Sins of the Father

by David Harrison

  Alex seemed amused. “And what’s that?”

  “To destroy my marriage.”

  “Nick’s done that for you. It’s over.”

  “No,” Sarah shouted, all her anger bursting free. “I’ll decide when it’s over. I’ll decide.”

  She strode away, deciding in that moment to walk on to Beachy Head and catch a bus into Eastbourne. A second later she felt Alex’s footfalls behind her, a hand brushing against her arm.

  “What’s got you so upset? It was only a kiss.”

  “I don’t want to be kissed by you. Or told what to do, or how to feel.”

  She kept on walking, aware of Alex a step behind but making no move to stop her. Bitterly she remembered occasions when she and Nick had argued like this, Nick hanging back, waiting for her temper to cool.

  “Why should I throw away everything we had together?” she exclaimed. Alex didn’t reply. “You didn’t hear the message he left me this morning. It was so sweet. I know he’s been unfaithful, but Christ, there are millions of men like that. Some women walk out, and some decide to stay. You have to do what’s best for you. And if I choose to give him another chance, well that’s my business and nobody else’s. Do you understand?”

  Sarah turned. Alex had dropped back a few paces and was studying her with a clinical efficiency.

  “Something’s happened to you,” she said. “What’s changed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  Sarah shook her head and began walking again.

  “Tell me,” Alex shouted. “Tell me, you bitch!”

  Sarah should have ignored the insult, but she couldn’t. She spun on her heels and spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s none of your bloody business, but I think I’m pregnant.”

  ***

  It took Nick half an hour to reach his sister’s house, and as he drew up behind a silver Lexus the driver’s door opened and Howard Franks emerged. It was the first time Nick had seen Franks in the flesh, and his first reaction was surprise that the writer was so diminutive. Franks was no more than about five feet five, slightly built, with immaculate silver hair and the kind of artificial tan that looked about as convincing as a coat of creosote.

  “What are you playing at?” Nick demanded.

  Franks swept his hand in the direction of Diana’s house. “Your sister declined to speak to me. I felt it best to give her some time to reconsider.”

  “Haven’t we made it clear that we’re not going to help you?”

  “You’ve made it abundantly clear. The fact is, I have absolutely no intention of abandoning this project. I can write it without your contribution if I have to, but I’m trying to do you and your family a favour. Your involvement would help to provide a balanced view.”

  “And it also legitimises whatever scurrilous lies you choose to include without our knowledge.”

  Franks chuckled. “If that’s the stumbling block,” he said, “let me give you a flavour of my discoveries so far. Does the name Ted Wheeler mean anything?”

  Nick instinctively shook his head, but at the same time he felt a flicker of recognition: had his mother perhaps mentioned that name, many years ago?

  Franks continued, “What about Leslie Jones?”

  “Just get to the point. Who are they?”

  “Jones was a small time criminal, working for Wheeler, amongst others. I’ve reason to believe he tried to blackmail your father, possibly in relation to some of Eddie’s… shall we say, extracurricular activities.”

  “Got any proof?”

  Franks laughed, as though the very idea of needing proof was a quaint anachronism. “I’ll have enough to keep your lawyers in their traps, if it comes to that.”

  Nick looked away, not wanting Franks to sense the dread unfurling in his stomach. Trying to maintain a defiant tone, he said, “So what about this Leslie Jones?”

  And although he braced himself for something unpleasant, he was completely unprepared for the answer Franks gave him.

  “Your father had him killed.”

  ***

  “You think?” said Alex. She took a wary step forward, unsure how to deal with this new, assertive Sarah.

  “I came off the pill when I found out about Nick. I didn’t go near him for ages, but then…” She shrugged. “I needed him.”

  Alex snorted contemptuously. “How long have you known?”

  “A week or two. I haven’t done a test yet, but normally I’m pretty regular.”

  “Then why walk out on him?”

  “Because I was so scared, knowing I’d be getting fat and unattractive. If he can’t keep it in his pants at the best of times, what will he be like when I’m waddling round with a screaming brat clamped to my boob? I left because I needed time to think, but all I’ve had is you nagging, undermining, manipulating me.”

  “Because you’re so spineless.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I am. But I’m willing to try again, and I want you to piss off out of my life.”

  A seagull rose suddenly on the updraft, unleashing a screech of displeasure at the presence of humans so close to its habitat. Sarah flinched, turning towards the sound, and Alex rushed at her, pushing her closer to the cliff edge.

  “Only too happy to oblige,” Alex snarled. “You’ve served your purpose.”

  Holding Sarah by the shoulders, she wrestled her to the brink. Sarah opened her mouth to scream, but the feeble sound that emerged was snatched away by the wind. She tried to clasp Alex but could only clutch at the shiny fabric of her coat. Even in desperation her strength was no match for the other woman. Her body twisted into the void, feet kicking uselessly at the loose chalk of the cliff face, fingers grasping, horror and pitiful confusion on her face as Alex broke free and lurched away from the edge. Then she was gone.

