Dead on Your Feet

by Stephen Puleston

  ‘Do we spend any more time on Oswald?’

  ‘Find out how much money was involved in Patton’s estate and double-check that he was telling us the truth about him not having a driving licence.’

  Back in the Incident Room Drake listened to a more confident-sounding Winder telling him about the exact technical requirements to set up the rogue website.

  ‘Everything was done from a public computer in a library in Birkenhead.’

  ‘Any CCTV?’

  Gareth shook his head. ‘I’ve called the library and they don’t even keep a record of the people who use the computers.’

  ‘So it could be anyone?’ Drake looked over at the various images on the board. It was too early in the investigation for things to make any sense. They needed a much clearer picture of Gloria Patton’s life. ‘Have you made any progress with the checks on Mr and Mrs Buckland?’

  Luned replied this time. ‘There’s nothing suspicious in her background. She’s never been in trouble with the courts and there is no intelligence in the system about her. But her husband is a different story. There are two complaints on record about him threatening people he fell out with. He’s got quite a temper.’

  ‘I think we need to pay the reverend gentleman a visit,’ Drake said.

  He turned and saw tiredness in the eyes of his team. It had been a long week. They could make no further progress that evening so an encouragement for them to leave met with grins and thanks. He heard Winder inviting Luned and Sara to his favourite public house later. A pang of jealousy that he wasn’t naturally part of this social scene clouded his mind.

  So he got back to work.

  Once he had tidied away the columns of colour-coordinated Post-it notes from his desk he set out the photographs from the crime scene. He stared at each one in turn trying to fathom out why the killer wanted to replicate a famous piece of art. And wondering whether he had spoken to the culprit that week. After storing the images away he read the reports from the shops-and-offices inquiries, but he wasn’t surprised when he read that nothing of significance had been established. They were dealing with a very clever killer.

  The statements from members of the public who witnessed the curtain fall away were full of comments about how disgusting the whole business had been and how sick they felt at the sight of a dead body. It occurred to Drake that the killer was deranged enough to be one of the bystanders interviewed. He reached for a list of the names and addresses, making a mental note for Winder or Luned to check them out.

  From his inbox, he retrieved the post-mortem report and reread Dr Kings’ preliminary findings. He tapped out an email reminder asking for an update on the toxicology results. Another report from Foulds made depressing reading, merely confirming in negative terminology what he had already shared with Drake.

  He walked into the Incident Room and gazed at the various names assembled on the board. They had a collection of possible persons of interest, all of whom had the makings of a motive. Oswald had large, powerful hands and inheriting the gallery could be more than enough motive. Money always was, Drake knew, but he didn’t drive, which meant he would have needed an accomplice to help with moving the frame and the body. Mentally, he parked Oswald as a suspect for now. He stared at Roger Buckland and the newly acquired image of his wife wanting to believe that a man could change, improve himself, but the conviction and his past hung over him. They still had work to do on Ellingham and Wood so he hoped that the forensic results would help. He scanned the faces in turn, asking himself which of them benefited from Gloria’s death and who had the opportunity. He kept staring until he heard his telephone ringing and he returned to his office.

  He saw Sian’s name on the screen. ‘You said you’d call the girls tonight.’

  As always, he had lost track of time. ‘I’m sorry. I’m in the middle of an important inquiry.’

  ‘Aren’t you always? Well, have you time to speak to them now?’

  Drake glanced down at the paperwork on his desk, frustrated at the lack of progress.

  ‘Because we’re going out in the next five minutes to visit my mother.’

  ‘Of course, sorry. I’ll have a quick word with them but I’ll try and call to see them on Sunday.’

  His spirits lifted when he heard the voice of Helen and then Megan telling him about their day. He sighed heavily when the conversations finished too quickly.

  An hour later the sound of cleaners moving around headquarters jolted him into realising he had to leave. In the past when his rituals meant double-checking everything, he had found himself in the office late into the evening unable go home. Counselling sessions helped him realise that he need not work relentlessly and that order and neatness needn’t rule his life.

  Chapter 10

  Drake bought a newspaper as usual that Saturday morning and went straight to the Sudoku, solving some of the puzzle quickly. It always settled his mind. Then he drove down onto the A55 and indicated west. Dipping down into the tunnel underneath the Conwy estuary he emerged on the other side and followed the road as it hugged the coastline. Traffic was light as he passed Penmaenmawr and then powered through the mountain towards Llanfairfechan. Old memories from childhood often resurfaced on Drake’s journey to see his mother. Some were welcome, others not, especially those that involved images of his grandfather in his open casket. It had been one of the abiding recollections from his teenage years and one that had triggered the obsessions that could dominate his mind. The ritual of desk-tidying and cleaning had been the worst and the counselling the WPS had insisted on after a difficult case that had scared Drake helped keep his obsessions in check. But it hadn’t saved his marriage.

  Driving through the scattered communities above the town of Caernarfon made him think of his father and grandfather. Both men reared and hardened by the rural landscape. He recalled as a boy watching wide-eyed his grandfather gathering up stinging nettles with his calloused and powerful hands. Now whenever he returned home to see his mother it reminded him of the day when his father had died: an anniversary, however painful. It meant that the regrets about things left unsaid were still raw.

