‘Don’t worry, Detective Monahan,’ continued Mark. ‘You can trust me like I trust you. I promise I won’t tell anyone.’
The thought of Mark making himself an accessory too was almost enough to make Jim wish he would tell someone. He looked at Mark a moment longer, his eyes troubled. Then he turned and left. Garrett was on him the instant he stepped out the door. ‘You’ve been in there a hell of a long time, Detective. He must have had a lot to say.’
Jim handed his notepad to the DCI. ‘It’s all there.’
Except for Mark’s suspicions about the hitman’s background
, he added silently.
Garrett’s gaze skimmed over Jim’s notes, his expression impenetrable except for fine lines of strain around his eyes. When he was done, he was silent for a long while as if struggling to digest the welter of sordid details he’d devoured. Finally, he said, ‘It seems you were right about Bryan Reynolds.’
‘I think I was right and wrong. Clearly Reynolds knew about Stephen Baxley and Grace Kirby. But I’m no longer convinced he had anything to do with what went on at the Winstanley house. I think he did what he did because Stephen Baxley had a hold over him.’
‘What kind of hold?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well it’s high time we tried to find out.’
‘Do you want me to bring him in?’
‘No. In fact, I can’t allow you to have any further involvement in this, or any other investigation, for the time being.’
Jim frowned. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
Garrett’s voice took on a shallow veneer of concern, through which traces of relief were detectable. ‘I’ve been informed you were admitted to this hospital earlier tonight with chest pains.’
‘Yes, but I’m fine now. The doctors say it wasn’t a heart attack.’
‘That’s good to hear, but regulations state that I must remove you from active duty with immediate effect pending a clean bill of health. I’m sorry, Jim. I know how much this case means to you.’
Jim scowled. ‘Bollocks you’re sorry. You’ve been looking for a way to kick my arse into touch for months.’
Garrett gave a little wince as though the accusation hurt. ‘I don’t know what gave you that idea. You’re a valued team member and it’ll be a big blow to lose you, especially in the middle of such a difficult investigation.’
Jim pushed his face towards the DCI. ‘Nothing better happen to that boy in there.’ His voice was low and hard. ‘If it does, I’m going to hold you personally responsible.’
Garrett pulled his head back, his eyes round with astonishment. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘That’s not a threat, that’s just how it is.’
‘Let me tell you how it is, Detective,’ Garrett returned authoritatively, quickly recovering his composure. ‘I’m going to put what you just said down to all the stress you’ve been under recently, and you’re going to go home before you say something else that harms your career beyond repair.’
‘I don’t give a toss what you put it down to, or what happens to my career, just so long as no harm comes to Mark under your watch.’
The muscles of Garrett’s jaw worked as though he was chewing on the sour taste of Jim’s words. As Jim headed for the ward’s exit, he called after him, ‘You’re way out of order, Detective!’
The house was as devoid of life as Grace Kirby’s corpse. Jim stared at the living room’s flowery wallpaper that Margaret had chosen, thinking,
You’re going to die here. Alone.
The thought was like a cold wind blowing through him. He fought down an urge to get back into his car and start driving again. Where would he drive to? As much as he’d come to despise the house, it was all he had left. He shook his head. No, it wasn’t all he had left. Not quite. Not yet.
He picked out photos of Mark and Stephen Baxley and Bryan Reynolds from amongst the case-notes spread over the coffee-table, and lined them up with Stephen at the centre. He sucked intensely on a cigarette, his eyes shifting between the three faces. What was the connection? Back and forth went his eyes. Round and round the facts of the case went his mind.
Stephen and Bryan grew up together on Park Hill. They went to the same school. They worked together for a short while. Bryan swallowed a prison sentence for Stephen in ‘88. Stephen moved in with his future wife Jenny Shaw a month or so later. Jim reached for a photo of Jenny and placed it between Stephen and Bryan. She was a curvaceous, busty redhead a couple of years older than Stephen. Definitely not his type. More the kind of woman Bryan liked to have hanging off his arm. So why had Stephen not only got together with her, but married her when she was pregnant with someone else’s kid? Was it about building a facade of normality around himself? Or was there some other reason? Jim went through the dates once more. Bryan Reynolds was jailed in March ‘88. Four months later Stephen married Jenny. Two months after that Mark was born. What was the fucking connection? Was there even a connection, or was he just grasping at straws, searching vainly for answers where there were only random events?
