THE UNWILLING SON an absolutely gripping mystery thriller that will take your breath away

by Jane Adams

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Oh yes. They made no attempt to hide it. They kept tight behind me from Mallingham to the outskirts of town. Then I pulled over and they sped past.’

  ‘Then it might have been coincidence.’

  ‘It might. I wrote the reg number down anyway. And the bike was unusual. Vintage-looking, not one of these plastic things you see now. I think it was red, though it was hard to tell in the dark.’

  George frowned thoughtfully. ‘Nothing else?’ he asked.

  Ray shook his head.

  ‘I spoke to Dignan on the way in.’

  ‘Who?’ Ray asked. ‘Oh, your old boss. I’d forgotten I was now a trainee spook. What did he want?’

  ‘To know what progress we’d made.’

  ‘Funny time to call you.’

  ‘He knows I don’t sleep well. Neither does he. I told him I’d be sending a report, which I’ll prepare this morning. He’s arranged a courier.’ He paused to pour the tea and sat down with a tired sigh. ‘I must be getting old. I’ll be here to set Miss Leavers on the right track anyway.’

  ‘Who? Oh, Rowena. Yes, that would be helpful.’

  ‘Tell me about her. What she’s like. What do I expect?’

  Ray frowned. ‘Five eight, five ten. Sarah’s height. Dark hair, she wears it long, and green eyes. Nice shape and she wears an ankle bracelet, or at least she did last time I saw her. She seems pleasant, and if she’s been working with Martha I’d guess she’s efficient. Martha expects no less.’

  He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, wishing he could go to bed for even a short while, though he knew that if he once gave in to sleep then he’d not wake again for a long time. And Beckett would call. He knew Beckett would call.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Beckett’s call came at nine o’clock, a brief conversation giving Ray the address and the name of the boy, Simon Ellis. That was all. Ray arrived at the crime scene at nine forty, having negotiated the aftermath of the rush hour — reps and lorries headed out on the A46.

  The flats in Repton Street, Mallingham, had barely changed since Ray had lived not more than half a dozen streets away. They were built over shops, a supermarket, a launderette and a greengrocer, concrete stairs leading from the back of the shops to a balcony shared by all four of them.

  Beckett had left word and Ray was guided through the cordon and taken to the flat. A crowd had gathered, inevitably. It was unnaturally silent, watching, as Ray crossed the line, and the press had already arrived, alerted by Beckett’s departure from the police station. They called for statements. Shouted questions that Ray chose to ignore. He could feel the speculation in their collective gaze. It prickled between his shoulder blades and lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. With his scars and the publicity of the Pierce affair, with its high-profile drugs seizure and accusations of police corruption, Ray’s was not an unknown face. His hopes of a quiet retirement away from the public eye seemed to have been dashed already.

  The officer on duty outside the front door directed Ray into the child’s bedroom, where Beckett was waiting for him. He said nothing as Ray stepped over the threshold and stood still, taking in the blue walls and football posters now defaced with a madman’s graffiti. The Eye of God gazed down upon them from a circle six feet across and beneath it, written in strong, flowing script, the words, ‘Man is like an angel falling.’

  ‘Someone wants to be sure we get the point,’ Ray commented softly.

  ‘There was nothing like this the last time?’

  ‘No. Nothing at all. Harrison Lee kept a low profile. He didn’t need to shout about what he was doing, it wasn’t necessary.’

  ‘Not necessary?’

  Ray shook his head. ‘Lee was a man on a mission. Oh, we never figured out what it was and as far as Lee was concerned it was none of our business. He certainly did not go in for this kind of . . . exhibitionism. How was the boy taken?’

  ‘Out of the front door, we think. No forced entry and nothing to indicate a struggle.’

  ‘Lee drugged his victims. This one probably does the same.’

  ‘The mother goes to work at six thirty. The next-door neighbour comes in about fifteen minutes later to make sure he’s up. He’s not there. Normally, she’d let herself in, she had a key. A few days ago her bag was stolen and she lost her keys. They hadn’t had another cut yet.’

