Sins of the Father

by David Harrison

  He laughed. “Morag, I should have married you years ago.”

  “With your wandering eye? I don’t think so.”

  They were in Starbucks in Western Road, a little after midday on a sunny Wednesday. Across the road holiday crowds were plunging in and out of the shops in Churchill Square. Groups of teenagers loitered on the steps and buskers plied their trade. A procession of buses trundled past, making the windows vibrate.

  Nick had told her everything he knew about the fraud, including the revelation that one of the two principals had been killed at the hands of the other. The only important participant still at large was the solicitor, whose involvement had been confirmed by Caitlin.

  “We can put the word out,” Morag said. “Make life difficult for him, at least.”

  “With this shooting, the police are bound to find out about the claims,” Nick said. “Is that good news for you?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m neutral. Our marketing guys at Head Office might not be too chuffed, but I daresay they’ll put a positive spin on it.”

  “The end result’s pretty good for you and the other insurers.”

  “Oh aye. I’m not denying that.”

  He winked. “So how much did I save you…?”

  “Send me your fee and I’ll look kindly on it.” She indicated the coffees. “You can stick these on it as well. How’s that for generous?”

  “Actually, I have another favour.”

  She frowned. “Oh yes?”

  “If the police decide to charge Roger with fraud, will CBA support them?”

  “Why shouldn’t we?”

  Now he looked sheepish. “It would do me a big favour if you found a reason not to.”

  She thought about it carefully. “Anything to do with your new girlfriend?”

  “Morag, you’re frightening.”

  “Not frightening enough, or you wouldn’t ask.” She tutted. “I’m not promising. Depends what pressure they bring to bear.”

  “Okay. I just happen to know he’s a pretty good guy, despite what you’d think.”

  She reacted with alarm. “Is this you going soft in your old age?”

  Nick smiled. “Would I ever?”

  ***

  While Nick was in Brighton, Caitlin finished off a few household chores that she’d insisted on doing. “It helps me feel I belong here,” she told Nick. “And it takes my mind off everything else.” Then she rang her agent and learnt there was still nothing promising in the pipeline other than a TV commercial for margarine: she was shortlisted to play Perfect Mum to a couple of glossy stage school brats.

  After that she went for a walk, firstly up and down a couple of the avenues that bisected New Church Road, wanting to get a feel for the area, and then she dashed across the busy seafront road, walked through the Lagoon and on to the promenade. She was sitting on the steps overlooking the beach when her mobile rang: a London number, unfamiliar.

  It turned out to be Roger’s solicitor, Nigel de-something, who sounded like Hugh Grant and was very jolly and reassuring. He told her that Roger was in good spirits, despite a broken tibia and various other injuries. The police had accompanied him to hospital and would be conducting their interviews as soon as he was discharged. Most importantly, Nigel would be doing his utmost to get his client freed on bail.

  “Soon as I know more, he or I will give you a bell,” he said, as though they were arranging a game of tennis. “Chin up and all that. Super to talk to you.”

  “Super,” Caitlin echoed, wondering how much Roger had told him.

  Heartened by the call, she walked as far as the King Alfred leisure complex and bought an ice cream. The horror of the business with Doyle was starting to recede, and now she knew Roger would pull through, she didn’t feel so concerned about her developing relationship with Nick. It was still in its infancy, of course, but she had a good vibe about it, an intuition. It felt right.

  ***

  Nick was preparing a pasta salad when the phone rang. Caitlin answered and handed it to him. “DCI Clements.”

  The London detective sounded apologetic from the start, and Nick felt his good mood ebbing away. “Can’t hold off any longer, I’m afraid,” he said. “Too much pressure from on high. And a couple of the papers have got wind of a connection between Franks and Wheeler’s murder.”

  “How is Howard?”

  “Stable. Conscious. Arrogant.” Clements grunted. “And pissing through a tube, of course.”

  Nick shuddered. “So when will it break?”

