The Bloodline Will

by A B Morgan

  ‘This stalking business, did Mr Neale insinuate that either he or the police were any nearer to identifying a potential suspect?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ Logan said, managing to compose himself enough not to choke on his words again.

  Konrad Neale’s documentary – snappily entitled “A Deadly Game of Kiss-Chase” – had been shown on Channel 7 the previous evening as part of his renowned series “The Truth Behind the Lies”. Shortly afterwards a stream of texts arrived on Logan’s phone.

  ‘You suppose?’ Guy’s voice was haughty. A change finally, a flutter of reaction, albeit miniscule.

  Logan wondered why.

  ‘The stalker knew I was at Marriot and Weston’s the first day I met with the documentary team. They followed Katrina, my partner—’

  ‘Yes, I know who she is, thank you.’

  Logan shook out an apology. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound patronising. Mr Neale was hoping to flush out the stalker, the documentary being in two parts, you see. The second part will be filmed later in the year once there’s some sort of conclusion, to give an update.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Guy moved his head slightly. ‘And you and Katrina are, as a result, at some risk. Like bait set in a trap to catch a stalker, is that the case?’

  With a query registering on his face, Logan nodded. ‘I guess you could put it like that, yes. I spent last night dealing with the police again, in the matter of the stalker…’ His words faded with a slight inflection at the end.

  Alongside use of humour, apparently sympathy wasn’t in Guy’s repertoire of interpersonal skills either. He gave solemn advice, but no sign of sympathy. ‘May I suggest you take Channel 7 to task over the way the issue has been sensationalised. Katrina’s short piece to camera came across as downright incendiary, almost goading in her choice of words. You do realise that she belittled you.’ He raised a ghostly eyebrow. ‘It seems to me that the insensitive nature of the reporting may have riled your antagonist.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We shall ensure that, as valued employees of Global Enterprises, you and Miss Chandler are afforded some time away from your present duties.’

  Logan held what little breath he had left in his chest and waited to hear the words “suspended until further notice”. Instead, Guy Nithercott turned his gaunt features to Cartwright.

  ‘Anything outstanding for Mr Peplow to take care of before his holiday next week?’

  ‘Just the contracts, sir.’

  Guy looked again at Logan and asked, ‘are the contracts in order for the Six Nations and the other major internationals for the next financial year?’

  Logan was so stunned, he didn’t answer.

  ‘This should require a straightforward yes or no response, Mr Peplow. Or are you having some difficulties with your hearing today. Old head injury perhaps?’

  The question was sarcastic and simple enough, but one of the Australian contracts had stalled and Logan was remiss in not informing the board of this delay. With his exhausted mind elsewhere, the last place his body wanted to be was stuck in a hermetically sealed room with Guy Nithercott, fighting for his career and having to admit he’d screwed-up a financial matter.

  ‘No. Well, yes, nearly. Just the Australian contract to be completed.’

  Guy sneered. ‘Then “No” is the answer you were looking for.’ He fixed Logan with stern disapproval. ‘I suggest you finish early today, go on your holiday and perhaps when you return you can complete the job I pay you for.’

  He turned to his right and spoke directly to Cartwright. ‘Ensure Mr Peplow is properly catered for in Le Mans. No interruptions about work while he’s officially on holiday. He needs a break. Call MacDonald and have him drive Mr Peplow to his home address. He can come back for me later.’

  ‘Now, sir?’

  ‘Yes now, Cartwright. Look at him, the man is barely functioning. Make a note, we must do something about this.’

  Logan stood and made as if to leave. Guy called him back before he reached the door to freedom.

  ‘Mr Peplow? Two more things… Enjoy your trip to Le Mans, I may see you there, and finally – be extremely careful what you or your agent divulge to Mr Konrad Neale, he has a way of wheedling information out about this organisation and my personal life that could so easily result in your dismissal. You’ve been lucky so far. Isn’t that so, Cartwright?’

  ‘Extremely fortunate in my humble opinion, sir. A miracle indeed.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  An unwelcome invitation

  Tell me again, why we are going to a business meeting in a pub,’ Mal said as he blipped the locking mechanism for his latest car; an Audi A4 saloon, modest by his usual standards.

