Generations of Love

by Wendy Pulford

  He looked at his watch. It was getting late. He’d better call a taxi and get home. He checked his phone and much to his amazement, true to his word, there was a message from Jonathan Raven. A meeting had been fixed with his friend for lunchtime on Monday, and he gave the contact details required. Peter sighed with relief.

  ‘I’d better be getting along, Christa. Thanks for everything.’

  She stopped in the act of closing the curtains and turned towards him, her brown eyes dark and serious. She was a very attractive girl, he thought, watching the muted lighting reflected in her long gold hair. He had the ridiculous urge to stroke it and feel its softness. He was glad he had come to see her. There was nowhere else he’d wanted to be tonight.

  ‘You don’t have to go, Peter.’

  The implication was there in her quiet words. Her voice was steady, with no discernible emotion. He now had the choice. Refuse her implied offer and risk offending her, spoiling their friendship after all the quiet support she had given him, or accept the gesture and move their association to a different level. He didn’t hesitate in his decision. Remembering his thoughts of a moment ago, he needed to see her brown eyes soft with pleasure, and know he was the one she wanted. Walking over to where she stood, he tipped up her chin and planted a soft kiss on her pink lips.

  ‘Thank you, Christa. I’d like to stay very much.’

  *

  Christa sat at the kitchen table in her bathrobe, it was six-thirty and Peter had just left. She smiled to herself. He had been a gentle and considerate lover. At first she had sensed the diffidence in him, nothing like the other two occasions when she had allowed a man to get close to her. It had been refreshing to be treated as something delicate and precious, and her feelings of warmth and caring toward him had increased.

  He had wakened her again in the dawn and had been more assured and confident in his love-making. She was aware that their relationship so far had been based on mutual companionship; now there was a subtle shift. What would happen between them, she was not sure. They were at a crossroads. The important thing was that he had sought her out last night when he was in trouble. Seeing his distress, she had been tempted to tell him of Sarah’s worries about his great uncle, and also her news from Canada, but she dare not encroach on his affairs too far, and had remained silent. For the time being, support and comfort was her role, and after last night she thought he realised it too. It was impossible to tell how much more their relationship would change, but of one thing she was certain, she wanted to continue being part of his life. Perhaps with her support Peter could wean himself away from the influence of that wretched man, with a future, perhaps, for them both.

  She would have a lot to tell her father tonight in their regular telephone call (although perhaps not everything…). But more than that, she was looking forward to seeing Peter again on Sunday.

  *

  ‘You need to get him on board pretty fast now, Lionel.’

  Villiers took another appreciative sip of his wine. The Club kept a very good cellar.

  ‘I’m aware of that, Geoffrey.’

  ‘I’m just hanging on at the firm part-time so I can keep an eye on our affairs and facilitate the winding up of the trust. We’ll have to make provision for dealing with the money. He might make a fuss when he understands our involvement. Have you thought how you’re going to sell the idea to him?’

  ‘Not at the moment. We’ve enough time for all that. I’m hoping my little ploy has worked as far as the Ravens are concerned. I’ll hear from him soon. No doubt he’s still in a state of shock.’ Franklin pushed away his now empty dinner plate. ‘I’ll have to do something about the girl, though. The sooner she’s off the scene the better.’

  ‘For God’s sake be careful, Lionel. You’re turning this into another personal crusade. Look what happened last time!’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Geoffrey. Clarke’s man messed up the Fulham business, but it turned out quite well in the end. Anyway, that’s one thing which is all in the past.’

  Tossing back the rest of his drink, he pulled some papers towards him, and after a pause cleared his throat.

  ‘We’d better give some thought as to how we deal with Bonetti’s latest “donation”. I understand a bigger return is required.’

  Looking up, Villiers caught his quick glance, and noted that for once Franklin’s pale blue eyes lacked their usual power.

  *

  Dougie Johnson shifted his glass of beer around on the scuffed table. It was one of those days; the days when his feelings of guilt came bubbling to the surface. He had come to know them well over the last twenty-odd years. His wife knew them too, and over time had resorted to banishing him from the house until he pulled himself together again.

  Even after all this time, it was always the same. He should have done more. He knew this, but it was difficult to face up to the fact. Then again, in the circumstances as they had unfolded, what could he have done? That was always his excuse.

  He felt the emotions rising in him and his palms began to sweat. Once more, the old memories crowded in.

  CHAPTER 14

  On that dreadful morning so many years ago, the building had already been agog with the news of the fatal car accident involving the Commissioner. Arriving at the office, he found that he was on his own. It was unexpected, as Alex’s part in the scheduled protection duty should have been over a while ago. He wasn’t aware of any appointment out of the office. Perhaps Alex had been asked to investigate something to do with the Commissioner’s accident. There might even have been a problem with Peter or Catherine.

  He was contemplating making a phone call when the door opened and Superintendent Charles appeared, grim-faced.

  ‘Sergeant, I think you ought to get over to Fulham. Hartman didn’t turn up for his scheduled duty this morning, and I’m hearing rumours of a multiple fatality.’

