“You don’t believe it was a coincidence.” Edith’s question was a statement. Her head shook softly as she spoke.
“I,” Susan put her hands flat on the table. Her words were measured. “I think the police, perhaps, should have looked into it further. I don’t feel they gave it the...the level of interest it should have had.”
“You think it might not have been suicide?”
“I had my doubts.” Susan’s eyes filled with tears. “My husband and I argued about it for weeks. He told me just to let it go, to leave it with the police. But I couldn’t. What if there had been foul play? A murderer could escape justice. I had to do something.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, nothing,” Susan smiled. “I was beaten to it. My report of the car suddenly drew attention.”
“From the police?”
“I thought it was, at first. This man came round asking questions, wanting to clarify what I saw. I asked if he was a police officer but he said he wasn’t. I should have turned him away, and would have done, except that he said he believed me.
“He said the police had overlooked the car. It was the biggest lead they had. They should have followed it up. It might not have been suicide. I was overjoyed that somebody believed me.
“I told him everything I could remember. He inspected the location himself. He was very thorough. Very professional. He thanked me for my time and left a business card if I every remembered anything else.
“I thought that was it. The police would be forced to come back. They would have to investigate it as a murder.”
“But nothing happened?”
“No, nothing. I never heard from the police again. After six months I rang the number on the business card. The man assured me that the investigation was ongoing. I decided never to bother him again.”
“Who was he?”
“A private investigator. Hired by the family of the dead man.”
Edith stopped. This was unexpected. Her heart rose in her throat. Just what was going on? She had to speak to the other investigator.
“Did you, by any chance, keep that business card?”
“No.” Susan shook her head. “I kept it for ten years. I thought about calling the number, but never could. In the end it reminded me of the dead man. I didn’t want it around any longer. So I threw it away.”
“Okay.” How would she find him? That was the goal now. If he was still alive he would have information that might change everything. “Is there anything that you...”
“I remember his name.”
“You do?”
“Well, his surname. It was unusual. I had never heard of somebody called Pimlico before.”
The temperature had plunged in the afternoon and fallen even further after sunset. The rising wind swirled dead leaves and litter around Albert Square. They gathered between the statues, pausing for a mere moment, before being shooed on another circuit of the square.
Edith hunched beneath the arcade of the town hall extension, the neck of her parka zipped to the top to shield from the biting wind. Her hands dug deep into her pockets, as though searching in vain for mislaid gloves. As the first drops of rain fell she flipped up the hood on her parka, uncertain whether her shelter would be defence enough against the wind–driven shower.
A few couples trotted by clasped beneath struggling umbrellas. A small group of suited men laughed at a shared joke with drunken imperviousness to their drenching. A taxi whished over the newly–wet tarmac carrying a woman half–hidden behind a steamed–up window. A tall man wearing only a light jacket but copiously wrapped in an oversized scarf joined Edith under the arches and spoke wearily into his phone. The stragglers of an autumn evening sorry that their plans had been beaten by the weather.
The town hall clock struck nine. Edith checked her phone mindlessly, hoping to find a message or a missed call from Sam. Their meeting was half an hour ago. He previous attempts to call him went unanswered. It wasn’t worth trying again. Yet it was too important to leave. She had promised him that it could not wait til tomorrow.
It could have waited, for him. A day would make no difference. But she would go crazy in that time. She had to share her thoughts with somebody. Every hour since leaving Susan’s house had been a trial. The case went deeper than she had imagined. Two dead, not one. It had been going on for thirty years not three months. And her father had been involved.
Edith had gone home to feed him. She made up a threadbare lie about where she had been. It hardly mattered if he believed her. He was keeping information from her, so the mistrust cut both ways. At some point she would have to confront him, demand to know what had happened in 1988 and why he didn’t think she needed to know. Not yet, however. She needed time to think things through. She had left without a goodbye.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Edith jumped at the voice. She span round to look. Samuel stood behind her under the arcade shaking the rain from his umbrella. The wind had swept his hair so fiercely it stood wild and unmanaged. The day’s stubble completed his dishevelment. She toyed with an embrace, like lovers on a secret tryst. Or maybe simple reassurance. Something to still the fear and confusion which had enveloped her.
“I know a place on Deansgate if you don’t mind the walk.” Samuel pointed down Lloyd Street and led Edith with a gentle touch on her elbow. “I haven’t eaten yet. I’ve been too busy. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“You’ve already said that.” Edith smiled.
They hastened through the rain, beneath the redbrick and sandstone facades of Victorian buildings which stretched into the darkness above them. Now and again he offered to share his umbrella but Edith held herself a little too far away and instead trusted her hood
In truth she hardly trusted herself. Too near and she would smell the lingerings of his aftershave mixed with the scent of his body. She wanted him to hold her. For her fears. Any contact would be enough. It was senseless that she should feel this way. An urge she had no control over.
They spoke only pleasantries and diversions. He asked what kind of food she preferred. She tried to impress him by mentioning swanky restaurants Andrius had dined her, with careful omission of his actual existence. Sam knew several places she mentioned.
