The Black Sheep

by Sophie McKenzie

  ‘Francesca?’ my sister ventures.

  ‘I worked out the cipher,’ I say, watching her intently. ‘I know what these names mean.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gasps.

  ‘I also found a key card to a storage locker. Harry went there last night.’

  Lucy’s eyes widen.

  ‘Harry sent me a picture of the watch he found in the locker – it was cracked and bloodstained,’ I carry on, ‘but he isn’t answering my calls. I’m worried something has happened to him, but . . . but . . .’ My voice trembles as I realise that Lucy must have known Harry was under threat for days. ‘But you know his life’s in danger already, don’t you? Like you knew all about Caspian and Simon Pinner and the other doctors.’

  Lucy stares at me, her expression unreadable.

  ‘Say something,’ I press her. ‘Because what I really want to know is why you haven’t told anyone about all this. Why you’ve just hidden the evidence and not—’

  ‘It’s not evidence,’ Lucy whispers at last. ‘The names and the watch . . . they’re not enough.’

  Silence falls. Downstairs Jacqueline’s voice is joined by Dad’s low rumble. They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying but presumably they’re showing out the interior designer. Something inside me dies as I realise that Lucy is admitting to what she’s done, which means she’s acknowledging Dad’s guilt. I sink back against the edge of the desk.

  Lucy’s mouth wobbles and two fat tears roll down her face. I have a sudden flashback to the day I discovered she was pregnant. My emotions then whirled through anger and bewilderment to a fierce desire to protect my fifteen-year-old little sister.

  In some ways, in spite of everything that has happened to us, nothing has really changed since then. I take her hand, my earlier irritation fading.

  ‘We’ll get through this,’ I say. ‘We’ll find a way but . . . but we have to do something.’

  Lucy meets my gaze. ‘You mean the police?’ She looks horrified. ‘But that would break Dad’s heart.’

  ‘Break his heart?’ I frown, confused. It seems a strange phrase to use, given the circumstances.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy goes on. ‘You know how loyal he is. And, oh goodness, the shame of it coming out would destroy him.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ My head spins as I hold out the plastic bag with the scraps of paper again. ‘I’ve seen these names, the doctors that Dad ordered to be killed, including . . .’ A shudder ripples through me. ‘Including Caspian and now . . . now maybe Harry.’

  ‘What?’ A frown creases Lucy’s forehead. ‘No, Francesca, no. I told you Dad would never order people killed.’

  A beat passes. ‘Then who?’ I shake my head, bewildered. ‘I don’t under—’

  ‘It’s Uncle Perry. He’s the head of PAAUL. He’s the one who had everybody killed.’

  A fresh wave of shock breaks over me. ‘Uncle Perry?’ I shake my head. My oldest uncle might be pompous – and he’s certainly capable of keeping secrets – but surely he’s no murderer. ‘No way,’ I say. ‘It can’t be him.’

  ‘But it can be Dad?’ Lucy’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Uncle Perry’s always been more extreme than Dad. Don’t you remember him giving Dad a hard time over resigning from Shield?’

  ‘Not really,’ I say.

  ‘Well I do and . . . and you told me yourself that all the rumours on the internet forums were about Lanagh, which is Uncle Perry’s home.’

  ‘Some of the rumours,’ I protest. ‘And I’ve looked in Lanagh.’ An image of the cover of Black Inches flashes across my mind’s eye as I speak. ‘There’s nothing in that house about PAAUL except the old reports Perry and Dad did, no direct connection between Perry and—’

  ‘That’s the connection.’ Lucy points to the bag of coded names in my hand. ‘I found those in Lanagh. I was helping Perry sort out some files and . . . and I came across them in his safe.’

  ‘He has a safe?’ I think back to my exploration of Lanagh with Harry. ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s in his study, behind the print of St Francis.’

  I frown, remembering the picture. ‘What were you doing opening his safe?’

  ‘I told you, I was helping him file stuff and one day I saw the code he used for the safe. I didn’t do it on purpose, but you know how technophobic Perry is, he was huffing and puffing, complaining it was stuck or something. It was hard not to look. Anyway, a few days later he had to leave before I was done and I just thought I’d be helpful and put the legal documents we were working on in the safe. And that’s when I saw the bag with the jumbled words.’

