Sins of the Father

by David Harrison

  Nick checked his watch. He didn’t know how long he could bear to stay here. He felt deflated, certain they’d been close to a breakthrough.

  “Jones had a daughter as well?”

  “Yeah. Now I do remember Les going on about her, how clever she was, always reading books and that.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?”

  Ted gave Nick a contemptuous glare. “Don’t know and don’t care.”

  “How old would she be now? Can you work it out?”

  An irritable shake of the head, which presaged another coughing fit. Nick glanced at Caitlin, who inclined her head slightly: we ought to go.

  Nick nodded. But he knew he was on to something.

  “You believe you’re in danger. Isn’t it possible that Jones’s daughter knows why her father died?”

  Ted suddenly went white. Caitlin half rose from her seat, certain the old man had suffered a stroke, but then he blinked rapidly and let out a juddering breath.

  “Oh Christ,” he said softly. “Oh fucking Christ in Heaven.”

  “What is it?” said Nick.

  “Mickey Leach.” He coughed. “Just before he died, he said he’d been having this new visitor. A young woman.”

  “How young?” Nick snapped, and for once the old man didn’t take offence.

  “Not a kid or nothing. Young to him.” Another snort, which became a cough. “Cracking bit of skirt. You know what he said?” A pause for sad, fond recollection, and then he quoted: “‘If I was ten years younger, I’d screw her till the baby pushed me off.’”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Nick and Caitlin emerged from the house and walked to the car in silence. As he fumbled for his keys, Nick felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  He turned and met those bewitching eyes, filled with concern. She trailed her hand down his arm and briefly gripped his hand.

  “It’s going to take some time to sink in.”

  Back in the car, Caitlin said, “It sounds like Howard Franks holds the key to this. Are you going to speak to him?”

  “I’ll have to,” Nick agreed. “Though I doubt he’ll want to reveal his source.”

  She dug in her small handbag and produced a mobile phone. “What’s his number?”

  “I don’t have it with me.”

  Caitlin tutted. She could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  “Listen,” she said, “I know it’s not easy, but you can’t turn away from it now.”

  Nick scowled. “You sound like my sister.” He had a thought. “Actually, she’ll have Howard’s number. He wrote to her as well.”

  He relayed his sister’s number. “Answer machine,” Caitlin said, waiting for the signal to speak. Then, “Hi, Diana! You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Nick’s. Could you give me a call when you get this, please? It’s about Howard Franks.” She reeled off her number and ended the call.

  Nick was wryly shaking his head. “That’ll set the cat amongst the pigeons.”

  “I only said ‘friend’.”

  “She’s my sister. She’ll jump to conclusions.”

  There was an enigmatic smile on Caitlin’s face. “Oh well,” she said.

  By the time they reached the M25 there had been no call, and Nick had abandoned any thoughts of visiting Franks. They drove on until he saw a sign for the services.

  “How about if we stop here?” he said.

  “When you said treat me to lunch, I didn’t realise you meant McDonalds.”

  He laughed. “Neither did I. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Course not. I’m dying for the loo. There was no way I’d have used Wheeler’s.”

  The services car park was busy with holidaymakers taking advantage of the good weather. Oblivious to the noise and bustle, and the thunderous pounding of traffic on the motorway, Nick could only hear Ted Wheeler’s voice.

  “This idea that someone’s after revenge,” he said. “If you had a grudge against my dad and the others for what happened, there’d be no better source of information than Howard Franks. He’s a former journalist. He has contacts all over the place to help him find people.”

  Someone’s got it in for me.

  An idea came and went in an instant, as Caitlin said, “He hasn’t found Ted Wheeler.”

  “No. And Wheeler’s still alive.”

  “What are you saying? Franks is connected to the deaths?”

  Nick stopped short.

  Someone’s got it in for me. He recalled what he’d thought – and dismissed as egocentric.

  He didn’t dismiss it any longer.

  Caitlin said, “I’m going to the Ladies. Will you be all right?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’ll wait here.”

  He made for a quiet corner by a display of tourist leaflets and took out his phone. DCI Pearce’s mobile number was in the memory.

  “Melanie Pearce.”

  “Melanie, it’s Nick Randall. Sorry if you’re off duty.”

  “Gardening, for my sins.” She groaned. “Love the result, hate the work that goes into it.”

  “I’ve just had an idea. About Sarah’s death.”

  Pearce’s voice solemn now. “Go on.”

  “You know the witness saw her with someone on the cliffs. Is there any chance…?” He hesitated, a voice in his head now ridiculing the idea. “Could it have been a woman?”

  “You think Sarah was with a woman?”

  “Possibly. I just need to know if it’s feasible.”

  Silence. Nick thought he’d lost the connection. He watched Caitlin emerge from the Ladies. She’d tidied up her hair, and perhaps added a little bit of make-up. He was struck by how beautiful she was. She seemed to stand out from everyone around her.

  Pearce’s voice came as a shock. “When we were checking CCTV we picked up a black Focus on the road near the hotel. We dismissed it because we could see the driver was female.”