“I guess this investigation business pays well?”
“Reasonably.”
They kept the conversation away from the reason they had agreed to meet. Outside in the wind and rain was no place to hold the kind of conversation they needed to have. Edith hinted at the seriousness over the phone. Samuel insisted on meeting as soon as they could. To her surprise. He understood without protest or persuasion.
Turning left onto Deansgate, they waited a moment for the traffic to thin then crossed. Samuel led Edith through an unassuming door. Inside a hall, large and well–lit with globe lamps hanging from the ceiling, was filled with diners. Black wood panelling reached up half the height of the walls and everywhere the seats, at tables, booths, and stalls, were covered with fat antique leather. The coffered ceiling opened in a series of skylights. The patter of teeming rain could hardly be heard above the din of conversation.
“I’m surprised anywhere is so busy on a Monday evening.” Edith ventured as she hesitated to remove her coat. “I thought somewhere quieter would be better.”
“We can sit by the window. It’s quieter there, and there’s a free table.” With that Samuel stepped away and spoke to a waiter, who immediately sat them at the desired location.
“You know the staff here?” Edith had seen Andrius pull the same trick, though usually in places where douceurs were routine.
“Sarah and I eat here often.” Of course they did. “Did you know Manchester has no Michelin–starred restaurants?”
“Yes.” Edith laughed. It was one of Andrius’s common complaints. It was the second time in a minute she had thought about Andrius. She smiled without meaning to. Same and Andrius compared well. She stopped the thought before it spread too
far.
“Well, they say that this restaurant is the nearest thing. It missed out on a star this year, but maybe in the next year or two. It’s a certainty.” Sam tipped his head to one side. “That’s why it’s full even tonight. Not exactly a well–kept secret.”
Edith had never heard of the place. Andrius would have some answering to do.
The menu revealed a fairly typical French cuisine, though apparently throwing the occasional traditional English dish into the mix out of sheer devilment. Edith chose an obscure dish to betray her experience with fine restaurants. Samuel gave a knowing smile and settled on the same. He presumed the choice of wine without consultation, which was brought immediately.
“I am sorry I kept you waiting,” Samuel repeated his apology for the third time, “I had to deal with a few last minute wedding issues.”
Edith almost choked on her first sip of wine. Of course, Samuel was not just engaged, he was practically a married man. “I’m sorry I called you at such short notice. But I thought I had better report what I had found.”
“You looked into Thomas’s death?” Samuel spoke coolly. Edith thought that he had emphasized the word you. Why had she done the work as opposed to her father?
“I’ve been doing the preliminary research,” she prevaricated, “which is pretty usual. My father will take over once the case becomes more solid.”
“I understand. Division of labour. Very sensible.”
“I spoke to the man who was first on the scene of Thomas’s crash.” Edith paused as a waiter passed near. “He said that Thomas was still alive and speaking.”
“Oh,” Samuel looked down in thought, “I knew he was alive, but not speaking. Did he say anything?”
“No.” Edith let Samuel take in her answer for a moment. “But the man who helped your brother was insistent that there was no alcohol on his breath. From his description he got very near to your cousin and could reasonably be expected to make such a judgement.”
Samuel nodded in thought. Edith mentally swept aside all the other things she had learnt about Thomas’s life. They added nothing, no revelations and no motives. If Samuel didn’t know, or had chosen not to mention them to her, then she owed a dead man his secrets.
“I also spoke to David, one of Thomas’s friends.”
“Tall fellow? I’ve met him a couple of times, though many years ago. A long time ago, in fact.”
“Yes. You know him? He seemed to think there was a conspiracy to kill your cousin.”
Samuel chuckled despite the seriousness of the conversation. “If it’s the David I’m thinking of, then he would say something like that. He saw conspiracies everywhere.”
“Thomas said the same thing.” Edith leant in as she spoke.
“Thomas?” Samuel stopped laughing. “He said so before he died?”
“Yes. In fact, Thomas said numerous times that he thought somebody was out to get him.”
“Oh, god. Recently?”
“David said that Thomas had voiced these fears for nearly twenty years.”
Samuel sat back in his chair and held his temple. After a moment he shook his head. “When we used to spend time together, years ago, we would joke about that. He would joke about it. He would say that this man or this car was following him. Following us.” Samuel held out his hand, almost pleading. “But it was just a joke! I don’t think you can take that seriously.”
“Thomas had lots of enemies. Or, at least, he did plenty to upset people. I have a list of leads I would need to follow up.”
“His activism, of course? I can’t believe somebody would kill him for it though, it’s incredible.”
At that moment a waiter arrived with their food. Both wanted the opportunity to interrupt the conversation. Edith had much more to say. Samuel needed breathing space. Let him think about the information so far. All at once would be too much.
Edith began a light–hearted story, only half true, about a meal she had once eaten with two Russian men who constantly fought over her attention. They each bought her different dishes which they insisted were excellent. To be polite she had to eat both and compliment the choice. By the end of the meal they had expected her to choose one of them to go home with. She was so food–sated that all she wanted to do was go home and sleep.
