Lionel kept his eye on the target. ‘Yes, I can imagine.’
Just then, a familiar face caught Carver’s eye. He lost concentration, and Lionel took his chance, knocking his friend to the floor. They were both wearing helmets, so it didn’t take long for Carver to recover. Still on his backside, he shook his head in disgust, then looked up angrily at the person he blamed for letting his guard slip.
‘What the hell do you want, Drake? I came here to escape. And yet you’re following me around like some puppy. Am I going to regret giving you that compliment?’
Drake felt the full force of four eyes drilling through him. Lionel was a big bald man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the WWF team, and Drake couldn’t work out whether his stern expression was a show for Carver’s benefit, or whether he really wasn’t someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of. But then, Lionel’s face broke out into a broad grin.
‘Aw, give the lad a break, Jake, won’t you?’ He removed his gloves, offered Drake a sweaty palm. ‘I’m Lionel, and I’ve heard a lot about you. Sounds like my crabby friend here wouldn’t have solved that case without your help. Just ignore him. He’s more hot air than substance.’
Drake shook his hand and managed a smile. Then Lionel left them to it.
Carver removed his helmet, revealing a mass of damp hair, loose strands clinging to his forehead. ‘What is it, Drake? I assume you’ve not come here to take up boxing?’
‘No, sir. Paul King’s condition is stable, and yesterday we obtained his fingerprints and a DNA sample.’
‘Yes, I should hope so. It’s standard police procedure. And? You’re obviously going somewhere with this.’ Carver wondered what the hell Drake was going to say next.
‘And his DNA matched Stirling’s.’
Carver’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re messing with me, right?’
‘No, sir. I’m deadly serious.’
‘Are you saying Stirling is King’s father?’
‘It would appear so, sir.’
‘Does King know?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Clearly, it would go to motive. I mean, if he did know, and Stirling had wanted nothing to do with him, that might have driven him to help Devereux – by framing his real father for the murders, I mean.’
Carver shook his head. ‘That doesn’t fit with what Stirling’s maintained all along. He said Paul was in love with him and wanted revenge against him for spurning his advances. He said Paul hated all those women for having what he couldn’t, and that his hatred of women stemmed from his childhood, the way his mother had ignored him and cheated on his father.’
‘So maybe he doesn’t know?’
‘Maybe not. The question is, does Stirling?’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Yes, I know that Paul King is my son.’
Carver and Drake sat across from Stirling in his living room. There was a sad, empty feel to the place. Despite it being bigger and far more lavishly decorated, now it reminded Carver more of his own home. It was missing something – a woman’s touch; her scent.
He noticed Elizabeth’s cello was gone, the vase on the mantelpiece which had always been filled with fresh flowers was empty, and there was no music. The only sound was the sound of silence.
‘How long have you known?’
‘Since he was three.’
Carver was gobsmacked. ‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’ he said, trying not to lose his temper. ‘You know that counts as perverting the course of justice?’
Stirling sighed. He looked dead on his feet. The bags under his eyes protruded like purple pufferfish. ‘I told you I thought Paul was somehow involved. That he was trying to frame me.’
‘Yes, because of what happened in your study, after he made a pass at you.’
‘Whether or not I told you he was my son would have made no difference. He’d already helped murder those women. The deed was done. His brain isn’t right. He needs to be locked up. For life.’
Carver knew what Stirling said was probably true. But as a father, he couldn’t understand how he could have kept something so important from his flesh and blood; how he could have lived his life knowing there was a piece of him out there; how he could have ratted on his own son, despite what he had done.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Chief Inspector,’ Stirling said. ‘You’re wondering how I could possibly have held back and not told Paul; that had I told him, it might have made a difference; that he might not have helped that crazy woman do all those horrific things.’