  “Oh God.” It came out as an exhalation.

  Caitlin mouthed, “Diana?” and he shook his head.

  “What makes you think it was a woman?”

  “It’s complicated. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. And I’ll get someone to check out the car.”

  When he ended the call, he said, “No appetite, but I need a strong coffee.”

  “Not more bad news?”

  “I think I know why Sarah died.”

  “Your wife?”

  Nick nodded grimly. “And I think Ted Wheeler’s quite right to be scared.”

  ***

  Lindsay arrived just when Howard was getting comfortable at his desk. As always when he’d finally begun to work, any interruption prompted huge resentment.

  He opened the front door. Lindsay was wearing jeans and a FCUK t-shirt, and holding a Waitrose carrier bag. She pecked his cheek and marched towards the kitchen.

  “Got some steaks,” she said. “In case you didn’t have any.”

  “You’re still talking about a barbecue?”

  “Why not? It’s great weather for once.”

  Franks peered outside. “They forecast showers.”

  “Ah, don’t be a killjoy.”

  He shut the door and followed her into the kitchen. She put her shopping in the fridge and took out a bottle of Australian Shiraz.

  “Are you staying?” he asked ungraciously. His first thought was how he’d get rid of her if she drank too much.

  She seemed unoffended. “I can have a couple of glasses.”

  “You don’t mind if I just finish off what I’m doing? Only I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Surfing for porn?” Her tone was light, but it clearly wasn’t meant as a joke. He assumed an expression of haughty offence.

  “Working on the book.”

  “Don’t look so hurt. How’s it going?”

  “Progressing nicely, thank you.”

  “I’ll get to work like a dutiful little housewife, then. Rustle up a salad.”

  Franks nodded.
He hated this, when he couldn’t be sure if she was teasing. His “Thank you” sounded formal and pompous.

  She held the wine bottle by the neck and waved at it. “Shall I bring you some, or would you rather stay clear-headed?”

  “A glass would be nice.”

  Lindsay winked. “Maybe I’ll crawl under your desk and surprise you!”

  “Really?”

  “We’ll see.”

  She turned away, put the wine down on a worktop and opened the fridge again. He watched her for a second, admiring the curve of her buttocks in the tight denim. He’d miss her body, but that was all.

  Climbing the stairs, he reworked a bit of the speech he was planning to deliver later, when he’d got what he wanted.

  All these snide comments you seem to think are so funny, and yet like most Americans of my acquaintance, you possess no real wit or repartee. The truth is, Lindsay, I don’t find you remotely amusing.

  ***

  The burger bar was crowded and noisy. Caitlin offered to get a takeaway but Nick felt they might as well stay where they were. He emptied five sachets of sugar into the coffee and picked up the little red stirrer. “I never know which end to use,” he said absently. “Why can’t they just give you a bloody spoon…”

  Caitlin chuckled. This was the first time he’d seemed anything like normal since he finished speaking to DCI Pearce. She was still waiting for the right moment to ask him about it.

  Gripping her chicken burger in both hands, she said, “Promise not to watch me eat. I make a terrible mess.”

  “Me too. Squeeze the wrong place and… plop!”

  She smiled, saw the sadness return to his face, and said, “Tell me about the phone call.”

  He pulled a face. “I’m almost starting to doubt it now. You see, the police thought my wife might have been having an affair. A witness saw her with someone on the cliffs, but the description was too vague to be of any use. Jeans, a jacket, and a woolly hat.”

  “Do you think that was intentional? The hat, I mean. From a distance it’s impossible to say anything about hair colour, the shape of your face…”

  “Your gender.”

  “You think she was with a woman?”

  “It’s got to be worth checking.” He told her what DCI Pearce had said about the Focus spotted on CCTV, and added, “It could be the same woman who visited Mickey Leach.”

  “Oh my God.” Caitlin chewed slowly, working over the implications in her mind. “If you’re right, and she did go to Howard Franks for information, he’ll be able to tell you who she is.”

  “I hope so.” He checked his watch, wondering where his sister had got to, and at that moment his phone rang. Diana.

  “What’s happened?” she said. “I took the kids swimming and got home to find a strange message…”

  “That was Caitlin,” said Nick wryly. “She’s with me now.”

  “Okaaaay.” Diana wrestled with her curiosity. “I don’t suppose you can elaborate for me?”

  “Not really. I just need Franks’s phone number.”

  “But we agreed not to speak to him.”

  “I know, but things have changed. Please, Di.”

  She grunted. “Hold on.”

  He glanced at Caitlin and raised his eyebrows. “Fairly painless interrogation.”

  “She’ll wait till I’m not around,” Caitlin said.

  Diana came back. “You’re in luck. I thought I’d thrown it away.” She gave him the number and then said, “I want a full explanation, Nick.”

  “Yeah, I know –”

  “Not just Franks. This woman. It’s none of my business, but don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”

  He caught Caitlin’s eye and felt himself blushing. “I’ll ring you tonight,” he said, quickly ending the call.

  “What did she say?”

  Nick shook his head. “Are you ready to go?”