  ‘Convenient for someone,’ Ray commented harshly. ‘Any description of the thief?’

  ‘Male, white, early twenties and with dark hair. It was snatched on the street.’

  ‘And you can’t afford to rule out a connection. That this whole thing was pre-planned.’

  ‘No, of course not. Someone knew the boy’s routine. Each of their routines. They knew that Ian was allowed to run home alone. That Tim would worry about his lost dog. That the neighbour had a key.’ He shook his head. ‘The question is, how long ago was it planned?’

  ‘How long ago did Lee know that he was dying? What visitors did he have in the last weeks?’

  ‘There were none. Not in the entire time he was in prison. No visitors, no letters. He made no calls. The prison visitors found him unwelcoming and seemingly unconcerned. He was moved about a great deal in the early days, transferred from one prison to the next. No one wanted him for long. He caused trouble, not because he was violent or disruptive in the normal way. But I’ve talked to several prison officers now and three of the governors. They say that he had a way of setting people against each other. Unnerving the inmates and the officers. They were all glad to see the back of him.’

  ‘But he was longer at Ashenfield?’

  Beckett nodded. ‘It’s as if that’s where he wanted to be. When he was transferred there he settled down. There were no more complaints and no more disruptions. Of course, the governor puts that down to their regime, reckons it had a good influence, but it makes you wonder.’

  ‘He wanted to be close to Mallingham.’ Ray frowned. ‘What’s in Mallingham that’s so precious? There are children everywhere and nothing at all to single these three out from a million others. Katie wasn’t here. The chapter had destroyed itself. I don’t get it.’

  ‘The killer,’ Beckett said quietly. ‘He was here. Lee passed on the torch.’

  ‘Or sent his soul,’ Ray said drily.

  ‘Is that what they believe?’

  ‘Truthfully,’ Ray said, ‘I don’t know. They say that’s what Lee believed and maybe that’s the important thing. Especially if the killer believed it too. That was his cue to begin.’

  Beckett shook his head. ‘I still don’t get it. If whatever Lee set out to do was incomplete, then why didn’t this other bastard carry on? Let the heat die down and then finish.’

  ‘Because Lee wasn’t dead. If Bryn and Irene and their friends are right and Lee planned to . . . possess . . . someone, for want of a better expression, then it had to be after Lee had died. Alive, he was just another man. Dead and resurrected as someone else . . .’ He shrugged helplessly, turning to gaze once more at the eye within the circle and the finely traced script. ‘Then I lose it,’ he said. ‘We should talk to Martyn Shaw.’

  ‘Difficult, seeing as he’s in Chicago.’

  ‘There are planes.’

  ‘And I can just see the department funding that.’

  ‘And we should see this Farrant and his group. If they’re followers of Morgan, then they must have been around when Lee killed those children. Someone must have known what the hell he was up to.’

  As they turned to leave the room, Beckett said, ‘Not everyone’s keen for me to have you on board, not even informally. They reckon you make waves.’

  ‘I can guess what’s being said. There’s only one thing worse than a bent pig and that’s one who gets caught. Only one thing worse than a corrupt pig and that’s one who blows whistles. Like I give a damn anymore. Is it causing you problems?’

  Beckett looked around him, gestured angrily back at Simon’s room. ‘You mean compared to t
his?’ he said. ‘The Pierce case is up in court next month?’

  Ray nodded. ‘And is that a problem?’

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Good, then you can tell your superiors that their objections are duly noted. Now can we get on with the job in hand?’

  Beckett smiled grimly. ‘I’d as soon,’ he said. ‘Oh, Katie wants to see you. She’s been pestering her parents to take her to see what’s left of the house and they’ve agreed as they’re here. They go home tonight, so . . .’

  ‘Great minds,’ Ray commented.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’d been wondering how to convince them to go out there with me. Thought if anything could awaken memories it would be that place. You say they’re leaving tonight?’

  ‘No reason for them to stay. We know where they are if we need to talk to her again, but frankly I think it’s a dead end.’