  Drake pulled the car into a gravelled section of the main road before the lane leading down to the family’s smallholding. He stared over towards Caernarfon Bay, noticing the wide sand dunes at Llanddwyn, imagining the crowds of visitors flocking to the beach that weekend. He resolved to take Helen and Megan very soon, maybe tomorrow, work permitting.

  The sun broke through a layer of cloud, and columns of bright sunshine bathed the countryside. For a few moments he enjoyed the view before driving down to the farmhouse.

  As he parked he noticed movement in the kitchen window and then the rear door opened, his mother emerging onto the threshold. Her tone had been practical when she asked Drake to call, telling him she had something to discuss with him. He assumed she was thinking of selling the house and buying a bungalow. After all, the surrounding fields had already been let out to a young couple in an adjacent smallholding. It had enlarged their acreage and made it more likely they could make a living off the land, all of which pleased Drake’s mother.

  Moving on would be a wrench. But with four bedrooms and two reception rooms she could never use, Drake thought his mother would be better off with a smaller property. Even if she sold up he would still have his memories, of playing in the fields with his sister, watching his father take care of the animals.

  Mair Drake walked over to the car.

  ‘Ian, you’re looking tired.’

  She always thought he looked tired, and frequently she would ask if he was eating enough. Then she kissed him on the cheek. He followed her into the house where she bustled around the kitchen making tea. Mair’s conversation kept flitting from one piece of small talk to another, which unnerved Drake.

  Eventually she sat down, a china teapot and biscuits on the table in front of them.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to you for a while.’ Mair filled a mug for Drake.

&
nbsp; ‘I thought you had something on your mind.’

  ‘It’s about your father.’

  Drake frowned. It couldn’t be the probate paperwork, which had all been completed after a couple of visits to a local lawyer.

  Mair turned a finger around the handle of her mug. ‘There’s something you need to know.’ She looked up at Drake, a plaintive look on her face.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You know that things hadn’t always been right between your father and his parents.’

  Nothing had ever been said, nothing ever was said about these sorts of things. Caustic comments made by a distant aunt about his grandparents at a family funeral years previously had piqued Drake’s interest. At the time his father had dismissed Drake’s questions. Now he wanted to learn more.

  ‘I remember asking Dad once. But he didn’t want to talk about them.’

  ‘It was all in the past.’

  ‘But things have a habit of coming back, haunting us.’

  Mair nodded. She looked up, her eyes watering.

  ‘It was before I knew Tom.’ Mair paused. ‘We were married a long time and we were very happy. I want you to know that, Ian.’

  It was the first time his mother had said anything like that. He had no idea how to respond. What else did she have to tell him?

  ‘When your father was eighteen he left home. There was a terrible argument and your grandfather could be a very stubborn man. He also had a temper.’

  Drake remembered a kindly old man, always wearing a waistcoat and a tweed shirt but he had a taciturn nature nurtured by a Nonconformist background.

  ‘Your father mixed with a bad group of lads.’

  His father had been in trouble with the police? Even a criminal record maybe. No wonder it hadn’t been talked about.

  ‘And he met an American girl.’

  Now Drake’s lips dried, his throat tightened slowly.

  ‘She was quite a few years older and she was working at the university in Bangor. Your father didn’t give me all the details. I didn’t pry. After all, it was before I knew him.’

  Mair glanced at Drake.

  ‘Your father went to live with her in a flat in Bangor.’

  His mother gazed up at him and he could see her measuring his reaction.

  Drake imagined that his grandparents would have disapproved. It was a close-knit community after all. He had never thought of his parents as having a relationship with anyone else. It had never occurred to him to ask.

  ‘What did she do at the university?’

  ‘She was a postgraduate student. I think she studied English.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  Mair returned to fidget with her mug. She lowered her voice, keeping her gaze fixed on a point on the table. ‘She had a son.’

  For a moment, Drake thought he had misheard.

  Then the realisation struck him. ‘What?’

  ‘She and your father had a child together.’

  Various conflicting emotions ran through Drake’s mind. Anger that this family secret hadn’t been shared, frustration with a mindset that wanted to conceal things.

  Mair brushed away a tear.

  ‘Why did nobody tell me?’ Then he thought about his sister, what she would think. ‘Have you told Susan?’

  Mair shook her head. ‘I wanted to tell you first.’

  A dozen questions came to Drake’s mind. ‘What happened after the baby was born? I mean, did Dad ever see the child? Why are you telling me this now?’

  ‘After the baby was born your grandparents put a lot of pressure on your father. And his relationship with the baby’s mother deteriorated. Your father grew up, realised he’d been foolish.’ Mair paused. ‘Your dad moved back home.’

  They were talking about the child in anonymous terms. ‘So do you know anything about the girl and the child?’

  Another mournful glance.

  ‘After your father left he had no contact with the woman or his son. He thought it was best at the time. Best for everyone. It had been a mistake. He didn’t want to complicate the young boy’s life.’

  Mistake.