  “Tomorrow. The big guns have decided to get Alex’s description all over the media. I just thought you should have some warning.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. We both know this could be disastrous. We have no idea how she’ll react, so just take care.”

  The warning was ringing in his head as he sat down to eat. What should have been a relaxed meal was consumed in morose silence. At some point the journalists were bound to uncover Eddie Randall’s part in provoking the wave of revenge killings, and he knew it would be regarded as a sensational story.

  It occurred to him that he should warn Diana, since her doorstep was just as likely to be besieged as his own. From the way she sounded when she picked up the phone, Nick assumed she already knew.

  “Have Clements or Pearce been in touch?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The media are on to the story. The police intend to splash Alex’s face all over the TV tomorrow.”

  He heard her snuffling, and a couple of times she tried to speak. He realised Chloe was bawling in the background.

  “Di, what is it?”

  “Pat’s gone,” she said. “I kicked him out. He’d been… sleeping around.”

  “What?”

  “One of his clients. Said it was only a couple of times. Meaningless sex, he said. And yet the bitch rang him here. Left a…” She choked up. “Left a message on the fucking answerphone.”

  Nick didn’t know what to say. Pat had never struck him as the type. “Where’s he gone?” he said. “You need to talk to him. Perhaps there’s an explan —”

  “Oh, trust you to stick up for him,” she shouted.

  “Di, I’m trying to…”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Nick. It’s bullshit. He’s gone and that’s that.”

  He sighed. Caitlin was watching him anxiously. “Should I come over?” he asked Diana.

  “Not a good idea. Not today.”

  “What about the kids?”

  She made a noise in her throat. “They’ll be all right. They’re with me.”

  He knew he’d achieve nothing by arguing. He said, “I’ll see you in the morning. We need to talk about this… other stuff.”

  “Whatever.” She put the phone down.

  Caitlin had guessed most of it. Nick told her the rest and she shook her head. “Why was she so abrupt with you?”

  “I was unfaithful to Sarah,” he confessed. “Diana takes fidelity very seriously. Now that she’s experienced what Sarah went through, I imagine she resents me all the more.”

  Caitlin held out her hand and he clasped it, drawing her into an embrace. “You and me,” he said sadly. “Feels like the only good thing in my life. Everything else is just…”

  “Darkness?”

  He held her tight. “Darkness,” he agreed.

  T WENTY-NINE

  After sunset the air rapidly grew cold. Alex turned the ignition and pressed the button to close her window. The whir of the motor was the only sound in the deserted street, lit by the sodium lights in Halloween orange. She was wearing a navy suit from Karen Millen with a crisp white blouse, a briefcase on the seat beside her and a cardboard folder resting on the steering wheel. To passers-by – and there had been only a few – she looked like a financial consultant catching up on paperwork between evening appointments. She even had a little stack of leaflets she’d taken from a bank, just in case she was confronted.

  She’d had the house under observa
tion for most of the day. This morning she had watched Diana load the children into the car and followed her as far as the local supermarket. When Diana turned into the car park beneath the store, Alex quickly drove back to the house and prepared stage one. It took little more than ten minutes and went without a hitch.

  The next stage involved a phone call, which she made from the car. Then she waited, skimming a Telegraph with little interest: carnage in Iraq, corruption in Europe, Blair and Bush slated for something or other.

  In a day or two they’ll be writing about me, she thought.

  Diana soon returned, ushered the children into the house and came out to unload the shopping. In the paper Alex discovered a grudging tribute to Howard Franks by a writer who clearly resented his success. The gist of the story was that Franks, although a talentless prick, didn’t quite deserve what had happened to him.

  Perhaps I went too easy there, she thought. Nick’s intervention had thwarted the agonising death she’d planned for Franks, and she considered whether one day she might have to finish the job.

  She had also begun to contemplate the next stage of her life. This project was nearly complete, and if it all went to plan she would have no further need of killing. And yet… could she really give up such an intoxicating sense of power?

