‘No, of course you don’t,’ she replied. ‘But why didn’t you ask one of us to go with you, if it was that urgent?’
‘Because you had enough on your plates with Justin! I didn’t want to bother you!’
‘I think, just maybe, it would have bothered us a bit more if you’d ended up dead,’ she said. Well, I couldn’t argue with that. Even though I desperately wanted to.
She looked at Dan, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at me. He’d been caught out by the weather as well, and his white T-shirt was now so wet it was starting to stick to his muscles in ways I still found infuriatingly interesting. Which, naturally enough, made me even more mad.
‘Dan – calm down. Jayne is a grown-up, and she made a choice. You might not agree with it, but it was her choice. And she’s here – safe and well. And a bit wet. Why are you still so angry with her?’
‘Because she could have died. It was stupid. She should have asked me for help. I would have come with her. I’d be… bothered. If anything happened to her.’
‘Okay,’ sighed Betty, screwing her eyes up and rubbing them with her fingers.
‘This is worse than dealing with my kids. Dan, Jayne didn’t ask because she thought you were too upset about Justin. That was considerate of her. And Jayne – this daft bugger here lost his rag because he cares about you. I can’t see what’s so bad about either of those motives, and I think you two need to kiss and make up. Have a wrestling match. Whatever. Just sort it. There are more important things going on here than your egos. Now I’m going back inside to see Justin. Behave yourselves – and don’t make me come out here again.’
Betty walked away, her shoulders stooped with fatigue. I felt at least some of the fight sag out of me as she went back inside the hospital.
‘Has Betty just used her mind control tricks on us?’ I said, breaking the silence. Well, one of us needed to act like an adult, and that was as close as I could get.
‘No. It was worse than that. She used common sense on us.’
He straightened up, brushed his soaked hair away from his face, and stared off into the distance. Apparently he suddenly found the black taxi rank completely fascinating.
‘Look, Jayne, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. When you told me where you’d been, I flipped. I was scared. I knew you were okay, you were standing there right in front of me looking excited, but all I heard was Hart House. And I was already upset about Justin. I don’t like feeling I’m not… protecting my people. I’m sorry.’
His people. Jeez. I didn’t know whether I loved that or hated it.
‘O-kay,’ I said. ‘Apology accepted. Apart from the bit about calling me a stupid little girl. That, I’ll never forgive you for.’
‘You’re not a little girl. I accept that. But it was stupid. You know it was, so there’s no point arguing.’
He finally tore his eyes from the cabs, and looked me up and down.
‘You’re all wet,’ he said.
I glanced down at myself. He was right. I didn’t want to imagine what my hair was doing, and my top was plastered to my boobs like a second skin. Which of course he’d noticed, being a male with a pulse. I felt my nipples perk up just a touch at the thought, making the matter even worse. Jesus. I really did need to get some.
‘So are you. It’s, you know, the rain. We should get… not wet. And I’ve got to go somewhere. In the spirit of co-operation, you can come with me if you like.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the seaside. We can get ice creams and you can skim stones. But first I need to see a man about a photo.’
Chapter 34
An hour later we were parked up on a street in Blundellsands, the very definition of the term ‘leafy suburb’.
The roads are unusually wide, which is ironic as all of the cars tend to be tucked away in double garages or driveways big enough to park a horse and cart in. The homes are large and dignified, and edge down to the Mersey at the point where it stops looking like a river, and starts looking like the sea.
It’s the far end of the city from the Caseys down in the south end, looped along the coastal road to Southport and beyond. Perhaps that’s why he’d chosen to make his home there. An escape from his day to day life. I’d found him. The One.
Geneva wasn’t only being romantic – she was being clever.. The photo I’d found hidden down the side of Tim’s bath had showed Geneva, happy and smiling, and snuggled up in the arms of a much older man. Simon Solitaire – the ‘One’. He’d looked happy too – if a bit nervous. Can’t say as I blamed him. If Eugene had any idea he’d been diddling his granddaughter, he’d have had him castrated and fed him the by-products.