Carver was silent. He had a feeling Stirling had more to say. He was right. ‘I had a brief affair with Paul’s mother, Evelyn, at Oxford, during our third year. I was only twenty-one, and it was just before I met Elizabeth. She and George, Paul’s father, had been seeing each other for nearly two years when it happened. In fact, they’d just become engaged. She was very beautiful, and I’m not sure why she allowed herself to be tied down to George so early. He was a good man back then, but very English, a man who always crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s. Boring, some might say. I’m guessing the main attraction was that he came from a very rich family and could offer Evelyn the extravagant lifestyle she craved. Unlike me, who, although I’ve done okay for myself, found City life too stressful. I’ve always been an academic, and I guess that’s what Elizabeth and I had in common, aside from the music.’ Stirling took a sip of water. ‘George went home one weekend. Evelyn and I were at a house party, wasted as was often the case, and we succumbed. It happened two more times, I think. And then we called it a day. She was going to marry George, and she didn’t want to risk him finding out.’
‘So, I take it one of those three occasions resulted in Paul?’ Carver said.
‘Yes. But she didn’t tell me until just after Paul’s third birthday. Naturally, George assumed something had gone wrong with their birth control. He did the right thing, brought the wedding forward, married her before she started to show – although a lot of people talked, that’s for sure.’
‘So why did she tell you?’
‘George and I remained good friends after Oxford. I worked with him briefly in the City, at the same firm. We’d have dinner parties, mix with the same crowd, see each other at Christmas and family birthdays, et cetera. Including Paul’s third birthday. You know how parents always make such a fuss of their kids’ birthdays.’
Carver nodded, for a split second remembering how he’d helped his son blow out the candle on a Thomas the Tank birthday cake Rachel had spent nearly three hours making for his first birthday. Happy times.
‘It was the summer.’ Stirling woke Carver from his fleeting daydream. ‘A heatwave, in fact. George and Evelyn threw a garden party for Paul. All the kids were in their swimwear, and I remember Paul was dressed in these pirate swimming trunks. He had long hair for a boy, past his neck. I remember Evelyn saying she wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could get away with it. At one point, when Paul was splashing around in the paddling pool, he lost his balance, fell over, and started to cry. As usual, his parents were busy with friends and didn’t appear to notice. And I seem to recall the nanny had the day off. I went to help Paul. Lifted him out of the pool, dried his legs off with one of the towels laid out for the kids, then his hair. And that’s when I saw it: a stork bite – the same as me.’ Stirling swivelled round. He pulled down the back of his jumper to reveal a flat, salmon-coloured birthmark on the back of his neck.
‘My heart almost stopped when I saw it. I confronted Evelyn a few days later, and she had no choice but to admit it was true. It was hard, but I agreed to keep my mouth shut. Elizabeth and I were only just married, and it would have killed her. And it would have destroyed George and Evelyn’s marriage. I tried to take an interest in Paul whenever I could. I was delighted when he came to study at the academy, although George didn’t want any of the students to know about our connection. Paul had been bullied at school by kids who envied his privileged upbringing; also, because he was a bit of a loner. George did
n’t want that to happen at law school. Although I respected his decision, when I saw that Paul was struggling with the course, I couldn’t just turn a blind eye and not help him. As a father, I wanted him to succeed and couldn’t bear to see him suffer. The same was true when George died.’
‘And you had no idea he had feelings for you?’ Carver asked. ‘Sexual feelings?’
‘No.’ Stirling shook his head emphatically. He got up from his chair, moved decisively across the room. ‘No idea at all. I knew he was gay. I’d spent several evenings discussing this with George over a bottle of whisky. He really did love Paul, and it had devastated him. Secretly, it devastated me. But it had never crossed my mind that Paul saw me in that way. I thought he viewed me as “fun Uncle James”. I was shocked, repulsed, when he tried it on … because I knew the truth … I knew he was my son. But I also couldn’t tell him why. Too much time had passed. There was my reputation to think about, and Elizabeth. Not being able to have children broke her. For her to suddenly learn that on top of my affairs, I had a grown-up son – I couldn’t do that to her. And so, I had no choice but to cut myself off from him – from the entire family. It was painful, but there was no other way. I kept my eye on him from afar, though. I knew he still lived with Maddy Kramer and had given up on law; that he’d self-published a couple of books and worked in a bar.’
