Brotherly Blood

by Jean G. Goodhind

  Just as she got to the bottom, she saw him. Doherty was waiting for her.

  ‘You’re here! What a lovely surprise!’

  She wasn’t usually that demonstrative in public, but on this occasion she couldn’t help flinging her arms around him and burying her face against his shoulder.

  Doherty wrapped his arms around her and for a moment they clung there, both acting outside their normal character. She sensed his tension and assumed she was going to get another warning not to interfere with Lord Torrington’s death.

  ‘Okay,’ he said softly. ‘We need to talk.’

  His car was parked at the front of the taxi rank, a police on call sign stuck in the windscreen making it look as though he’d only just arrived when in fact he’d left the car there all day. He could have taken a taxi, but he wasn’t thinking straight.

  Honey almost fell into the front passenger seat. ‘I’m whacked. How very clever of you to guess which train I was on.’

  ‘Very,’ he said. ‘But I’m pretty good at guessing.’

  She eyed his profile as the car nudged its way out into the early evening traffic.

  ‘You didn’t guess. You knew.’

  ‘I made enquiries.’

  Honey sighed and closed her eyes. ‘Are we being followed?’

  Doherty was silent.

  Honey opened her eyes.

  ‘I thought you had another day on the course.’

  ‘I left early.’

  His grim voice matched the look on his face.

  ‘I told you not to get involved,’ he added. He sounded angry.

  ‘And I did not do as I was ordered. Well, naughty me!’

  There was a veiled sarcasm in Honey’s response.

  ‘You’ve left yourself wide open to danger.’

  ‘I take it you know I haven’t been in Bath.’

  ‘I know where you’ve been.’

  ‘And you’re angry with me.’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody angry with you! I told you to stay away from this. Things are always more complicated and downright bloody dangerous when spooks are involved! This isn’t a straightforward crime. It’s complicated and full of history.’

  Honey spun her head to face him. ‘You mean it goes back to my father. How did you find out?’

  Doherty had a firm jaw. Today it was set like iron.

  ‘Something bugging you?’

  He took a deep breath and swung the car into a left hand turning.

  ‘You’re out of your depth.’

  ‘That isn’t what’s really bugging you.’

  Honey studied his face, the set of his jaw, the way he was gazing firmly at the road ahead.

  ‘You’ve got involved too. I can see it from your face. If you clenched your jaw much harder you’d grind your teeth to dust. You know about my father betraying an old friend, so you also know that old friend – or somebody close to him – is out for revenge.’

  The car braked as a gaggle of Japanese schoolchildren sauntered across a zebra crossing, chatting nineteen to the dozen and seemingly oblivious to the cars waiting for them to get out of the way.

  Doherty slid the car into gear.

  ‘Caspar’s half-brother was putting his life in order. He wanted to make amends for some of the things he’d done. One of them concerned his part in the betraying of Ivan Orlov. He took a trip to Russia, went looking for old contacts and raked up stuff he should have left dead and buried.’

  ‘Doherty, you’re still in danger of grinding your teeth to dust. You’ve been got at. You’ve been told all this by somebody we’ve both met, although you only know him slightly in passing, me...’ She paused. Should she mention going out to dinner with Dominic. Even more so, should she mention the pair of them lying under the bed, Dominic, sleek as a panther, in a state of undress? Both scenarios were best avoided.

  ‘Can I guess the identity of the person who cut short your little team building exercise?’

  The city was full of tourists, big groups of them decamping from coaches or trailing along behind a tour guide’s green umbrella. It was only common sense that he should keep his eyes peeled, watching the ebb and flow of people enjoying themselves and oblivious to the traffic.

  Honey was pretty good at reading Doherty’s mind even when it wasn’t the simple stuff, i.e. sex, beer, eating late and sleeping in.

  ‘You know I’m being stalked.’

  ‘It could have been avoided.’

  ‘I don’t think it could.’

  Doherty sighed as though he could do nothing but give in.