  ‘Historically this is where the four of them do their best thinking,’ Ella replied. ‘Netty reckons it has to do with the brain cells being fired up by alcohol.’ Having closed the car door with a gentle clunk, she paused.

  While he waited for her to speak, Mal leant, with arms folded, on the sleek black roof of the vehicle as it ticked and pinged, cooling down.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘You’ve something on your mind. Spit it out. Let’s hear it.’

  Taking up position on the opposite side of the car, and being shorter than him, Ella rested her fingers on the roof trim and placed her chin there, staring at him directly. ‘Second Chance Investigations. Is that a suitable name instead of Khan and Fitzwilliam? I did think about calling the business after Val, in her memory, but it sounded wrong somehow and there’s a big part of me wanting to distance myself from the events surrounding Val, Marcus Carver and Harry Drysdale.’ She sighed as thoughts entered her head about the people whose deaths changed her life. ‘A second chance for me. Thanks to you.’

  Mal gave her a wide smile. ‘So, we are in business together then. No more lame excuses for avoiding the answer to my question. What’s changed your mind?’

  ‘This case. There’s something decidedly suspect about the whole thing. I know we’re getting paid huge amounts of money, and I’m pretty sure I’m a pawn in Konrad Neale’s game of “catch a Nithercott” but it’s her – Abigail. She’s as screwed up as they come and based on what she told me in St Cuthbert’s I should feel sorry for her, but I don’t know if I believe her.’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘All of it … any of it. I’m positive she’s perfectly capable of stalking anyone she wants to, but most of the time she’s never left alone for long enough to go creeping about spying on men. He’s got her under permanent scrutiny.’

  ‘Who? Guy?’

  ‘Yes. He’s the sick one in that relationship. Sick as a sick thing from Sickville.’ She stuck out her tongue and made a retching noise.

  Mal stood upright and slid one hand into his trouser pocket. He slapped the car roof with the other. ‘Come on. We’ll be late.’ He headed for the heavy oak door that opened from the rear car park entrance into a wide hallway, the walls bedecked with horse brasses and sepia photographs. A short walk led customers into The Valiant Soldier. He pressed down on the cast iron latch and opened the door for Ella to enter the public bar.

  ‘I see I’m the only Asian in the village,’ he quipped as they stepped into an archetypal country pub and the chatter in the bar ceased for long enough to be significant. Rob, the landlord, by way of compensation, made a special effort to provide a warm welcome.

  ‘The lovely Ella,’ he announced. ‘Your usual slimline tonic, ice and slice?’ He glanced across the room to a large table. ‘Two of the motley crew are already here, the Ribbles are on their way. This your new fella is it?’ He raised a bushy eyebrow in Mal’s direction.

  The question rather caught her by surprise, and she hesitated, allowing Mal to introduce himself loud enough for all to hear.

  ‘ ’Evening, landlord. I’m Malik Khan, an old friend of Ella’s. Call me Mal.’

  On hearing the London accent, the stern expression on Rob’s stubbly face appeared to transform. ‘Now then, Mal, welcome to Lower Marto
n. Get to the countryside much do you?’

  ‘Been a few times, as it happens. It’s not my cup of tea, if I’m honest. Too many animal odours and wide-open spaces, if you know what I mean. All that twaddle about clean air is a load of old cod’s if you ask me. The place smells vile. Proper pongy.’ He produced a splendidly broad grin, shook Rob’s hand and said, ‘Good to meet someone else who hails from the smoke. How long you been out in the sticks for then?’

  Ella relaxed as Mal worked his magic.

  Ensuring eventual acceptance by the protective local community, Konrad strode across to the bar and placed a hand on the shoulder of Mal’s cheap version of a designer business suit. ‘Mal, what will you have?’

  ‘Only a lemonade for me please, mate.’

  ‘Ah, of course, you don’t drink. Muslim, aren’t you?’

  Ella was taking a sip from her glass at the time this question arose. She snorted, sending bubbles up her nose, which caused her to spray tonic water down the front of her blouse. She caught Mal’s cheeky expression as she brushed off the droplets.

