There was a sardonic edge to his voice, and it returned them neatly to the present situation. She was dreading having to tell him, and almost wished he would demand the answers from her.
Delaying the moment even further, she said, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything on Friday…”
Nick frowned. “Not at all.” He explained that Lindsay was working for Howard Franks.
“So I guess he hoped you’d succumb to her feminine charms.”
“I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
Caitlin gave him a sceptical look. “She was stunning.”
Nick grunted. “Was she? It was all I could do not to throw her out. In fact,” he added, “I wish she hadn’t been there. I had a lot of questions for you.”
She let out a long sigh. “Now I expect you have even more?”
They stopped and admired the view to the south, across Brighton and along the coast towards Selsey, the sea beyond sparkling in the morning sunshine.
Nick said, “I take it you know what happened on Saturday night?” And before she could respond, he added, “It was Kevin Doyle, wasn’t it?”
She stopped and faced him. “How did you know?”
“I recognised his voice.”
“Were you hurt?”
“A few bruises.”
“Have you told the police?” she asked cautiously.
“No.”
“Can I ask why not?”
He turned to her. “I’m not sure I know myself,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”
So she took a deep breath and described Doyle’s brief visit yesterday, omitting to mention that Roger had ejected him at gunpoint. She told him that Roger had been appalled by what Kevin had done, and had vowed to end his part in the insurance fraud.
“What will happen if he withdraws the claims?”
Nick shrugged. “That depends on several factors: the amount of money involved, the attitude of the insurers. They don’t always welcome the publicity. On the other hand, they may choose to push for prosecution.”
She was pensive for a while, wondering how she had ever thought her actions could protect Roger. It was out of Nick’s hands by now, she realised, even if he wanted to help. But the payoff, the chance to do something for Nick, still remained.
After a few moments of companionable silence she produced a crumpled Post-it note and handed it to him. “Ted Wheeler’s address. I took it from Roger’s office.”
“Does he know about this?”
“No. None of it.”
He looked at her sharply, and she felt a ripple of shame at her dishonesty. Then she realised he was trying to gauge the extent of her feelings for Roger.
Nick said, “If he’s determined to go straight, surely he has no interest in my father’s indiscretions?”
“He hasn’t. This is for you.”
“What did Ted Wheeler tell him?”
“He hasn’t said much about it. But I don’t think it was a pleasant conversation.”
Nick nodded grimly. “I’m sure it wasn’t.” He checked his watch. “What have you got planned for today?”
“Me? I don’t know. Why?” Stop gabbling, idiot.
“I might as well go and see him now. Want to come along?”
***
After Saturday night Alex knew she was taking a risk by continuing to keep Nick Randall under surveillance. On the other hand, she wouldn’t forgive herself if the would-be abductors decided to try again.
To minimise the risk of identification she’d rented a different car, a green Honda Civic with high mileage and sluggish acceleration. She’d been stationed in Wish Road from eight in the morning, and when Nick emerged two hours later and drove to Devil’s Dyke, she assumed he was intent on a solitary walk. Intriguingly, he was joined by a woman in a silver Corsa, and they set off together along the ridge of the Downs.
Alex used the time to stretch her legs, making a few unhurried circuits of the car park. Less than half an hour passed before they returned, but this time the woman climbed into Randall’s car and they drove away together. Alex quickly decided she had to gamble on following them.
She was glad she did, for the Audi joined the A27 and remained in the slip road leading to the A23. Wherever they were headed, it wasn’t back to Nick’s.
Once on the dual-carriageway it was relatively easy to maintain a safe distance from Nick’s car, which for the most part was travelling at seventy to eighty miles an hour: a little pedestrian for Alex, but her growing sense of excitement more than compensated.
Back in the car park, a wonderful possibility had occurred to her. Now, as the Audi reached the junction for the M25 and selected the anti-clockwise route, she hardly dared to believe she could be right.
“Go on,” she urged. “Take me to him.”
***
On the drive to Kent Nick tried not to think about what Ted Wheeler might have to say. Having Caitlin in the car certainly helped. He found himself wondering how events had led to this: the girlfriend of a fraudster accompanying him on a visit to a criminal acquaintance of his father’s. Bizarre.
As on their walk, the conversation was easy and the silences felt natural. But there was something he wanted to ask her, and he knew it would gnaw at him until he got an answer.
“Did Roger tell you about the mystery driver who scared Doyle away?”
“Yes. It didn’t make a lot of sense.”
Nick glanced quickly at her. “Nor to me. I had wondered…” He chuckled nervously. “Was it you?”
“Me? No, I spent the early hours of Saturday in the Funky Buddha, getting pleasantly ratarsed.”
“Whoever it was, I’d like to thank them.”
“Actually, Kevin thought it might be the police.” She sounded embarrassed. “I mean, after your wife died…”
“You think the police are watching me?” Saying it aloud, it didn’t seem so ridiculous. DCI Pearce had assured him he was in the clear, but perhaps he’d been naïve to believe her.
“It’s unlikely,” Caitlin said. “Surely they’d have arrested Kevin?”
“Maybe.” He couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him. He found himself checking the mirror, and heard her gasp as the traffic in front slowed down. He looked back just in time to brake.
