Bye Bye Baby (39 page)

40

Anne had worked fast. It was nearing four-thirty and she felt ready. Nothing could be too meticulously planned, but she had learned from her previous experiences that she needed to be flexible in her approach. Flynn might not behave the way she anticipated, although she felt confident he would if he’d been keeping close watch on the news reports.

Billy Fletcher’s death was hitting all the main radio and TV services — Flynn could hardly fail to acknowledge that the members of his Jesters Club were being systematically picked off. What she needed to do was frighten him sufficiently into following her instructions. And whatever the personal risk to her, this was the best chance she would ever have to settle the score.

Anne checked the time again and decided to wait until she was near the house before she made the call. She turned the ignition, pulled out into the seafront traffic and headed for the address in Rottingdean.

Jack and Kate strolled along the Brighton seafront. The afternoon had turned grey and cold but at least it
was dry. A sharp wind whipped across their faces, numbing their ears, but both were glad to have it blow away the blurriness that came with too little sleep and too much work pressure.

Kate paused to lean against the promenade’s green Victorian railing and stared out at the choppy waves lashing the ruin that was West Pier in the distance.

‘Did you ever go on it?’ she said.

Jack, who was looking the other way, seemed to grasp her cryptic question instantly. He matched his gaze to hers as she continued, obviously not requiring his answer.

‘I was fascinated by everything about it, from the twisted serpents on its lampposts to the iron benches that made you feel like your arse was hanging out to sea.’

Jack smiled. ‘I’ve only been on it once when I was very young. I remember those serpents but very little else except the candy floss and that helter-skelter. It’s why I didn’t realise what those photos were in Sophie’s apartment. I knew they were of the ruins of a pier, but not which one. You know, it’s arguably the finest example of Victorian seaside architecture in the country. She was obviously a very graceful old girl in her time. It’s such a pity it’s been allowed to get to this state.’

‘Makes a nice home for the starlings though,’ Kate said. ‘If you weren’t at the Yard, I’m sure you’d have made a very good stuffy old history academic.’ She looked again at the ailing pier. ‘But it’s going to be renovated, isn’t it?’

‘I gather. It’s going to be amazing, I imagine, when it’s finished.’

‘And all of its secrets, good and bad, will be cleaned away,’ Kate said.

‘We’ll make sure one never gets forgotten,’ Jack replied, his voice passionate. ‘Whatever kind of monster Anne McEvoy has become, the monster was likely shaped by her experience on that pier in 1975. I glimpsed what Anne might have been through knowing Sophie,’ he added. ‘It’s heartbreaking to think those two people existed alongside one another.’

‘Sophie wasn’t real, Jack.’

‘She was to me.’

Kate decided to change tack. ‘Fancy a coffee? I’m buying.’

Jack allowed his mood to lighten. ‘How about tea? There’s a great spot further down called the Mock Turtle Tea Shop that has been around forever. Great cakes.’

‘Cake? In that case, lead the way.’

Jack offered his arm in a theatrical manner. ‘Come on then. I need somewhere quiet anyway to take Sarah’s call when it comes.’

It wasn’t Sarah calling when Jack’s phone gave a strangled rendition of what sounded like the ‘Mexican Hat Dance’. It was the only ringtone it would play since he’d hurled it across Phil Bowles’s lounge room.

‘It’s Martin, Jack. I’ve just got rid of Deegan.’

‘What’s it about, sir?’

‘Apparently the Paul Conway death isn’t over. Deegan seems to think he has something incriminating on you. He’s pushing for a formal investigation.’

‘That’s bullshit, sir!’ Jack said, winning the attention of two older ladies in the tea shop. He added hurriedly, ‘Pardon my French.’

‘I hope so, Jack. He doesn’t seem to think so.’ Sharpe took a few moments to fill his DCI in on what precisely Deegan was following up. He finished with a sigh. ‘Look, there’s nothing you can do. I’ll keep stonewalling him, but I can only hold him off for so long. The Ghost Squad has a lot of clout. If he persuades the right people that a formal investigation needs to be set in motion then you know even I won’t be able to prevent them from stopping you in your tracks. I don’t want the operation stalling because of some past indiscretion, Jack, so be very sure there are no skeletons rattling in your cupboard.’

‘There aren’t.’

‘Alright,’ Sharpe said, happy to accept Jack’s word. ‘So, tell me what’s happening.’

Jack spent the next few minutes bringing his Superintendent up to date with the morning’s events. It did nothing to improve Sharpe’s humour.

‘What a bloody mess,’ he said when Jack had finished. ‘So we’re no closer to McEvoy?’

‘Well, that’s not true, sir. The fact is, she’s made contact. It was her call, not mine. We know where she is and we know she’s remaining in Brighton. I’m waiting for an urgent call from the ops room. Fingers crossed, we may have an address for Garvan Flynn. I know she’s going after him.’

‘Get there first, Jack. I don’t need to tell you how it will work in your favour and against Deegan’s crusade if you can apprehend the nation’s most wanted killer. Not to mention saving her final victim so he can face the music he should have faced decades ago.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The appeal of the carrot cake sitting on the table in front of him had suddenly soured.

Kate nibbled at her brownie. ‘What was that all about?’

Jack told her and admired her ability to hide whatever she was thinking.

‘So that’s why Dan’s accusation scared you,’ she said, referring back to Jack’s reaction to her quip in the lift. ‘The case may re-open.’

‘I won’t make the same mistake, Kate. My liaison with Liz is still haunting me.’

‘Obviously I knew about the Drummond thing but I was under the impression you were exonerated. Are you worried?’

‘I
was
exonerated. I’ve got nothing to hide. I don’t know what Deegan’s got on me.’

‘I know Deegan, worked with him briefly. He’s a creep.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Jack said and groaned.

‘Well, not many people know this. He’s gay but hides it well. The Met’s not homophobic outwardly but ...’ She trailed off.

‘I know what you mean.’

‘It really wasn’t an issue. I’m only mentioning it now because we’re talking about him. No one else seemed to register it, but I realised he never joined in the blokey stuff easily and he certainly didn’t flirt with the women, as far as I could tell. Not with me, ever.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m far too good for him,’ she added loftily and Jack grinned. ‘The only reason I know for sure he’s gay is because I saw something I wasn’t supposed to. I’ve never said anything to anyone until now.’

Jack didn’t press for more information. ‘I can’t imagine why he’s targeting me,’ he said.

‘A grudge, presumably. Somewhere, somehow, you’ve trodden on his toes and either not apologised, or worse, not noticed.’

Jack’s face took on a pained expression. ‘How could I have? I’ve never had anything to do with him. I’ve run across him, but only in passing or via other people.’

‘He hasn’t too many friends around the Yard from what I remember.’

‘Then Ghost Squad’s probably the best place for him. Finish your brownie.’

‘Bit dry. Can I eat your carrot cake instead . . . as you’re not touching it?’

‘Sure.’ As he pushed the plate towards her his phone rang. It was Sarah again.

‘Got it, sir,’ she said breathlessly and began reciting the Rottingdean address.

41

Peter hadn’t been able to face his parents. He’d left the family home on Saturday afternoon and refused to take their calls while he brooded. He’d told Ally he was going to be caught up in work for a couple of days, and that got him off the hook of having to explain his foul mood to the person he least wanted to offend. He promised to see her on Monday evening.

But now it was Sunday afternoon and he’d dwelled long enough on his next move. He was determined to find his mother, to reassure himself that she was either dead, or, as his father claimed, a drug addict who didn’t regret giving him up as a baby and wanted nothing to do with him now. Either of those scenarios would make it easy for him to forget this situation had ever presented itself.

Peter didn’t want to upset his parents any further. It was obvious they had never planned to tell him unless it was forced out of them, and he certainly didn’t want a new mother in his life, but something wouldn’t permit him to let the shock pass or the moment disappear without him doing something about it. Perhaps it was because he was ready to settle down,
marry and start a family of his own? Family was important to him. He would never forgive himself if — now he knew the truth — he didn’t try to find out more about his birth mother. Besides, there was too much at stake. Apart from Ally, this new government contract meant everything to him. It was the step up in status and income he’d been yearning for, and would undoubtedly mean travelling overseas. He couldn’t do any of that without knowing exactly who he was, and getting a birth certificate to prove it. He needed to get to the bottom of this, which was why he’d steeled himself to face his parents. He couldn’t imagine they were having a terribly happy Sunday afternoon anyway.

He pulled up outside the house and let himself in as usual. He waited for the inevitable greeting, expecting it to be awkward. No one came.

‘Dad?’ he yelled.

Perhaps his mother was out and his father in the shed? But the back door was locked, so no one was outside. Peter checked the time. It was almost four-thirty. He couldn’t imagine where they’d be at this time, other than his Aunt Sheila’s. He had to assume they’d sought the comfort of their nearest and dearest.

Outside of the usual gripes and groans in any family, Peter had never had a falling out with his parents. Even their disappointment over the business with Ally replacing Pat in his heart had quickly turned into a diplomatic response. His parents weren’t argumentative people and he was a good son; they didn’t need reminding of that and treated him as respectfully as he did them. But the revelation of his birth had rocked the household and Peter felt as
though he was navigating an unknown course right now. Just knowing what to say to them, how to put into words the cascade of strange feelings he was experiencing, would be hard enough.

He put on the kettle and went through the motions of making a pot of tea while he thought about how to approach the situation without inflaming it further. He had no intention of changing his mind but he needed to find a way to convince his parents that tracking down this woman was important to him.

He’d just put the tea cosy on the pot when the phone rang.

Anne heard a man answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Er, hi,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for a Mr Garvan Flynn.’

‘He’s not here right now. Can I take a message?’

‘Oh, so I do have the right number for him?’

‘Yes. Who is this, please?’

‘Um, I’m an old friend.’

‘Shall I leave your name, perhaps a number where he can call you back?’

‘No, look, I might try again later. Are you expecting him back today?’

‘I imagine so.’

‘Okay. Who am I speaking to?’

‘This is his son.’

Anne couldn’t speak. The silence stretched.

‘Hello?’ the man said.

‘I’m here,’ Anne said, her voice suddenly thin and shaky. ‘Sorry, er . . . what’s your name?’

‘Peter.’

Again the choking sensation in her throat, her chest.

‘Okay, well, feel free to call back tonight perhaps,’ he offered. ‘No, wait,’ she said. It came out as a plea. ‘Peter, you said?’

‘That’s right. Who am I talking to?’

‘My name’s Anne McEvoy. I . . . knew you as a baby . . .’ Her voice shook again and trailed off.

‘Are you alright?’

‘No, not really.’ A soft sob escaped.

Peter clearly had no idea what to say. An awkward silence hung between them as she sniffed, gathered herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘This is rather difficult to explain. Is your mother there?’ She nearly choked on the word.

‘No, she’s probably with Dad.’

Anne felt a thrill pass through her. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. She gathered her wits, swallowed back all the emotion of hearing his voice for the first time in her life and pinched herself to steady her voice.

‘I see. This is going to sound very forward of me, but can I ask whether your parents have told you anything about when you were born?’

It was as though someone had slapped him hard. Peter rocked back from the phone, staring at it dully. He couldn’t believe this stranger had called out of the blue and zeroed in on the very topic that had dominated his thoughts these past two days.

‘What do you know about my birth?’ he demanded.

‘I know all about it. It’s why I’m phoning.’

‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, you know all about it? How can you?’

‘I can, darling Peter, because, you see, I’m your mother.’

Hawksworth scribbled the street name Sarah dictated onto a small pad. ‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Garvan Flynn has been registered as being at that address for the past twenty-nine years. His phone and other utilities are all current. In fact, I’ve just checked with BT. The phone’s in use as we speak.’

‘I owe you.’

‘The debt’s mounting up,’ she quipped. ‘What can I do to help, sir?’

‘Nothing for now. Just stand by. Kate and I are on our way.’

‘Shall I send a squad car?’

‘Not yet. Let me take stock of the situation first. I don’t want to alert him to the police. I have a feeling our quarry will run.’

‘Okay. Keep us posted. Good luck, sir.’

Jack looked at Kate. ‘We might have him.’

‘Let’s go,’ she said, making for the cafe’s exit, glad they’d paid when they’d ordered. ‘Shall I drive?’ She sounded exhilarated.

‘No, I hate being driven,’ he said with a grin, the excitement of being so close to their prey infectious.

Anne had steadied her clamouring emotions. Tears still streamed down her face but her voice was steady and her resolve had become granite. She stared across at
the modest house in Rottingdean, knowing now that her son was inside, holding the phone to his ear and not believing what he was hearing. She imagined he felt as dizzy as she did.

‘What did you say?’ he croaked.

‘I’m your mother, Peter,’ Anne repeated firmly, sniffing. ‘You were stolen from me in 1975.’

She didn’t need to see him to know that this revelation would send his mind spinning out of control.

‘What?’ He gave a series of unintelligible groans but each spoke of grief. ‘Have you been searching for me ever since?’

‘No. I was told you were dead. But certain recent events revealed that you were very much alive and I’ve done nothing since but try and find you.’

‘What events?’ he breathed.

‘I’ll tell you all about them if you’ll agree to meet with me.’

Anne could barely believe the gift that had just been given to her. An angel must be guarding and guiding her through this time; she had no other explanation for the stroke of luck. She had Peter within her grasp, and this changed everything.

‘When?’

‘Now.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Opposite your house. Just look outside the front door for the light blue car. That’s me.’

She heard him pause, heard the rustle of his movements as he obviously moved to the front door. She spotted his outline behind the glass on one side of the door.

‘I can see you, Peter.’ She lifted her hand in hesitant greeting but he moved away.

‘What do you want?’

‘I should think that’s obvious.’ Anne spoke softly, not wanting to frighten him. ‘Forgive me the shock I’ve caused you, but I want to look at my son now that I’ve heard his beautiful voice. I want to listen to his story, learn about his life — the things I’ve been denied these last thirty years.’

‘This is too much,’ he moaned. ‘I only found out a day or so ago that I wasn’t formally adopted.’

‘I can imagine the state of shock you’re in — believe me, I’m only just coming to terms with you being alive myself — and I’m sure that having me turn up on your doorstep is unnerving. I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Just don’t be scared of me. I have grieved for you for twenty-nine years, Peter, and now I’ve been given the gift of your life. Will you at least let me meet you?’

She waited through the difficult silence as her son made up his mind.

‘Okay, I’ll be out in a minute,’ he said finally.