by Linda Coles
Playing for time?
Acting dumb?
“Obviously these are you two,” she said, pointing to two grinning teenagers. “And as you can see, I’ve written the other boys’ names under each one. They’re friends of yours, I believe?” She let the question hang.
First to speak loses.
“Who are you?” Philip asked.
You lose.
“Now, that’s an odd question, don’t you think?” Chrissy looked directly at Philip, and realisation finally dawned on her where she’d seen him before. She kept the discovery to herself and hoped he himself hadn’t twigged.
“Not really. You know their names, so why ask us?”
“I’m trying to find out how they are connected, and not the school angle. There’s more to it than that.”
“What makes you so sure? Glendene was a long time ago. What year were these taken?”
Chrissy contemplated telling them the truth, but if she was going to find out… “1987.” She watched and waited for telltale signs of recognition. The colour had drained once again on Philips face, and Alistair was now equally pale. She carried on. “What happened that year, gents? And why are half of these boys now dead, and within the last twelve months or so?”
The room stayed still and quiet until Alistair took control.
“I’d like you to leave now, if you don’t mind,” he said, and got abruptly to his feet. Philip stayed still, head bowed, and Chrissy took the opportunity. Was he weakening?
“Come on Philip,” she said almost cajoling. “What’s the big secret, what was it all those years ago?”
Alistair took a step forward and asked her again. “Okay, come on. I’m not sure what you want to achieve from this or who you are, but I’ve asked you to leave, so please. It’s time to go.”
Chrissy knew the moment had passed. Had she blown it? But one thing was for sure: there was a good deal more to all of this than she thought. Their reactions and now their request for her swift exit had her mind turning cartwheels to get to the truth. The moment was lost for now, though, so she reluctantly picked her bag up and headed for the door, muttering that she’d see herself out.
Once out on the street, she headed towards the coffee shop she’d been in earlier for a refill. And some time to run through what had just happened, and an important new piece of information: Philip Banks was the man she’d seen at her father’s funeral.
Back in the offices of Banks & Crowley, Philip and Alistair sat dumfounded.
“Who the hell was that, do you think?” Alistair asked, not really expecting an answer.
“I’ll tell you exactly who that was.”
“Oh?”
“That, my friend, was Chrissy Livingstone.”
Alistair still looked blank. “Yes, she said as much. But who is Chrissy Livingstone?”
“Gerald Baker’s daughter.
“Holy shit.”
“Exactly.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Alistair was lost for words. He paced wildly up and down the small office space before finally speaking. It came out in a rush, like water gushing from a tap.
“How the hell did she find us, and why the hell is she digging?” He looked both angry and worried, his face strained.
“My question is, did she recognise me?” asked Philip. “Because if she did, she certainly didn’t let on.”
“I wondered why you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” Alistair said. “And if I saw your reaction, I’m damn sure she did.”
“Well, in that case, we’re doomed. If she has recognised me and puts two and two together, she is going to want to know a great deal more.”
Nobody spoke. The office was quiet while the cogs and wheels of both men’s minds worked overtime, sifting through what had happened and what might happen next.
“Do you think Jamieson is behind this?”
“I’ve no idea, Philip, but it does seem like a huge coincidence. One minute we’re going about our business as normal; next minute, Jamieson is sniffing around looking for trouble, and then this woman shows up. What are the chances, eh? And I don’t like it one bit.”
“Nah, I don’t think they’re connected. But I’d like to know why she is digging up the past, the events of 1987.”
“What do you mean?” Alistair asked. “Of course they’re connected. That’s how this whole mess started.”
“Well, only kind of. I mean, that was the catalyst, I suppose. But it’s because of more recent events that I went to visit Baker, not because of what happened at school. It’s just unfortunate, but now the two are connected, and quite honestly, I am not looking forward to the fallout. There will be some, you know.”
Philip stood. “Well, I need some air. I need to think this through. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate at the moment, now she turns up,” he said, thrusting an arm out to the side as if she was still sitting there. He patted his trouser pockets for his wallet and said, “Do you want me to bring you anything back? I need a cold drink.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having. Just bring me the same; that will do.”
Alistair sounded despondent to Philip’s ears, but he had to look out for himself, and right at this moment he needed some space. His mouth was parched, and his head buzzed.
“I’ll be back shortly,” The door caught a draft and closed with a loud slam as he left. Out on the street, Philip stood for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths, filling his lungs with fuel fumes more than ocean breeze. It didn’t really matter where he went; he just needed to take a walk. He turned left and set out, with nowhere in particular in mind. There were enough bars and cafés along the way to get a drink; he really didn’t care which one. Perhaps he’d find the one with the cute waitress he’d seen a couple of times. Perhaps he couldn’t care less.
She spotted him standing outside the office a few minutes later, no doubt wondering where to go. She’d seen it before, after she’d ruffled somebody’s feathers. They always looked the same: stunned. Worried. Panicked, even. And Philip Banks was no different. Chrissy wasn’t particularly hiding, though she wasn’t sat out advertising the fact that she was there, either, hat and shades on once more, watching. And Philip, in a world of his own, took no notice of her as he passed by.