Jim shook his head. Nothing was random. There was a reason behind everything. Reynolds’s parting words at The Minx echoed back to him.
Whatever it is you think I’ve done, you’re wrong… If Mark’s in trouble, I might be able to help.
Assuming he’d been telling the truth for once in his life, why would he give a shit about Mark? Jim’s gaze darted between Bryan and Mark as he turned the facts over again.
Bryan goes to prison. Stephen marries Jenny. Jenny gives birth to Mark. Mark isn’t Stephen’s child. So whose child is he?
Mark had his mum’s dimples, small mouth and blunt nose, but where did his bluish-grey eyes, high forehead and dirty-blond hair come from? Even as the question ran through his mind, the answer hit him with a jolt. And it was so obvious, he knew he would have seen it days ago if he hadn’t been blinkered by his belief that Reynolds was in the film. He placed Mark’s photo between Stephen and Bryan. It was Mark. Mark was the connection. Bryan wasn’t motivated to help his old school friend out of perverse desires. He was motivated by a sense of indebtedness over Mark.
Jim reached for the phone and dialled Ruth Magill. ‘What’s up, Jim?’ she asked.
‘I need a favour.’
Ruth gave an incredulous little huff. ‘A favour? I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention, but I’m kind of busy right now.’
‘This is urgent, Ruth. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’
‘OK,’ sighed the pathologist. ‘But only because it’s you. What do you need?’
‘A paternity test.’
‘Bit old to be knocking women up, aren’t you?’
‘It’s for Mark Baxley and Bryan Reynolds.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem. Obviously Mark Baxley’s DNA is in the database. And, if I remember rightly, we took Reynolds’s DNA when he was picked up on a GBH charge a few years back. Do you seriously think there’s a chance of a match?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just a hunch. How long will it take?’
‘I should be able to get back to you by tomorrow.’
‘Call me on my home number. I’ll be in all day.’
‘Why would you be at home at a time like this?’
‘I’m on sick leave.’
‘Oh, sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope.’ Ruth’s voice carried a note of genuine concern.
‘No. Do me another favour, Ruth. Keep this conversation between us, would you?’
‘Yeah, sure. For now. Obviously, if the result comes in positive I’ll have to take this to Garrett.’
Jim thanked Ruth and hung up. Moving like an old man, he made his way upstairs. He took off his blood-stained shirt and threw it out of sight. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling his chest like he was searching for a wound. Ruth’s words came back to him.
Bit old to be knocking women up, aren’t you?
Those days were long gone. Soon the days of his working life would be over too. Maybe they already were. And what then? What then?
****
Jim paced about the house like a caged animal, waiting to hear from Ruth. The first thing he’d done upon waking was phone the hospital to find out how Mark was doing, only to be passed on to a constable who’d apologetically informed him that he wasn’t at liberty to reveal that information. After that he’d phoned Scott Greenwood, asked the same question, and received pretty much the same answer. Scott was a good man, but he was in the pocket of Garrett. Jim didn’t blame him for toeing the line. Unlike himself, Scott had a wife, kids and career to think about.
Outside the official loop, Jim felt blind and frustrated. It was all he could do to stop himself from jumping into his car and driving to the hospital. He knew it would be a waste of time. Doubtless, the constable standing guard would be under orders not to let him see Mark.
At midday the phone finally rang. Jim snatched it up. ‘I thought you were never going to call. What’s the result?’
‘What result?’ The voice didn’t belong to Ruth.
Jim paused a beat, frowning. Then he inhaled, relieved. ‘Hello, Mark. How are you feeling today?’
‘Like crap, but that’s not why I’m phoning. I wanted to find out how you are. I’ve been told you’re ill.’
‘I had a heart scare, but it turned out to be nothing.’
‘So why are you on sick leave?’
‘It’s just procedure. I’ll be back on duty soon enough.’
‘How soon?’
‘That depends how long it takes for me to be given a clean bill of health. Could be days, could be weeks.’
‘But what about me?’ Mark’s voice came anxiously over the line. ‘Who else can I talk to? You’re the only one I trust.’
