The last of his planned meetings was with Isaacs, and this was to be in London. He took Topper with him so that she could occupy Isaacs’s wife while he tried to work his magic on her husband. One piece of advice Michael had picked up on was to ensure that the meeting would be on neutral ground: not at an establishment run by Coney Enterprises. He chose a restaurant he had used on occasions whenever he had travelled up to London, one to which Isaacs had no objection.
During the meal, Michael laid out his plan for the transfer of the deeds, suggesting that it would be a media event and would include a Sunday red-top newspaper and local television. Isaacs liked the idea but not the timing. He knew that Michael’s options were less than limited and he would have to suffer foreclosure by the bank. Michael argued that the adverse publicity would not be good for the advent of a gambling club at Clanford Hall if the family were seen to be driven out by an unscrupulous major player. The argument had some merit, but for Isaacs it meant that he would have to come up with a higher price, and that was not the way to do business. The argument moved back and forth, and surprisingly Isaacs’s wife told him not to be so stingy. After all, she said, what’s a couple of million? It would be worth that to give Coney Enterprises a good name.
Michael could see that Isaacs was being swayed. His ego was responding to the glamour of the event, the publicity it would attract and the good sign it would put on the name of the company. Isaacs eventually agreed to give Michael’s proposition serious consideration and would give him an answer within a week. To more or less seal the deal they raised their glasses and drank a silent toast.
Sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant was the man called Colin. This was the same man who had trailed Emma to Spain. He’d eaten his meal and was now relaxing with a coffee and brandy. He watched Isaacs and his wife get up from the table with Michael and Topper. As they were leaving, a waiter began clearing the table. He dropped a napkin over the top of Isaacs’s glass and picked it up. Then he picked up some plates with his free hand and walked over to where Colin was sitting. He put the glass, together with the napkin, on Colin’s table and asked if there was anything else he required. Colin responded with a shake of the head and watched as the waiter walked away. He then rolled the napkin round the glass and put it into a man-bag. The waiter returned with his bill which he paid in cash, making sure he added fifty pounds to it; then he gathered up his bag and walked out of the restaurant.
One week after Max’s conversation with Jack Rivers, a courier turned up at Max’s house with a large envelope. Max tipped the courier and hurried inside, opening the envelope as he walked into his study. The contents were exactly what he had hoped for and now gave him the chance to take a further step towards saving Clanford Estate. He went in search of Emma and found her in the garden on her knees planting bulbs amongst the shrubbery. He crept up behind her and pulled her bodily to her feet. She screamed at the sudden touch from him and then spun round to kiss him hard on the mouth. He managed to pull away and pushed her out at arm’s length.
‘I’ve got it,’ he declared. ‘Jack came through. Come on, I’ll show you.’
He didn’t wait for Emma to respond but hurried back into the house. He was holding the report in his hand as she came through into the study. She took it from him and read it through.
‘Will the police go with this?’ she asked.
Max shrugged. ‘I doubt it, not on its own. But I believe I can swing it. All I have to do now is get down to Hampshire and talk to them.’
‘When will you go?’
He shook his head. ‘I need to make a couple of calls first, but there is something you could do for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I want you to go to Clanford Hall.’
Emma rocked back lightly on her heels. ‘Whatever for?’
He took the report from her and put it down on his desk. Then he took her arm and sat down with her on the sofa.
‘I need to go to Winchester, to speak to the police,’ he began. Emma could see he was framing his words as though he was writing them on paper. ‘It’s possible I could get in over my depth and fail just when I’m getting this close.’ He squeezed his mouth shut and thought about the next words. ‘You see, Emma, I need to know how close my family are to losing the estate, but I can’t go barging in there because I’m not welcome.’
‘That’s stuff and bloody nonsense, Max,’ Emma blurted out. ‘And you know it is.’