  “You look embarrassed.” They stood up, and as she moved past she nudged him in the side. “You can tell me later.”

  He grinned. “That’s what she said.”

  ***

  Howard was doodling on a notepad when the phone rang. He had his manuscript up on the screen in case Lindsay walked in, but he had little interest in writing.

  At first he thought he was hearing things. Or maybe it was a practical joke. “Nick Randall?”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  Franks felt a tingle of excitement. “You’ve reconsidered?”

  A noise from Randall, possibly a snort. “Not exactly.”

  “Then why should I help you?” He sat up straight, preparing for combat.

  “Listen,” Nick said. “I don’t have time to argue. This is important.”

  The reception on the mobile phone wasn’t particularly good – Franks thought he could hear traffic – but Nick’s voice had a genuine note of concern about it.

  “Very well,” he said. “What is it?”

  “The allegations about Dad. Leslie Jones’s murder…” Nick sounded breathless, obviously keyed up about something. “I need to know where you got your information.”

  Franks threw back his head and laughed. “So that’s your game, is it?”

  “There’s no game —”

  “Too many years as a journalist, Mr Randall. You think I’m going to roll over for you? Well, forget it. What are you doing, negotiating a deal with a ghostwriter?”

  Silence. Franks wondered if Nick had ended the call. He hoped not. He had plenty more to say yet.

  When Nick spoke again, his voice was almost too quiet to make out, and its solemnity made Franks uncomfortable. “I need to know because I think you’re in danger.”

  Franks forced a laugh, but it didn’t sound convincing. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m warning you, for Christ’s sake! How did you find out about Leslie Jones?”

  Franks hesitated. It went against his nature to supply information without getting something in return, but Nick’s tone was disquieting. Besides, he told himself, he needn’t be too specific.

  “It was someone with a link to the studios. A member of the production staff.”

  “Dad wouldn’t have confided in anyone at a studio.”

  “You do accept the allegations, then?” Franks couldn’t resist gloating, but Nick completely ignored the question.

  “Did you speak to this person first-hand?”

  “Well, I can’t…”

  “Yes or no?” Nick was shouting. Franks thought he heard another voice in the background, urging him to calm down.

  He said, “Actually, her daughter told me.”

  “Her daughter? Who is she?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Okay.” Nick took a deep breath. “Just tell me this: did you find her or did she come to you?”

  “I don’t see the relevance,” Franks said, “but she approached me after reading an article about my book.”

  “It’s your researcher, isn’t it? Lindsay?”

  “Look here, I’m quite willing to have a sensible discussion, but —”

  “I’m right, aren’t I? What sort of car does she drive?”

  Now Franks was utterly perplexed, and could only repeat, “What car…?”

  He heard Nick shout, “Is it a Focus?” and then the line went dead. At first he thought the signal had been lost. He made to dial 1471 to retrieve the number but there was no dialling tone.

  Sensing movement, he turned and saw Lindsay crouching by the door. She held the phone plug in one hand and a pair of garden shears in the other.

  “Lindsay? What are you doing?”

  “These?” She hefted the shears. “Found them while I was hunting for briquettes. Ideally they need sharpening, but I’m sure they’ll do the job.”

  Franks was pointing dumbly at the phone. “Why did you…?”

  “Disconnect you?” she said cheerily. “Because if you’re going to find out the truth, I’d rather you heard it from me.”

&n
bsp; TWENTY-THREE

  “Funny,” Nick said.

  “What?”

  “Got cut off.” He stared at the phone’s display, wondering if he’d inadvertently disconnected it.

  “I’m still trying to catch up here,” said Caitlin. “You think the woman who came to your house is the one…?” She left the question incomplete, and for that Nick was grateful.

  He redialled and listened, the frustration growing on his face. They were in the car park, standing each side of his Audi.

  “No answer,” he said at last.

  “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

  “He thinks I want the information to write a book of my own.”

  Caitlin, opening her door, caught the look on Nick’s face. “The other possibility…”

  “… is that she’s there with him.”

  “You don’t think she’d do anything?” She left the question hanging a moment. Then, “Where does he live?”

  “Uh? North London, Highgate. I’ll have to ring Diana again.”

  “Come on, then.” She marched around the car and held out her hand. “I’ll drive.”

  “You’re not insured,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got calls to make.” She snatched the keys from his hand and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Quickly!”

  ***

  Lindsay approached the desk, holding the shears in both hands. Franks sat rooted to his chair, wishing he’d paid more attention to Nick’s call.

  “What are you doing? Go back downstairs.”

  Lindsay laughed, a sound that Franks had never much enjoyed and now found chilling. She reached the desk and held the shears out, the blades pointed at his chest. He debated whether he could disarm her and she anticipated his thoughts.

  “Not a chance, Frankie.”

  Her voice sounded different, strange, but he couldn’t work out why. He puffed out his chest and said, “I demand an explanation.”

  She chuckled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I thought we had a relationship.”

  “That’s rich. What you mean is, you thought you were exploiting me for information and sex.”

  He said nothing, but his expression gave him away. The change in her voice was still troubling him.