"I'm sure they can." Wainwright rose from his chair, signalling the end of our conversation and I followed suit.
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help," he said. "I'd be only too willing."
"Thanks, I will." Before leaving, I said, "I'm glad my father was able to help you."
CHAPTER NINE
What was it with doctors' receptionists? The one at the local surgery was being particularly difficult. Getting past security at MI6 would have been less of a challenge.
She wore a name tag. Holly. Most appropriate. She was as prickly as her namesake.
"It's really not that difficult a request, Holly," I said. "I need to know where I can get hold of Dr Black."
In a tone that could freeze water, she said, "I have no idea where Dr Black is at the moment." She glared at me from the other side of a hatch that divided the reception office from the patients' waiting room.
"And even if I did know," she continued, "I'm not at liberty to give out such information to the general public."
She used the term 'general public' as though describing a lower life form. And then, gripping the edge of the counter with pudgy hands, she pushed herself up to the full extent of her stubby height as if to emphasise the point. Behind her, a typist at a workstation hammered her keyboard with extra vigour and shot me a fierce glance as if to show solidarity with her colleague.
It was time to pull rank. I fished into the inside pocket of my coat, pulled out a calling card, and thrust it in her face. "I'm not a member of the general public. I'm a forensic psychologist. I work with the police." It wasn't exactly a lie. I do work with the police. Just not in this particular instance is all. But she wasn't to know that. "I need to speak with Dr Black as a matter of urgency."
She wrinkled her nose and, in the sort of tone normally adopted for difficult five-year-olds, she said, "I can't tell you any more than our Practice Manager has already told the police."
"And what was that?"
"That Dr Black is out of town visiting family. And we don't know when he'll be back."
"When did he leave?"
"A week ago."
That would be around the time he visited my father. Perhaps there was a connection.
"And you didn't think to ask when he'd be back?"
She bristled. "He left an answer-phone message. It was some sort of family emergency. He didn't say when he would be back and he's not been in touch since."
"Do you know where he can be contacted? Do you have any addresses or phone numbers for his family?"
"I'm not privy to that sort of information. And besides you should have it already. Our Practice Manager has already passed on all Dr Black's personal details. They should be on your records."
She sounded suspicious. Time to try a different approach. "Perhaps I should have a word with your Practice Manager. I have some more questions I'd like to ask."
Holly' s voice was getting squeakier by the minute. "She is rather busy."
"I'm sure she wouldn't want to hinder the police investigation unduly. Please tell her I'd like to see her."
I was rewarded with a look that could sour wine as she reached for the telephone on the counter. She turned her back on me, made the call, and spoke into the receiver in a hushed tone. I overheard her say that someone from the police was waiting in reception. I pretended not to hear.
"She's sending someone out for you," Holly said, replacing the receiver. She sounded glad to be getting rid of me.
A younger woman appeared from a door across the room and greeted me with a smile - obviously not a receptionist - and led me to a nearby office where she left me in the company of the Practice Manager who rose from behind her desk as I entered. She introduced herself as Marion Porter.
After offering me a seat, Ms Porter said, "I'm a little puzzled. I've already given you as much information as I have. I don't know what else I can help you with."
She resumed her seat and, hands clasped before her on the desk, waited for an explanation.
She was a formidable looking woman, unsmiling, brisk and to the point, the no-nonsense type who wouldn't suffer fools gladly.
Sweat dampened my forehead. I'd missed some opportunities to correct the assumption that I was working with the police in their search for Dr Black. I hadn't actually said I was but the failure to correct the assumption was as much a deception. And Marion Porter didn't strike me as the kind of woman to be easily hoodwinked for long. Time to extricate myself. Clearly, I wasn't going to get the information I wanted.
I said, "I wanted to satisfy myself on a point regarding the call itself. Could you tell me how Dr Black sounded? Did he sound distressed or upset?"
"Ah." She leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together. "Perhaps I didn't make it clear. Dr Black left an automated text message. So I can't tell you how he sounded."
"A text message? That seems strange. Why would he not call in person or leave a voice message? It surely would have been easier?"
"I can't answer that. But it would make sense if he was in a situation where he didn't want to be overheard."
"I guess so."
I'd come to a dead end.
CHAPTER TEN
Karen was leaning over the reception desk browsing through the register when I returned. I reached behind me with a foot and kicked the door shut against the buffeting wind. It slammed into its frame and Karen looked up abruptly, peering over the top of her reading spectacles.
"Where the hell have you been all day?" She took off her specs and put them on the counter. "Have you any idea what's been going on?"
"Sure." I hung my wet coat on the stand by the door. "My father's been murdered and I'm the number one suspect."
"What?" She closed the register with a thud. "Oh, Mikey, that's insane."
"Try telling that to your boyfriend."
I crossed over to the fire and stood with my back to the flames. The spreading warmth was slow to ease the aching cold in my bones. Or take the edge off my temper. I was still aggrieved at failing to obtain any useful information at the surgery.