  I stare at my sister, my heart racing. Uncle Graham’s words from yesterday ring in my ears. Now I thought about it, his accusation against Dad had included Uncle Perry too. What had he said?

  Jayson and Perry are both up to their necks in evil . . . They’ve had a secret plan for about three years to get a load of abortion doctors bumped off.

  Could Dad be involved in this with Perry? No. As soon as I had the thought, I dismissed it. The fact that Lucy had found the kill list and the broken watch in his safe pointed to Perry and to Lanagh. If Dad had been more prominently accused than his brother on the internet forums it was only because he was better known and because they shared the same surname. It had to be Perry. And yet . . . it was still hard to imagine my uncle as a murderer.

  ‘Do you really think Perry is capable of killing people? Of ordering Caspian’s death?’

  Lucy chews her lip. ‘Honestly, Francesca, I’m not sure how much Uncle Perry cares about anyone except himself. But I do know Daddy could never have hurt Caspian.’

  I close my eyes. In my heart I want her to be right. I want to believe Dad is innocent, even if it makes his brother a killer.

  ‘You really found the coded names in Uncle Perry’s safe?’ I ask. ‘When?’

  ‘I found the first three just before Caspian died. I had no idea what they meant, just gobbledegook, but—’

  ‘What about the bible quote?’

  ‘That was in there too. But like I’m saying, I didn’t know what any of it meant. I copied down the Jeremiah reference and the words but when I couldn’t make sense of them I . . . I, well, basically I forgot about them.’

  Downstairs the front door shuts. The interior designer must have left. Footsteps echo along the hall: Jacqueline’s light tap and the soft thud of Dad’s brogues.

  ‘So when did you find the rest of the names? And the watch?’

  ‘Just a few days ago. I don’t know what made me . . . it was some kind of intuition. Uncle Perry was behaving so oddly, jittery and more snappy than usual. I went to Lanagh with Daddy and while he and Perry were talking I slipped away and opened the safe and . . . and I found three more jumbled-up names and . . . and the watch.’

  ‘I’m sure I remember Dad wearing that watch,’ I say.

  ‘Perry had one too. They were gifts from their father. I reckon that’s why he kept it, even though it was broken.’

  I stare at her. I have only vague memories of our grandfather, but I knew his end was a long and painful battle with colon cancer that took my own father away from home a lot during my years at uni.

  ‘I didn’t know Granddad gave Dad and Uncle Perry a watch.’

  ‘He handed them out just before he died, I think he was trying to avoid inheritance tax or something.’

  ‘How come I didn’t know?’

  Lucy offers me a nervous smile. ‘You weren’t around much at the time. It was after . . . after that Catholic London reporter found out about my “episode”. You and Mummy and Daddy were barely speaking.’

  I nod. She’s right. I hardly went home for almost a year.

  ‘Did you see the back of the watch?’ Lucy asks.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Well, it has an inscription, “from a loving father”. I think Dad’s did too. He lost his on holiday the year before Mum died.’

  ‘So what made you take the watch and the names out of the safe in Uncle Perry’s ho
use and hide them here?’

  ‘Well, I could see, like you, that the watch was cracked with a bloodstain which made the whole thing suddenly sinister instead of just mysterious. So I took the watch and the bag of names and hoped Perry wouldn’t notice, which I don’t think he has, because he’s been here in London for most of the time since I took them, and I went back to the bible quote and I started working out what the mixed-up letters meant. It took me ages, two whole days to crack it, but once I’d realised you could use the quote to decipher the words I . . . I realised they were a list of names of people who had been killed. Doctors . . . including poor Caspian and Simon Pinner who had just died.’

  ‘And Harry.’ A new anger is rising inside me. ‘You saw Harry’s name there, which meant he was a target, and you still did nothing.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was him then,’ Lucy insists. ‘I knew about Caspian and Simon and the other doctors . . . which is why I hid the names and the watch away. But I didn’t know about Harry until yesterday. He told us his name was Harry Dunbar, remember? It was only when you called Daddy on Saturday morning that I found out he was Harry Elliot, the same name as on the list.’