“It’s a silly idea,” she said. “Forget I said it.”
“Sorry. Paranoid.”
But now the idea had been planted, it wasn’t so easy to dislodge. And it raised another uncomfortable question.
Just who could he trust?
***
Following Lindsay’s unsuccessful visit to Nick Randall and their subsequent falling out, Howard Franks had made no attempt to contact her. By Monday he was reconciled to the fact that the relationship might have ended, and he actually found his attitude towards her softening. Okay, she had been fiery and a little too independent, but she had a magnificent body, and the sex – when she made the effort – was as good as anything he’d experienced.
It was therefore with mixed feelings that he greeted her call, just before midday on Easter Monday.
“Hi, Frankie.” She knew he hated her pet name for him.
“Good morning, Lindsay.”
“Ooh, very formal. Do I take it I’m not forgiven?”
“I seem to recall it was you who stormed out.”
Her laughter was high and mocking. “Come on, lighten up. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“If you say so.” He wasn’t sure why he felt so sullen. Perhaps a reaction to her infuriating exuberance.
“Are you very busy, sweetheart?”
“As always.” In fact he’d woken late, taken a stroll in Queens Wood, bought a handful of newspapers and was now lying on the chaise longue in his study with a pot of coffee and a plate of chocolate digestives.
“I’m gonna come over later. If the weather holds I thought we could barbecue.”
Franks pulled a face. He regarded barbecues as a crude and carcinogenic form of cooking, strictly for the underclass.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Lindsay trilled. “But it’ll be fun.”
Fun, Franks thought, would be the chance to take you from behind one more time.
He said, “We’ll see,” making sure to sound as brusque as possible.
“Okay, Grumpy. See you soon.”
After the call ended, he decided to treat this as a positive development. A farewell fuck would be quite welcome, and afterwards he could tell her what he really thought of her.
He’d better start rehearsing.
***
In the street where Ted Wheeler lived, half a dozen unruly kids were playing football. They scattered as Nick approached, scowling and muttering curses. He drove on a little further and parked.
“Shall I stay here?” Caitlin asked as he released his seatbelt.
“What, to guard the car?” He grinned. “No, I’d be glad of the moral support.”
A few minutes later, as he knocked on the battered front door for the fifth time, he apologised for having dragged her on a wild goose chase.
“Oh well,” he said. “The least I can do is treat you to lunch on the way back.”
There was a noise as the letterbox flap opened and an elderly voice growled, “Why doncha fuck off?”
Nick snorted. “Ted Wheeler, I presume?”
“Never ‘eard of ‘im. Who wants to know?”
Nick crouched so that he was level with the letterbox. He could just make out a pair of rheumy, bloodshot eyes.
“I’m Nick Randall. Eddie Randall’s son.”
“I know who you mean. Move away, let me see your face.”
Nick did as he was told, and a moment later they heard the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door opened and Ted Wheeler stood there, a cadaverous old man leaning on a stick, wrapped in a oversized green cardigan with what appeared to be several baked beans stuck to it.
“Thought you’d turn up one of these days.” He nodded at Caitlin. “Who’s the bird?”
“This is Caitlin, my… er…”
“Girlfriend,” Caitlin chipped in, with a smile.
Ted noted Nick’s surprise, then grunted. “Wouldn’t be so shy about it,” he said. “She looks all right to me.”
And without another word he turned and shuffled away, which Nick took as an invitation to follow. Stepping aside to allow Caitlin in first, he heard shouts from the footballers and saw they were harassing a Honda Civic trying to make a three-point turn.
Inside the house, Caitlin wrinkled her nose with distaste. “Urine?” she mouthed.
Nick sniffed, then nodded. In the course of hundreds of investigations he’d experienced far worse. “Five minutes and you won’t notice it,” he whispered.
Ted Wheeler was in a shabby living room, where an ancient TV was showing a Disney movie. The old man picked up a remote control and muted the sound. His hand trembled as he set it down.
“Who told you where I lived? Roger, was it?”
“Roger Knight? Yes.”
“Bastard.” Ted’s eyes seemed to fill with tears. “Not safe, I am. I told him that. I told him.”
“What do you mean?” Nick asked. He chose a rickety chair opposite Ted’s and gingerly sat down. Caitlin remained in the doorway,
“Mickey Leach, one of my old partners. He died in a nursing home last year. I reckon he was murdered.”
“Do you know why?”
Ted gave a wheezy sigh. “Could be all kinds of reasons. I got my own ideas.”
Nick grew alarmed at the distant look in Ted’s eyes. He didn’t want to prolong his visit any more than was necessary.
He leant forward and said, “You know the reason I’m here, though?”
“Yeah. That fucking book.”
“Has Howard Franks spoken to you?”
“Nah. Listen, I told all this to the other geezer, Roger. Why haven’t you asked him?”
Nick looked at Caitlin, who gave a theatrical shrug.
“I’m sorry,” Nick said. “Why don’t you just run through what you told Roger?”
Ted eyed him carefully. He opened his mouth to talk but was overtaken by a bout of coughing. When it subsided, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rubbed his hand on the crotch of his grimy trousers.