He put his hand up. ‘Emma, sweetheart, I know you love me, but my family have every reason to hate me for what I’ve done; so I need you to go there and find out what you can. I may be too late to save the estate, but I intend carrying this through. I’m going to nail Billy Isaacs even if I have to go back to prison.’
Emma was horrified. She put her hand up to her mouth to stifle the shock of Max’s commitment. ‘No, surely not,’ she cried. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’
He took her hand away from her face. ‘Emma, you have to remember that I’m out on parole: on licence. If I give them the slightest excuse, they’ll throw me back in Parkhurst for the rest of my life.’
Tears came to Emma’s eyes. ‘But you haven’t done anything wrong, Max, so why should they put you back in jail?’
He leaned back on the sofa. ‘Well, hopefully they won’t. But the mere thought of being inside a police station talking about murder gives me the creeps. You don’t spend twenty years being banged up without coming to hate the sight of a police uniform.’
She reached forward and kissed him. ‘What do you want me to do, then?’ she asked as she pulled away.
‘Go down to Clanford and introduce yourself. Tell them you’re a reporter looking for a storyline to do with the sale of the house or something plausible. Take my book and tell them you just had to see the estate and the house, meet the family. Pile it on, Emma,’ he emphasized. ‘But try and find out as much as you can. You see¸ we may be running out of time.’
‘Can I tell them I’ve met you?’
Max gave it some thought. If Kate and Michael still wanted no part of him, then Emma’s association with him might bring about the same result and they would have nothing to do with her. But Max’s priority was to save Clanford, and to do that he had to know how much time he had.
‘I’ll have to leave that up to you, Emma. If you get close enough you might feel that it will help to let them know about us.’
‘When do you want me to go?’ she asked.
‘I’ll phone the Hampshire Constabulary and we’ll take it from there.’
Emma gave it a moment’s thought and got up from the sofa. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘I’ve got some bulbs to plant.’ She glanced down at her hand and giggled: she was still holding her trowel.
Michael put the phone down. He had a big smile of relief on his face as he went off to find Kate. Isaacs’s lawyer had just explained to Michael the terms of their latest proposition, which was more or less exactly as he had asked for in London. He found Kate out in the kitchen garden. She was wrapped up against the cold wind that was blowing in off the Solent and over Hampshire’s southern slopes.
‘Isaacs has agreed,’ he called to her.
Kate had a basket on her arm, which she had been filling. She looked over, her face flushed from the effort. ‘How much time are they giving us?’
He came up to her side and took the basket from her. ‘Two weeks today. Isaacs will be here with his legal team. We have to set up the publicity now, but at least that’s all in place.’
Kate raised a hand. ‘That reminds me: a young woman phoned, said she was a writer and wondered if she could talk to us; something to do with researching a modern costume drama.’
Michael pulled a face. ‘Sounds odd: how can you have a modern costume drama?’
‘Well, whatever,’ Kate answered as she took Michael’s arm and steered him back towards the house. ‘It won’t hurt to help someone on their way. Goodness knows we could have done with help over the years.’
�
�Yes,’ he muttered. ‘But in a couple of weeks we’ll be homeless.’
‘Runs in the family,’ she said, without realizing what she had just said.
‘What’s the girl’s name?’
Kate had to think for a moment. ‘Emma,’ she said eventually. ‘Emma Johnson.’
‘No one we know, then.’
‘No,’ Kate agreed. ‘No connection at all.’
Max was taken through to an interview room by a young police constable. A detective sergeant was waiting for him. He got up as soon as Max entered the room and held his hand out. Max shook it and was thankful that the man was wearing civilian clothes. Just walking beside the uniformed constable had given Max the shivers. The sergeant sat down and indicated to Max that he should do the same. On the table in front of the sergeant was a folder. Max sat down. The sergeant asked if he wanted a cup of tea or coffee; water perhaps? Max declined all three.
‘So, Mr Reilly,’ the sergeant began. ‘Unusual request you’ve phoned in.’
Max drew a deep breath. ‘I hope something will come of it.’