  He wanted to query the instruction, but something in the manner of the older man made him grab a coat and head for his car.

  Turning into Church Road he spotted a police car outside the house. Parking behind it, he encountered a young police constable stationed at the front door. He showed him his card as authority.

  ‘Let me in, Constable.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sergeant. I’ve been instructed to let no one into the premises.’

  Faced, however, with the implacable stare of a superior, the young man gave in and opened the front door.

  Dougie was shocked to see a massive bloodstain near the foot of the stairs.

  ‘What’s happened here, Constable?’

  The constable relayed how he was first on the scene and found the two bodies and the gun. He said at that point he had called for full back-up. Within a few minutes, there had been the usual flurry of people in and out.

  As they went upstairs into the front bedroom Dougie was half-listening to the young man relaying the scene he had discovered. His imagination pictured the young woman lying on the bed with a pillow over her face, one arm outflung, holding a bloodied ornament. He could see blood on the carpet.

  ‘What about the child?’ He had dreaded hearing the answer.

  ‘The baby was unharmed. The neighbour who raised the alarm took him in.’

  That was one blessing. Poor little bugger: both parents dead.

  The constable then took Dougie back downstairs and indicated where various papers, including bank statements, had been found strewn around the back room. A Superintendent in plain clothes had arrived at the same time as the forensics people. The man was unknown to the constable, but he understood he had been sent by Assistant Commissioner Rankin. With some embarrassment he related how he had overheard the senior officers discussing the contents of the statements, saying these indicated regular cash and some cheque payments into an account but no withdrawals. Certain handwritten notations of names were recognised by one officer, wh
o took the view that Hartman might have been ‘on the take’ and, on this being discovered, there must have been some sort of violent domestic argument during which he suffocated his wife and then shot himself.

  The bodies had been quickly removed and, as far as he was aware, the Superintendent had taken the papers away with him when he left.

  Dougie was overwhelmed by his feelings as the bare details sank in. It sounded crazy! The last person on earth he would have thought possible of taking bribes was Alex Hartman, and it was unthinkable that he could have hurt Catherine in any way. Yes, Alex had a temper, but he was able to control it when he had to, even in circumstances with the provocation of emotional involvement.

  ‘If this was discovered only this morning, I’m surprised forensics aren’t still here.’

  ‘They’ve been and gone.’

  ‘Gone? Already?’ He was unable to hide his amazement.

  ‘Said it was pretty clear-cut.’

  Dougie refrained from making a retort about some people not being able to see the nose on their face.

  The young man said he had formed the impression that due to the sensitive nature of the persons involved, the whole matter was to be wrapped up as soon as possible and no more than a rudimentary examination of the property was undertaken.

  ‘How did you get into the property when you arrived, Constable?’

  ‘The next-door neighbour had a front door key. She sensed something was wrong, but was afraid to use it.’

  ‘Is there any sign of forced entry elsewhere in the property?’

  ‘No, Sergeant. I’m sure it was investigated.’

  Dougie double-checked for himself, but there wasn’t even a slight scratch anywhere.

  ‘Have neighbours been interviewed to see if they heard anything?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, Sergeant. I know the next-door neighbour told me she had heard nothing until the baby started crying for a long while. She admitted her hearing isn’t as good as it used to be, and she’s a heavy sleeper.’

  ‘Even so, it must have been a rather quiet violent argument, wouldn’t you say?’ Dougie was unable to resist the remark. ‘Where have the bodies and evidence been taken?’

  The constable informed him, and without another word, Dougie left. He didn’t want to take the next steps, but knew he had no alternative.

  The mortuary technician was less than keen on him viewing the bodies without any sort of paperwork, but Dougie persisted. He felt sick at what he saw. There appeared to be no damage anywhere on Alex’s body, but even he had a job to recognise that handsome head. There was cranial damage on both sides of the skull; some, it could be presumed, from an initial blow and the rest resulting from a probable connection with the banister newel post. On close examination it was just possible to discern what he took to be the partial outline of a bullet hole on the left-hand side of the forehead. His immediate thought was that it was at a strange angle. Knowing Alex was right-handed, he would have expected to see damage in the right temple. Perhaps the head injuries already sustained had caused some problem and miscalculation.

  He stood there for a moment, remembering some of the events in the past months that he had shared with this man. He then said a silent goodbye.

  The worst thing was Catherine. She looked as if she was sleeping, and would wake at any moment and fix him with those wonderful green eyes. There wasn’t a mark on her, apart from a small bruise on the left side of her chin. As he felt the tears welling up inside him, without conscious thought he bent and kissed her cold, pale cheek.

  He sat in his car for a long time, wishing he could dispel the vivid pictures in his mind. That poor little girl, so full of excitement at the future – and now this! What must her last thoughts have been? His mind didn’t want to even begin to compute that. He made himself concentrate on the facts.