  In truth, she suspected not. But her first priority had to be money. The past few months had drained a large proportion of her inheritance.

  There was another potential outcome, of course – that in this final most hazardous stage she might be captured or even killed. But she found it impossible to give either possibility any serious consideration.

  It took fifty minutes for Pat to get home. After less than half an hour inside he emerged, crestfallen and distraught, clutching a sports bag. An item of clothing, possibly a sock, fell from the bag as he tossed it on to the back seat of his Volvo. He kicked it angrily into a flowerbed and sped away, almost colliding with a skip lorry turning into the road.

  Alex saw the flash of brake lights in her wing mirror and shook her head in mock disapproval. Life was full of setbacks. Reckless driving wasn’t the answer.

  Now, hours later, she continued to wait. The growing darkness comforted her, offering the promise of concealment and what felt like a guarantee of success. She held a key in her hand, which she flipped and twisted from palm to palm, passing it between her fingers with a magician’s dexterity. In the briefcase at her side the rest of her props awaited: the carefully crafted letter, the surgical gloves, the syringe.

  It promised to be quite a show.

  ***

  The conversation with his sister did nothing for Nick’s mood. Even Caitlin found herself admitting defeat in the end.

  “Bed with a book for me,” she said, tutting as she bent to kiss him goodnight.

  “Sorry.” He pulled her into a long, passionate kiss and held her on his lap. Just when it might have led to something, he tickled her under the arms and she leapt free with a yelp.

  “Hey! That was sneaky.”

  “Couldn’t resist. I promise I’ll be less miserable tomorrow.”

  “I hope so.”

  He fetched a beer and spent some time channel-hopping, then switched the TV off and noted how the silence didn’t have the same lonely quality now Caitlin was here. He heard her turn off the bedroom light at eleven and told himself he ought to go up, but by then he was lying on the sofa, eyes shut, feeling relaxed but not sleepy.

  And yet he must have dozed off, for around midnight a noise caused him to jerk upright. Someone hammering on the door. He had a terrible flashback to the night DCI Pearce told him about Sarah’s death.

  He reeled into the hall, concerned not to wake Caitlin. Who would have the nerve to disturb him at this hour? He remembered with relief that Kevin Doyle was dead, then wondered about Alex Jones. His sister was probably a better bet, given what had happened earlier…

  But it was Pat: drunk, dishevelled, and clutching an empty bottle of Kronenberg. He moved forward, tripped on the step and lurched into the hall. Nick managed to grab him, then debated whether he should have let him fall.

  “Sorry, mate. Pissed out of my head.”

  “Don’t tell me you drove here?”

  “Nah. Car’s…” He frowned. “In town somewhere.”

  Nick helped him upright and took the bottle from his hand. Pat was suddenly crestfallen, as if he’d only just realised who he was with.

  “Got so much to tell you, mate. So sorry.”

  “You stink,” Nick said, recoiling.

  “Started smoking again.”

  “Worse than that.”

  Pat followed Nick’s gaze to the front of his shirt, which was stained with something unpleasant. “Oh shit.” He rested his head back against the wall and moaned. “What a bloody disaster.”

  There was a noise on the stairs and Nick turned to see Caitlin on her way down, her eyes wide and worried. Pat peered round and did a comical double take.

  “This is Caitlin,” Nick said, and then, “Caitlin, meet my brother-in-law.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Pat. He pushed himself upright, stepped forward and promptly fell over. This time Nick didn’t catch him.

  ***

  Alex followed Diana’s progress to bed by the procession of lights throughout the house, as she religiously checked every door and window. Eventually only a single light remained, on the landing, no doubt in case one of the children woke in the night.

  Or perhaps Diana, so recently separated from her husband, needed the reassurance.

  Alex gave it another hour, until midnight. She put on gloves and a black bomber jacket. Her faithful woollen hat covered her short blonde hair. She opened the briefcase and took out the items she would need.