‘My colleagues are all good people. You’re just going to have to find it within yourself to trust them. And we can still talk over the phone whenever you want.’
‘What if I need to see you?’
‘That might be difficult right now. I’m sorry, Mark.’
Mark heaved a sigh. ‘No, I’m the one who should be apologising for bothering you when you’re ill.’
‘It’s no bother.’
‘Thank you, Detective Monahan, for everything you’ve done for me and Charlotte.’
‘I’m just doing my job.’ A moment of silence passed between them. They both knew Jim had stepped well over the boundaries of his job during the past few days.
Jim was eager to get off the phone in case Ruth called, but he hesitated to hang up. There was something reassuring about the sound of Mark’s breathing. He found himself wondering suddenly why it was so important to him that Mark lived. Did he truly care for Mark? Or were his motivations more selfish than selfless? Perhaps he was trying to fill the void left by Margaret, find some kind of meaning for his lonely life.
Mark interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’m going to see Charlotte this afternoon.’
‘How is she?’
‘The doctors say a negative outcome is still most likely.’
There was another silence, heavier than the one before. Jim wanted to say something to comfort Mark. But what? Nothing he said would change the fact that Mark’s only remaining family member was hanging on to her life by a thread. ‘Listen, why don’t you call me later? Let’s say eight o’clock. Tell me how it went.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’ll talk to you then. Bye, Mark.’
The instant Jim hung up, the phone rang again. This time he checked the caller display before answering. ‘Hi, Ruth. So what’s the verdict?’
‘Guilty as charged. The DNA profile shows that Bryan Reynolds is Mark Baxley’s biological father.’
‘Have you told Garrett?’
‘No.’
‘Do you mind if I do the honours?’
‘Be my guest. I’ll email you the test results.’
‘Thanks, Ruth. I owe you one.’
Jim stared at Mark’s photo, uncertainty washing across his face. There was no question Mark had a right to know who his father was. The question was, would it be right to tell him? Reynolds had given Mark up for a reason. Maybe he simply didn’t want to be a father to him. Or maybe there was something else behind it. Whatever the case, Jim couldn’t see how the truth could bring Mark anything other than more pain. If Mark approached Reynolds only to be rejected again, it might have a disastrous effect on his already precarious emotional state. But that was almost preferable to the possibility that Reynolds might have a change of heart and decide he wanted him in his life. Reynolds was a poisonous scumbag who corrupted everything he came into contact with. A tightness formed in Jim’s stomach at the thought of Mark falling under his influence. He shook his head. The truth had to be kept from Mark, at least until he was in a less vulnerable frame of mind.
Which led to another question: how was he to convince Garrett that was the right thing to do? It occurred to Jim that perhaps he wasn’t the best person to do the convincing. Perhaps the best person for that job was the one who’d given Mark up in the first place. After all, Reynolds was probably the only person left alive who knew why he’d done what he did. Who better to explain why it was necessary for the truth to be kept from Mark.
Jim headed upstairs and opened Ruth’s email. It contained illustrations of the DNA test results, followed by a paragraph explaining that they demonstrated to a legal standard that Bryan Reynolds was Mark Baxley’s biological father. While he waited for the results to print out, he scanned through his inbox. One email caught his eye. It was an update alert from Peter Nichols’s financial blog. He opened it and followed a link entitled ‘The Collapse Of SB Engineering: Or Why Politicians Shouldn’t Be Allowed To Invest Public Money In Private Business’.
‘I was shocked and saddened to hear of the tragic events surrounding the deaths of Stephen Baxley and his wife Jenny,’ began the article. Nichols went on to say that he was praying for their children, before getting down to the meat of the article. ‘I and many other observers in the financial community greeted today’s announcement that SB Engineering is heading into administration with little surprise. Back in the heady days of 1997, the new company was lauded by Edward Forester, the Labour MP for Sheffield South-East, as the embodiment of the even newer government’s entrepreneurial spirit. In November of that year, Forester held the company up as a model of job creation in rundown urban areas through the allocation of investment grants to private firms. Fifteen years on, following the collapse of New Labour and the economy, surely it’s time to put a stop once and for all to vote-seeking politicians gambling tax money on young businesses that could – and more often than not do – fail and default on the loans.’