Fragile Lives (10 page)

‘Are you struggling with the homework, George?' she asked sympathetically. ‘You must have a bit of catching up to do. If you find you need an extension, you know you should just have a word with me and I'll have a chat with the school. Don't let it worry you, will you?'

‘Thanks,' George said, reminding himself grudgingly that she was only trying to do her best but still resentful at the way she kept sticking her nose in. ‘I'll give Ursula a hand, shall I?'

‘Did you get through?' Ursula asked once they were in the kitchen.

‘I talked to Rina. She understood. I don't expect Mac will get in touch until tomorrow.'

Ursula grimaced anxiously. ‘What is that man still doing here?' she worried. ‘You said he left the day your dad died so …'

‘I dunno,' George told her. ‘And I never saw the other one before.'

‘Hope we never do again,' Ursula said.

Mac had enjoyed himself and that came as something of a shock. He didn't really think of himself as a man who generally enjoyed himself. The fact that he was a police officer had not been slow to emerge and he had expected to be faced with the usual barrage of questions and comments and complaints that generally accompanied this disclosure. Tonight, however, he had got away fairly lightly, the focus of attention being squarely on the contest which, he and Tim soon discovered, was a serious enterprise for all concerned.

‘George called here,' Rina told him. ‘He'd been trying to get hold of you but your phone was off.'

‘Did he say what he wanted?'

Rina nodded. ‘He was finding it hard to talk. I suspect someone was listening but he told me that he'd seen the “blond man”.'

‘Blond man?' Mac was momentarily confused.

‘I expect he means the man who helped his father to steal George away from his poor mother. If you remember, the blond man was there, on the cliff the day that Edward Parker died …'

Mac's good mood evaporated. ‘Did he say when or where?'

Rina shook her head. ‘No, as I say, he was having to be evasive, but it must have been today.'

Mac glanced at his watch. Much too late to go to Hill House tonight. There were way too many coincidences lately. ‘Did he sound OK?'

‘He sounded scared,' Rina said.

M
ac arrived at Hill House the next afternoon just as the minibus drew up in front of the large front door. His presence attracted inevitable attention.

‘Snitch,' Brandon muttered as he passed George on the way to the front of the bus.

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Well, you must be. You've got your own tame pig.' This from Richard.

‘No one calls the police “pigs” any more,' Ursula said, her tone scathing. ‘That's so last year.'

‘You what?' Richard looked blank.

Grace actually giggled and George stared at her in shock. ‘So last year,' she mimicked, which was, he thought, closer to typical Grace behaviour, though George wasn't clear in his mind if she was taking the piss out of Ursula or Richard.

‘Still a snitch,' Richard said again and he seemed to think he'd had the last word because he pushed past everyone and stalked into the house.

‘Have I arrived at a bad time?' Mac asked as George and Ursula went over to greet him.

George shrugged. ‘Not sure there is ever a good time,' he said. ‘Not for anything here. I told Cheryl you were helping me with my homework.'

‘She isn't in this afternoon,' Ursula reminded him. ‘Christine's in charge and she doesn't give a damn anyway.' She led the way into the conservatory and dumped her school bag on the table. Mac and George exchanged a questioning look.

‘You OK?' George asked. She'd seemed all right on the bus until that silly exchange with Richard and Brandon.

She sighed. ‘Yeah, I'm fine. I just hate that word.'

‘Word?'

‘Snitch. It's so … Anyway, that's not what Mac is here for, is it?'

Mac did his best to hide a smile. Suddenly, it appeared, he was Mac rather than Inspector McGregor to Ursula as well. He found that he was quite pleased. He sat down opposite Ursula, George dragging a third chair across and positioning it, Mac noticed, so he had a view of both the sea and the door back through to the house.

‘So, tell me,' Mac invited. ‘What happened? Where did you see him?'

He watched as the kids exchanged a glance and sorted out their thoughts. ‘After school,' George began. ‘We were meeting the minibus.'

It took perhaps a half-hour to reconstruct an incident which had taken only seconds. Mac questioned everything they said, coaxing as much detail as he could.

