‘He’ll be back.’
‘Does he have a name?’
Joe shook his head. You couldn’t name an animal, not unless you stuck around and looked after it. He hadn’t owned a dog for years, not since his beloved Benson. A six-year stint as a Search and Rescue volunteer had been the closest he’d come to bonding with another canine, but Katie had complained about the hours so he’d packed it in. Now was not the time to be taking on a stray.
He pushed open the door. An envelope lay on the mat. Even before he saw the Cambridge postmark, he knew what it was. There was no DNA Lab logo to give the game away, but he knew. He bent down to pick it up but Luke beat him to it.
‘People still use snail-mail?’ He examined the typeface.
‘Only if they’re a million years old,’ said Joe.
He held out a hand. Luke gave a mischievous smile, detecting apprehension in his father’s face.
‘Love letter?’
Joe managed to keep his smile in place.
‘Women beating down my door. Must be after my money.’
Luke glanced around the shack.
‘Or your property portfolio.’ He raised the envelope towards the light. ‘Looks official. Is it a job application?’
‘Nope.’
‘Final demand?’
Joe stared at the envelope. How thin was the paper separating him from the truth? A tenth of a millimetre? A hundredth?
His son cast a look around the room, taking stock of the shabby furniture.
‘Better cough up. Don’t want the bailiffs carting away your stuff.’
He handed the letter to Joe then headed for the bathroom and closed the door.
The envelope felt alive in Joe’s hand. He put it in his pocket then took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Changing his mind, he took the envelope into the bedroom. He slipped it under the pillow, his thoughts running away with him. What if Luke wanted to stay the night? Joe would have to volunteer to sleep on the sofa, surrendering the bedroom. Hearing the toilet flush, he took the envelope from under the pillow and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he sauntered into the kitchen and filled a pan with water as Luke emerged from the bathroom.
‘Have you got my wallet?’
Joe picked it up from the kitchen table.
‘I was going to drop it in the other night but I got waylaid.’
Luke pocketed the wallet. Joe set the water to boil.
‘How’s the job hunting?’ he said.
‘On a back burner.’
Joe frowned.
‘I thought Mum said you were—’
Luke interrupted. ‘Sometimes I tell her stuff just to keep her off my back.’
Joe counted to five.
‘What does that mean?’
Luke took off his hoodie, slumped onto the sofa and unzipped his rucksack.
‘It means I’ve been taking a leaf out of your book.’
‘Which book?’
Luke grinned. ‘The Boy’s Guide to Being a Detective.’
He delved into the rucksack and produced a Tesco bag.
‘Duffy came round last night.’ He glanced at his father, searching for a reaction, but Joe maintained a poker face, busying himself with mugs and teabags. ‘I overheard him and Mum talking about Raoul Jonas. How he was going to be arrested first thing.’
Joe rummaged in the cupboard for sugar.
‘And…?’
‘I thought I’d go down to the caravan park, check it out, see what the boys in blue are like in action.’
Joe turned, eyes widening in surprise.
‘Why would you do such a stupid thing?’
Luke pulled a face. ‘Apart from the fact it looks like Raoul Jonas murdered the girl I was dating?’
‘“Dating”?’ said Joe.
Luke had the grace to look chastened.
‘Well, sort of…’
The water was boiling. Joe lifted the saucepan.
‘Do you not realize how much trouble you’re in?’
Luke waved the protest away.
‘Give me a bollocking later. You need to look at this.’
He shook the contents of the Tesco bag onto the table. A jumble of old envelopes, letters and birthday cards. Judging by the pictures on the cards – footballs, cars, spaceships – the recipient was a young boy. Most of the letters were handwritten but one official-looking note stood out. It was from the oncology department at Kent & Canterbury Hospital and it was addressed to Raoul Jonas at the Dover Holiday Park.
‘I got there early,’ Luke said. ‘Hugh told Mum they were going to nick Raoul at half-six. So I was there, hiding behind the bogs, like a good little gumshoe.’ He smiled at his father. ‘Chip off the old block.’
Joe could feel the envelope in his pocket. He returned the smile.