  ‘We’ll get lunch and you can tell me all you’ve found out.’

  Ristorante Martini was on George Street, a Sicilian restaurant run by Sicilians. Not all the staff was of Italian extraction, some were Polish and one was French.

  Lunchtime trade was almost as busy as it was in the evenings. The service was excellent; the food good and there was a comfortable ambience about the place. No table was too close to the next so it seemed you were sitting on somebody’s lap.

  Two courses were ordered plus a bottle of Prosecco. The latter was served at the right temperature and tasted good.

  Once the waiter was out of earshot, Honey outlined what she’d found out including Mary Jane’s observation on the residue left by the cremation and the fact that the rooms were bugged.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about Tarquin. Leave it to his colleagues in MI5. It’s you we need to worry about.’

  Honey met the look in his eyes. ‘So where have you been between leaving the course and getting here?’

  ‘What I do best. Investigating with a view to solving a murder.’

  ‘Tarquin was definitely murdered?’

  ‘Somebody was.’

  He sounded too casual to be absolutely sincere. Doherty was always dead serious when it came to crime.

  ‘Somebody?’

  ‘The DNA has been tested and identified as being that of Caspar’s brother. But…’

  ‘You don’t trust the people giving you this information.’

  He shook his head, his eyes downcast. What he’d told her tied in with Mary Jane’s observations.

  ‘And the man responsible?’

  ‘He’s getting close.’

  ‘And I’m the next victim.’

  His eyes clouded with concern and he held her look as though loathe to let it go, as though if he dared blink she wouldn’t be there when he looked again.

  Honey frowned, thoughts weighing down her mind. ‘And it’s all to do with my father and the other men in the photograph Mary Jane found?’

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Any description? It would be useful if I had an idea of what he looked like.’

  Doherty looked down at the empty wine glass in front of him and shook his head.

  One of the waiters chose that moment to drop a tray full of glasses. They both looked in that direction before looking at each other.

  ‘I’m frightened.’

  ‘I’ll be there for you.’

  ‘Mary Jane did warn me.’

  ‘She did?’ He looked surprised that Mary Jane knew anything about it all. ‘I didn’t think you’d confided in anyone?’

  ‘I didn’t. My father told her I was in danger.’

  His sober expression vanished, replaced by one of disbelief.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong. Your father’s dead.’

  ‘Correct.’

  He shook his head before slapping a hand to his forehead.

  ‘Via the sixth sense landline I take it.’ There was some humour in his voice, but not very much.

  Honey shrugged. She’d always been a little sceptical of Mary Jane’s paranormal experiences, Doherty even more so. On this occasion she had every reason to believe what was being told her.

  Honey covered her eyes with one hand. Her hand felt cool. Her forehead was warm as toast. Suddenly she felt very tired and very scared.

  ‘I suppose I should be getting on back. Lindsey is a gem, but the hotel is my res
ponsibility. I can’t neglect it just because somebody wants to kill me.’

  Doherty pulled a so-so face. ‘It’s up there in the top ten of acceptable excuses.’

  The bill settled, Doherty prepared to leave. ‘Come on. I’ll take you home.’

  After he’d dropped her off, Doherty went home feeling guilty because he had not told her the whole truth. He would have liked to have her here with him, but this woman was stubborn at the best of times. Yes, they adored each other, but the hotel still ranked high on her list of priorities. He had considered hanging about to keep an eye on her, but he was tired and, anyway, Dominic Christiansen had arranged for somebody to cover him. He hoped it wouldn’t be Dominic. The man unnerved him. Not because of his profession but because he was the sort of man women easily fell for. But it wasn’t jealousy. At least, that was what he told himself.

  Before taking off his jacket, he fished in the pocket for the stub of the return train ticket to London and back. Absorbed in other things, Honey hadn’t noticed him getting on the next carriage down, nor following her in a taxi, nor doing the same in reverse for the return journey. The hardest part had been alighting from the train at Bath Spa and pretending to have been waiting for her. It had worked. She was home safe and sound – this time.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Once she’d passed through the double doors of the Green River Hotel, Honey’s slant on the world altered appreciably. This was a safe place, a world away from spies, murder and mayhem.

