by Bill Kitson
It was almost twenty minutes later that Clara told him to pull in at a roadside café. Once they’d parked up, Nash asked why she’d picked this particular establishment. ‘You let me drive past three similar places in the last twenty miles. What was wrong with them?’
Clara pointed towards the line of heavy goods vehicles in the lorry park. ‘All the other cafés had no wagons outside. Truckers always know where to go for the best food and value for money.’
‘Smart thinking.’
Her theory was proved correct. They emerged half an hour later, well content, and with Nash’s wallet escaping relatively unscathed. ‘I reckon we’ve only about another hour’s driving ahead of us,’ Clara told him as they rejoined the carriageway.
It wasn’t far from her estimate when they slowed outside the grounds of the sect’s headquarters. The building was old, but time had enhanced its beauty rather than diminished it. Once, Nash thought, this would have been a substantial residence for a family of considerable affluence. He wondered briefly what they would have made of the current occupants. Built on four storeys, the Georgian façade of the house sat astride the end of a long, arrow-straight drive. The double wrought-iron gates were wide open. Clara edged slowly onto the drive. No one emerged from the lodge to challenge them, so she accelerated gently between the lines of tall, graceful poplar trees that stood like sentinels on either side of the drive. Interspersed between the trees were huge banks of hydrangeas that provided a riotous, colourful display of blooms.
At the end of the drive they stopped near to the massive studdedoak front door. Emerging a trifle stiffly from the car, Nash heard a voice behind them. ‘Good afternoon, brother and sister.’
They turned, to see a venerable figure in a long smock leaning on a Dutch hoe close to one of the flower beds. The man was tall, unbent despite his age, his plentiful white hair paling into insignificance against his long, flowing beard. Clara, who enjoyed Tolkien’s epic trilogy, was reminded of Gandalf, or Saruman.
‘I’m Brother Gabriel, the principal elder of this establishment. I believe you must be the visitors Sister Evangeline is expecting. Forgive me for not joining you, but as you can see, I have a considerable task tending these gardens. Please go on inside. Sister Evangeline will be waiting.’
The door opened onto a large hall with a wide staircase to one side rising towards the upper floors. A woman walked down the hall towards him. ‘Sister Evangeline’ – Nash thrust out his hand – ‘I’m Detective Inspector Nash, Mike Nash. And this is my colleague, who you spoke to on the phone, Detective Sergeant Mironova.’
The woman smiled. ‘I rather assumed so,’ she replied dryly.
Nash assessed Raymond Perry’s mother and was secretly amused to notice that the older woman was doing the same to him. Her face was lined with either sadness or age; her colour, however, was good, and her eyes, dark pools so deep a brown as to appear almost black, reflected as much joy as unhappiness. Her handshake was firm, her voice strong and clear. Sister Evangeline gestured to one of the multi-seat sofas that lined one wall. ‘Shall we sit down? I’ve arranged for refreshments to be brought to us after your journey.’
Nash asked if she’d mind answering some questions.
‘Oh, I think I should.’ She smiled. ‘It would be an awful waste, coming all this way to sit in silence drinking tea, don’t you agree?’
‘All right,’ he admitted, ‘it was a stupid thing to say. No more platitudes.’ He glanced at Clara, for support. ‘But first,’ Nash continued, ‘I want you to prepare yourself for a shock. I’m afraid I’ve some distressing news for you.’
Nash went on to explain what had happened to Ray. Sister Evangeline sat clutching a handkerchief, tears coursing down her cheeks. Clara comforted the older woman as Nash sat quietly waiting for the initial shock to subside and refilled her cup. Evangeline accepted it with trembling hands. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she sighed. ‘You’re sure he’s going to be all right? He will survive?’
‘I spoke to the specialist yesterday, and he assures me he is out of danger. What they’re less sure of is whether there will be any brain damage, and they won’t know for certain until he comes out of the coma.’ Nash waited for Evangeline to recover her composure before continuing. ‘I’d like to take you back to what happened before Raymond went to prison.’