‘I can’t remember the last time you were up early.’
He crossed to the cooker and made the tea.
‘Got there at six,’ said Luke. ‘Jonas was busy, in and out of his caravan with loads of bin bags. Looked like he’d been having a clear-out. He kept coming over to where I was hiding, chucking bags in the dumpster.’
‘He didn’t see you?’
Luke shook his head. Joe gave a nod of approval. He opened the fridge, took out the carton of milk and sniffed the contents. His son continued.
‘Then Duffy shows up, along with half the Kent police and that fat bloke. The one Mum can’t stand.’
‘Bryan Messenger.’
Luke nodded. ‘They obviously figured they’d catch Raoul napping but he was way ahead of the game.’
Joe sat at the table.
‘Do you think he knew they were coming?’
Luke shook his head. ‘Didn’t look like it. Maybe he’s just an early bird.’ He blew on his tea. ‘There were four police cars for this weedy little bloke. People were waking up, coming out of their caravans. Messenger shoved Jonas into a car. Hugh drove him away. I almost felt sorry for him.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
Luke shook his head. ‘They left two PCs standing guard. Then this huge lorry took Raoul’s caravan away. That’s when the last uniform buggered off.’ He sipped his tea and gave a small smile of satisfaction. ‘And when the coast was clear, yours truly went through the stuff Jonas chucked out. I left most of it in the dumpster – clothes, books, animal rights stuff – but I saved the best for you.’ He pointed to the pile of letters and cards. ‘Hey presto.’
Joe picked up the letter from the oncology unit at Kent & Canterbury Hospital.
Dear Mr Jonas,
As you are aware, you have failed to keep your last three appointments. Given the seriousness of your condition this is a cause for concern. Please contact my office immediately to discuss palliative care options.
Yours sincerely
Dr Priti Patel
‘Oncology,’ said Luke. ‘Is that, like, cancer?’
Joe nodded.
‘So it’s curtains for Jonas,’ said Luke. He took another sip of tea, warming to his theme. ‘I guess that’s why he was having a clear-out: getting everything sorted before going to the great caravan park in the sky.’
Joe was only half listening. His voice was quiet. ‘The radio said he’s thirty-six.’
Luke met his gaze. ‘That’s older than Bella.’
Joe sighed and picked up one of the yellowing envelopes. Inside were a dozen Polaroids of Raoul as a skinny adolescent. Stripped to the waist. Staring straight at the camera. Eyes blazing. Defiant. Fourteen, maybe fifteen.
At first, Joe thought the boy must have suffered from a severe skin complaint. Each photo showed his torso speckled with what appeared to be livid red lesions. It took a few moments before Joe realized he was not looking at chicken pox, he was looking at a latticework of tiny scars, criss-crossed into the skin.
He looked up at his son.
‘You’ve seen these?’
Luke nodded. ‘Look on the back.’
Joe flipped the photo and saw words scrawled i
n what he assumed was Raoul’s handwriting.
Photo taken by Spider for evidense against Carl Muxworthy.
Joe checked the back of another photo.
Photo taken by Duwayne for evidense against Carl Muxworthy.
Joe recalled his afternoon with Duwayne Speed. The goat in the garden. The scars on the man’s arm. His half-finished sentence.
If we said no, he tied us up and …
Joe replaced the photos in the envelope. He closed his eyes but the images of Raoul’s injuries were replaced by something worse: the memory of two small bodies dangling from a gantry in a cold, pitch-black tunnel. Feeling his head starting to swim, Joe opened his eyes but there was nowhere to hide. The girls were never far away. He picked up his mug, warming his hands, seeking the solace of the everyday.
Luke stood and moved away from the table, as though he too couldn’t bear to be near the photos of Raoul.
‘The birthday cards are for his son,’ he said quietly. ‘His name’s Sammy. Raoul sent a card every year but they got returned to sender, probably by the kid’s mum.’
Joe looked at his son’s face. Luke was on the cusp of manhood but there was a vestige of puppy fat, a trace of the child he had been. Eager to please his father. To impress. It was that urge that had galvanized Luke out of his sloth and seen him hiding behind a dumpster at dawn.