  ‘Mary Jane is home, Lindsey reliably informed her.

  Honey paused, instantly thinking how attractive her daughter looked, how confident she was. Without a care in the world. She had not informed Lindsey that she was being stalked. She could hardly believe it herself.

  ‘How did she seem?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘A bit tired. She drove up from Torrington Towers yesterday and immediately took to her room. She said something about getting in touch with granddad, though didn’t let on why she would want to do that. I’ve known our American friend long enough to know she’s talking séance or one to one meditation. Apparently it’s the latest thing.’

  Honey didn’t doubt it, but was grateful that Mary Jane had seemingly not mentioned the intrigue surrounding her father Edmund Driver.

  ‘I expect she’s taking forty winks,’ Honey commented, though it couldn’t possibly be the truth. Mary Jane was getting on in years and although the drive up from Torrington Towers must have been tiring, she wasn’t the sort to give in easily. ‘In the meantime I need to get up to speed. Fill me in on what needs doing.’

  Lindsey moved around from one end of the reception desk to another, pieces of paper and electronic gadgets dealt with at a phenomenal rate.

  Her statement confirmed what Honey already expected.

  ‘Not very much. I’ve taken care of the bulk of it and what’s left is trivial. Clint rang to ask if you had any slots for him this week. He’s in need of money urgently.’

  ‘He’s in trouble.’

  It was a statement not a question. He was their casual washer-up who sported a shaved head covered in a spider tattoo.

  ‘He needs to get away. It’s something to do with getting involved in a fight at a pop concert he was at with a few friends.’

  Clint was the sort of person who sold bits and pieces at pop concerts and nightclubs. Honey had always been careful not to ask what those ‘bits and pieces’ constituted.

  ‘Tell him we can accommodate him whenever he’s available. Did he say where this pop concert happened to be?’

  ‘A farm near some old factory. An illicit pop concert from what I can gather.’

  Honey didn’t pry into the details. ‘And your grandmother?’

  Honey had heard nothing from her mother. On reflection perhaps she was recovering from the realisation that her ex-husband, Honey’s father, had not been the bowler hatted, civil servant she’d thought him to be. Ditto Uncle Percy, her brother-in-law.

  Being unaware of what had been going on, Lindsey assumed there to be a different and rather mundane reason.

  ‘I’ve seen little of grandma since she took delivery of her cat. It’s a sweet little thing, but I’m not sure it’s quite right for her.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  What price a cat’s happiness compared to a threat on her life?

  She felt Lindsey’s eyes studying her.

  ‘You look pale. Is this thing about Caspar’s brother too much for you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ She forced herself to sound full of confidence, not a care in the world. After that she pretended to be besotted with this morning’s post. The cat was not at the top of her agenda.

  Lindsey continued to study her. ‘You’re looking pale.’

  ‘Your grandmother left me holding the baby so to speak. I could have done with some extra help, but you know your grandmother, there’s always something more important to deal with. Something that concerns her and her alone,’ she remarked acidly.

  Lindsey’s gaze remained. Her tone was just a little bit hurt at her mother’s brusqueness. Honey could feel it in the look that was landing on her and felt guilty.

  ‘I’m sorry for snapping. I’m just tired. Tell me about the cat.’

  Only some of the stiffness left Lindsey’s shoulders. She was coming round, but only just.

  ‘She hasn’t got it any more. The window cleaner left the window open and Samson jumped out in hot pursuit of a pigeon. He hasn’t been seen since. Grandma’s been out looking for him and so has Stewart. He’s not happy about it. He paid over three hundred pounds for that cat.’

  Honey shook her head. Her mother’s new husband had more money than sense.

  Lindsey eyed her anew, although in all honestly the searching look had not really diminished. Just wishful thinking on Honey’s part.

