think and write, and provided me with various tinctures, as needed. I miss him.

  Author’s Note

  Henning Mankell wrote in the Afterword to The Troubled Man:

  ‘In the world of fiction it is possible to take many liberties. For instance, it is not unusual for me to change a landscape slightly so that nobody can say: “It is exactly there! That’s where the action took place!”’

  I have also taken liberties in moving some of the houses and shops of Aldeburgh from their true settings and placing them where I wanted and needed them to be. After all, this is a work of fiction!

  For more information about Vera Morris

  and other Accent Press titles

  please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk