In Cold Daylight (15 page)

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Rosie said. ‘It was just one of those things.’

I didn’t comment on that. I addressed Sally,

‘What was Jack like on that day? Was he acting differently in any way?’

Rosie flashed me a worried look.

Sally said, ‘He seemed a bit quieter than usual.’

‘Were you there when he swapped with Ian?’

‘No. I was making a coffee for DO Brookfield.’

Brookfield hadn’t mentioned he’d been on the station the day Jack had been killed. Then a terrible thought struck me. Brookfield could have seen that tally board. Brookfield could have been lying about those missing fire reports.

Brookfield could have killed Jack! No, that was ridiculous. I couldn’t believe it. But perhaps he had passed the information on to someone who wasn’t so squeamish when it came to committing murder.

‘What did Brookfield want?’ I asked lightly.

‘He came to see the station officer about something, I don’t know what.’

Outside I rang Ian’s number and got his wife.

‘He went out early this morning for a walk and he’s not returned. I don’t know when he’ll be back,’ she said after I had briefly explained that I’d like to talk to him. She sounded tense, and I could hear a child crying in the background.

‘I’ll call again later.’

I returned home, scouring the street for anyone loitering or sitting in parked cars. No one.

Cautiously I let myself in listening for sounds, only Boudicca padded down the stairs to greet me.

My mobile rang making me jump. It was Nigel Steep. ‘No joy on what the minister was doing at the port, Adam, but I have got the names of the shipping lines.’

There was only one that was no longer using Portsmouth; Greys of London; all the others were local firms and mainly imported fruit.

I powered up my laptop, connected to the Internet and looked up Greys. They were a privately owned company, which had begun trading in the late 1960s with a number of small coasters and barges supplying Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. Since then they had expanded to mini bulk carriers, and had grown their fleet of container ships to forty-six carrying grains, fertilisers, steel, and minerals. They could also carry hazardous goods such as explosives and ammunition.

I called them from my mobile phone, knowing from the films I’d watched that landlines could be tapped, and gave them the story that Albert Honeyman was my uncle. I managed to get an appointment with someone from human resources for Friday. Tomorrow was Thursday, and my father’s funeral. I decided I would stay in London overnight, but not at father’s house. I also decided I would say nothing to Faye.

I left a whole lot of food out for Boudicca, which she’d probably gobble up by the end of the day, and told her to go next door if she got hungry. Then throwing some clothes and toiletries into my sailing bag and collecting my lap top computer, I climbed on to my bike and headed for Hayling Island, checking that no one was following me. When I climbed on board my boat moored in the marina at the northern end of the island I didn’t think anyone had.

I telephoned Ian again but he still hadn’t returned home. His wife sounded frantic. I didn’t blame her. I was beginning to get worried myself.

Had Ian gone walk-about to try and escape his depression? Had someone followed, or lured him away, because they didn’t want me finding out why Jack had swapped duties with him? Or had Ian disappeared because he was partly to blame for leading Jack to his death? Had someone paid Ian to swap with Jack on that fateful Wednesday? Is that why he was so cut up?

Was it more than just sorrow? Was it a huge burden of guilt that young Ian carried? If so, I didn’t rate his poor wife’s chance of being reunited with her husband.

Steve called me. I was surprised. ‘It’s Special Branch,’ he said abruptly.

I gripped the phone tightly. ‘Do you know why?’

‘I’ve already put my neck on the line for you, Adam.’

‘I know and I’m grateful.’

‘I’d rather have you alive.’

‘You don’t mean they’d silence me permanently.’ I rubbed the side of my head.

‘Of course not, but if they’re involved it means that whoever they are after is a hell of lot nastier and wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if they had to.’

‘Good job I’ve taken your advice then, Steve.’

‘You’ll let things alone?’ The relief in his voice was palpable.

‘Yes,’ I lied.

‘Thank God for that. Go away for a few days.’

‘I will. Thanks, Steve.’

I rang off.

I had done a fair bit of sailing in the dark but in the summer rather than winter. Still that couldn’t be helped now. I wasn’t going to risk staying in the marina. That call to my mobile could be traced. Special Branch would know where I was. I wanted to believe Steve when he said they wouldn’t kill me but I wasn’t going to take any chances. And if they knew maybe whoever they were after would also know my whereabouts.

I hadn’t asked Steve how he had found out it was Special Branch because I wasn’t sure he would tell me the truth. As I motored slowly out of Northney Marina I couldn’t quite believe that he had discovered it for himself. Someone had told him. Just like they had told him to make the call. They wanted to know where I was. Tonight I would elude them but tomorrow was a very different matter. They would be able to find me easily because tomorrow I would be at my father’s funeral in London.

The cremation was short. No lingering speeches, no memorial sermons. I had Simon to thank for that. During it my mind had wandered back to my conversation with Ian’s wife that morning.

He hadn’t returned home. She’d reported his disappearance to the police. Would they connect it with Jack’s death? I guessed only in the fact that Ian was depressed about it and felt guilty.

I glanced around the faded lounge of my father’s Belgravia house, trying to stifle a yawn after a fitful night’s sleep on the boat. I had picked up a buoy in the Emsworth channel and returned to the marina in the morning to shower and collect my motorbike. Perhaps I had over reacted because there was no one lurking around the marina that looked suspicious and, as far as I could tell, no one had followed me to London.

I had checked my phone for messages before the service. Jody had called me. She sounded anxious. My heart tugged at the sound of her voice enquiring how I was and what I was doing.

It took a great deal of effort to resist calling her back. I desperately wanted to. I told myself it would only put her in danger. If Special Branch could locate where I was calling from then maybe they could locate whom I was calling?

‘It’s Adam, isn’t it?’

I spun round to find a tall, elegantly dressed man with a leonine sweep of grey hair sleeked back from a distinguished looking face. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place him.

‘Tim Davenham. I was at Oxford with Simon.’

‘Of course.’ I took his hand and returned the pressure.

‘Simon tells me you’re an artist.’

‘Yes.’

‘And a successful one by all accounts. Your father would have been proud.’

I doubt it, I thought, scrutinising Davenham for signs of irony. He showed none but I had a feeling he was sneering at me. Maybe it was my inferiority complex.

Across the shabby, crowded room Faye was talking to Simon. She laughed at something he said, Simon smiled. He was at his most charming. They’d hit it off immediately.

‘She’s very attractive,’ Davenham went on, following my gaze. ‘But Simon always did have an eye for a pretty girl.’

Before I could reply he’d excused himself. I watched him join them. I couldn’t recall Davenham that well from Simon’s past. I had only a vague recollection of a clever, handsome man who attracted women like a magnet. Simon hadn’t done too badly for himself either I seemed to remember.

I looked at Faye as though seeing her for the first time. She had managed to get herself her a little black dress that hugged her shapely but slender figure and showed off her long legs, clad in black stockings. She was at her most seductive in the hope, I suspected, of wheedling some of father’s inheritance from Simon. Judging by Simon’s reaction to her I didn’t think she’d have much difficulty. I saw the point of Davenham’s remarks. He had wanted to rub my face in it. A month ago I might have reacted. A year ago I would have been upset, devastated even, but now? I didn’t really care. When had I stopped loving Faye?

‘They seem to be getting on well, don’t they?’

I turned to find Harriet beside me. Her shapeless figure was clothed in a drab black dress.

Her limp blonde hair hung around a lined face with skin that was dull and eyes that were sad. It was as if she had long ago forgotten how to smile.

It made me think of the last time I’d laughed and again I thought of Alison. She’d had that capacity to make the world seem bright. Nothing could dampen her wild spirit or her optimism.

To her life had been living on the crest of the wave and never rolling on to the shore. Jody made me feel like that.

‘I’m sorry about the will, Adam,’ Harriet said, breaking through my thoughts. ‘I told Simon he should share it with you, or at least see that you’re all right but…’ She took a nervous sip from her glass.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said dismissively, meaning it. I hadn’t yet had the chance to slip into my father’s study and extract my file.

Davenham looked across at me. Simon and Faye followed his glance.

‘I didn’t expect to see so many people,’ I said, feeling angry and averting my eyes.

