Tin Men: A Gripping Chrissy Livingstone Novel

by Linda Coles

  Chrissy suppressed a grin. “Far from it. And thanks for filling me in.” More sombrely, she added, “I’m sorry for the trouble he caused you.” She took a sip of beer, then asked, “And the three deceased friends? Had they invested?”

  It was a while before Alistair spoke, and Chrissy gave him the space to think for a while. If her father had inadvertently been responsible for their deaths, the least she could do was show some respect for his pain. Finally, he drew a deep breath and replied. “Yes, they did. And a good deal more than Philip and I. It’s all still rather raw.” Alistair’s voice grew husky. He cleared his throat and stared at the table top.

  Chrissy gave him a moment, again. Then, her voice softer now, she asked, “So, Philip’s presence at my father’s funeral—that was nothing to do with a client wanting representation there, was it?” It wasn’t really a question.

  Alistair turned to her, tears welling in his eyes.

  “No!” he shouted, startling her. Heads turned their way. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her. “It was to make sure the old bastard was finally dead!”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chrissy sat back, heartsick. No wonder he’d wanted her out of the office: she was a living, breathing reminder of a man who had caused them almost unimaginable grief, shame, and heartache.

  As she watched Alistair collect himself, something else clicked ominously in her head. Julie had asked the question not long after her father’s death. And she had to ask him now, no matter how grief-stricken he still was. God, this day was just not ever going to get any easier, was it?

  “My father died of a heart attack,” she said, plunging in. “Tell me neither of you had anything to do with that? Since Philip was in the country at the time?”

  “We’re not murderers, you know!” His face had gone deathly pale now.

  “Look, I have to ask. It just seems like such a coincidence. A heart attack is easy enough to create and go undetected. Particularly if a doctor is involved. And you do have a friend who’s a doctor.”

  “And how would you know that? Have you ‘brought on’ a heart attack?” he spat, doing air quotes with his fingers. His eyes were filled with fire now, and people were starting to stare at them again. She half expected the waitress to return and ask them to quieten down.

  “TV, I guess,” she said trying to return their conversation to a more congenial level. “Like I said, I had to ask. I’m sorry. Forget it.”

  “The answer is no. Your father was already gone when Philip got there. Yes, he went to have it out with him, but like I say, he was too late. I told Philip to come home, but he didn’t. Not right away. He hung around for the funeral, just to make sure he went in the ground.”

  “He was cremated,” Chrissy said in a tiny voice.

  “What?”

  “My father was cremated, not buried.”

  “Whatever.”

  It was time for her to leave him be. She got to her feet.

  “Look, thanks for filling me in. I appreciate it, really I do. And for what it’s worth, again, I’m really sorry about your friends. It must have been a hard decision, a desperate decision, to take their own lives. I’m truly sorry.”

  Alistair stayed where he was, not looking up from the beer bottle he was twiddling in his hands, as she left money for their drinks and headed for the door. She stood outside the bar for a few moments in the glare of the early evening sunshine, utterly exhausted. She now knew the truth about her father’s connection with Philip and Alistair and the others, though she didn’t like it.

  Choosing to walk a while, she slipped into a nearby shoe store and purchased a cheap pair of flats to get her home; her strappy heels were definitely not up for the task. She took her time and headed down towards the waterfront and Venice Beach, all the time turning over what she’d learned. Even if there were the funds left in her father’s business, it wouldn’t bring the three dead friends back. There really wasn’t anything she could do for the men, but at least now she understood.

  Or did she?

  She stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. People passed her by on both sides as she stood staring at the concrete under her feet.

  “But why those individuals, Dad? That wasn’t bad luck, was it?”

  “Hey, lady!” someone moaned loudly as they almost bumped into her. She took the hint and stepped aside.