‘He was threatening Ursula,' George said.

‘He was threatening both of you. So, the biggest question is, what is he still doing round here? We made the assumption that he and whoever he was working for planned on leaving and that's why your dad was in such a hurry to sort things. From what was said on the cliff top that day, they were on a bit of a tight schedule. Maybe we were wrong about that.'

‘Or maybe they've just finished whatever it was they were doing then and they're now on to the next thing.' Ursula suggested. ‘I really don't think he expected to see George, but I don't think he cared either. He didn't look worried or anything and he didn't walk off any faster afterwards. It was like we were just insignificant. Like he was so sure we'd be scared off he didn't even need to think about us any more.'

‘And that annoyed you?' Mac was both amused and made slightly anxious by her obvious indignation.

She nodded solemnly. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but I suppose it did. You know, just one more person thinking I didn't matter.
We
didn't matter.'

‘OK,' Mac said. ‘This is what I want you to do. Don't discuss this any more, not even with one another. I want you both to let it go, try not to even think about it. No, hear me out …' He held up a hand against their protests. ‘I'm going to arrange for you both to see a police artist. Separately, which is why I don't want any further talk. There's this theory that you can build up false memories if you go over the same ground too often and I think we've covered it all enough today. Give your memories time to settle, the old subconscious a chance to work and I'll try and arrange the appointment soon, maybe over the weekend?'

‘All right with us,' George said. ‘We're not exactly going anywhere, are we?'

‘Good. If we can get decent pictures of both the blond-haired man and his bald friend, we might have a chance of identifying who they're working for.'

‘Should we look at mug shots as well,' Ursula asked.

Again, Mac found himself stifling a smile. ‘Looking through our gallery would also be a good idea,' he agreed. ‘George didn't see him last time, but it's certainly worth another go, especially as we now have a second man to look for.' He glanced at his watch. From inside the house came sounds and scents that told him that the evening meal was being prepared. It was after five and Rina's guests were due at six. Mac had the feeling that Jimmy Duggan and whoever he brought as his dining companion would be on time.

‘I'm going to have to go,' he said. ‘Did I tell you Tim had a job interview?'

George grinned. ‘No? Proper job or clown job?'

‘It's at that new hotel, couple of miles up the coast. The Pallisades, or something. I'm told it's very upmarket and definitely not clown territory.'

Mac arrived to find the Martin household in the state of some uproar. The Peters sisters were in the rear living room, choosing music, should there be an ‘impromptu performance' after the meal.

‘They've been at it all day,' Rina confided. ‘But at least it's kept them out of mischief. Did you see George?'

‘Yes, and Ursula. I've arranged for them to see an artist. They both got a good look at the blond-haired chap and the man he was with and there's a good chance we might get them on CCTV. They were right in the centre of Dorchester, near the pedestrian area.'

Rina nodded. ‘He sounded a bit shaky when he spoke to me. Is he all right?'

‘He will be,' Mac said. ‘How are you holding up?'

Rina didn't get the chance to reply. The Montmorencys were calling to her from the kitchen. ‘Rina, darling, the meat needs carving, be a love, will you?'

‘And the wine has probably breathed enough, can you put it on the table and … oh, here's our policeman. Get yourself washed up and settled, Sebastian. They'll be here any minute.'

‘Sebastian?' Mac asked, casting a suspicious look in Rina's direction. ‘Not even my mother called me that.'

‘Stephen wanted to know what your name was,' Rina told him. ‘I didn't see the harm. Now, where's Tim? Keeping out of the way as usual, I expect.' She sailed off, leaving Mac to fume silently and wonder how the hell he could lose the hated name before James Duggan arrived. He had the distinct feeling that Duggan would take great pleasure in observing his discomfort.

A ringing of the doorbell – an actual bell hanging in the hall whose chime was deep and sonorous – told Mac that it was six o'clock and that, as anticipated, their guests were on time.

A sudden hush fell upon Peverill Lodge. The piano ceased to tinkle and the activity in the kitchen paused as though someone had dropped the volume on the clash of pans and the sizzle of roasting meat.