I stared at the picture for another minute, gathering my wits together. I had to get this right. Solitaire was a professional liar. If anyone could evade the truth, he could.
‘Did you have any idea it was him?’ Dan asked, looking down at the photo. He was all dried off, and dressed in another black shirt from the back of his van, where he presumably kept an endless supply.
‘I’d like to say I did, but no. Even the nickname didn’t tip me off, when it should have done. But I am surprised. I don’t like him – he’s in the Caseys’ muck up to his neck. But when I talked to him, my twat-o-meter didn’t go off.’
‘Your twat-o-meter?’
‘Yeah. It’s a finely tuned instrument. I keep it next to my lie-o-meter and my bullshit-o-meter. Obviously needs a service. Right. Come on. Let’s do this.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked as we climbed out of the car.
‘I don’t know. I won’t be in any physical danger, but… well, this man is very good at fibbing. And given your years of experience hearing people cover up their sins, you might be able to spot it when he does.’
‘I’m glad I have some uses,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a big hooting noise when I notice, shall I?’
I shot him a give-me-a-break look, but was secretly glad that we’d managed to slip back into our usual relationship. Bruising sarcasm and biting banter. There would be big things for us to discuss at some point or another – but for now, we were both making a huge effort to ignore them.
We walked together up the pathway to Solitaire’s home, gravel crunching beneath our feet. His house wasn’t the biggest round here, but it was substantial, with a beautifully tended garden out front. That and a parked up Lexus, which did at least imply he was at home. Crime was clearly paying for Solitaire – but I wouldn’t want to be in his hand-made, leather-soled shoes.
I rang the doorbell, and took a step back when we were greeted by ferocious barking. I heard a man’s voice making shooing noises, and the door was pulled open. Solitaire. Dressed for leisure in a pair of chinos and a dark blue polo shirt. Maybe he’d been golfing.
He stared at me for a beat, confusion flickering over his features as he registered who it was, and started to wonder why I was standing on his doorstep. His eyes moved almost imperceptibly and I followed his gaze. CCTV. Smile for the cameras. I suppose if I was in Solitaire’s line of work, I’d have dogs and security too.
‘Miss McCartney,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
He’d seen Dan, obviously. I mean, a six foot two inch blonde standing in front of you isn’t easy to miss. But he chose to ignore him, and focused instead on me.
‘Mr Solitaire. This is my friend, Dan Lennon. We’d like to talk to you about Geneva Connelly. And this photograph.’
I held the picture up in front of him, deliberately shielding it from the CCTV cameras. I had no idea what happened to that footage, but I had no desire for Geneva’s private life to become anything less than private at this stage. I’d decide who to tell about it later, when The One and I had had a nice chat.
He didn’t blink, or pale, or alter his expression in any way. All those years in court, I suppose. Not to mention in Eugene’s nest of vipers.
‘You’d better come in, then. Don’t mind the dogs. The
y won’t hurt you.’
We walked through into the hallway, which was big enough to be a council flat all on its own. Two Irish wolfhounds dashed forward towards us, tongues lolling and tails wagging. Dan put his hand out for them to sniff, and they immediately started licking his fingers.
‘They’re beautiful,’ I said. Because it was true. And because it was about the last pleasant thing I was likely to be able to say for quite some time.
‘Thank you. The children I never had, I suppose.’ he replied. So not the right analogy, bearing in mind the conversation we were about to have.
He gestured for us to follow him into the lounge. It was a huge room, large enough to carry the deep burgundy paint on the walls and the framed paintings of the waterfront. No television. Just miles and miles of bookcases, piled high with legal volumes and paperbacks and atlases.
We sat down on the leather chesterfield. Dan stretched his legs out in front of him and looked around, not a word passing his lips. He did threatening pretty well, without even trying.