  Out of all this, one thing stood out. He could not believe that Catherine had been able to wield an implement capable of injuring Alex to any great extent. She just wasn’t strong enough. And she would have been very lucky indeed to have been able to surprise Alex. He would have taken any weapon from her with ease. Then there was the amount of time it would take to suffocate a struggling girl. Plenty of time for Alex, however angry, to realise what he was doing. Knowing the people involved, he just couldn’t picture the scene.

  He knew his next job was to track down the whereabouts of the items taken from the property. Again, he met initial reluctance from the forensic department when he asked to see them, but at his insistence permission was granted. He was told that from records it had been established that the gun was the firearm issued to Alex the previous day. He was informed that it had been fired once. One spent casing had been found. He examined the bronze statue with interest. Although small, it was quite heavy. Again, he could not imagine Catherine wielding this with sufficient force to injure Alex to the extent of his apparent injuries. After further pressing, he was told that the papers found at the house had been taken away by a senior police officer.

  Dougie reported back all he had discovered to a shocked Superintendent Charles. In something of a daze, he then went back to his office and sat at his desk, staring at the other empty chair, wondering what on earth he should do next.

  After an hour, and two cups of coffee, neither of which he tasted, he found himself no further forward with his dilemma. With Sir John and Alex gone, who was now in charge of the investigation? Who could he trust? He had no way of knowing how to contact Francis. Perhaps he himself would be contacted as soon as the news leaked out. The newspapers would have a field day with this one!

  Then his door had opened and a man entered, followed by two uniformed constables, none of them known to him.

  The man announced, in a cool voice, ‘I’m Superintendent Fox. I’ve been brought in on this matter. Assistant Commissioner Rankin has given instructions that he will take full charge of your investigation and all your papers are to be removed into his keeping. Here’s a signed letter of authority. You are to be reassigned back to other duties.’

  There was nothing Dougie could do. It was a direct order from a superior. He watched as the filing cabinets were emptied and their files carried away. The Superintendent remained behind and fixed Dougie with a hard stare.

  ‘I understand you’ve been to Fulham and other places.’

  So, his movements had been reported, thought Dougie.

  ‘Yes, I have. Alex Hartman was my colleague, and I knew his wife. I wanted to know what had happened.’

  ‘What happened is that a bent copper killed his wife and then killed himself. End of story. There won’t be a fuss about it. Gets the Force a bad name, this sort of thing. There’ll be no need for you to do any more investigating, it might not go down too well. You have your pension to think about.’

  With a slight smile, he left. There was no doubt about the meaning of his remarks. Don’t poke around, or your career could be on the line.

  Should he have a word with Superintendent Charles? He’d always felt he was a reasonable man. What if Charles had been warned as well?

  Then another thought had come into his mind, one that worried him. The Commissioner had been about to report to others on their findings. Now the Commissioner was… dead. Had that been an unfortunate accident? Then Alex: dead. Could it be that someone was trying to stop any further investigation by removing those persons involved? If it was, where did that leave him? Or his family, for that matter. He remembered Alex’s thoughts on the deaths of Catherine’s parents; and now Catherine herself was dead. Had Alex been right to worry, after all?

  He was still of the same mind when, on attending the inquests, he found himself disagreeing with the rudimentary submissions from pathology and ballistics, and the Coroner’s eventual final decision.

  The whole thing preyed on his mind over the following weeks, to such an extent it culminated in him asking to be removed from Sp
ecial Branch and returned to ordinary CID work. Keep your head down, and work out the rest of your time for your pension. That was best.

  It was no surprise when Luigi Gandoni attempted to contact him. He was sure to ask him to push for more investigation, but without any new evidence he knew this was pointless. As for the other matter… how could he explain? Perhaps he should just keep quiet.

  His worries deepened when he was informed about the box awaiting his collection. A glance inside was all he needed to realise that they were copies of all their reports and file notes. Had Alex foreseen something like this happening and made sure that the information was safe? But what could he now do with it all? No one named Francis, nor anyone else, had yet made any contact with him. It then dawned on him that if it became known that there were copies of all their documentation in existence, and in his possession, this again could bring danger to him or his family. He put the box in his loft and tried to forget about it.

  That was when the guilt had started.

  CHAPTER 15

  The noise in the public house began to intrude on Dougie’s thoughts. It had been a regular of his for a number of years on these particular days, taking him back to the area where he had been brought up and people knew him and the start of his career. He laughed to himself. A psychiatrist would no doubt say he was trying to return to his youth, to a time before the guilt had started to invade his waking thoughts.

  He had noticed a man sitting at the bar looking his way a few times. Although he knew several people from the old days who still lived in the vicinity and frequented the pub, this person he did not recognise.

  As if making up his mind, the man turned from the bar and came his way.

  ‘Its Dougie Johnson, isn’t it?’

  Dougie still didn’t recognise him.

  ‘Yes, that’s me. Sorry, should I know you?’

  With a grin the man slipped into a seat next to him.

  ‘A good few years ago I’d have been glad you didn’t… if you’re still in the same profession that is. The name’s Ron Henshaw. You’re the law, or you were, and I was… well, I wasn’t.’