  I stare at her. What she says is true. And it explains something else. ‘That’s why you were so upset?’

  ‘Yes, because I didn’t know what to do. I realised Harry was in danger but I thought that if he dropped his story, which he said he would, he’d be safe. He’s not an abortion doctor like the others. At the very least I thought I had a bit of time. And I warned him . . . when he came round looking for you. I couldn’t tell him exactly why, but I told him to be careful . . . but now . . . I don’t know . . . especially if he’s missing . . . Oh, dear Lord . . .’ Lucy’s face crumples. ‘I’m scared. The thought of talking to the police . . .’ she trails off, her cheeks red with shame. ‘I’m so sorry, Francesca.’

  I turn away, looking out of the window. The pavement below is empty but cars zoom past, one after the other. I remember Mum saying how she loved working up here, how much she enjoyed looking out on the busy streets of Kensington, knowing life was right there, just outside the house. She was always so open, kind, so generous, especially about people. She made endless efforts with both of Dad’s brothers. Uncle Perry was her doctor, he helped her with her diabetes and was devastated when she died. I’ve always tried to see him through her eyes, overlooking how pompous and mean-spirited he often was. But now people have been murdered. And poor Harry is in danger. Perhaps he’s already dead. And Lucy is sure Perry is responsible. It’s beyond belief. And yet the evidence is right here. I stare down at the pieces of paper in my hand.

  ‘Why do you think Perry kept these?’ I ask.

  ‘I assume because they give him some sort of hold over the actual killer he’s using.’ Lucy clutches my wrist. Her face is white and strained. ‘I’m sorry, Francesca. Tell me what we should do now and . . . and I’ll do it, whatever you think is best.’

  I turn away from the window, take out my phone and scroll to DS Smart’s number. I get his voice mail, his laconic tones requesting I leave a message.

  ‘Please call me,’ I say. ‘I need to talk to you about Caspian’s murder. I’ve got new evidence.’

  I ring off. Lucy crosses herself. She’s leaning against the desk and whispering under her breath: a silent prayer.

  I point in the direction of the stairs. ‘I think we should go down and talk to Dad and Jacqueline. Let’s show them these names. Maybe we can all confront Perry together.’

  Lucy jumps up, a look of horror on her face. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I can’t do that. I’m sorry . . .’

  I stare at her. ‘Think of Harry,’ I urge. ‘He’s out there, missing. He could be dead. We have to try and help him.’

  Lucy hesitates. ‘I just can’t . . .’ She turns and stumbles out of the room.

  I listen to the sound of her light footsteps flying down the stairs to the first floor and, presumably, her bedroom where she can shut the door and crawl under that stupid crucifix and carry on blocking out the truth.

  I’m alone. A wave of sickness rolls up from my guts. For a moment I think I might actually vomit. I hurry over to the window, flick the latch and ease the sash open. I lean out, resting my hands for a moment on the deep ledge where Mum used to keep a window box of blue flowers a million years ago. The air streams in, cool on my face. London traffic noises drift up, a man shouting, a woman screeching with laughter. Normal life. I take a deep breath then lower the window.

  ‘Come on,’ I say to myself.

  I leave the room and head down the stairs. I march straight into the kitchen where Dad sits at the table, bent over his phone, and Jacqueline stands in front of the whiteboard, busy writing an instruction to her housekeeper about picking up some dry cleaning. To my surprise, Lucy is here too, visibly nervous and lurking in the corner. Dad looks up as I walk in and gives me a warm smile.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart.’

  My whole body trembles as I walk over to the table. Lucy edges closer. Perhaps in her terrified way she is trying to support me after all. The thought gives me some strength.

  ‘Dad?’ My voice falters.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Dad stands up. Across the room, Jacqueline turns from the whiteboard, eyebrows raised.

  I hold up the plastic bag of names. ‘It’s this.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Jacqueline flicks a dismissive glance at the scraps of paper in the bag.

  Dad holds out his hand for the bag and I pass it over.

  ‘It’s a kill list,’ I say, voice shaking. ‘Uncle Perry’s kill list.’