  ‘What do you think made her come all the way here? Now, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t have kids myself and can’t pretend I understand them. Something she saw or heard or read in the media triggered buried memories and caused her to dream. I don’t know. Fortunately, I’m not paid to know, I leave that to the shrinks. Do you have kids?’

  Ray shook his head. ‘No. But I don’t think you should dismiss Katie.’

  ‘You believe in this dream thing?’ Beckett sounded disapproving. ‘You think Lee called her from his deathbed? I thought you were more down-to-earth than that.’ He sounded angry, unreasonably so, and must have realized this, because he apologized at once. ‘No offence. I’m sorry.’

  ‘None taken, and, on the belief score, I guess I’ll keep an open mind. There are things I’ve seen and felt that, well, that have left me a bit doubtful about what is and isn’t possible. One thing I’ve learned, it often doesn’t matter what I believe half as much as what other people do. People act on their beliefs.’

  Beckett nodded. ‘I take your point,’ he said. He glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Press call in an hour.’

  ‘Oh, joy! Before you go, I was followed home last night. It might be nothing but I’m pretty sure I saw the same bike this morning on my way here.’

  ‘Bike?’

  ‘Motorbike. Bright red and from what I saw this morning a lot of chrome. The rider was dressed in leathers and a black helmet, pretty standard, but the machine was something else. Looked like a vintage Brit.’

  ‘You get the number?’

  Ray reached into his pocket and gave Beckett the slip of paper on which he’d scribbled the registration. Beckett was frowning as though something had come to mind.

  ‘What?’ Ray demanded.

  ‘At Lee’s funeral. Or rather, just after it. There were complaints about a bike, a red and chrome vintage machine with straight-through pipes riding through the cemetery. Might be coincidence, but . . .’ He tapped the piece of paper. ‘I’ll have it run through PNC. Give Katie a call, won’t you?’

  Ray promised that he would and together they returned through the cordon, the moment captured on film by at least a dozen photographers. Once more, Ray ignored the shouted questions, while Beckett paused to remind them of the press call and that there would be a statement then.

  Ray drove away, putting several streets between himself and the crime scene before pausing to use the phone. He called Katie’s hotel and arranged to pick the family up in half an hour, wondering what the visit to the site of the old chapter house would produce.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mitch had phoned George. The media machine had reached Sommers House big-time. They were camped out at the gate and although they had not tried to come onto Sommers land no one could leave the house without being filmed or photographed.

  ‘It’s unnerving to switch on the television and see yourself,’ she told George. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid, and any attempt to force them to leave is more likely to make things worse. Do you have food? Supplies? Do any of you need to try and get out?’

  Mitch laughed, though she sounded strained. ‘We’ve got enough to withstand a siege,’ she said. ‘Irene’s been stocking up ready for the conference season to start. You should see our freezers.’

  ‘Then sit tight until it’s all over. Try to ignore them. At least they’re not actually on your doorstep.’

  ‘No,’ Mitch agreed. ‘I suppose it could be worse. Dad phoned. He wants me to go home.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘No. But I don’t want them to worry either.’

  ‘There’s no way to avoid that, Mitch. I’m sorry. You have a choice to make here.’

  ‘I know. I’ve made it. I have to stay, but I’m scared, George. The older members have told me what it was like the last time. How long do you think this will go on for?’

  ‘No way of knowing, I’m afraid. Just sit tight and say nothing. Try not to worry too much. I’ll give your father a call and tell him it’s better if you stay. If you leave, the media will follow you too and I can’t see Patrick wanting them hanging round the Grange.’

  The thought of her father dealing with the press made Mitch laugh. ‘He’d threaten to set the dogs on them.’

  ‘That I’d like to see. Beck can’t make it down the drive without help these days and Riker would just lick them into submission. Look, I’ll give you a call later, OK?’

  As he put the phone down he wondered if Dignan had had it tapped. He assumed so. Rowena was regarding him with interest.

  ‘Martha told me all about those people.’

  ‘Martha may be a little biased.’

  ‘Can you blame her?’