‘You may want to take me,’ she retorted, ‘but there’s no saying I want to go with you. What has this got to do with things that happened a quarter of a century ago?’
‘We believe current events may be connected to what went on back then,’ he insisted, ‘even though we’re still not certain exactly how. Any information you can supply will be extremely helpful.’
The woman nodded. ‘Very well, but that was during what I call my dark period. My disease was at its worst then. I have little memory of that time. But ask your questions anyway. I will do my best.’
‘When did you last see Raymond? Can you remember that?’
She paused for only a second before answering. ‘It was after my brother-in-law was murdered. Not long after, I think, because Raymond was arrested soon after that. I remember he was very upset about something. Upset and,’ she paused, ‘excited, I think. No, not excited, that’s the wrong word. Agitated, yes, he was very agitated.’
‘Do you know what about? His uncle’s death, perhaps?’
A shadow passed over Evangeline’s face. ‘No!’ Nash was surprised by the sharpness of her tone. ‘It was something else, but I can’t remember whether he told me or not. He might have said something.’ Her voice sank to a barely audible murmur as she struggled with her memory. ‘Yes’ – her voice rose again with the triumph of her memory search – ‘he definitely started to say something, but then he stopped. Almost as soon as he began. I can picture him now. He held my hands’ – she glanced down at her lap – ‘he said he couldn’t tell me. That it wouldn’t be fair. And something else….’
She raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if seeking guidance. ‘He said,’ she spoke slowly now, ‘that although there was a lot he wanted to tell me, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That’s right; he couldn’t bring himself to do it, because if he told me he’d be putting me in great danger.’
‘Can you guess what it was he wanted to tell you?’
‘After he’d been arrested, I assumed he had intended to tell me what he was about to do.’ She shrugged; a gesture of helplessness for what had passed. ‘But I could have been wrong. Like I said, I wasn’t capable of much in the way of rational thought in those days.’ She looked at Nash, her gaze piercing. ‘Are you suggesting it was something else?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Nash hedged, but knew he hadn’t lied; he wasn’t sure. ‘Can you remember his exact words? Before he changed his mind, I mean. Before he stopped and said it was too dangerous.’
‘He started to say something about Frankie.’ Nash saw her face change, saw the smile cross her features. ‘Yes, that was it. He was going to tell me something about Frankie. Do you know something, Mr Nash? I’ve never thought about that conversation in all these years. But now you’ve prompted me I can remember it like it was yesterday. He said, “Mum, I want you to know that Frankie—” that was when he stopped. And I still don’t know what he was going to tell me.’
‘I think I do,’ Nash told her, ‘but we’ll get to that shortly. You liked Frankie, didn’t you?’
‘Oh yes, she was a lovely girl. Not only her looks, which were quite spectacular. But she cared for people. Genuinely cared for them, I mean. And she was good for Raymond. Frankie was just what he needed. She was starting to undo all the harm that had been done to him after—’ she stopped suddenly. ‘After his father died.’ A single tear ran down her cheek.
‘She ran away,’ Evangeline’s voice changed again, and it was as if she was repeating something she’d learned off by heart. ‘She ran away. That’s what they told me. “Frankie’s run away”. Every time I asked, they told me that. Time after time, the same answer.’
&nbs
p; She stopped speaking and stared straight ahead of her, lost in her own world, in the past, in the depths of her alcoholism.
‘Tell me about Max.’ Nash’s demand broke the spell. He almost recoiled at the change in Evangeline’s expression; the benevolence replaced with venom.
‘Max,’ she spoke slowly, every word enunciated with hatred, ‘was an evil, conniving, scheming bastard. God forgive me for saying such a thing, but he is the one man who really deserves that title. Max was responsible for everything bad that Raymond became; every crime he committed. Max, and me, I’m ashamed to admit. If Jimmy hadn’t been killed it would all have turned out different. It is a dreadful thing to lose your husband and your son at the same time, Mr Nash, but that’s what happened to me.’
‘Jimmy was your husband, Raymond’s father?’