  There were seven faces in the tin in all. Five that she knew of had lost money; three of those were dead. What were the chances the remaining two had also lost money in her father’s scheme? Pretty good, she thought unhappily. And if they had all been roped into his scam, had that been deliberate on his part? Had he, in fact, targeted the seven, holding them responsible for his long-ago lover’s suicide? If he had, in fact, set out to teach them a lesson, then why wait so long to get his revenge?

  Once again, there was only one way of finding out for sure.

  The diaries.

  They kept popping up.

  She hurriedly sent a text to Adam before it got any later; it was the only solution she could think of right now. Desperate times and all that. She’d suffer the inquisition from him later.

  She also wondered how her mum was doing.

  Perhaps she should fly back home, she thought with a sigh. Her work here was likely done anyway.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chrissy stopped off at a restaurant for dinner, then, once she was back at her house, sent a text to Julie. It was the early hours back in the UK, so she wasn’t expecting a reply and was surprised when Julie responded quickly.

  “She’s not so good, actually. I’m stopping overnight with her. Don’t worry, though. Didn’t want her alone. Jx”

  “Oh no. Really? No better, then.”

  “No better. But no need to worry either. Jx”

  “Glad you’re there. Kisses from me. Cx”

  “By the way, did I see Adam in the shed????”

  Damn!

  Think quickly, Chrissy.

  “Yes, you may have. He mentioned something about something.” It sounded lame but she hoped Julie would leave well enough alone. If it wasn’t celebrity or fashion related, she generally showed little interest.

  “Ok. Speak soon. Enjoy the rest of your conference. Jx”

  Chrissy smiled. Bullet dodged.

  Something about something?

  Really, Chrissy.

  I know, I’ll try harder.

  She’d almost forgotten she was supposed to be at a conference.

  “Back soon. Cx”

  But should she fly back home? If her mother was unwell and Julie was staying over, it was more than a bad cold. The woman had looked even frailer than normal last time she’d seen her, except when she’d gone berserk over Julie and her finding the diaries. A gorilla would have had less strength than their petite, elderly mother that day.

  Well, at least she knew the answer to the other text she’d sent. Adam had indeed been over and gained access to the shed. Had he got what she’d asked for, though? Looking at her watch, she realised it would be at least another three hours before he woke up and replied. She’d have to wait. In the meantime, she fixed herself an iced tea and went back out to the patio.

  The streets around her were alive with conversation, the chatter of neighbours on their way out for the evening; a car horn blared in the distance. Laughter rang out from a group of girls not far away, and suddenly she missed home. And Adam and the boys. It hadn’t been the same kind of visit she’d come to enjoy, and since she’d set off only a couple of days ago, she’d thought of not much else besides the box of photos, the diaries and her father. She hadn’t realised how much she missed him.

  Perhaps it is time to head home, Chrissy.

  Are you sure?

  As sure as I can be.

  Then get your stuff packed and change your flight.

  Righto.

  She found her laptop and logged on, then changed her flight to the following morning. There was no point struggling to get
the next one home later that evening. The boys would be chuffed at her early arrival home, as would Adam, and she could finalise this whole mess and put an end to it from the comfort of her home. She was sure Philip and Alistair would be thrilled at her departure too. All she’d managed to do there was open old, deep wounds.

  Her thoughts suddenly circled back to the man she’d seen following Philip. Was he in trouble from another angle? He’d dismissed the man as a client; maybe it had been.

  Not now, Chrissy. Not your concern.

  I know; you’re right.

  Let them handle it.

  With her bags ready for the morning, she slipped into her pyjamas and cranked up the TV for a movie. She’d only just got settled when her phone pinged; it was Adam. She looked at the clock; it was far too early for him, but no one else had that ringtone allocated to them.

  The message was simple: “I have them. How are you?”

  “You’re an early bird. Not sleeping?”

  “Up for a pee. Missing you.”

  “Sign of getting older. I’m heading home early. Set off in the a.m.”

  “How come? Conference?”

  “Mum’s not well, and I’m not doing much here.”