‘But you were ready to commit yourself to your baby with Bethany Williams.’
Stirling came back over and sat down. He buried his head in his hands, talked down into the darkness of his palms. ‘Yes, yes I was. Four years had passed since I turned Paul away. My marriage had deteriorated even further, and I realised I had real feelings for Bethany, that she actually meant something to me. I wanted to do the right thing, and she agreed to keep my identity a secret. No one was to know – not Elizabeth, not even her mother or best friend, Juliet. At least, not for a long time.’ He took a breath, his eyes moist with tears. ‘For a while, I thought I’d finally been given the chance to be the person I wanted to be, what my father never was, what I never got to be to Paul – a loving father.’
‘Are you going to tell Paul the truth?’
‘What’s the point? He’s ruined his life, and I’ve ruined mine. What use can come of him knowing now?’
‘At least he’ll know why you turned him away.’
Stirling shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want to go down that route, not when there’s no future, for either of us.’
Carver and Drake left Stirling to himself. A man who had once had everything– but who was now alone.
Now, the man who had once had it all, had nothing.
***
Carver parked up at the station, his hands still gripping the wheel, as if the physical act alone allowed him to focus. They’d driven back from Stirling’s house in silence. Finally, he said what was on his mind. ‘Sentimentality aside, we need to bring the subject up with King. Stirling may not have told him, but someone might have done. Obviously after he tried it on with Stirling in his office. He might be deranged, but I’m certain he’s not that sick.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We need to know if he knew. It goes to motive.’
‘Do you want me to speak to him, sir? He might open up to me, being a similar age.’
Carver eyeballed Drake. ‘What are you saying? That I’m old and unapproachable?’ He looked furious, and for a moment Drake thought he’d undone all the goodwill built up between them. But then Carver grinned. ‘S’okay, son, I’m only joking. Thanks for the offer, but I can only think of one person he’d be likely to open up to. I just hope she’s willing to do me this one last favour.’
Chapter Forty-Five
‘I don’t want to see him.’ Maddy didn’t smile, bat an eyelid, or move a muscle. Carver felt awkward, impotent. He realised he had a lot more convincing to do.
It was 11 am on Saturday, three days on from the day Maddy had nearly died. A freakishly warm January morning, with hardly a cloud in the bright blue sky. Maddy sat next to Carver on a bench, overlooking the Embankment. The sun was intense, and she found herself squinting as she watched a riverboat cause a ripple of waves as it meandered its way down the Thames. Beyond the boat, and above Embankment Bridge, the London Eye turned steadily, its movement so slow it was almost imperceptible to the human eye, while above it, a British Airways jumbo jet gradually gained height, leaving a trail of thin, wispy smoke as it disappeared for a few seconds into a rare fluffy cloud.
Maddy would have given anything to be on that plane right now.
In view of her traumatic experience, and key role in capturing those responsible for his daughter’s death, Coleridge had insisted that she take at least a week’s paid leave. She’d been both surprised and grateful, half-expecting him to fire her on the spot after discovering she’d been living with one of the culprits, despite having no inkling as to what Paul was up to.
She certainly wasn’t ready to return to work so soon, to brush off what had happened as if it was some minor triviality. In truth, she wasn’t sure she could ever go back to Channing & Barton – the scene of the first murder, a murder her flatmate had played a star role in. For the last two and a half months, she’d discussed the murders with her colleagues, secretaries, even the cleaning staff, speculating who it could be, whether they were safe from the killer’s clutches, where or when the killer might strike again.
And now it turned out that she’d been best friends with the person who’d helped facilitate those murders. That he’d been right under her nose. How could she show her face to those people again? Most of them had been amazing, sending supportive emails, leaving compassionate voicemails. But the questions would always be there, lurking under the surface water of pleasantries, every day she walked the firm’s corridors: How did you not see? How could you not have known? How could you have been friends with that psychopath?
‘I understand how you feel, Ms Kramer,’ Carver said, ‘but I need your help. I truly believe he’ll open up to you.’