Karen came over to join me. "He is not my boyfriend. We're just friends. And I don't suppose for one moment he thinks you're a suspect."
"He just spent the morning interrogating me and I didn't get the impression he wanted to bond."
"Of course he's going to question you. You're Owen's closest family. And you found the body. What did you expect?"
I grunted and rubbed the back of my neck, easing the tension in the muscles there. Karen was right of course. I was being unreasonable. Lowe was doing his job and his cross-examination was just part of the routine.
I pulled a face. "Sorry, I'm being a jerk. Ignore me. It's been one of those days."
Karen squeezed my arm. "It must have been such a shock. I still can't believe it. Who would want to do such a thing?"
"Well, I've already told you what your ... what Sgt Lowe thinks. My dysfunctional relationship with my father seemed to be of particular interest to him."
"And what did you tell him?"
"As little as possible."
I didn't need to elaborate. Karen was close enough to know the many problems I'd had with my father.
"Come on," she said. "Let's get ourselves a drink. I think you need one. Sounds like you're having a bad time."
She led the way through an archway on the far side of the reception area and into the bar. "I may have closed down for the winter but I always keep a bottle of my favourite scotch handy."
I pulled a stool up to the counter and seated myself. Karen reached over and produced a bottle of Glenfiddick and some glasses. She slid onto the stool next to me and treated us both to a large measure. A couple of shots later I was more amiable.
Now I was in a better frame of mind, I told her about my day so far, including my visits to Jonas and the surgery.
I saved the best till last. "You're not going to believe who's in charge of the investigation."
"Ah, yes, I was just
about to tell you."
There was something about the way she said it that made me wary. "What is it?"
She bit her lip. "Nathan phoned. He wants to speak to you."
I groaned. My sense of wellbeing was dissipating again.
"I hope you put him off."
"For God's sake, Mikey. It wasn't a social call. He's running a murder investigation."
I slouched over the bar. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to face him."
"Well it's high time you did. You need to start facing up to your responsibilities and stop being such a coward."
I shot upright again. A coward? That was a kick in the teeth. "Is that what you think? That I'm a coward?"
She stared at me for a long moment and then said, "I know what a difficult time it was for you, Mikey. And I know how hard it was to leave everything behind. But it wasn't just about you, was it? You were in a relationship."
"And you'd know all about relationships. Yours was such a huge success."
That was wrong, so wrong. I leaned on the bar-top, buried my face in my hands and groaned. "I'm so sorry, Karen. That was a rotten thing to say. I'm sorry."
The wind howled in the chimney, sending a shower of soot into the blazing hearth below. The fire spluttered and flared.
Karen said, "My ex gave me good reason to leave him." Her tone had cooled. "What reason did Nathan give you?"
I didn't answer. I really should learn to think before I opened my mouth.
"You have no idea how much you hurt him. And I was the one left behind to pick up the pieces. And for all these years, you refused to talk about it and I let you get away with it. Well, it's time you knew."
This was unexpected.
"Yes, Mikey, you're a coward. What you did, the way you treated him, was contemptible."
I should have tried to defend myself but I was too stunned. Is that what she really thought, had always thought?
The ensuing silence was broken by the plaintive sound of the wind.
Karen slid off the stool and made her way back to the reception area. "He's coming round this evening at six. Make sure you're here."
She left the room and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Back in my room, I pulled a chair over to the window and sat facing the sea.
The wind had increased in force and was blowing in behind the waves, lifting them high over the seawall to crash down onto the Esplanade below. Seawater swept across the road and lashed the sides of passing vehicles.
As the scene slowly faded into growing darkness, my thoughts strayed to the past.
Once I'd made that fateful decision to leave Elders Edge all those years ago, I never saw Nathan again. Never contacted him. Never told him of my plans. But was that cowardice? I didn't think so. It was the hardest thing I've done. If I'd faced him then, I would have crumbled, my resolve shattered. And so I walked away and tried to forget him. And over time, my remembrance of him became a dull ache that I pushed to the back of my mind. I'd tried so hard not to think about him and now he was about to walk back into my life. And for the first time in many years, I would be forced to confront all those unanswered questions I'd shied away from; how life had been for him, if he blamed me for the choices I'd made and, if so, if he had learned to forgive me.
For the rest of that afternoon, I wandered around my room, unable to settle to anything, my mind in overdrive.
About an hour before Nathan was due to arrive, I ran a bath and took a long leisurely soak, trying to relax. But without success.
I finished my bath and dressed, going for my usual casual style; a dark-blue Lacoste polo shirt, a pair of Hugo Boss Alabama jeans and Nike trainers.
Just before he was due to arrive, I checked my reflection in the mirror. Not too bad. I looked a bit tired, but I'd pass muster.
Down below the outer door slammed. The sound of voices drifted up, Karen's and a deeper rumbling bass. My watch told me it was six o'clock. It had to be him. He had always been a stickler for punctuality.
