Behind the Facade (24 page)

 Not at all certain of what kind of reception
he’d receive, Sean stood at Rupert Hamilton’s front door. Having tracked down
his address through careful enquiries, he was now a little unsure about this.
After all, he’d all but assaulted the guy at the funeral. He was unlikely to be
very co-operative. But Rupert was his best chance of finding out more about the
man called Charles Hughes and his final movements. He’d just have to do his
utmost to persuade him to talk to him.

Rupert opened the door and took a step back, in
obvious surprise, when he saw Sean. “Can I come in?”

Rupert’s frown gave a clear message of aversion to
this idea. He began to stutter out an objection.

 “I promise I’m not here to
cause
you trouble. I know I’m probably the last person you want to see but…”

Interrupting him, Rupert shook his head, saying, “
No
..no
. 
Actually,
far from it.
It’s not that. The place is just such a mess and I’m
normally so particular.” He hesitated a moment but then flung the door wider,
conceding, “Never mind. Come in. Please.”

Sean followed him into a hallway that led on to a
spacious living area, its monochrome white and black character, punctuated by
vivid and colourful pieces of art. As he went before him, Rupert tucked his
long, unkempt hair into a band and made a hasty effort to collect various items
of clutter that lay around the place.

“Take a seat,”
  invited
Rupert, once he’d removed a scattering of clothes and take-away boxes from the
white sofa. Sean sat down, catching his feet on something.  Rupert was
there like a flash, visibly embarrassed, as he lifted away an empty vodka
bottle. Sean averted his eyes, not wanting to add to his discomfort, and Rupert
asked quickly, “Can I get you something? I could probably do with a coffee
myself.”

Sean nodded, “That’d be great. Coffee’s fine.
Black, two sugars.”
 

As Rupert disposed of the rubbish and busied himself
in the kitchen area, Sean studied the room. He noticed a very fine die-cast
model of a blue Shelby Cobra sitting, rather conspicuously on the otherwise
empty mantelpiece. He stood up to take a look at it. It was a very skilled
piece of craftsmanship and he picked it up in order to examine it more closely.

 Rupert, on re-entering the room and noticing
his interest, placed the mugs on the coffee table and approached him. “That was
Charlie’s,” he explained, plucking it carefully from his grasp.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sean said, not having realised its
significance.

Rupert stared at it and began to stroke its outline.
“It’s OK. It’s just it’s the only thing I have left of his. The only thing they
didn’t trash.”

“He loved his cars, then?” queried Sean, delicately.

“Oh yes,” said Rupert. He was passionate about
them.”

They stood there for a moment in something of a
respectful silence. Sean respecting this man’s grief, if not the man he
grieved. He was about to sit back down when he realised Rupert was stone still
and there were tears slowly tracking down his face.  Uncomfortable that
he’d unintentionally introduced a clearly very sensitive subject, he tried to
undo this by saying, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

This broke Rupert from his pre-occupation and he
turned to him. “Don’t worry. Everything seems to upset me at the moment. Look
at me, standing her blubbing like a baby!” He dragged his hands down his face.
“How selfish of me.
You must have suffered so much more than
I. Your sister…what was done to her
..”
he broke
off,  as Sean stiffened beside him.

Rupert hurriedly apologised. “I am sorry. It was
presumptuous of me to imagine you even want to talk about it, especially with
me. But please, sit and tell me why you’re here.” Rupert took up his own
invitation, sitting down on the sofa and waiting expectantly for Sean to join
him.

“Look,” Sean began. “I’m still not convinced that
Charles had nothing to do with the terrible things that happened to my sister.
That isn’t why I’m here. But I do have questions. Questions I think you may be
able to answer.”

 “Of course,” responded Rupert. “Anything I can
do.”

“Charles was obviously interested in cars. Did he
know of a company called Bespoke Cars? Perhaps he’d worked for them?” suggested
Sean.

Without hesitation, Rupert replied, “Of course he
knew of Bespoke Cars. Charlie was crazy about that company and hugely admired
the owner, Harry Pearson, but he never worked for them.  He applied for a
job with them but got turned down and had to settle for something in the same
building instead.”

Extremely interested by this piece of news, Sean
muttered to himself, “Finally, a connection.”

“Does that mean anything? Does that help you?”
queried Rupert.

Sean looked back at him grimly, “Well, it doesn’t
make things look any better for Charles. In fact, it makes them look worse. He
seemed to implicate Bespoke Cars in a message he left on my phone but, from
what you’re saying, he probably held a grudge against them. That’s the likely
reason.”

 “No, you’re wrong,” interjected Rupert, immediately.
“He was not the type to hold a grudge. He was perfectly happy to pursue his
interest in cars as a hobby only. ”

“Are you sure? Are you sure he didn’t resent being
turned down?”

Rupert crossly retorted, “He loved that company,
like I said. If Charlie thought Bespoke Cars was connected then it must be
true.” He frowned in thought, reflecting on the startling news that Charlie had
incriminated the company he so admired. “Can I listen to the call you received
from him?”

Sean retrieved the message and passed Rupert his
phone.  As Rupert listened, his face contracted in pain, the sound of
Charlie’s voice clearly strongly affecting him. When the message came to an
end, Rupert lowered it and stared at it for a long time. Sean allowed him time
to recover his composure and didn’t insist on immediately taking the phone
back.

Finally Rupert remarked in shocked amazement, “He
said they were “
selling girls
”. Charlie would not make such an
accusation without good reason. Perhaps he stumbled across something at the
office? That’s why they killed him. Have you taken this to the police?” he
demanded.

“Yes, I have. They’re not interested,”

Rupert nodded in disgust.