  ‘No. No, I can’t blame her, but from what I’ve seen of Sommers House, they’re about as threatening as you are.’

  ‘Is it true they have kids out there?’

  ‘Yes, there are several children, and they are loved and cherished from what I could see.’

  The look Rowena gave him was more expressive than words. George sighed. The welfare of the children was something the media would be sure to focus on and public opinion would be behind them if Rowena was anything to go by. He thought grimly of the scandals at Cleveland and Orkney, of the satanic abuse cases that had swept the United States and the mishandling of the children who’d survived Waco, and he felt a moment of real dread. The children at Sommers House had seemed happy. There were enough victims in this business already without adding to the list.

  * * *

  At Sommers House the adults had gathered to discuss what could be done.

  ‘If George thought we could do any more to help ourselves, he would have said,’ Mitch told them. ‘I think he’s right and we’ve just got to hope they catch this man soon.’

  Bryn nodded. ‘I wish that Martyn would contact us,’ he said.

  They had sent messages to the Prophet via his second-in-command, Charles Marriott, but so far there had been no word from the Prophet. Mitch could see that Bryn was feeling this absence painfully.

  ‘And what could the Prophet tell us that’s so different?’ she asked him gently. ‘We all know that this has nothing to do with us and in time everyone else will know that too.’

  No one said anything. The depression in the room was palpable.

  ‘Look,’ Mitch went on. ‘Contact the Prophet again. Maybe Charles Marriott didn’t tell him how bad it really was.’

  ‘Mitch is right,’ Amy said. ‘Bryn, call Martyn again instead of sitting here wondering why he hasn’t contacted us. Do it now.’

  Bryn nodded slowly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, and the important thing is to keep our spirits up. We know this has nothing to do with any of us. It’s only a matter of time before everything is back to normal again.’

  ‘This other group,’ Mitch asked, ‘the one led by Farrant. Do you think that they might be involved?’

  Bryn looked at her as though she had said something absurd. ‘In what way? You think one of them could be the murderer?’

  ‘It�
�s possible.’ Mitch shrugged. ‘They were around when Lee and Morgan were in charge. They don’t accept Martyn’s right to be the Prophet.’

  ‘That doesn’t make them killers,’ Irene said gently.

  ‘What was Lee trying to do?’ Mitch asked. ‘Surely you must have some idea.’

  ‘How should we know?’ Bryn asked her quietly. ‘Mitch, the man was insane. It’s sad but it’s true. And unfortunately people with the sort of personality problems Lee had sometimes become attracted to groups like ours. All religions have their fanatics. Their madmen. That’s why our screening process is so careful these days. No one wants another Lee.’

  ‘And Morgan?’ Mitch asked. ‘He killed himself and so did ten other people. That’s not exactly a sane act either, is it?’

  ‘Morgan wasn’t mad,’ Irene said — a little angrily, Mitch thought. ‘Morgan was our First Prophet. A great man. He chose to die because he felt himself shamed by Lee’s actions.’

  ‘And those with him?’ Mitch pushed on. ‘There were two dead children that night and one who only just survived. Irene, I’m committed to this community, to what it’s doing here and now, but there are things I’ve never understood. I’m having an even harder time with them now and one of my main problems is Morgan.’

  ‘Daniel Morgan was a great and spiritual man,’ Irene retorted angrily. Then she calmed. ‘Doubts are natural, Mitch, especially at times of crisis. You should meditate on your doubts and, when the Prophet calls, talk to him.’

  Mitch nodded. This was not the first time she had questioned the group about Morgan and expressed her feelings about him. For Mitch, the Eyes of God was the organization as it was now. Led by Martyn Shaw. A religion that sought to integrate science and spirituality but without the submersion of the individual: For the first time since joining the chapter at Sommers House, Mitch felt uncertain. Felt that they were not being wholly truthful with her.

  She looked back at Irene, then turned her gaze to the altarpiece painted on the north wall of the room. A triptych, beautiful and detailed, depicting man and angels, the arts, science and religion, and the Prophet Martyn Shaw.