‘Like he opened up to me about hating Stirling, about hating Paige, about planning a string of murders?’
Maddy’s tone was resentful. It was the first time Carver had heard her talk like that. Until now, he’d seen the scared, the plucky, the inquisitive side of her, but never the embittered side. He hoped it was a passing phase, that she would come through it. She was an intelligent, beautiful, brave young woman, and she deserved the chance to be happy. It was too soon for someone so young to become so disillusioned with life. He was too shy to tell her, and in any case, it wasn’t appropriate, but he’d come to care for her – deeply. He didn’t want her to change; he wanted her to continue being Maddy.
He’d yet to tell her that Stirling was Paul’s real father. All he’d asked was whether she’d be willing to visit him in hospital, his hope being that Paul might confide in Maddy of his own accord. But seeing her reticence, Carver knew it was time. He had no choice.
‘James Stirling is Paul’s real father.’
Maddy gave Carver the same open-mouthed expression he’d given Drake after hearing the news.
‘What?’ she finally spoke. ‘How do you know?’
‘Their DNA matched, and Stirling confirmed it.’
‘He knew?’ Maddy said in disbelief.
‘Yes.’ Carver told her about his conversation with Stirling.
‘So, you want me to find out if Paul knew this before he helped Marcia commit murder?’
‘Yes, we need the full story, Ms Kramer. Was he motivated purely by lust for Stirling and a deep-rooted hatred of women? Or, did he decide to help Marcia after learning the truth about his real father, hell-bent on taking revenge against Stirling for never telling him the truth? For, as far as he was concerned, never wanting to be a father to him? Perhaps he imagined that Stirling, like George King, was ashamed of him being gay.’ He took a breath. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Paul King is clearly not right in the head. I’m certain neither you nor I would consider helping someone commit a series of horrific murders under si
milar circumstances. But the jury will need to hear everything and may have more sympathy with option two.’
Maddy sat back, pressed her head against the back of the bench. Almost oblivious to the constant stream of traffic behind her, the passing droves of tourists, everyday life still going on around her as if the world she had known and loved hadn’t come crashing down on her. She turned her gaze to Carver. ‘Why do you care if the jury has sympathy for Paul? You’ve got your man. Now it’s up to the CPS and Paul’s defence counsel to try the case, and the jury to reach a verdict.’
Carver didn’t answer at once. Then he told her. ‘I guess because I’m a father. Because I, for one, can’t ever imagine hiding the fact that I am his flesh and blood from my son. If finding out about his real father is what motivated Paul, there’s a small part of me that has some sympathy for him. It will sort of make sense. And maybe we can prove that Devereux manipulated his anger to her advantage. After all, he didn’t physically commit any of the murders. Once Paul is well enough, he’ll be taken to a police station and questioned. After that, and once all the evidence has been collected, including your statement, it will be my duty to write to the CPS detailing the circumstances surrounding the case, and provide them with all kinds of written evidence. So, you see, Ms Kramer, I’m still very much involved in the case. What I send the CPS will impact on how they decide to proceed against Paul.’ Carver paused, his expression suddenly stern. ‘But if he never knew the truth, and it turns out he’s just another mentally unstable cold-blooded killer, with a sick fetish for slaughtering young women because of his shitty childhood, then I’ll do everything I can to make sure the CPS lock Paul King away for life and throw away the key.’
***
Monday, 19 January 2015
‘I never expected to see you again.’
‘The feeling’s mutual.’
‘So why are you here?’
Maddy sat down on a chair next to Paul’s bed. When the ambulance had brought him to St Mary’s in Paddington, the entire right side of his face and body had been burned to a crisp. The damage was so extensive, it had penetrated through every layer of his skin, but at the time had caused him no pain because the nerve endings had been destroyed. He’d undergone a number of procedures, having dead skin and tissue removed from the burned area, and had also received several treatments, including intravenous electrolytes, antibiotics and various pain medications. And that afternoon he was due to have skin graft surgery, a procedure which would hopefully speed up the healing process and reduce the amount of time he needed to be in hospital.
The Scribe Page 35