CHAPTER TWELVE
On the upper landing, I gripped the banister rail and willed my muscles to relax. A tight hard knot formed in my stomach.
For the past few hours, I'd run through all manner of different scenarios in my mind, agonising over the many possible ways this meeting could pan out. None of them good. I had no real idea what to expect, but it wasn't going to be a pleasure ride.
I stood there long enough to compose myself, and then made my way down to reception, determined to appear at ease, even if I didn't feel it.
He was seated by the fire and rose to face me as I reached the foot of the stairs. Karen had already made herself scarce.
The years had been good to him. A few extra crinkles around the eyes maybe and the close-cropped smoky-brown hair was greying at the temples. But he was still the tall handsome man I remembered; the dark brooding good looks and those molten green eyes that seemed to burn into you.
We faced each other across the room in silence like gunslingers at a duel, each waiting for the other to make the first move. He was sizing me up and, under that unflinching gaze, I felt exposed and vulnerable.
Behind him, a blazing fire crackled in the grate.
Trying to brazen it out with a smile, I said, "Hello, Nathan. It's good to see you."
"Mikey." His response was as curt as the nod that accompanied it. The solid square-jawed face remained expressionless.
He never had been much of a talker. No point wasting words when a nod or a frown or a grunt would do.
I tried again. "You're looking well."
He was too. And obviously still making good use of the gym. There was no hiding the taut firm muscles that strained against the white cotton shirt. And although he had filled out a bit, the few extra pounds looked good on his tall well-proportioned frame.
I didn't know what else to say, all the carefully rehearsed words forgotten. There was so much I wanted to explain. But I didn't know how.
Needing to say something, anything, I added, "I always meant to get in touch." I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. They sounded so lame. And we both must have known it was a lie.
The muscles in his jaw tensed momentarily but instead of responding directly, he said instead, "I'm sure you know why I'm here. I'm sorry for your loss."
Still flustered by my tactlessness and without thinking, I said, "I doubt that," and immediately flushed. "I'm sorry. That was dumb."
This was not going well. He'd had no cause to like my father any more than I had. And he knew there was no love lost between us. But still, it was a cheap shot in the circumstances.
He let the moment pass and said, "I wanted to introduce myself as the senior officer in charge of the investigation into your father's death."
I stiffened. Introduce himself? What was he saying? He spoke as though he was meeting me for the first time. Who did he think I was?
For the next few minutes, I listened, bemused, while he explained how the investigation had been handed over from the local force to Divisional Headquarters in Charwell and that he would be taking a personal interest in the case.
In a neutral professional tone, he outlined the course the investigation was taking, including house to house enquiries and the interviewing of friends, family, colleagues and anyone else who had regular and even casual contact with my father. He explained that I would, of course, be included in that list of interviewees and he would be following up on my interview with Sgt Lowe.
I was confused.
Here was the man I had known for most of my life, from the earliest days of our childhood, and he addressed me as if he were briefing a potential witness on first acquaintance. The impassioned outburst I had expected wasn't forthcoming. Instead, what I got was this cool formality. A salesman trying to sell me a new car would have shown more emotion.
He continued, "I like to work in the field sometimes. I like my men to know that I'm prepared to work alongside them. It's good for morale."
I searched his face as he spoke. Looked for the person I had once known. The one who had loved me and held me in his arms. But he wasn't there. Just this solemn stranger.
An emotional confrontation had been the last thing I'd wanted. But now I almost wished there had been one. Anything would have been better than this.
"There is one matter I need to raise with you," he said. "I had a call from the local surgery. I understand you've been making some enquires of your own."
"I couldn't stand by and do nothing."
"The staff there were under the mistaken impression you were interviewing them on behalf of the police. I can't imagine how they could have arrived at such a conclusion. Can you, Mikey?"
I mumbled something about how easy it was to jump to conclusions.
"Leave it to the police would you. I don't appreciate outside interference."
Outside interference? He'd done it again. Distanced himself. Is that who I was now? An outsider?
"I'm not totally without some experience in the field," I said, trying to keep the resentment out of my voice. "I have been known to be of some value to the police in the past."
His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. The first hint of emotion I'd seen. "So I hear," he said. "You seem to have made quite a name for yourself over the past few years."
Was that disapproval in his tone?
I said, "A name made on the basis of the expert professional advice I've been able to give to the police on many occasions."
"And which has brought you a lot of media attention that can't have done your bank balance any harm."
What was his problem? Was he deliberately trying to rile me?
"I'll admit I've made a comfortable living out of my media work. But then people are interested in that sort of thing."
"Yes, I've caught one or two of your shows over the years. Though I have to say, your views on some of the more notorious unsolved crimes seem a little fanciful to my mind. I suggest you leave real investigation to those of us who know what we're doing."
So that was it. Professional jealousy. I was stepping on his toes and he didn't like it. Several responses came to mind, none of them particularly constructive. So I bit back my words and changed the subject instead.
The Slow Road to Hell Page 5