She nodded. ‘Jimmy was Max’s older brother. He felt he ought to look after him. So every time Max got into trouble, he turned to Jimmy for help. That was often, I can tell you. I used to argue with Jimmy about it, but it did no good. Then, when Jimmy died, I lost it completely. Went to pieces, in a massive way. That was when Max took over. He took Raymond from me. Gave me money instead. That was what I wanted, what I needed. Not a small boy. How could I care for a small boy when I was no longer capable of looking after myself? So Max took Raymond and I got the money to spend on alcohol to make myself worse. Money to keep me drunk and keep me away from my son. That way he could get on with corrupting Raymond, teaching the boy his own wicked ways. Max Perry was about as evil a man as I’ve ever met. We were all right until Max came along and Jimmy fell soft; fell for his hard-luck story and took him into partnership in the scrapyard. Before I knew what was happening, I’d lost everything. My husband, my son, my house, our business. Max took the lot.’
‘How did your husband die?’
‘It was an accident; so they said. Some accident, I don’t think! It was at the yard. They used to stack cars one on top of the other waiting for the crane to put them in the crusher. A stack of cars slipped and came down on top of Jimmy. That’s the official version. Those that wanted to believed it. As if Jimmy would be that careless.’
‘You said Jimmy took Max into partnership? I take it Max wasn’t involved in the business from the start, then?’
‘No way, Jimmy built that business up from scratch. Started with a handcart and worked up from there. Max was still harbouring dreams of becoming a great entertainer. The only thing he was good for on the stage was sweeping it.’
‘Max was on stage? Doing what?’
‘He was an impersonator. Toured the country, but the variety clubs were dying and by the sound of it he wasn’t anything special. Good, but not that good. Gradually the bookings dropped off, and that was when Jimmy offered him a way out.’
‘So’ – Nash switched tack – ‘you’ve no idea what happened to Frankie? No idea what it was that Raymond was going to tell you before he changed his mind?’
Evangeline shook her head.
‘Could it have been,’ Nash continued, ‘that he was about to tell you that Frankie was pregnant?’
Her eyes had been lowered, but at Nash’s question she raised them and stared at him in surprise. ‘Pregnant?’ She thought for a moment. ‘I suppose he might have been going to tell me that. But what makes you ask that? And why would that be dangerous for me to hear?’
‘I’m not sure that was the dangerous part. Did he say anything else, anything at all?’
‘There was something.’ A long silence followed whilst Sister Evangeline struggled to remember. Eventually, she raised her head, memory triumphing. ‘He said that whatever happened, I hadn’t to try and contact him until it was all over. No visits, no phone calls, nothing. At the time, I assumed he meant at the flat, then after he was arrested, I thought he meant in prison.’
‘When he said “until it was all over” what do you think he meant by that?’
‘I’d no idea, so I asked him. I said, “What do you mean, Ray? What’s going on? Until what’s all over”? At that point, I’m not sure if I’d even heard of Max’s murder.’
‘And can you remember his reply?’
‘He said it was better that I shouldn’t know, then I couldn’t be coerced into saying anything. He said, “It’s all about the blood….” Those were his words, but he was going to add something else, I’m sure. At the time, once I heard of that man Callaghan’s death and that Ray had been arrested for it, I thought he must have meant the blood feud that had been caused by Callaghan murdering Max.’
‘There was another rumour going around at the time, apparently,’ Clara said, her first contribution to the interview. ‘It was about Frankie and Callaghan. Apparently, from what we were told, there was a lot of gossip that they might have been having an affair. Could that be why Frankie ran away? Might she have been carrying Callaghan’s baby, not Ray’s?’
To the astonishment of both detectives, Evangeline began to laugh, a rich, earthy chuckle.
‘Sorry, did I say something funny?’ Clara asked.
‘Yes, you certainly did, but you weren’t to know any better.’ Sister Evangeline paused for a moment. ‘And I can see how that rumour might have got about, or at least originated.’ She saw Nash and Mironova exchange puzzled glances and explained. ‘The block of flats where Frankie lived was owned by her agent, and let for the most part to his own clients. I visited Frankie there several times, and on one occasion, I saw Callaghan, who I knew slightly, going into the building. I asked Frankie what he was doing there and she told me. Callaghan was having an affair, but not with Frankie. He was having the affair with a dancer who lived in the flat opposite hers.’