‘So. Lennon and McCartney. Quite an effective duo,’ said Solitaire, opening a mahogany drinks cabinet and pulling one of those posh diamond-cut decanters out of it. He held up a glass to us in a questioning gesture. We both shook our heads. He poured, and despite his outer layer of calm, I could see his hands trembling as he filled the tumbler with enough whisky to set a small garage on fire.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, where did you find that photograph?’ he asked.
‘In Geneva’s old room.’
‘I see. Well, I think it was taken at one of Eugene’s parties. I suspect we’d all had a few too many to drink – you know how Eugene will insist on everyone having the time of their lives, even if they’d rather be at home watching paint dry. All part of his image as patriarch, I suppose. I think that one was a family get-together to celebrate Sean’s fiftieth. Yes, that was it.’
I didn’t need Dan to make a hooting noise to know he was lying about that one.
‘I don’t think so, Mr Solitaire. This was hidden. Geneva had wrapped it up and tucked it away where nobody could see it. It was obviously precious to her, and something she wanted to keep secret.’
‘Well, Geneva was that kind of child,’ he said, sitting down behind his desk. ‘She liked secrets.’
‘So we’ve been told. But in this case, I think it was a secret you both kept, wasn’t it? Theresa told me Geneva had been seeing somebody. Do you know what she called you? The One. She thought she’d found The One. Amazing really, how a vibrant young woman like Geneva Connelly would fall for someone like you.’
Solitaire sloshed his drink around in his glass. His eyebrows were beetled together and he was staring at the liquid like it held the answers to life, the universe and everything. Maybe it did.
‘Assuming you’re right, Miss McCartney, and Geneva and I were having some kind of relationship, why would we keep it hidden? I’m a known and respected associate of the Caseys – what would be the problem?’
‘The problem would be Eugene,’ I replied. ‘Who as we all know is a psychopathic control freak with anger management issues. You’re, what, thirty years older than Geneva? And more to the point, you’re the hired help. Don’t delude yourself otherwise. If he’d known about you stealing his precious granddaughter’s virtue, you wouldn’t have lived another day.’
‘Virtue? She was hardly some blushing sixteen-year-old!’
‘In Eugene’s eyes she was. Then there’s the matter of your work. You don’t strike me as a man ready to retire, Mr Solitaire – yet here was this bright young thing, a pureblood Casey, itching to take over from you. The lunatics taking over the asylum. What would you have done with yourself?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said quietly.
‘What was it like?’ said Dan. ‘Tell us. Explain it. There’s no need for anybody else to know at this stage.’
Solitaire looked up and met Dan’s eyes, seeming to weigh up the pros and cons. Confession might be good for the soul – but in this case, it could be very bad for the kneecaps.
‘It was… genuine. We were in love. Please don’t laugh – we were. I knew the risks, and so did she. Although they were easier for her to handle, as she wouldn’t be the one getting dismembered without anaesthetic. She was worth the risk though. She was… special. A very special girl.’
‘So what went wrong with your very special relationship with this very special girl?’ I asked.
‘She died. That’s a fairly conclusive end to a love affair, wouldn’t you say? She fell down those stairs and that was the end of it.’
Dan made a ‘uh-uh’ sound, like a buzzer going off when somebody got an answer wrong on a quiz show. Solitaire and I both stared at him.
‘You’re lying,’ he said. ‘Something heavy is weighing on your mind. It’s damaging you. Tell us.’
‘Ah,’ said Solitaire, smiling sadly. ‘You must be the priest Wigwam mentioned. I should have known. But maybe you’re right; I do feel…damaged.’
He swigged the rest of the whisky down in one gulp, grimaced as it stung, and poured some more as he spoke.
‘She wanted to tell them. Her family. Had this naïve idea that she’d be able to sweet-talk Eugene round. That we’d get married and run our own little legal empire. That everything in the garden would be rosy. For a bright girl, she could be incredibly dense – she was so single-minded, so convinced she was always right, that she could get what she wanted. It was a quality I admired in her, but—’
‘On this occasion you knew she was wrong,’ I added. ‘Eugene wouldn’t have come round to it, would he? He’d have seen it as a betrayal. And he’s not a big fan of betrayal.’