  She had switched off the car’s interior light, and the opening and closing of the door made hardly a sound. Leaving the car unlocked, she hurried up the driveway to the front door, where she was hidden from view by a large rhododendron.

  Now she waited another five minutes, alert for any movement within the house. Nothing.

  She eased the key into the lock, knowing from this morning’s reconnaissance that it fitted perfectly. Turned it fully and waited, taking deep breaths. The next stage was crucial.

  The alarm’s control unit was by the front door. It started bleeping as soon as the magnetic contact between the door and the frame was broken. This morning she’d estimated that someone asleep in the main bedroom was unlikely to be disturbed for the few seconds – three, as it turned out – that she needed to step inside and enter the code.

  Leaving the front door ajar, she moved to the foot of the stairs and waited again. Then she climbed the stairs, keeping her feet to the outside of the treads, avoiding those which had squeaked on her previous visit.

  She knew the baby still slept in a crib in the main bedroom. The second bedroom was a spare, while Ryan’s room was at the end of the landing. It meant she had to pass Diana’s room, and the door was half open. She spotted the glow of the bedside clock: 12:13.

  There was a squeaky floorboard right outside, which she avoided by flattening herself against the wall and edging past, crab-like. She had to remember to do the same on the way back.

  Now into the bedroom, easing open a door which had creaked until this morning, when she sprayed a little WD40 on it. Ryan was in a bed shaped like a racing car. A spaceship mobile kept watch over the sleeping child, while a nightlight provided an eerie glow.

  Closing the door was a gamble, but one she felt she must take, in case he made some noise. She took the syringe from her pocket and removed the protective cap from the needle. It contained a dose of ketamine, a sedative she’d acquired while working in a Surrey hospital on a short-term contract – in fact she’d vanished after less than a week. The drug was fast-acting and should keep the boy quiet while she took him from the house.

  Searching the room, she spotted a small cushion with his name embroidered on it. She pressed it over his face to muffle any sound as
the needle went in. He flinched, and she held the cushion firm, slowly injecting the ketamine into his arm. Then she felt him relax again.

  Dropping the cushion, she put the syringe away and opened the door. As she turned back towards the bed there was a rushing, gurgling noise and she realised Diana had just flushed the ensuite toilet. She cursed and waited behind the door.

  A moment later the floorboard protested as Diana came out on to the landing. Alex tensed. At worst she’d have to kill Diana right now, throwing all her plans into disarray.

  Then silence, as if Diana had stopped in the doorway.

  She’s seen me through the gap in the door, Alex thought. But she couldn’t risk turning to check. Any movement now would betray her presence.

  The door began to swing open. Alex slowly retrieved the syringe and gripped it like a dagger. Providing she retained the element of surprise, she could plunge it into Diana’s neck before the woman had a chance to react.

  A weary sigh from inches away. Then Diana stepped into the room.

  ***

  It took both of them to help Pat upstairs and into the bathroom, whereupon Caitlin diplomatically returned to bed, leaving Nick with the unenviable task of undressing his brother-in-law. He had to step back sharply when Pat suddenly dropped to his knees and vomited into the toilet. The sour smell of regurgitated beer filled the room.

  Pat stood under the shower for ten minutes and emerged looking slightly more human. Nick threw him a towel and went downstairs to make coffee.

  When Pat joined him, the towel tied round his waist, Nick handed over a glass of orange juice and two paracetamol.

  “Feel a bit better now,” Pat said, gulping down the tablets.

  The kettle boiled and Nick spooned coffee into a couple of mugs. He had his back to Pat. “I spoke to Diana earlier.”

  “Oh?”

  “You bloody idiot,” Nick said, and before Pat could respond, he turned to face him. “And I’m talking as someone who knows.”

  “Yeah.” Pat nodded towards the ceiling. “Who’s she?”