When he was a few paces in front of her, she slipped money for her drink under the salt and pepper pots and headed out after him, keeping twenty or so paces behind. He carried on for half a mile, maybe, before turning into a café. She slowed her pace, stopping just short of where he’d entered. She debated whether to go in and try to talk to him further, but something told her to leave well enough alone, for now. So, she stayed outside and kept to the shadows as the sun climbed higher in the sky. In another hour or so it would be too hot to stay out, though, and she hoped he wouldn’t be too long about whatever he was doing. Taking a seat on a nearby low wall, she took in the surroundings while she waited, thinking of her next move.
It was about fifteen minutes later when Philip left the café carrying what looked like a takeaway of fresh juice in his hand, straw sticking out the top. He appeared to be headed back to the office, and Chrissy was tempted to fall back in behind him, though it would serve no purpose. She let him pass, still in a world of his own, he hadn’t seen her again. She watched him through her dark lenses. He looked defeated, his shoulders slumped forward as though the weight of the world was on them.
Suddenly she noticed that a man on the other side of the street, whom she’d observed earlier sitting and reading a newspaper, had now blended in with the crowd—and was walking behind Philip Banks, who seemed unaware of his new tail.
It appeared that somebody else had an interest in her Mr. Banks.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chrissy kept her distance. She knew how to trail somebody too, and the man up ahead wouldn’t be expecting anybody to be watching him. He was too busy watching his own target to watch his own back. She assumed Philip was headed back to the office, and she was curious as to wh
at the man would do. Would he carry on somewhere, back to his car perhaps, or sit outside the office and wait? Either way, she was intrigued.
She didn’t have to wait long to find out. As Philip entered the building, his interested party carried on a few paces past and slipped into a parked car. Chrissy tried to get a closer look as she approached the vehicle, but the glass was tinted all round. There was no way of seeing inside. No bother. She carried on past and pulled in just behind a rack of sunglasses that was conveniently displayed on the pavement, took out her phone and made a note of the registration details. It was a local plate, California tags. Somehow, she’d figure a way of finding out who the vehicle belonged to, though her old contacts these days were all in the UK, not in LA.
Pretending to browse, she watched the car drive away; the driver was obviously done for the day, whatever it was he was doing. Chrissy herself hadn’t got anything else to achieve by hanging around, so she ordered her ride home. Her stomach was growling and in need of lunch, and she was suddenly overcome with fatigue. Knowing that somebody else had an interest in Philip Banks intrigued her but at the moment, she didn’t have the tools to find out much more. Should she tell Philip? she wondered. Did he know?
By the time she got back to her own place, she was almost asleep. Jet lag was catching up with her, and the ride home, gently rocking her, had made her even drowsier. She gathered her book and reading glasses and lay on one of the soft outdoor loungers in the dappled shade. Within ten minutes she was sound asleep.
She woke with a start. Her sleep had been fitful, her head full of nonsensical images, odds and ends of dreams that made no sense, faces popping in and out—images of her father, of smiling boys. Her cleavage was damp with sweat, though it wasn’t particularly hot where she was lying. She touched her forehead; it was equally damp, and her mouth was parched. What had woken her she had no idea, but she was suddenly alert, wide awake, as if a gun had gone off in her subconscious somewhere. Her heart raced in her chest, odd palpitations that gradually slowed down as she came to.
She swung her legs over the lounger and sat up properly, trying to calm herself further and make sense of what had happened in her dream. She rubbed her temples with both hands as she sifted through the images that were still clear in her mind. One thought in particular disturbed her: What the hell had Philip Banks been doing at her father’s funeral? She knew she had to confront him about this, and maybe should even tell him there was another person interested in his movements. What would he say to that?
She grabbed her phone to check the time; it was just coming up to 4 PM. She’d been asleep for a good deal longer than she’d intended to. “Shall I run, or shall I go get a shower?” she asked herself. She went into the kitchen and downed a glass of water, then paced up and down the room, pondering the best course of action.
Run or shower, run or shower, run or shower?
Running always helped her think, but she felt groggy. And she’d already run.
“Shower.”
Thirty minutes later, she was back inside an Uber and headed back to Abbot Kinney and the offices of Banks & Crowley. She needed answers, and she wasn’t going to be fobbed off this time. When her driver pulled up out front, she thanked him and headed straight inside, bypassing the redhead on the front desk, who tried her best to intercept her. Chrissy shrugged her off and was already halfway through the office door as a rather startled Philip Banks sat up straight at his desk, mouth open at the outburst. Alistair was nowhere to be seen.
“What were you doing at my father’s funeral?” she blurted out. Any plans of subtlety had gone out the window as Chrissy threw the accusing question Philip’s way. He stood up and stared straight at her. Chrissy could see he was wondering what to say next and pre-empted any bullshit. “And don’t try and bullshit me. I know it was you. I just want to know why.”