The bell rang again and Rina marched towards the door. Tim thundered down the stairs. Normal volume was restored in the kitchen and only the piano maintained its silence as the Peters sisters emerged, twittering with excitement.

‘Mr Duggan? Please, come in.' Rina opened the door wide and James Duggan plus Fitch, the minder, stepped through.

‘This is going to be an interesting evening,' Tim said as he leapt down the last few steps and landed at Mac's side. ‘What does your boss reckon to all this?'

Mac grimaced, remembering Eden's response and grudging approval. ‘He reckons we're all mad,' he said. ‘And wishes that he could be a fly on the dining-room wall.'

The table had been extended for the occasion and Mac and Tim seated at the end rather than their usual positions. Fitch was sandwiched between the Peters sisters, the restriction of his elbow room having nothing to do with the lack of space at the table and everything to do with the fact that the sisters were competing for his attention. ‘More wine? Oh, you must have a little more roast beef, a big man like you needs to keep his strength. And roasties. I'm sure you could manage another …'

Rina, as always, took the head of the table and James Duggan the place of honour immediately to her right. He was studiously ignoring Fitch's plight. It was a rule in the Martin household that business should not be discussed until dessert was served and Rina was holding fast to this. Duggan seemed somewhat uncertain as to what could be talked about in the presence of such mixed company.

He accepted chocolate torte and raspberries with a little cream, clearly enjoying what had been a well-cooked and suitably conventional meal. Mac gave all credit to the Montmorencys for the appropriateness of the menu. He didn't see Duggan as a fan of experimental food.

From the far end of the table, Rina met his gaze, delivering her best ‘let me do the talking' look. Mac nodded.

‘Well, here we go,' Tim muttered. ‘This is going to be fun.'

Mac wasn't sure that was the word he'd use. Jimmy Duggan was a big man. A large man in size and spectacularly sized when it came to influence. He wasn't sure just what part of that could constitute fun, but then, Tim had some original ideas.

Rina balanced a sliver of torte on her spoon. ‘I am deeply sorry about your son,' she said quietly. ‘I know what it's like to lose someone you really love.'

That volume thing happened again, Mac noted. Rina spoke and the world grew quiet.

‘You lost your husband, I believe. Me and the wife, we've been together thirty year. It'd be like losing my right arm.'

Rina nodded. ‘We only had five,' she said. ‘But they were the most precious of my life. So, Mr Duggan, what do you believe happened to your son?'

The change of tack was unexpected. Duggan poked at his torte with the tip of his spoon. ‘Best ask your friend Sebastian,' he said heavily.

Sebastian. Mac flinched and glared at the hapless Steven Montmorency.

‘Mac only knows that he was shot,' Rina said. ‘Not what led up to the shooting.'

‘And you think I do?' It was asked without rancour.

‘I think you are a man of influence and a man with connections. I don't imagine you would have just sat back and waited when you realized your son was missing. You'd have moved heaven and earth to find your child. Any of us would. Most of us would not have your resources.'

He nodded. ‘Fair point,' he said. ‘But I failed, didn't I. I didn't find him and I didn't bring him home safe. I promised his mother and his sister and brother that I'd do those things and I failed. That rankles. That pains me. That makes me so bloody mad I'd tear the world apart to find out who it was that put a bullet in his brain and then threw him away like so much garbage.'

There followed a few moments of silence, broken only by the scraping of plates as the company hid away behind the social niceties and then by Matthew Montmorency as he pushed back his chair and announced that he would bring the coffee. The tension, Mac thought, was as thick and sticky as the chocolate torte.

James Duggan pushed his plate aside and surveyed those at the table, his gaze finally coming to rest on Tim. ‘You were there the day Parker took his tumble off the cliff.'

Tim nodded.

‘Tim helped to disarm him,' Rina said. ‘He grabbed Parker's gun hand.'

‘I read the police report,' Duggan said. He noted Mac's reaction. ‘Like Rina here says, I have connections. I still want to talk to the kids.'