“Sure you wanna hear it?” he asked.
“I know Franks is alleging that my dad arranged for the murder of a man called Leslie Jones.”
“Is he now?” Ted seemed both surprised and troubled, and Nick’s heart flared with the hope that it was untrue.
“Is that what happened?”
“Pretty much,” Ted agreed. “Did he tell you why it happened?”
“Something to do with a young girl.” Nick gulped. He forced himself to add, “A girl who was raped and killed.”
Now Ted looked offended. “That ain’t right. It wasn’t like anyone set out to kill her.”
“But she did die in the nightclub?”
“Yeah.”
“And was she raped?” Nick could hear a shake in his voice. In the doorway, Caitlin had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
“Course not. That’s bollocks. We just had sex with her, that’s all. It was a party.” Ted started coughing again, this time with a strange rhythm. Then he stopped wheezing long enough to add, “Wild party!” and Nick realised what it was.
The old man was laughing.
***
When she saw Nick park the Audi, Alex had to pull in quickly, blocking a driveway. Nick and the woman made for a rundown council house about a hundred feet from where she was sitting. Just ahead of her, a group of teenagers were playing football in the road, darting and leaping across her field of vision.
After an interminable wait, she almost missed the front door opening. She couldn’t quite see the figure in the doorway, so she put the car in gear and moved back into the road, scattering the footballers.
Now she saw him: the spindly frame, the skeletal face and lank Brylcreemed hair. It had to be him.
The picture was complete. She had what she needed.
There was a jolt as one of the teenagers threw his weight against the car, shouting obscenities at her. Alex floored the accelerator and the boy spun away, falling to the ground. In her mirror she saw his friends gesturing angrily. She was tempted to reverse back into them, but cautioned herself not to lose control. There was too much at stake now.
She turned into London Road and headed for the A2, keeping to the speed limits until she was on the M25. She felt a rush of elation. Locating Wheeler was a major achievement: it warranted proper celebration.
And she had just the right thing in mind.
***
Half an hour had passed. Caitlin decided to make tea, partly to get her away from the dreadful story unfolding in the lounge. First she had to clear up the kitchen, which meant boiling kettles for washing up because there was no hot water.
By the time she’d scrubbed three chipped old mugs and carried them in on an ancient teatray, Nick and Ted were sharing a glum silence. When Nick looked up and thanked her, it seemed as though he had aged visibly since entering the house.
Caitlin sat on a sofa so matted with dirt it had changed colour: it might once have been blue. She took a sip of tea and went to put her mug down on the floor, suddenly spotting a dried lump of what could only be cat faeces. She swallowed heavily, praying not to be sick.
“Nice cuppa, this,” said Ted, with an unashamedly lascivious chuckle. “You wanna job?”
Caitlin smiled politely, but said nothing.
“I can’t work this out,” Nick muttered. “You definitely haven’t spoken to Howard Franks?”
“Course not. I ain’t gonna, either.”
“So who told him about Leslie Jones?”
“The man from the nursing home?” Caitlin suggested.
“Mickey?” said Ted. “Nah. He told Franks to piss off.”
“You believe him?”
Ted’s face darkened, and Caitlin recoiled from the ferocity of
his expression. “Yeah, I fucking believe him.”
“Okay, okay.” Nick waited for him to calm down. “Let’s think about this. What if it was someone connected to the girl?”
Ted shook his head. “She was a runaway, a little streetwalker. Nobody knew who she was, and nobody knew what happened to her, except us lot.”
Nick asked, “Who, exactly?”
“Well, me, Ray. Mickey. Eddie.”
“And Leslie Jones.”
“Yeah. Course.”
“And it was Leslie who tried to profit from the girl’s death by blackmailing my dad?”
Ted nodded, a little more vigorously than before. He was starting to catch up with Nick’s train of thought.
“All right. Let’s concentrate on Leslie. Who else knew why he was killed?”
Ted had no trouble with that one. “Me, Ray, Mickey and your old man. And the guys that done the business, but they’re both dead: one in prison a few years back, the other in a car accident.”
“What if Leslie told someone what he’d seen?” Caitlin suggested.
Nick added, “His wife might have known about the blackmail. Was he married?”
“Oh yeah. Right sour old cow.”
“Is she still alive?”
“How the fuck should I know? She ain’t exactly sending me Christmas cards.”
“Did they have children?” Nick said, and even as he spoke he had the same giddy feeling as when he’d asked Lauren Doyle about the number of gears in her Ford Escort.
“Yeah.” Ted spoke slowly, struggling to reach back over so many years. “One of each, I think.”
“How old was the boy when Leslie died, can you remember?”
There was an infuriating pause while Ted slurped noisily on his tea and cleared his throat. Then he nodded to himself.
“Something funny with him. Les never used his name. Called him the Spastic.”
“You mean he was disabled?” Caitlin asked, and Nick could hear the disgust in her voice.
“Yeah. He’s probably ended up in a home, if he hasn’t croaked. They don’t live as long as normal people, do they?” Oblivious to the offence he was causing, Ted added, “Should put ‘em down at birth, if you ask me.”
Sins of the Father Page 15