‘I’m sorry you had to see these,’ said Joe.
Luke didn’t reply.
Joe turned to the cards, each addressed to Dear Sammy and signed Love from Dad.
One for every milestone of the boy’s life, from his first birthday to his sixteenth. Each contained a piece of advice or a quotation of the sort Joe had seen on Raoul’s badges. Most of the guidance was elementary stuff, especially during the boy’s early years (Be kind to animals! … Eat lots of fruit and vegitables!) but as time passed, as Raoul’s son approached adolescence, the advice offered gave an insight into Jonas’s own demons.
Trust your instincts, not people who smile with dead eyes, especialy not basterds who run ‘care homes’…
Be brave. Think of the turtle: he makes proggress only when he sticks his neck out…
Stay out of amusment arcades: bad places full of bad people…
If men offer you trainers or fags or alcohol or drugs or mobiles or ANYTHING JUST SAY NO!…
Remember: if something seems too good to be true, it probably is – The same aplies to people…
Never let men get you drunk or take photos of you…
Always be KIND to animals and DON’T EVER EAT MEAT…
Don’t let yorself be bullied and DON’T BULLY OTHER PEOPLE…
If doing somthing makes you feel ashamd DON’T DO IT…
Life is a game of cards. Fate is the hand you’re delt at birth, free will is how you play it.
‘This is the last one.’
Luke handed Joe a letter postmarked two months earlier – 8 July. Addressed to a flat on a Peabody Estate in south London, the envelope was marked Return to Sender. Inside was a sixteenth birthday card and one final piece of paternal counsel.
Live every day as if its your last – AND NEVER SAVE ANNYTHING FOR BEST!!
Luke handed Joe another letter.
‘He sent this with the last card. But the mother sent it back, like all the others.’
‘Assuming it was the mother,’ said Joe.
He scrutinized the note. The handwriting was identical to the scrawl on the Polaroids. He took a sip of tea then began to read.
Dear Sammy,
(Joe noted the comma)
Happy 16th birthday. This is the last card you’ll ever get from me your dad so I hope your mum allows one to slip thrugh the net. I want you to understand that you were NEVER abanndonned by ME. But if mum sends this one back I’ll have to give up because time is running out. I’m not blameing mum or the courts or lawyers. I’m no angel and I understand why they didnt want me in your life but its important that you understand YOU WERE NOT ABANNDONNED.
Being abanndonned is something I know about. I talked to psyciatrists and counsillors for years. Fat lot of good. Your grandma (my mum) left me in a phone box when I was 2 days old. I won’t bore you with my life storey but it has not been a happy life and now I’ve got cancer to top it all and have only a little while left on this earth.
Even though I never knew you properrly Sammy you are my son the best thing ever. Just like my two best mates, Duwayne and Spider. They’re like family too, only better because they care and would do anything to help me.
I sent you a card on your 14th birthday. It said Life is a game of cards. Fate is the hand you’re delt at birth, Free Will is how you play it. My best mate Spider is PROOF this is true Spider and Duwayne were abanndonned like me and went thrugh all the same crap, in care with basterds like Carl Muxworthy and living on the streets when they were older sleeping rough doing whatever it takes, some good, some bad. They’re younger but I looked after them when they needed protection from people like Muxworthy. That’s what family means Sammy. Looking out for each other.
Spider and Duwayne are the only people I trust in this whole stinking world (apart from animals) and you can trust them to. Spider will watch out for you when I’m gone. Look out for his taranntula tattoo then you will know he’s the man you can trust.
Im going to make a BIG sacrifise for him and do a bad thing but I swear it’s for a good reason. Sometimes good people do bad things for good reasons. You’ll understand when you are a man. Anyhow Spider has PROMMISSED to pay me back by making sure your taken care of. See? Bad thing – good reason.
Always remmember Sammy YOU WERE NOT ABANNDONNED BY ME OR ANYONE ELSE so dont let it reck your life like it recked mine and Duwaynes and loads of other people in care specially Spider.