  Drake was realising quickly that the father he knew was quite different from the man his mother portrayed.

  ‘She moved away from Bangor. He got in touch about a year before your father died.’

  ‘From America?’

  A resigned, anxious look crossed Mair’s face. ‘She worked in a school in Llandudno.’

  Drake stared blankly, scarcely able to believe what she was telling him.

  ‘Your brother…’ Mair continued. Drake blanked away the incredulity in his mind.

  ‘Your brother made contact with your father after his mother passed. Before she died she had told him about his father. He wanted to try and establish a relationship. But with your father being ill it wasn’t the best timing.’

  ‘So did they meet?’

  Mair nodded. ‘Once, we met him in Llandudno.’

  ‘So, how old is he? What was he like?’

  ‘He’s ten years older than you. His mother taught in a secondary school for years but she died of cancer. He has had his fair share of tragedy – he lost his wife recently too.’

  ‘Recently?’ Drake hadn’t drunk any of his tea. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘He’s been in touch with me.’

  Mair reached a hand over and touched Drake’s wrist. ‘He wants to meet you.’

  He blurted out. ‘Why the hell was this kept a secret? I had a right to know.’

  Mair gave him a hurt look. ‘Your father wanted to tell you. But I stopped him. It would have been too complicated. Your father was ill, I didn’t want to upset him. I didn’t want the past dragged up.’

  ‘But there must be other people in the family who knew? So it can’t exactly be a secret.’

  Mair grasped the tea mug tightly.

  ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Huw Jackson.’

  ‘This is all quite a surprise. It’s all a bit hard to take in. What did he have in mind?’

  ‘He wants to get to know you, that’s what he said. He is going to be in one of the cafés in town at lunchtime.’

  ‘Today?’ Drake raised his voice.

  ‘If you don’t think the time is right then we can leave it.’ Mair hurried her reply

  No time was going to be right, Drake thought. So why not do it now? Meeting for lunch in a café – Huw Jackson was his brother after all. He rarely had contact with his sister apart from the occasional telephone call dominated by the diary of her children’s hectic activities.

  ‘I know how busy you are. But it was something I had to do. I’ve been feeling guilty that I didn’t encourage your father in having contact with Huw. I realise now that I was wrong. I’m sorry, Ian. Will you forgive me?’

  More conflicting emotions overwhelmed Drake, from discovering a half-brother to listening to his mother wanting to exonerate her behaviour from years ago – it was all difficult to take in.

  ‘Lunchtime today?’ Drake read the time on his watch. It was late morning already.

  Mair gave him a pleading look and he knew that for her sake he had to agree.

  * * *

  Drake parked on the quayside just below the imposing castle walls and waited until he spotted his mother parking nearby. On the brief journey to Caernarfon he thought of all the questions he would have liked to have asked his father. He would have to tell Sian and perhaps even tell his daughters. He could imagine the exasperated reply from his sister and dreaded the possibility that his mother expected him to break the news to her. Not that it would make any difference, Drake thought; she was still going to be furious.

  He left the car and joined his mother on the short walk to the centre of town. A crowd of American tourists stood by the statue of Lloyd George, the only Welshman to have been British prime minister, talking animatedly about how important he had been as a wartime leader. A street off the main square led down alongside the medieva
l walls and after a few yards Mair stopped in front of a café.

  She took a deep breath. Then she pushed open the door and stepped in. Drake followed and in one corner, a man stood up, smiling. Drake’s mother raised a brief hand in acknowledgement and nodded at Drake.

  They stood to one side as a young girl carrying a plate of sandwiches hurried past them.

  Mair was the first to reach the table. ‘Nice to see you again, Huw.’ He shook her warmly by the hand. ‘This is Ian.’

  They shook hands and Drake sat down.

  ‘I’m sure this has been a surprise,’ Huw said.

  Huw’s small eyes and a thin upper lip were just like Drake’s father. He was taller than Drake by a good couple of inches and he still had a head of thick dark hair. There was a singsong lilt to his accent. Drake wasn’t certain how to reply. What is the first thing you say to a brother you never knew existed?

  ‘Mam just told me this morning.’

  Huw smiled.

  A waitress appeared at the table. Drake and his mother ordered sandwiches and tea.

  ‘I’ve seen your face on television,’ Huw continued. ‘When those two officers were killed on the Crimea pass.’ Huw was making conversation, finding things to say.

  ‘Mam told me that you only found out about Dad a year or so before he died. What happened?’ Drake said.

  ‘My mother never talked about my dad. He was never discussed. I must have asked as a child but she always steered the discussion away from giving me any answers. But when she got cancer she realised it had been a mistake. She wanted to make amends somehow.’

  Drake sensed his mother’s embarrassment.

  ‘Mam came to study English at Bangor University. That’s when she met Tom.’

  It was odd hearing this man talk about his father as Tom.

  ‘She told me that she loved him very much but his family stood in the way.’

  Drake wondered how his mother must feel listening to the description of another woman being in love with his father.

  ‘Why didn’t she go back to America?’

  Huw shrugged. ‘She never said, but I guessed that she wanted me to be brought up in Wales.’