by John R McKay
Finding a small gap between two families he sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands. After a while he looked up to the ceiling where he knew that just a few feet above, the bombs continued to fall, wrecking the city, and he allowed himself a small smile.
Despite his injuries and the fact he felt physically sick, he knew that the night could not have gone any better for him. As he sat there, amongst the hustle and bustle of the people as they attempted to make themselves comfortable for the night, he began to formulate an addition to his plan.
Over the course of the next few weeks he would replace all the staff in both of the houses and would find and destroy any reference, any photograph and any other document that mentioned Gregory Cooke and his ties to the Holbrooks. He would wipe him off the face of the Holbrook family tree. If the man was ever to return to England, if he was ever to show his face again, then he would have him killed. Besides, the man had no reason to return. Victoria was now dead and gone and he was certain that he would never return to be with Alexander.
Elizabeth and Francis were another matter. Although Elizabeth was now permanently ensconced in Yorkshire, she would undoubtedly be interested in what had become of Gregory. At present they did not know of his survival and as long as he could keep them from that knowledge then all would be fine. He would try to find a way, maybe through the Red Cross, of getting word to Gregory that they had died during an air raid or some other such story. He would find a reason for him to never want to come back.
Yes, he thought to himself, that is exactly what he would do.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Danny lay on his side on the bed. He had finished reading the journal. There were a few blank pages at the back and as he flicked through these he saw an entry that had been made by someone else’s hand. It was a familiar style and he recognised it from the introductory letter as belonging to Sir Peter Holbrook and that it had probably been written very recently.
‘Daniel, after reading this you will realise that what took place all those years ago has a direct bearing on you today. You will understand why I handed everything over to you in my will as your grandfather, your father and now you, were and are the true and rightful Baronets of Ardleigh.
I managed to find out a couple of things that can bring you some answers and hopefully a conclusion to this whole sorry tale that I am sure you will want to know.
Records show that Victoria, Lady Holbrook, was killed on her way to work at a shelter on the night of the 29th December 1940, after being caught up in an air raid. As you know, this date is the last entry in her journal and therefore this would have been almost impossible considering the physical and mental state she would have been in following Alexander’s attacks. She would have been in no fit state to even walk unaided, let alone go to the assistance of others. The only conclusion I can draw from this is that her life was taken and her body placed there by a person or persons unknown. I think we can both guess as to whom such person, or people, that may be.
Up to the age of fifteen I was brought up by my mother until she died whilst giving birth to my younger brother, Simon. My father, who became a diplomat after the war and spent a lot of time overseas away from the family, died shortly after in a road traffic accident in America. After my mother’s death my brother and I went to live with my aunt Elizabeth. For some reason she, and my father when he was alive, did not have a lot of time for their own father and so I hardly knew Alexander. What I do recall of him is of a standoffish, surly man to whom I remember being afraid as a child.
I have no recollection of a Gregory Cooke but on wracking my brains I do recall my aunt once telling me of a cousin she had who was killed in the war. It seems that, for some reason, Gregory did not get in touch with them on his return to England. Why that was I have no idea.
Anyway, my dear Daniel, I hope that you can do some good with the money I have left you and should you choose to pursue a claim to the Baronetcy then you have my blessing and hopefully, with these letters and this journal you will have sufficient evidence to make a successful claim. However, my real wish would be for the Baronetcy to come to a conclusion with my passing but if you wish to claim what is essentially your birthright then please feel free.
I know that my days on this earth are now few and I leave sad in the knowledge that there is a side to my family I never knew, but happy that I am able to hopefully right a wrong from this family’s past.
Take care and live well,
Peter.’
Danny sat up on the bed and stared at the journal in front of him. There was no denying what Sir Peter was telling him. He picked up a couple of the letters from the bed that had been written by John Cooke to his wife, Georgina, and scanning through them he could see the truth in his words. Constant muted reference to another identity and a life left behind in pursuit of a love that others sought to deny them. John Cooke, or John Holbrook to give him his real name, telling his wife that he was happy to give that life up and the wealth that came with it, in order to spend his life with her, to devote himself to her. Danny was struck by the irony of it all. Alexander pursued his brother and had him killed for a title that John did not even wish for. It was all so sad and unnecessary.
He was suddenly struck with the idea that history may be repeating itself. The reaction of Simon Holbrook at the will reading gave him renewed cause for concern. It was becoming clear to him that what had taken place the other morning may be a little more sinister than he had first thought. The shock of what had happened had possibly dulled his senses insomuch as he had been too preoccupied with trying to understand the sudden bequest, to be able to take in just how it affected Sir Peter’s brother and his family.