  ***

  Alex fell to the ground and was still for a moment, breathing fast. Despite the noise of the wind and the waves, she was sure she heard the body hit the rocks. It sounded like the end of something and the beginning of something.

  Rising to her feet, she looked around for anyone who might have seen what happened. A couple of people were walking towards Beachy Head, but they had their backs to her. There seemed to be no one else in sight.

  She had been lucky. Not for the first time.

  She started jogging, taking a circular route halfway down the hill that would avoid going too close either to the lighthouse or to the road. She watched a couple of cars negotiate the bend near the cliff edge and continue towards Birling Gap. The drivers were too far away to make her out, but still she pulled the hat tight over her head and hunched her shoulders.

  If the murder had been witnessed, the police would pick her up before she made it back to the car. The knowledge gave her an incredible thrill, lending a heightened awareness to every sensation: the springiness of the wild grass, the delicious salt taste of the wind, the mournful cry of gulls.

  This was a deviation from her original plan, but an enormously satisfying one. She was glad to be rid of the miserable whining bitch. And she hadn’t had to go through with the sex, which was a bonus.

  She reviewed the day’s events, trying to pinpoint where she might have left incriminating evidence. Her foolish manoeuvre in the hotel car park had brought people to the window. Had anyone taken the number? She didn’t recall seeing security cameras outside the hotel, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  No doubt plenty of the shops in Eastbourne had captured them on CCTV, but there was little she could do about that. Just had to hope the images were poor quality.

  The other question was DNA. There was a possibility she’d left hairs or traces of skin on Sarah, but to find them the police would have to be quick: one high tide and any evidence would be erased.

  It took her ten minutes to reach the car park, and the handful of people in sight paid her no attention. She drove away cautiously, half-expecting to hear sirens approaching, but once she reached the main
road towards Brighton the excitement returned, and with it the understanding that once again she had got away with murder.

  She saw now how this development could bring her a step closer to her goal, while also allowing her a breathing space: no more time wasted on the sham of inane friendship and pathetic female bonding.

  Coming out of Brighton on to the A23, she picked up speed and switched on the CD player, turning it up loud. She needed to get home; she needed food and a bath and nourishing sleep.

  And she knew Sarah wouldn’t linger long in her dreams. Instead it would be her brother’s face she saw below the water, his eyes wide with confusion and pleading to be spared.

  EIGHT

  “That’s ridiculous. And you’d better warn your publishers that we’ll instruct lawyers to scrutinise every word of your crummy little book. One unsubstantiated allegation and we’ll have you in court. Do you understand?”

  Nick jabbed a finger angrily at Franks’s face, and saw a tiny flash of unease in the older man. It was an unwelcome reminder of how he must have appeared when Kevin Doyle sprang at him the day before.

  “I’m prepared for that,” said Franks, quickly regaining his composure. “And I haven’t come here to exchange schoolboy threats. I want you to understand the gravity of the crimes your father committed. When you’ve had time to consider it, I’m sure you’ll see the benefits of collaboration.”

  He turned away and opened his car door. For a moment Nick was nonplussed, almost disappointed that the confrontation had ended so abruptly. Franks started the engine and then lowered the window. “Think about it,” he called cheerily.

  Nick waited until the Lexus was out of sight and then walked up the drive. Diana must have been watching, for the front door opened as he approached.

  “I feel like a terrible coward,” she said. “I just couldn’t face him. I didn’t want to get upset in front of the kids.”

  “You did the right thing. He should never have come here.”

  They went into the kitchen, and Nick spent some time with the children while Diana made Ryan some toast and put on a DVD.

  “Finding Nemo as babysitter,” she sighed. “What a terrible mother I am.”

  “We were always glued to the TV,” Nick reminded her. “Didn’t do us any harm.” He made himself go cross-eyed and she laughed, then sniffed and rubbed away sudden tears. He was aware of her steeling herself, taking a deep breath.

  “I assume it’s bad news?”

  “It’s ludicrous. Insane. He says Dad had someone killed.”

  There was a moment while Diana processed the words and attempted to make sense of them. She gave a snorting, spluttering laugh of disbelief.

  “But why? Why would he…?”

  “He claims the guy was a lowlife villain who was blackmailing Dad.”

  “Blackmailing him for what?”

  Nick saw that Diana’s hands were shaking. He stepped closer and put his arm round her.

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Or doesn’t know?”

  Nick shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “So it could be just a lot of… baloney.”

  He said nothing. Diana was four years younger than him, and had been only five when their father died. Unlike Nick, she had been shielded from the discovery that big-hearted comic Eddie had left his family almost penniless, not to mention the trail of lovers crawling out of the woodwork for their double-page spreads in the News of the World and Titbits.

  Diana produced a tissue from the sleeve of her sweater and blew her nose. “Do you think we should co-operate with him?”

  “I don’t know. He could take whatever charming anecdotes we give him and ignore them altogether, or even twist them into something nasty. We can’t trust him.”

  “But maybe if we’re on the inside we might be able to influence him in some way.”

  “Appeal to his better nature?” Nick asked sarcastically.

  “All right. Forget that idea.” She blew her nose again. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sure? I’m going to have a glass of wine.”