“I promise you can eat as much as you like.” Sam pronounced. “I have no such ulterior intentions.”
Edith smiled beneath his notice.
Silence grew between them. Fearful to take up their earlier conversation once more. Knowing that they had to do so. Samuel stared at Edith and she felt ashamed for being unable to speak. Then he cast his eyes down and spoke.
“There’s more, isn’t there? You wouldn’t have called me otherwise.” Not once did he look up. His voice had hardened.
“Yes.” Edith quickly caught herself and changed her answer. “Maybe.”
“Well, which is it?” Samuel’s frustration, hidden until then behind his controlled demeanour, flashed into the open.
“Are there any other members of your family called Thomas Faircote?”
He shrugged. “Yes. A few distant cousins. Why?”
“Was there a Thomas Faircote who died in 1988?”
Samuel sat back in his seat, his brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me. If he’s a relative? If I’m aware of him?”
“Yes.”
“Which is it!?” He banged his fist on the table that the plates and cutlery jumped.
A waitress immediately came to clear the table. With her eyes she read Edith, to see if she was frightened by her dining partner. Communicating an unspoken offer of help.
Edith knew to smile in a way to show she was relaxed, unworried; but she hardly felt it. Though she barely knew Samuel, she was shocked by his outburst.
Samuel rubbed his face and sniffed once the waitress had left. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a long day.” Edith reached out a hand. “And I’m being overcautious, I know.”
“It’s just that I’ve heard of the other Thomas Faircote,” Samuel admitted, “but I don’t really know what he has to do with this. I was only a toddler at the time he died, but his death was mentioned now and again over the years.”
“What do you know?”
“Clipped by a train, or something like that. He wasn’t particularly old. It was some awful tragedy too hard for people to speak about.”
Edith counted to five.“I found newspaper articles relating to his death during my investigation. It said that he committed suicide by jumping on front of a train.”
“Oh...” Samuel looked down. “It’s not surprising that nobody told me the full truth. It’s a difficult thing. Easier just to keep children in the dark, I suppose.”
She counted to ten. “I looked into his death too.”
Samuel raised his eyes with a breathless gasp.
“There is the possibility that his death wasn’t suicide. There was a car at the scene which was never traced.” She checked for some hint of acknowledgement, that he was taking her words in. That he understood their import.
There was none.
“The area was away from any settlement or main road. I have the words of a witness at the time assuring me that the presence of a parked car was definitely unusual and unlikely to be a coincidence.”
Samuel was silent. He seemed to understand. He raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. Holding out the world. She listened to his measured breaths. He worked toward a conclusion beyond her horizon.
“Am I in danger?”
Edith had no reply. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. The deaths were suspicious and they deserved further investigation. They were twenty–nine years apart but from the same family. Her father knew more, yet she hadn’t broached that conversation with him. He might not be honest even then. The investigation was up in the air. It might fall in any number of ways.
The uncertain truth would leave Sam hanging for...how long? Days at least, mayb
e weeks. There was a kindness in making the worst case out of incomplete knowledge. An answer he could have now.
“It’s a possibility.” Edith flinched at her own words. “You should be careful, as a precaution.”
“Yes. Indeed. Yes.” Samuel glanced round the table. He pulled his phone from his pocket then immediately slid it back in. He took a swig of wine and raised his hand for the waiter to bring the bill. “Look, I have to go. I want you to keep investigating. It’s urgent, isn’t it? Please get Ben on the case.”
“I will.” She shut her eyes momentarily while she lied about her father. She needed more sources, something to balance the possibility that Ben would continue to withhold information. “Can I...can I speak to other members of your family? Maybe your parents? To find out more about the circumstances surrounding...”
“No.” Samuel shot out his hand and grabbed Edith’s wrist. He shook his head. “My father is dead. My mother is...I love her too much to concern her without reason.”
“I...,” Edith saw the waitress from earlier approaching the table in response to Sam’s request for the bill.
Edith whispered. “You need to let go. Sam, let go.”
Samuel loosened his grasp. His hand rested limply on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself.”
“I understand.” She patted his hand. A conspicuous sign to the waitress, who stopped some distance away. Edith leant forward. “If I can’t speak to your family, I can find out about the other death. I need somebody who would know about what happened thirty years ago.”
“Okay.” Samuel fumbled with his jacket, eventually drawing a business card from one pocket and a pen from another. He wrote on the back. “This is the number for Hugh. Hugh Mountgrace. He’s the owner of Rickwell Minerals and a family friend. He knew my father better than anybody. I’ll tell him to answer any questions you have. He won’t say no if I ask him.”
Sam placed the card on the table. He stood and stepped away. Then suddenly he sat down again.
“And your fee. Shall I make a downpayment? Is fifteen thousand an acceptable advance?”
Edith coughed, unsure of whether that or any other figure would be acceptable to her father. It certainly sounded acceptable to her. Sam was desperate to leave, there was no time to think. She nodded shallowly and mouthed a simple, ‘yes’.
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