Was there a connection between Simon Holbrook and Sean Lange? If there was then that made a connection between Simon Holbrook and the murder of Lucy. Danny now understood that on that fateful Friday night he had been the target of murder and the motive was surely to have him killed before he could be found by Clive Brown and then inherit the money. Had the attempt been successful then this would have left, by default, the inheritance to go to Sir Peter’s family, namely Simon Holbrook. Making the death look like an accident would not put any suspicion upon him. It had to be that Lange had been employed by Simon Holbrook and that is why there was no immediate connection. It all made sense now.
But then it left a big question. How did Simon know of what the will contained? Danny had no idea on the answer to this and was not even sure if his suspicions were correct, but it was something that the police needed to be aware of. It all made sense if that was the case. He thought that the best way forward would be that as soon as he was able he would return to England and show them the journal and letters. He also realised that Sean Lange’s attack on him the previous day was probably to take possession and destroy the documents, leaving the will then open to question. Simon could argue that Sir Peter had not been of sound mind when writing it and with no evidence to support the claim that Danny was the rightful heir, he may have won any such claim that he put forward.
But there was always DNA, thought Danny. That would prove that he was related to them. And that is probably the reason why Simon wanted him dead before the will reading and before anyone knew of whom he was or how he was related to the Holbrooks. He felt physically sick at the thought of what had taken place and the reasons behind it all. He would have been quite content to live his life in ignorance of it all, in peace with Lucy. He had not sought any of this, it had all been thrust upon him by Sir Peter. Maybe if Sir Peter had known what was to happen then he may have burned the journal and letters and left it at that. Who knew?
Danny looked over to his phone which had vibrated occasionally during his reading of the journal. He would have to make some calls. He needed to know if Lange was in custody and if it was safe to return to England where he could carry on with his life. He needed to know that if it was Simon Holbrook who was ultimately responsible for wh
at had taken place, then was Lange the only person he needed to be wary of.
He walked to the dressing table and picked up the phone. He looked at the call history and saw that Julie Green had been trying to get in touch with him.
He called her number and she answered almost straight away.
‘Danny, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ he replied sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. ‘I’ve been a bit pre-occupied to be honest. Any news for me? Have you caught Lange yet?’
‘No, afraid not. I need to make you aware of some developments though.’
‘Go on.’
‘We have reason to believe that Lange could be on his way to France. To Paris.’ There was a pause as she let Danny digest the information. ‘He could be after you, Danny.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The police in London found the bodies of his mother and a family friend this morning. Murdered very recently by the look of it. They also found false passports and weapons in the house. He may have links to the security services too.’
‘The security services?’ asked Danny, unable to compute what she was telling him. ‘How so?’
‘Someone from MI5 contacted my boss the other day. Virtually warned him to back off with what we were doing. Investigating Lucy’s death and everything. Made it sound as though we were treading on their feet or something.’
Danny shook his head to clear it. ‘What the hell has all this got to do with them?’
‘I can’t tell you at this stage. My colleagues in the Met are looking into it as we speak,’ she answered. ‘Anyway, it would probably be best if you came back here, where we can protect you. You see, if he has connections in MI5 someone could be giving him information on your location. We just don’t know. If he’s taken passports he may have left the country and gone anywhere. Maybe just on the run, but you never know, he could be on his way to find you.’
‘How could he possibly know where I am? I only decided myself on the hoof. Even I didn’t know where I was going to end up.’
‘I don’t know, Danny. I’m not too sure with how all this works,’ said Julie. ‘Have you used your credit card to pay for anything? Hotels? Bars? Restaurants?’
Danny went cold. ‘Yes I paid for a hotel this morning. I’ve moved to another one now though. Down the road.’
‘Well keep vigilant. I really think you should come back here.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. Changing the subject he asked her: ‘Are your lot looking at Simon Holbrook?’
‘Who’s Simon Holbrook?’
‘The brother of the guy who just left me his fortune. I’ve a feeling he may know something about all this. You need to get your people in London to get a hold of him and ask him some stuff.’
‘What have you found out?’
‘The package I was left contained letters from what appears to be my ancestors. People I knew nothing about. And a journal by my great aunt, or at least I think she was my great aunt, I’m not too sure.’
‘Go on.’
‘It appears that my great grandfather was murdered by his brother during the First World War, which went undiscovered. The brother became the Baronet of Ardleigh in his place.’
‘The what of what?’
‘The Baronet of Ardleigh, It’s a hereditary title which comes with lots of money. And houses apparently. The guy who left me the money was the current one until he died. He found out what had taken place and had me traced. It appears that I am the rightful heir. This Simon Holbrook is the dead guy’s brother and would have inherited the lot and possibly the title if I hadn’t been found. It’s possible he tried to have me killed by his man, Lange, if I’m right, but he cocked it up.’
‘Jesus, Danny,’ said Julie.
‘It all makes sense now, don’t you think?’