  Nick glanced at his watch, pretending to be shocked. “Really?”

  “Sod it. Medicinal purposes. Sure you won’t join me?”

  He shook his head. Pouring the wine, she finally asked the question he’d been dreading.

  “Has Sarah been in touch?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you spoken to her friends?”

  “She told me she was in a hotel, and there are a hell of a lot to choose from.” He didn’t add that, to his shame, he barely knew the three or four friends that were exclusive to Sarah. It was as if she’d deliberately kept them away from him, perhaps fearing he’d jump into bed with them at the first opportunity.

  “What you did was so stupid,” Diana said, more weary than angry. “Why on earth would you risk everything for a bloody one-night stand?”

  Nick struggled to find a reply. He suspected the question had been phrased to illustrate that the son was going the way of the father.

  “If Sarah gives you another chance, tell me you won’t do anything like that ever again.” She took his hands in hers and squeezed them. “Promise me.”

  “Of course I won’t,” he said, flinching at the intensity of her gaze. “I’ve learnt my lesson.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t snap. I just want to know that you mean it.”

  The back door opened and Patrick walked in. “Hey, you’re becoming a fixture,” he said. “Shall I sort out the spare room?”

  He was joking, but Diana nodded. “Good idea. You could eat with us and stay over.”

  Nick was tempted, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t say no to dinner, but I have to get back. The work’s piling up.”

  “I’m surprised you can think about work with all this going on.”

  “So am I. But I still have the bills to pay. Life goes on.”

  Diana raised her glass as if making a toast. “Life goes on,” she echoed.

  ***

  Howard Franks returned to London feeling more than satisfied. Nick Randall’s intransigence was a trivial setback compared to some of the situations he’d experienced in his tabloid days. The expression on his face when he heard about Leslie Jones’s death had been worth the journey on its own.

  From now on, Nick and Diana knew exactly what they were facing. Franks felt it was only a matter of time before they agreed to talk to him.

  Nick had been sharp, though, understanding why he was so eager for their collaboration. Armed with quotes from Eddie’s family, Franks could claim far greater legitimacy for the other, more salacious aspects of the book. And having agreed to contribute, they could hardly claim the finished result was an unauthorised account.

  On the way back he tried calling Lindsay but got no answer. Taking the chance that she’d be keen to hear about his latest masterstroke, he stopped off at the delicatessen in Archway Road and bought borlotti beans, pancetta and double cream. He was a keen amateur chef, and had spent thousands on a gleaming Poggenhall kitchen. Tonight he had in mind a Jamie Oliver risotto followed by Nigella’s bitter orange ice cream.

  And then sex. Definitely sex, after last night’s disappointment.

  But when he reached home there was a message from Lindsay. She was drowning in paperwork and wouldn’t be able to see him for a couple of days. To make up for it, she suggested he book a table at the best restaurant he could find on Saturday night and afterwards she’d give him, in her words, a blow job to die for.

  The message gave him an erection. He listened to it twice more and knew he couldn’t possibly wait until Saturday. Four days, for Christ’s sake.

  Checking his other messages, he learnt that he’d been invited to appear on a Channel 4 reminiscence show about footballers and their indiscretions. His transition from journalist to biographer had encompassed a stint as ghostwriter of a couple of tedious sporting autobiographies, one of th
em by a former Premiership player. Franks rang his agent and said he’d be delighted to appear.

  After taking a shower he put on a Norah Jones CD, poured a large gin and tonic and consulted his little black book.

  His first choice, Geraldine, was in the Maldives. Lucky bitch. Fiona couldn’t talk because hubby was close at hand but not in sight, raising the possibility that he was listening on another extension. Franks threw in some nonsense about the TV invitation and hastily terminated the call. Hubby in this case was built like a brick shithouse and had never seemed overly fond of Franks.

  Penelope was the ex-wife of a Labour peer; her maid delivered a long unintelligible message that he cut off halfway through. Those options exhausted, he rang a favoured escort agency based in Kensington and was overjoyed to learn that Teri was available for £350 per hour, or £2000 for the night. He booked the whole night to show he was both virile and generous, but knew he’d be exhausted by midnight.

  He put the phone down, his good mood restored by the promise of physical gratification. The added benefit of an escort was that he needn’t make much effort. For two grand it was only his pleasure that mattered.

  Of course there was always a chance that Lindsay would turn up unannounced, as she had a couple of times after declining a date. Tough. The fact was, Lindsay’s independence was becoming a bit tiresome. And now she was no longer needed for the book, it was time to think about ditching her.

  Just as soon as he’d lined up the next one, of course.

  NI NE

  Nick woke the next morning feeling full of vigour. It didn’t matter that Sarah was still gone, or that Franks had accused Eddie of murder, or that he had reports to write and visits to make: some inadvertent chemical imbalance in his brain had made the air coming in his bedroom window smell fresh and inviting, the cry of the seagulls romantic and tender. He felt so infused with energy that he left the house at seven-thirty in shorts and a t-shirt, shuddering at the cold but determined to warm himself up with a quick run along the seafront.