Sean shrugged. “It does sound a bit preposterous,
you have to admit. They’re a reputable company and even if Bespoke Cars was
involved, how did Charlie get hold of Brenna? Perhaps he really did work for
them and kept it from you?”

Rupert vehemently rejected this suggestion. 
“We didn’t keep secrets from each other. He would have told me about it. He
wouldn’t lie. Charlie was the most moral man I know.”

“Did you also know he left a signed confession?”
said Sean, rather scathingly.

The shake of his head did not denote ignorance of
this, but rather disavowal. “I know about that!” he acknowledged. “But did they
tell you that he signed it ‘Peter’?”

Unimpressed, Sean shrugged.

 “Don’t you find that suspicious?” he pressed.

“The police showed me the note. Peter was his first
name. What’s suspicious about it?”

“He never used it.
Never.
Don’t you see? The name was painful to him. It denoted an identity he had left
behind.
A person who had lived a lie.
Peter was
someone who’d strived to hide his sexuality because his parents would simply
not accept it. He was only able to move forward by shedding it and adopting his
second name. Signing his name as Peter was a clue. It meant his suicide was a
lie. I’m sure of it.” 

“But couldn’t it also mean that Charlie was the
lie?” speculated Sean. “That he was in actual fact really
Peter,
and he’d hidden his true desire for young girls behind his Charlie identity?”

Rupert looked utterly floored by this suggestion,
but complete astonishment was soon replaced by grim defiance. “You didn’t know
him as I did. There is simply no way Charlie was faking his feelings or our
relationship, no way.”

He stood to his feet, clearly affronted by Sean’s
suggestions. Renewed tears lining his face, he said, “I think you’d better
leave. I won’t have you coming here and sullying his name. I’ve had a bellyful
of it.”

Sean
swallowed,
he’d
obtained more information than he’d anticipated. Perhaps he should just leave
as Rupert had asked? But something in Rupert’s face. Something of the outrage
he’d gone through himself, gave him pause. He remembered the police’s
suggestion that his sister may have had loose morals and that this may have had
something to do with the way she ended up. He’d nearly been arrested for
assaulting the police officer who’d made this remark. So, instead of just
walking out, he apologised.

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of
what happened to my sister.” He touched one of Rupert’s arms that now lay
across his face, but he made no move to come out from behind his
barricade.  Sean decided he’d better leave after all. He’d clearly outstayed
his welcome and wasn’t going to get any further with this man.

He was at the front door, when Rupert came up behind
him. “I’m just as determined as you to find out the truth.” he said. “I know
Charlie was the last person with her. I know that there’s no getting past that.
But if he was, he was trying to help her. He must have found her somewhere. I
know it.”

“Where would that be then?
At the
office?”
Sean scoffed. Unconvinced, he turned away and made to open the
door. Rupert couldn’t bear his disbelief. Gripping his arm he said resolutely,
  “
I’ll prove it to you, Sean. I’ll prove Charlie
wasn’t involved.”

Sean was intrigued and turned back towards him, but
was not happy at being held. Rupert, noticing the displeasure in his face,
swiftly released his arm but continued to plead his case. “I haven’t been brave
enough to face Charlie’s work colleagues as yet. But some of his things are
still at the office. I’ll go. I’ll go and collect them. Perhaps there’ll be
something that’ll help…. there may even be something that explains how he got
mixed up in this and why he said what he did.”

His interest caught by this proposal, Sean played
along with it, knowing he might turn up some useful information. “Will his
computer still
be
there?” 

Rupert nodded, “The police only confiscated his home
computer. But I can’t exactly walk out with that. It’s a desktop that belongs
to his employer.”

“No, said Sean. “But you can download the hard
drive.” Rupert pondered on this a minute and then his eyes widened in
understanding. “You mean like in the movies? Using a
thingymajig
?”

“It’s called a USB flash drive, but yes.”

“But someone might spot me.”

“Then do it discreetly,” advised Sean. Taking
Rupert’s hand, he placed his business card in it and, looking him hard in the
eyes, said “I expect to hear from you.” With that, he left.

Back at his hotel, Sean
googled
this Harry Pearson Rupert had
mentioned,
the owner of
Bespoke Cars. He was fascinated to find that he was a very affluent and
prominent man in his sphere of influence, with several stock holdings to his
name. He could find no evidence of even the slightest shadow or slur against
Harry Pearson or Bespoke Cars. All Harry’s operations and concerns appeared
completely legitimate. He was even an ambassador for a number of good causes and
gave regularly and generously to charity. However, ironically, the more he read
the more suspicious he became, simply because Harry’s wealth was enormous but
his reputation and that of his company remained spotless, a rare combination in
his experience. Harry had one child, a nineteen year old daughter. He had been
married but his wife had died in a tragic car accident and there was nothing to
suggest there was anything untoward about this. He had never remarried.

Would there be something on Charles’ work computer
to back up what he’d suspected about Bespoke Cars? Unfortunately, that avenue
of enquiry seemed to hit a brick wall, almost immediately. Sean received a
hysterical phone call from Rupert the very next evening. Apparently he’d been
denied access to Charles effects. He wasn’t listed as next of kin and had no
right to them, he’d been told. Not that Charles parents would show any interest
in collecting his belongings, he complained. The opposition to him even taking
a look at Charles work station was so marked, that Rupert suspected that the
company had purposely destroyed his things.
Perhaps in
retaliation for slurring the reputation of the company and in an effort to wipe
away evidence of his embarrassing existence, following news of his crime.
He’d been treated like a criminal himself and frogmarched from the building.

Sean tried to calm him down and assured him he would
see what he could uncover using other lines of enquiry. He wasn’t about to give
up. He’d wished he could tell Rupert he no longer thought Charles was
responsible, but this was a step too far.  All he’d been able to say was
that he was keeping an open mind.