  (You mean you’ve done all you can here, don’t you, Chrissy?)

  “Well, that’s good news. Miss you, babe. What time? Meet you?”

  “I leave first thing. I’ll get a driver. Stay with the boys. Home before you know it.”

  Chrissy was desperate to know about the diaries, but there was little point asking Adam; he wouldn’t know what was important or not if he looked inside them. And she didn’t fancy his questions right now either. She smiled again at her sister’s ignorant bliss at seeing Adam in the shed and not thinking it strange. It would have been to anyone else.

  “Travel safely, then. Love you. Ax”

  “Love you back. Cx”

  Tossing the phone onto the sofa she, sat back, happier with her decision to leave and get home, her real home, and finally get to the bottom of what had been going on before her father died. The death of a teacher many years ago was certainly not the reason three of those boys were now also dead.

  In the morning, she’d be on her way back, to cooler climes, for sure; it would be nice to see all her boys. Whether it had been her father’s death or something else entirely, she’d missed everyone a good deal more on this trip than usual. Perhaps it was also time that a chapter in her life closed. She’d never been one for all the deceit that had gone with the job, but she’d been doing it for so long it had become second nature. Even when she’d the chance to stop, she had willingly carried on. Her place in Santa Monica, her cottage in France— perhaps she should take up pottery or golf or something else for time out.

  Time to sell up and come clean, Chrissy Livingstone.

  Sure about that?

  Not at all.

  Didn’t think so.

  She slept like a log that night, the first time in a long time.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Saturday 20th September 2014

  Business arrived at Gerald Baker’s doors in all kinds of ways, though mainly through referrals. If people wanted a level of security when they invested, word of mouth from a satisfied client was about as good as it got. And it was easy business for Gerald and his team. It was a referral from such a client that took him to one of the larger homes in Surrey, in Rickmansworth, and the home of Cody Taylor, a successful businessman in infrastructure. Taylor had developed acute business skills that complemented his engineering knowledge and built one of the biggest roading companies in the UK. It would be fair to say he’d made it in life and had spare cash to look after. That was where Gerald was to come in: providing sound financial advice and making sure Taylor’s excess cash was well looked after.

  Gerald pulled up outside the front door of the man’s home and took in the view across the rolling countryside while he slipped into his jacket. The sun made most places pleasant, but the stark contrast between the bright green of the surrounding pasture and the clear blue of the summer sky was breathtaking, and Gerald took a moment to drink it in. It sure was Black Beauty country, he mused.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a male voice behind him said. Gerald turned to see a man in his early forties, looking more like a country gent than a roading engineer. But then it was Saturday morning. He had blond wavy hair, something quite uncommon on men. His green and brown tweed suited him.

  “Stunning. All too often we miss what’s around us, we’re so busy bustling along. It’s good to take a moment every now and then, don’t you think?”

  “I do indeed. Gerald Baker, I’m assuming?” The man had an easy smile and Gerald realised he hadn’t introduced himself.

  “Oh, how rude of me! Yes, Gerald Baker.” He put his hand out and the two shook.

  “Cody Taylor. Come on inside. Tea or coffee, perhaps?”

  “Thanks. Tea would be lovely.” Gerald followed the man inside; the coolness of the interior was a welcome contrast to the warmth of the morning sunshine. A woman appeared as if from nowhere and the man, Cody, ordered tea for them both. They headed into the lounge towards the back of the house which was decked out in pale shades of beige and sage green. A huge vase full of white lilies and garden greenery sat on a grand piano near the bright bay window that looked out onto a perfectly striped lawn. It was a truly beautiful room, and one, Gerald assumed, created with a woman’s touch. Maybe the woman he’d ordered tea from? He waited for Cody Taylor to sit before doing the same, and a moment later a tray with tea and biscuits arrived, the china cups and pot matching the room in which they were to take it. Homes & Gardens magazine came to mind.