‘Why don’t you begin at the beginning, and we’ll see how far we get.’
Max had contacted the Hampshire Police Major Investigation Team directly because Jack Rivers had explained to him that they were responsible for investigating unsolved cases, rather like a cold-case unit. The team within the team were headed up by the detective sergeant, who was answerable to his immediate superior. The sergeant’s name was March.
‘I spent twenty years in Parkhurst for capital murder,’ Max began. ‘I’m currently out on parole.’ March nodded and flipped open the file in front of him. Max went on. ‘A prisoner was murdered there in 1985. His name was Max Reilly.’
March held his hand up. ‘That’s your name.’
Max nodded. ‘It’s a pseudonym. I’m a writer and that’s the name I use. I’ve kind of got used to it. My real name is Paul Kennett.’
March ran his finger down the page. ‘Oh yes. Carry on.’
‘No one was charged with his murder despite a lot of evidence being gathered.’
‘Any witnesses?’
Max puffed his cheeks out. ‘Not at the time.’
March frowned. ‘Not at the time?’
‘You don’t get witnesses in the nick,’ Max told him.
March nodded. ‘The cons won’t split on other cons, am I right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Max wondered if the sergeant was being deliberately ingenuous. ‘Rule 43.’
‘And that is?’
‘Paedophiles and prisoners likely to be in danger from other prisoners are sectioned off for their own safety under Rule 43.’
‘And that includes snitches?’
Max realized that the sergeant knew more than he was letting on. ‘Yes, snitches too.’
The sergeant leaned forward and looked at the file again. ‘It says here that you were close to the fight but you didn’t see anything.’ He glanced up without moving his head. ‘Comment?’
‘I was there and saw Max being dragged into the tin shop, but I didn’t see what happened.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘There was a great deal of commotion going on at the time. A fight had been started in the exercise yard; probably a diversion. I got beaten up by two of the cons and then dumped in the middle of the fight. Next thing I know is I’m being hammered by the screws and end up in hospital. Couldn’t remember a bloody thing.’
March pursed his lips. ‘Convenient.’
‘No,’ Max snapped back at him. ‘True.’
March flipped the folder shut. ‘So why are you here?’
‘I remembered something recently and began looking into it. I recall Billy Isaacs coming out of the tin shop with scratches on his face. He was bleeding. Max Reilly was a poofter, a queer, and he had lovely, long fingernails. He used to say: “God is my weapon; these are just deterrents.” They were lethal and he wasn’t afraid to use them. He would have had Isaacs’ skin under his fingernails. Evidence, right?’ March shrugged. ‘And all evidence is bagged and kept: part of the unsolved crimes weaponry, so to speak.’
‘Make your point, Mr Reilly.’
‘When Max Reilly was murdered, the use of DNA in solving crimes was unheard of even though science had discovered how this DNA thing works. Am I right?’ He waited for a reluctant nod from the sergeant before ploughing on. ‘Now the police are solving 30-year-old crimes using DNA gathered at the scene of those crimes.’
March put his hand up. ‘I know where this is leading: you want us to arrest Isaacs and take a sample of his DNA.’
‘I already have that,’ Max told him.
March perked up at this. ‘You have a sample?’ Max nodded. March shook his head. ‘Not sure we can use something that you claim is a sample of the suspect’s DNA.’
‘But if you test the samples taken from Max Reilly’s fingernails and they match the sample I have. . . .’ he left that hanging in the air.
March sucked his teeth in thought. ‘What about a witness?’
‘You would only get me as a witness, but I didn’t see Isaacs kill Max: I can only say what happened immediately before and after the murder.’
‘The DNA sample would crack it, though, no doubt about that.’ Max could see he was making progress: March was definitely interested. ‘Do you have your lab report with you?’