Philip tossed his pen down onto the blotter on his desk. His face seemed to have softened in the process.
“There’s quite a simple explanation. I was there representing a client of ours. They couldn’t get there themselves, and so I went instead.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Chrissy said. “Why on earth would a client want to send you and not go themselves? And who was this client?”
“I can’t tell you that, but it’s true. I was sent. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. But in truth, I didn’t want to cause you any concern or suspicion because here you are asking questions from years back, and then it turns out I was at your father’s funeral. It doesn’t look good, does it?”
“You’re damn right there.”
“Look, take a seat. I’m not the enemy.” Philip sat back down at his own desk to encourage her to sit also. He hated confrontation, and standing there having a heated debate seemed more aggressive than it needed to be. He held his hand out to the chair at the other side of his desk, and though Chrissy resisted for a long moment, she did eventually sit down. The air in the room shifted a little; the tension eased slightly. The act of sitting down took some of the wind out of her sails, and she relaxed a little.
“Look, there’s something going on,” she said. “I need to get to the bottom of what you and the other six boys have in common, and you need to tell me what’s going on at this end.”
“First of all, may I ask what your interest is in these boys? And second, what do you mean ‘what’s going on at this end’?”
“My interest in the boys is purely personal. I know they are somehow linked to my father; I just want to know how.”
“And what about my second question?”
“I’m not the only person who’s interested in you.”
Philip’s brow creased. “How so?”
Chrissy took a deep breath. “You were followed, just after I left this morning. I went to get a drink like you did, but on the way back to your office I noticed someone else. And they were most certainly following you. Care to tell me why?” Chrissy could see by the look on Philip’s face that he’d had no clue; he looked concerned now. “You didn’t know that, did you?” she carried on.
“No, I didn’t. But I do now. I think it might be to do with a case that I’m working on.”
Chrissy pondered that for a moment; since he was a divorce lawyer, maybe an unhappy spouse was behind it. Maybe it wasn’t as sinister as she’d initially thought. Although Banks looked genuinely worried. However, the man following him wasn’t her main concern, of course; she was more interested in finding out about the photos of the boys in her father’s tin.
“Well, now you know, maybe you can call the dogs off yourself. I just thought you should be aware.” She was keen to get to what she really wanted, and needed him to talk. She softened her voice slightly to reflect some concern, but pressed on. “Look, why don’t you tell me about the boys, and how they are all connected? I know you and Alistair are part of the group, and you obviously know who the others are—or were, since three are no longer with us.”
Philip seemed to flinch at the words ‘no longer with us,’ so Chrissy pressed on, knowing she was onto something. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“What makes you think something happened?”
“Because I’m not stupid. Something connects everyone together and I’m going to find out what.”
“Let me suggest you leave well enough alone. It will serve no purpose. What happened back then was a stupid schoolboy prank, and will do no good to anybody if you revisit it now. I suggest you go back home and leave well enough alone,” he said again.
“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Banks, so what I’m going to do is give you some time to think back, because I’m here for a few days. And maybe you can see your way to filling in some of the gaps that I have, for my own sanity, I suppose. I know my father was involved somehow, and he’s dead now, and nothing will bring him back. But I have an inquisitive mind, and I won’t rest until I find out the full story. And mark my words, I will.” Chrissy stood as she said the last sentence and repeated it for
good measure: “Mark my words, I will.”
Philip sat quietly as Chrissy left the office and headed back out into the sunshine. Would he tell her more when he’d had time to think on it? She hoped so.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Friday August 14th, 1987
“Can I have a word?” Sylvia Marsh asked. She was stood half in and half out of his office, tentative.
“Hello, Sylvia. Come on in. What can I do for you?” the headmaster, Frederick Browning, said, beckoning her through the half-open door. Sylvia strolled over the thick wool rug that dominated the room, its dark colourways dulling the whole room. His office was like something from an old movie—all rugs and dark wood. It smelled of sandalwood and musk.
“It’s a bit embarrassing, to be honest, but I do feel that I need to tell somebody because things are getting out of hand,” she said, approaching his desk.
“Oh?”
“Yes. Oh, you could say that.”
The headmaster pointed to a seat in front of his desk and Sylvia took the hint, making herself as comfortable as she could under the circumstances. She fidgeted, and her hands were sweaty. She looked as nervous as a kitten.
“What is it, Sylvia? You look worried sick.”
“Things have gotten out of hand. I don’t know what to do.”
“What sorts of things?”
Sylvia took a deep breath and debated exactly how much to tell the headmaster, how much detail she needed to go into. It was all rather personal, extremely private; it was about herself, but if she didn’t say something… She took a deep breath and ploughed into it.
“I’m being blackmailed,” she said simply. She let it sink in for a moment before carrying on. “I’m being blackmailed by some of the students. I think I know what I’ve done, what they’ve seen, and they’re using it for their own gain.”
“Who are these students, Sylvia?”