  “I’ll cut straight to the point, if I may, Gerald. I know your work, so I don’t need impressing there, and I have money to invest. Chunks at regular intervals. Likely to be a couple of hundred thou each time, say, several times per year. I’m fairly open when it comes to where to put it, but I do like to get the best return I can. And that means don’t bother with the bank or the really ‘safe’ funds.” He added speech marks around the word ‘safe’ to emphasise he knew nothing in finance was ever safe. “So, let’s talk about what’s on offer, shall we?”

  And that’s what the two men did over the course of an hour or two and another pot of tea. It was a rather cordial and easy meeting for Gerald; he wished all his prospective clients could be so laid back. As their business drew to a close, Gerald stood and made his way to the window, passing the beautiful grand piano. Instinctively, his fingertips touched the lid and lingered for a second or two longer than most people’s would. The wood was cool and as soft as silk.

  “You play?”

  “Used to, but no longer. You?”

  “No. It was my wife’s. Sadly, she passed, so it doesn’t get played anymore. A shame, really; I loved listening to her play.” Gerald sensed the man’s solemnness and also felt he was now intruding a little, so he changed the subject by picking up a framed photo of a group of boys that was adjacent to the vase of flowers. It looked like a camp somewhere, and the sunlight had faded it a little, but Gerald could tell by the clothing the boys wore that it was some time ago. Seven faces looked back at him, all smiles. In the centre was a blond young man, obviously Cody Taylor. Gerald studied it for a moment.

  “Ah, so long ago,” Cody said. “Summer camp one year. That’s me,” he said, pointing to the blond boy. “You never appreciate your childhood at the time, do you? We had the best times back then; not a care in the world, eh?”

  “No, I know what you mean. Every day was summer, wasn’t it?”

  “Sure was.”

  Gerald was still studying the photo; something inside him shifted, and the blood in his veins ran a little cooler. He’d seen those young faces before.

  A long time ago.

  The boys in the picture had killed Sylvia. He was looking at Sylvia’s murderers.

  Realisation dawned on him who he was looking at, and now whose house he was standing in, who he
was chatting with, drinking tea with. He needed to leave, to get some air, but he was frozen to the spot, his feet glued to the carpet, incapable of carrying him forward. All those years ago, an event he’d successfully filed away at the back of his mind, so that he could get on with his life, such as it was. Such as his life with Sandra was. His two girls had been his saviours and carried him through those dark times. And now, in the lounge of one of those responsible for all the anguish, he found himself stifling a cry.

  “Are you all right?” asked Cody. “Only you look like you’re about to faint.”

  Forcing the blood inside of him to run warm again, Gerald smiled briefly and said he wasn’t feeling too good. Needed some air, he said; he’d be okay. Almost staggering to the door, he mumbled his goodbyes, found his way back to his car and got inside. He thanked Cody Taylor again, told him he’d be in touch. He accelerated away a little faster than he would have normally.

  When he was a couple of miles further down the lane, he pulled in at a layby, turned the engine off and sobbed into his hands. How he’d managed to keep control and get himself out of that house he’d never know.

  “Sylvia, oh, Sylvia!” he moaned, as his tears fell in torrents, and he wept until all the pain and anguish he’d bottled up for so long had finally drained away.

  It was replaced with a calm that surprised him.

  That was the moment Gerald Baker vowed to do something about his loss. About losing his Sylvia. Now those boys were grown men, he’d make them pay. Their debt was long overdue.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  He’d then driven straight to the river. To their spot, where they’d used to sit on her blanket. Where they’d found her body on that day when all hell had let loose.

  For so many people.

  There was no coffee today, no little flask, no stolen kisses. The grass was dry as Gerald sat by the water and watched its gentle flow, the occasional leaf and twig gliding past. He’d rarely been back to their spot, unable to cope with the emotion that churned inside of him as he remembered the loss he carried after all those years.