‘The obituaries in
The Daily Telegraph
and
The
Times
account for that,’ Harriet replied. ‘I received a lot of calls from former colleagues and members of the Royal Society of Chemistry as a result. Your father was quite famous.’

Yes, I supposed he was. In the 1950s Lawrence Greene had discovered a compound that had had huge commercial ramifications in the manufacture of processed foodstuffs. This house and the ones in Cornwall and Wales had been bought on the proceeds of it and Simon and I educated at an expensive public school that I loathed and at Oxford, where my life had changed. Now only this house was left. What had happened to the proceeds of the other properties? Were they in the coffers waiting for Simon to inherit?

‘You’ll sell the house?’ I said.

‘Yes, Simon’s already had it valued but we can’t really do anything until after probate. I’m sure Simon would let you have something; there are some good paintings here.’

Harriet was right, there were some good paintings, but I didn’t want anything to remind me of this place or my father. My mother’s paintings had all been sold a long time ago.

‘Do you know if Simon’s been through the rest of Father’s papers yet?’

‘No, you’ll have to ask him. I don’t think he’s had much time what with the business. It’s all been rather hectic.’

‘Of course.’ The American deal
.
Had Simon clinched it?

The sound of Faye’s laughter drew my attention for a moment, but when I looked back at Harriet her unguarded expression took me by surprise. I wondered how many affairs my brother had conducted during their marriage.

I turned back to look at Faye as Harriet saw her, another of Simon’s conquests. Faye was clearly flirting with him and enjoying it but she was in control, or so I told myself. I thought of Stewart, her boss, and all the clients she entertained. I thought of Graham Johnson, the solicitor, I had no reason to think that Faye had been unfaithful, but in my gut I knew she had been.

‘How are the children?’ I turned my back on Faye. For a moment the light stole into Harriet’s eyes.

‘William’s doing very well at boarding school, but I miss him so much.’

‘And Daisy? Didn’t Simon say she was away at school too?’

‘If that’s what you want to call it.’

I was shocked by the bitterness in her voice.

She saw that she had given herself away and blushed furiously whilst trying to bury her face in her glass.

‘You don’t like her school?’ I coaxed.

‘No. She was better off living at home with us and going to our local school but Simon disagreed and you know Simon he always gets his way,’ she said bitterly.

‘What does Daisy think?’ I saw her startled expression.

‘Daisy doesn’t think; well, not like you and me.’

‘Of course she’s only a child.’

She looked puzzled. ‘You don’t know, do you?

Simon hasn’t told you. He wouldn’t. That’s why he’s sent her away to that special school. He doesn’t want to be reminded of imperfection.

Daisy has what they call special needs. She’s handicapped.’

‘I had no idea, Harriet. I’m sorry.’

‘Yes, so is Simon.’

Her words wrenched at my heart. ‘Perhaps the money will help you have Daisy home again,’ I said gently, but Harriet was shaking her head.

‘It’s not about money, is it, Adam? Not where Daisy’s concerned.’

No. It wasn’t. Harriet was called away. It was getting late and already dark. Time to get that file. I doubted if Faye would even notice if I slipped away. Before I could reach the study, however, a tiny woman in her sixties, with grey waved hair, a shrewd, sharp face, lively eyes and a cockney accent waylaid me.

‘You must be the other brother. Adam, isn’t it?

I’m Mrs Withers, your father’s housekeeper. I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a fine man.’

I simply nodded.

‘Difficult time for you, and Dr Greene, especially him being so fond of his father.’

That was news to me. I mumbled something but she didn’t seem to hear. Mrs Withers charged on regardless.

‘Not a week has gone past these last six months without Dr Greene looking in and often staying overnight.’

My ears pricked up. Simon had never done a single thing in his life out of kindness so why start now? But I knew the reason.
Money.

‘I know you and he didn’t hit it off,’ she swept on. ‘Not that Dr Greene ever said much about it and Dr Greene, sorry, your father that is, never so much as spoke of you. I didn’t know there was another son until your brother told me after your father’s stroke. But I expect it was difficult for you to come and see him, being estranged so to speak.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Still, he wouldn’t have known who you were even if you had come, not these last few months anyway.’