Good luck mate.
Love from your Dad Raoul Jonas xx
PS ALWAYS BE KIND TO ALL ANIMALS AND DONT EAT MEAT!!
PS YOU WERE DEFINATELY NOT ABANNDONNED!!
Joe replaced the letter in the envelope.
‘Well done,’ he said.
Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘For what?’
‘Messenger and Duffy missed a trick. You didn’t.’
His son looked pleased. ‘Will you tell them?’
Joe considered the question. Duffy’s smirk was fresh in his memory, as was the sight of him tucking Katie’s hair behind her ear. He recalled Messenger’s parting shot (make sure we have that beer soon) and Duffy’s condescending suggestion.
Security work? Just to keep your hand in.
‘All in good time,’ he said.
Luke got to his feet. Joe detected fresh energy in his son’s demeanour, and something he hadn’t seen in a while: enthusiasm.
‘What was Raoul going to do for this Spider bloke?’ he said. ‘What was the sacrifice? And did he make it?’
He scrutinized the postmark.
‘He sent this two months ago. Could he have been planning Bella’s murder for that long?’
‘You mean, Spider is also some kind of animal rights fanatic?’
Luke shrugged. ‘Maybe he and Raoul had an anti-zoo pact. Kill Bella, frame her dad, make sure Pennefeather’s hits the headlines for all the wrong reasons.’
Joe thought back to Bella’s murder and the attack on fur heir Daniel De Souza. He recalled the title of his son’s book.
Nothing With A Face.
He glanced in Luke’s direction.
What did a fanatic look like?
Like everyone else…
‘Maybe there’s an amateur anti-zoo campaign,’ he said. ‘Some kind of animal rights zealotry. But that’s not what I’m picking up from this letter. The stuff about “abandonment” and “family” and “looking out for each other” – that’s what this is about: the past, settling old scores.’
‘For the scars?’ said Luke. ‘Revenge against Carl Muxworthy?’
Joe chewed on the inside of his lip. ‘Could be.’
He recalled Duwayne Speed talking about ‘the uncles’.
/> He remembered Chrissie’s face darkening as she recounted her own experiences. Were Muxworthy and ‘the uncles’ linked to the deaths of Bella and her father? If so, the connection was far from obvious.
Joe rinsed his mug then sat on a chair, still keenly aware of the envelope in his pocket. Luke drummed his fingers on the table, his focus still on Raoul’s letters and cards.
‘Fancy a pint?’
Joe hesitated then gave a nod. ‘Good idea.’
The pause was not lost on Luke. His smile faltered.
‘Forget it. You’ve obviously got something important to do.’
Joe met his son’s gaze and smiled. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
26
Eighteen hours later, the letter from Cambridge was still unopened, still burning a hole in Joe’s pocket. He stood watching the elephants form a disorderly queue by the gates leading from Long Field into the enclosure.
The evening with Luke had exceeded expectations: a couple of pints followed by a takeaway curry. Joe couldn’t remember the last time he and his son had taken such pleasure in each other’s company. Having dissected Raoul’s efforts to forge a relationship with his son, they’d moved on, reviewing other developments since Bella had died.
There had been no eureka! moment but by the time Luke headed home in a taxi there had been no awkward moments and no sniping. Chuffed with his success as an investigator, he had been unable to stay away from the subject of Raoul.
‘I can’t help feeling sorry for the bloke.’ He’d used a piece of naan bread to scoop up the last of his vegetable curry. ‘Maybe his life would have turned out differently if he’d been allowed contact with Sammy.’
Joe had sipped his pint, deciding to leave the letter from Cambridge unopened.
For the time being.
Now, with the envelope tucked into his pocket, he watched Tom Lycett shovel the last of the elephant dung onto the back of a trailer then give a thumbs-up to the pretty teenager at the wheel of the tractor. As the volunteer drove out of the paddock, the keeper closed the gate behind her. He turned and caught sight of Joe. Hesitating, he headed for the perimeter fence. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat, his forearms glistened in the midday heat.
Animal Instinct Page 19