  ‘You look like the traveller in The Ancient Mariner.’

  Honey was jerked from deep and disturbing thoughts.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know. The poem by Coleridge, which goes something like…’ Lindsey looked skywards as she searched for the words of a poem learned in school. ‘Da de da de das...the traveller walked onwards and turned no more his head, because he feared a demon did close behind him tread...Is there a demon treading behind you?’

  Too close, thought Honey and laughed. ‘Of course not. I’m off to check the kitchen. Give me a shout if you need me.’

  Lindsey was not and never had been a fool. Even as a child she’d been insightful beyond her years.

  Honey felt her daughter’s eyes searing into her back. Should she tell her the truth and have her worrying or keep mum until everything was done and dusted – even if it meant she was the one done and dusted – gone forever.

  The coach house she shared with her daughter was cool and had a safe atmosphere. The stray cat was sitting in a basket by the fireplace. So was a note. On opening it she found it was from Smudger, her head chef.

  ‘Hope you don’t mind, Mrs Driver, but Albert is homeless. My landlady said pets weren’t allowed though she hasn’t noticed him up till now. So I brought him in with me. Trouble is he shot into your place and refuses to come out again. Hope you don’t mind too much. Will discuss further when you have a moment.’

  The cat opened one eye to scrutinise her before jumping onto the sofa and curling up beside her. For some reason she couldn’t possibly explain, its contented purring further added to the overall feeling of security. Anyway, she hadn’t the heart to throw it out. She put in a quick phone call to Smudger.

  ‘It can stay here. Okay?’

  He was speechless.

  She presumed Lindsey had provided the basket and no doubt she’d also been feeding it. Cats weren’t really Honey’s thing, but its presence made her feel quite relaxed. The cat’s purring intensified when she rubbed at its ears and throat, a pair of big yellow eyes fixing her with a hypnotic stare.

  Whether it was down to its stare that her thoughts returned to the subject of mineral righ
ts, she couldn’t be sure. It was like somebody had grabbed hold of the back of her collar and jerked her backwards.

  Basically someone else had been making free with the family’s mineral rights. If that was so, surely there should be signs of mining such as winding wheels, pit propped entrances and piles of discarded aggregate in the form of huge slag heaps. Perhaps not. Things had moved on a bit from the days when Wales was the coal producing capital of the world. And this wasn’t Wales. Neither was it the nineteenth or even the twentieth century. Whatever was being mined, surely there should be some sign?

  It could have been her imagination, but she was sure she saw the cat’s eyes glowing.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said as she continued to stroke its ears which sent it purring like a freight train going downhill. ‘Local knowledge is everything. Perhaps I’m missing something. In which case I know the person to ask.’

  The cat snuggled down beside her hip while she spoke into her mobile phone.

  ‘Caspar. Are you aware of any disturbances around there – as in mining disturbances? Piles of earth, obnoxious ironwork around your ancestral home.’

  She heard him suck in his teeth. He would have loved living in a stately home if it was not also a safari park, but it would have to be of his own choice. Caspar was not the kind of man one told what to do. He pleased himself.

  ‘No. And that is emphatic, my dear Honey. There are no mines on the Torrington estate.’

  Local knowledge. Local gossip meant the village pub which meant driving all the way back to Wyvern Wendell. She considered inviting Doherty along but there was no response from his mobile so she left a message. It struck her as odd that he wasn’t answering, but guessed he had important reasons for not answering.

  ‘I’ll be in plenty of company. The village pub is well patronised so I shouldn’t be in any danger.’

  That’s what she hoped. She told Lindsey she wouldn’t be long. Mary Jane overheard and asked if she’d like company. Honey declined. She quite fancied a drive in her own car at her own pace and without the horn blowing and rude gestures that Mary Jane’s driving attracted.

  Twilight was kicking in as she drove along the narrow road that wound downhill into the village between boxy hedges ripe with berries.