‘Quite. As my numerous trips to the courtroom on his behalf will testify. He’d have made an example of me, whether it made Geneva cry or not. He doesn’t love anybody more than his ego, no matter what she thought. I knew that if she told, I’d be dead. In the end, it never came to that. She never got a chance to tell him, and since she died, I’ve been… well, I’ve not been myself. I wish we hadn’t argued. I wish I’d had the guts to try it. I still don’t know why she suddenly decided she wanted to tell him anyway – for months she’d been happy with the secrecy. Found the intrigue exciting, in fact. Then all that changed.’
‘It was because of the baby,’ I said quietly.
I saw his grip on his glass start to loosen, his fingers turning into elastic bands as he tried to keep hold. It slipped out of his hand, tumbled onto the desk. The whisky spilled out, onto the blotter, spreading like a pale brown ink stain.
‘The baby?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. She was eight weeks pregnant. I’m guessing that was her secret weapon against Eugene. Being the fucked-up family man he is, he wouldn’t have been able to resist the thought of the next generation of Caseys. Even if it meant accepting you as part of the deal. Perhaps you should have trusted her judgement just a little bit more.’
Solitaire’s face crumbled in front of us. Like a waxwork dummy sitting too close to the fire. The cockiness, the arrogance, the composure, they all disappeared in the space of seconds. Left in their place was a tired old man, consumed with self-loathing, dabbing at spilled whisky on a desk.
‘Please leave now,’ he said. ‘Please just go. Do whatever you want to. If you tell Eugene, I’ll understand. I don’t think I actually care that much right now. It’s entirely possible that I’ll never actually care again.’
Chapter 35
My phone rang as soon as we were back at the car. The ever-lovely Wigwam.
‘What are you doing at Solitaire’s house?’ he snapped.
‘I’m fine thanks, Lilt. How are you?’ I replied.
‘What the fuck are you doing there? What’s going on?’
‘How do you know where I am? Are you watching me?’
‘No. Use your head.’
‘Ah. The CCTV. That comes back to Eugene? What, does he have a big room full of video screens, and sit there stroking a white cat whi
le he surveys his kingdom?’
‘Something like that, love, yeah. He’s not seen this yet, I was in here. Now answer the bloody question before I stop being polite.’
‘I’ll call you later. Don’t push me, Wigwam.’
I closed the phone, ignored Dan’s questioning looks, and started the car. I drove the couple of minutes to the beach, and pulled up in the car park by the Lifeboat Station.
‘I promised you a trip to the seaside,’ I said, as we walked over to the Promenade.
The weather had cleared again, and the early evening skies were blue. The storm had emptied the beach of the bucket-and-spade crowds and only a few dog walkers were out. We sat next to each other on the concrete steps that led down to the sand, watching the heads of the life-size Antony Gormley statues disappear under the water. They’d been installed a few years ago, dozens of iron casts of a naked man dotted around the beach and out to sea. It was supposed to be art – and the locals responded in kind by dressing them up in Christmas hats and feather boas and condoms.
I needed to stay still and quiet and let things brew in my brain. Solitaire’s reaction had been genuine. He hadn’t known about the baby. And I’m sure my less-than-sympathetic delivery of the news hadn’t helped. I felt a momentary pang of regret, then reminded myself who I was dealing with. The grief that he’d caused numerous other families by playing his legal tricks, willingly going along with the coercion of witnesses, the brutalisation of our alleged trial-by-peers. As self-justification went, it almost worked.
A huge Old English Sheepdog was gambolling around on the beach. It looked like something from a Dulux advert, until it squatted its haunches down and deposited a mammoth crap in the sand. Dan and I both laughed. Shit happens.
‘Do us a favour. Go and get me an ice cream,’ I said. ‘There’s a van over there.’
‘I thought you needed to think,’ he replied.
Fear No Evil (Debbie Johnson) Page 23