  3

  Jacqueline’s eyes fill with surprise. ‘A kill list? What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Francesca?’ Dad sounds genuinely horrified.

  ‘It’s a list of all the abortion doctors PAAUL murdered. Uncle Perry is behind it. He ordered their deaths.’ A sob rises in my throat, choking me. ‘Including Caspian.’

  ‘What?’ Jacqueline splutters.

  Dad looks at Lucy, who hangs her head. He turns back to me.

  ‘Francesca . . . darling,’ he says, his voice low and soothing. ‘You’re obviously very upset and—’

  ‘Stop it,’ I hiss. I know that voice. It’s the one he uses with Lucy when she’s getting hysterical. ‘It’s the truth. I’ve even been threatened over it.’

  ‘Francesca, please calm down.’ Dad lays one of his large, strong hands on my arm. ‘This is ridiculous.’

  Furious, I shake him off. ‘I am calm. And it’s not just me.’ I glance at my sister. She gives me a tiny nod. ‘Lucy found the names. They were in Uncle Perry’s safe. Along with the watch your dad gave him – all cracked and—’

  ‘In his safe?’ Jacqueline shakes her head. Her nude Manolos tap smartly on the kitchen tiles as she walks over to the table. ‘You mean that ancient box behind his St Francis print? Please, this sounds like something out of an overblown TV drama.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Dad ventures a supercilious chuckle. ‘A list of names and a broken watch hardly amounts to a murder confession.’

  I shoot a glance at Lucy. She’s shrinking against the door that leads out to the garden. Tears leak from her eyes. For a second I feel irritated at her weakness. Then I pull myself together. It’s not her fault.

  ‘I’ve called the police,’ I say. ‘You can listen to them if you won’t listen to me.’

  ‘You did what?’ Jacqueline shrieks. She turns to Dad. ‘Do something, Jayson. We can’t have the police here again, especially after that journalist, Harry whatever. We’ll be a laughing stock.’

  ‘Perry’s ordered Harry to be killed as well,’ I go on. ‘He disappeared last night. He’s missing.’

  ‘Harry Elliot, the reporter?’ Dad looks increasingly bewildered. ‘How is it that you’re even still in touch with him?’

  ‘He was here last night, helping me look for more evidence about the PAAUL murders.’

  ‘Here?’ Jacqueline clutches Dad’s arm. She glares at me. ‘You let
him into this house to . . . to snoop around?’

  Dad clenches his jaw. I can see the anger in his eyes. ‘That was not smart, Francesca.’

  ‘And after the way he treated you . . . after everything we did to help you . . .’ Jacqueline’s eyes narrow in fury.

  Dad sucks in his breath. ‘First me, now my brother. I imagine Harry Elliot’s having a field day at our expense.’

  ‘I told you, Harry’s missing,’ I persist. ‘Uncle Perry’s targeting him too, because he’s getting too close to the truth.’

  ‘Or else Harry’s just run off with whatever information he managed to steal from this house and is planning his next news story.’ Dad’s voice rises.

  ‘I think you should leave, Francesca,’ Jacqueline says icily.

  My jaw drops.

  ‘Oh, no, please,’ Lucy weeps softly, shrinking back against the door.

  Jacqueline turns to Dad. ‘Perry will be here any minute. I don’t want Francesca upsetting him with this nonsense.’

  Dad nods. A dull weight sinks in my stomach. Why doesn’t he step in and stand up for me? Why won’t Lucy back up what I’m saying? I reach for my phone to show them the threatening text from yesterday then remember I deleted it. All I have is the picture of the broken watch – and I’m guessing that, as it came from Harry, it won’t count for much in Dad’s eyes.

  Perhaps I should leave. It strikes me I don’t have to wait for DS Smart to call back. I can just walk into any police station and say I want to make a statement. There’s no need to wait any longer. Dad and Jacqueline aren’t going to listen and Lucy isn’t going to help.

  ‘I’m going to the police right now.’ I walk away.

  ‘Wait. Francesca, stop!’ Dad’s fist lands with a thump on the kitchen table.

  I halt in my tracks and face him. He is standing between Lucy, whose eyes are wide with alarm, and his wife, her face bright red with fury.