Max opened the briefcase he had with him and took out the report. ‘You’ll see there’s a sworn affidavit from the man who obtained the sample saying that it was from the glass he had seen Isaacs drinking from.’ He passed it over. March ran his eye down the report then looked at the affidavit. ‘This is a copy, I presume?’ Max nodded. March dropped the report onto the folder on his desk. ‘But you’ll hand me the original when we have checked the samples in our evidence bag.’
Max knew better than to hand over the original report, which was why he had produced a copy. ‘Most certainly.’
March closed the folder and stood up. He held his hand out. ‘Thank you, Mr Kennett. This will be a major coup for us if we can pull it off. Thanks for bringing it in. I’ll be in touch.’
Max shook his hand as a huge feeling of relief swamped over him. All he needed now was to know how long it would take. He asked the sergeant.
March ran the process through in his mind. ‘One week,’ he said finally. ‘And we should have the DNA result from the fingernails. When we have it, I’ll be in touch, although we won’t need you until we reopen the case. Thanks again.’
Max left the police headquarters and for the first time in over twenty years he suddenly rediscovered his affection for the British police.
Kate showed Emma into the drawing room and left her sitting alone, in awe of her surroundings. She had been reluctant at first to follow up Max’s idea and at one stage had decided not to go through with it. But Max’s insistence had been difficult to oppose and she agreed to make the phone call which, she hoped, would help Max in some way.
Kate’s initial hesitancy hadn’t surprised Emma, but after a few minutes, Kate agreed to an interview. Max dropped her off in Petersfield then carried on to Winchester. He promised to be back at the old market town later that day to pick her up. Emma phoned through to Clanford Hall to confirm their meeting and then phoned for a taxi.
As they passed through the gates, Emma began to recall in her mind the story of Paul and Michael and the tragedies that had cut into their lives and that of Clanford Estate. She could imagine the twins running around the gardens and across the magnificent lawns. The driver stopped outside the front entrance. She could see signs of decay and poor maintenance as she stepped from the car and looked up at the house, and could understand Max’s despair at the idea of the family losing their home.
Kate greeted her with a lovely smile. Emma could see how the years had left her looks largely unaffected by the passage of time, although there were signs of tension in her eyes. She thought too of Kate’s first sight of the hall and
the impression it had made on her as a young, 17-year-old girl. She smiled inwardly as she looked up at the huge paintings gracing the walls: bigger than the beds Kate had slept in.
The elegance in the drawing room was a tribute to the heritage of the hall and its memories. There was precious little in the way of modern accoutrements cluttering up what was a throwback to the Edwardian era. She wondered what the rest of the house would be like and if much money had been invested in the estate. But then, she knew that if the estate had been prosperous, there would probably be no reason for Max’s interest and her visit.
Kate reappeared carrying a tray with cups and saucers, coffee jar, tea caddy, pot and hot water.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Kate asked.
‘Coffee, please.’
Kate poured a tea for herself and a coffee for Emma. Once that had been done she settled herself in a beautifully patterned and upholstered chair facing Emma.
‘Now,’ she smiled pleasantly. ‘How can I help you?’
Emma had battled with her own demons on the way from Petersfield, not really knowing what it was she wanted to ask. She knew Max wanted her to ferret out personal details and the state of Clanford’s finances, but it still left Emma feeling totally inadequate. All she could do would be to blunder on and hope she could find an opening.
‘Well, I’m writing a book set in Edwardian England, country-house stuff; that kind of thing. I came across an article about Clanford Hall and the fact that it is being sold. I read up a little on it. Fascinating what you can turn up on the internet.’
Kate nodded perfunctorily. ‘Yes, it is. Where did you read about us?’
Emma affected a thoughtful pose. ‘Well, it was in a magazine first,’ she lied, ‘but then my sister gave me a book.’ She bent down and took Max’s novel from her bag. ‘Past Imperfect by Max Reilly. Have you read it?’
Kate fought hard to choke off a sob. She covered it with a cough and scooped up her cup to hold it in front of her mouth. She took a sip of the tea and let the hot liquid trickle down her throat. She put her cup down.
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