‘I’ll speak to the Met now. We’ll get him picked up. In the meantime get your backside back home and come straight to the police station when you land.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Danny, thoughtfully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well I’m sick of all this running away from him. I’m getting a little tired of it. And looking at him yesterday in London, he wasn’t all that to be honest. I fully intended to come back today, to show you the journal and stuff but I’m not too sure now.’
‘Danny, he’s a cold blooded killer. If he turns up there then he won’t hesitate to kill you too. He’s tried twice already and he’s killed his own mother for God’s sake. And two other people we know of. It’s more than likely he’s killed others besides.’
‘The guy’s a bloody amateur,’ Danny argued.
‘Even professionals are known to do amateur things now and again you know,’ said Julie and she immediately thought of Jim Lea and the predicament he had landed himself in. ‘Please come back Danny. We can’t protect you if you’re over there.’
‘I’ll let you know,’ said Danny. ‘Ring if there are any further developments. I’m going to try and grab an hour’s kip now,’ he added. ‘Bye Julie.’
He hung up before she could reply.
Danny had made a decision. He was not going to run back home. They weren’t even certain that Lange was on to him anyway and it could all be a waste of time. He was going to stay in the French capital for a few days and chill out. He may even move to an up market hotel and live a little. God knows he could afford it now. And frankly, he thought to himself, after all he had been through over the past few weeks, he bloody well deserved it too.
#
Sean Lange stood in the shade on the steps next to the pillars of the large blue doors that were the entrance to the Sorbonne University. He looked to his left along the Rue Victor Cousin towards the Hotel de la Sorbonne. If Cooke was staying there then he would wait until he showed his face and then follow him until an opportunity arose for him to carry out his plans before heading immediately to the Gare du Nord to get the next available train to Holland. He had contacted Ivan on landing at Charles de Gaulle airport, late the previous night, and explained briefly the situation he was in. Ivan had listened without interruption only to remark, ‘OK, do what you need to do,’ before hanging up. Lange had been a little worried at the time about Ivan’s attitude but thought if he was quick with this he could be safe in Amsterdam before nightfall.
He had changed his appearance once more. His head was covered with a dark woollen hat and he was wearing small round glasses, a large grey overcoat and a long scarf. He also carried a battered satchel over his shoulder which he had just bought from a second hand shop in the Latin Quarter. To anyone passing he merely looked like a typical mature student waiting to meet a friend. That’s if they were interested, but no-one had so far given him so much as a second look.
From his viewing point he could also see the café fronts on the Place de la Sorbonne where students were sitting enjoying a Saturday morning coffee whilst reading papers and watching the world go by. Some were also seated on the low walls at the side of the two small fountains that stretched along the centre of the square. This wasn’t such a bad place to be, thought Lange as he observed the scene. It was just a pity he was here on such serious business.
The morning sun was shining on the square but Sean was not able to feel the warm rays and pulled his coat a little tighter around himself. He would stay here for a while and then, if he had not seen Cooke within the next hour or so, he would sit at the café on the corner and get something to eat. He did not wish to approach the hotel and ask after him because it was a very small establishment and he did not want to arouse any kind of suspicion should he be correct and Cooke was staying there. He would have to play this very carefully, he thought. He had made way too many mistakes in this whole thing already and did not want to make any more. He thought again about whether there was any real point to it, whether he should just leave the guy alone, to take it all as a bad job, put it dow
n to experience and move on. But then he thought of how his whole life had gone to complete rat shit since Danny Cooke had become involved in it, and he could feel his anger starting to flare up again.
He took a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one. As he inhaled the nicotine he felt his senses stir. He was starting to feel alive and organised again. Yes, he thought, he would do this. He would complete this mission. He had a reputation to regain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Julie Green sat at her desk. She had hoped to take the weekend off to get things prepared for her holiday but had decided to put in a few hours at the station. After speaking to Danny Cooke the previous afternoon she had then contacted DI Harry Wilson at the Metropolitan Police to pass on the information Danny had given her from what he had found out from the journal and for an update on the hunt for Sean Lange.
Wilson had been convinced that Lange had left the country and could be absolutely anywhere by now. He had informed Interpol, who had in turn informed the French police. Julie was going to ask them to speak to Danny, to persuade him to return to England but knew that was probably a waste of time. If he did not want to return then they could not force him, and besides, she had no idea in which hotel he was staying now anyway. She found that she was very worried about him. She liked the guy and he had been through so much.
Wilson had informed her that they would pick up Simon Holbrook for questioning in relation to the killing of Lucy Taylor and to see if there was any substance in the theory that he was behind the whole thing and she was to ring him again this morning to see how it went.
DI Raymond walked into the room and on seeing her sitting there alone, he approached her.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be on holiday?’ he asked, smiling.