‘Can you remember what she was called? The dancer, I mean,’ Nash asked.
‘I think the name was Charles, but I may be wrong.’ Sister Evangeline’s tone was dry.
‘Charles? You mean Callaghan was…?’
‘Musical, I think the theatrical expression was. Gay, is what I believe is now the more acceptable term.’
‘Good heavens! Why didn’t that ever come to light?’ Clara asked.
‘Reputation,’ Evangeline told her laconically. ‘With a reputation as a hard man to maintain, that was hardly the sort of thing Callaghan would want his enemies to find out. Admittedly, he wouldn’t have been the first gangland figure to have such tastes, but the others generated such fear nobody dared mock them for it.’
‘You’re talking about the notorious twins, I assume?’ Nash stated.
‘That’s right, however, one thing I can tell you for certain, if Ray did kill Callaghan, then jealousy over Frankie certainly wasn’t the motive. Now, I’ve answered a lot of questions about things that happened a long time ago. I think it’s time you answered some of mine, about things that are going on now.’
It was over an hour later when Nash’s car pulled away from the grounds of the religious order, but instead of returning the way they had come, Nash followed Clara’s directions, setting them on course for Newcastle.
Trevor Thornton leaned across the driver and peered down the lane towards the holiday cottage. ‘That’s it, down that track. Stop the car here. That place is a bit of a comedown for Lady High and Mighty Corinna,’ he muttered. ‘There’s one of the cars parked outside. Drive round that bend and see if there’s a place to stop where we can’t be seen from the house.’
Mr Muscle drove slowly for the fifty yards that took them behind a small copse. Thornton pointed to a small gravel area to one side of the road. ‘Perfect, pull in there.’ His henchman swung the Mercedes off the tarmac, the vehicle bumping over the uneven surface before coming to a halt, shielded from view by the trees’ summer foliage. ‘Stay there,’ Thornton instructed him. ‘I’m going to take a dekko.’
Mr Muscle watched with some amusement as Thornton struggled to climb over the post and rail fence that surrounded the small strip of woodland. His small, rotund frame and short, plump legs were hardly suited for such athletic activity.
Not without difficulty,
Thornton made it and paused, panting slightly from the unaccustomed exertion. Now he was faced with another, even trickier obstacle. From a distance, the trees had looked to be easy to walk through. It was only when Thornton inspected the terrain close to that he found his way barred by a dense patch of briar and bramble that had grown over the years to almost head height, especially for someone as vertically challenged as Mr T.
After some minutes, Thornton spotted a gap in the undergrowth, or rather a small area where the vegetation wasn’t quite as thick. He forced his way through this, at the cost of several scratches on his hands, his neck and his cheek, and was rewarded when he reached the edge of the wood with an uninterrupted view. Across the field, in which were a surprisingly large number of sheep, Thornton could see directly into the cottage windows, but although he watched for some considerable time, spotted no sign of life. From this distance, it was impossible for him to gauge how easy it would be to enter the property. Going closer was not an option, not until they were ready to act. What he needed was to take another look. But in order to do that, he would need a pair of binoculars. And possibly a pair of gloves.
chapter twelve
‘Shaw!’
The DS looked up. ‘Yes, Guv’nor?’
‘My office, now.’
Shaw followed his superior into the glass-walled cubicle in the corner of the main CID room. There was already one occupant, a young man of little more than twenty years of age, or so Shaw guessed.
‘Last week, when you were asking for all that info about Max and Ray Perry and their organization, what prompted it?’ Shaw’s boss asked.
‘It wasn’t for me. I had a phone call from DI Nash in North Yorkshire. He wanted as much background as we had.’
‘Mike Nash? Why is he interested in them? Is he doing a degree in modern history or something?’
Shaw smiled. He glanced across at the third occupant before replying. The meaning of the look wasn’t lost on Shaw’s superior. He apologized and introduced the young man, adding, ‘I’d better explain.’