  ‘Mr Neale, I’m the sorriest excuse for a good Muslim boy that ever there was. For the most part, my family have disowned me. I drink, I swear, I’m divorced, I don’t go to mosque and I occasionally bend the law in my favour. However, I never drink and drive.’

  ‘Christ, you’ll be confessing to eating bacon for breakfast next.’

  Mal gave an embarrassed grin, making Konrad chuckle with delight at the unspoken guilty confession. He raised his arm again and patted Mal amicably on the back. ‘In which case… Rob?’

  ‘Yes, Konrad, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Do you have a room available for tonight? My guest Mr Khan will be joining us for dinner and will be staying the night.’ Konrad held his hand up to stop the protest Mal was about to make. ‘Yes. I insist. My treat.’

  He turned back to face Rob who was awaiting instructions, hand on hips. ‘We are going to show him what country hospitality is all about and introduce him to the delights of your finest ales and then wine, maybe a cheeky brandy after dinner. What do you say?’

  ‘Right you are. Just for the one person is it? Double room?’

  Ella chimed in before any unnecessary remarks were made. She was keen to avoid village gossip and already slightly uneasy at Rob’s inference. ‘A double for one person,’ she said.

  ‘And make sure he gets a full English breakfast in the morning,’ Konrad added, laughing gently, ‘…with black pudding. Right, young man, what pint can I tempt you to?’

  Ella left the dapper suited men debating the merits of each of the ales on offer and wandered over to see what Lorna was concentrating on. ‘Busy?’

  Startled by the interruption, Lorna took a moment to focus on who’d spoken. ‘Ella! Sorry. I was miles away. Come. Sit.’ She tapped the well-worn wooden bench seat. ‘You look lovely in that colour. Very cheerful.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ella replied, pulling at the hem of her newly acquired lime-green ruffled blouse. ‘Found it in a charity shop when Netty took me into town the other day.’

  ‘Shows off your figure.’ Lorna grinned her approval. She moved her iPad towards where Ella seated herself. ‘Thanks for calling me so soon after your appointment with Clare. You were right to question Abigail’s driving ability, just as you were spot on about Isla Renfrew. You got my email?’

  Ella flattened her mouth, rolling her lips together. ‘She was so young.’

  ‘She should’ve left well alone,’ Lorna said lifting a finger to the screen in front of them. ‘As you so rightly discovered, Isla Renfrew’s family have close connections to the Nithercotts. Way too close for comfort. Keep at it, see what else you can find out about them.’ She shuffled closer to Ella. ‘But that will wait for now.’

  Peering at the information being shown to her, Ella wondered what was so fascinating that Lorna hadn’t noticed her approach.

  ‘Abigail and her car,’ Lorna said. ‘NITH 2, is registered to Guy Nithercott. No big surprise there. However, what is unexpected is the discovery that Abigail doesn’t seem to have a current driving licence. Whether it’s been suspended or not, I can’t say. As far as I can work out, she doesn’t normally leave the house, mansion, hall, estate – or whatever you like to call the great monstrosity they refer to as home - without Guy. Or at the very least she’s escorted by their chauffeur-come-bodyguard, a certain Lewis MacDonald.’

  Ella perked up. ‘I had the pleasure of being spoken at by Mr MacDonald last week. Miserable Glaswegian sod.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Hang on, when I saw Abigail yesterday, she was on her own, and if she can’t legally drive a car then it means either she escaped from Nithercott Hall prison and avoided the guards, or something else…’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Or,’ added Ella ‘she’s not our stalker and this is all nonsense. The stalker would have to be very mobile to take those photos of Katrina and of Logan.’

  ‘Or…’ responded Lorna, flicking her eyes back and forth as she thought hard. ‘Or, that wasn’t Abigail you saw in the car.’

  ‘I didn’t get a close look, but I’m fairly certain it was her – the hair, the hollow cheeks, the shocking pallor – and Clare Gray mentioned her by name. Everything. Mal has a recording for you to listen to.’

  She nodded towards the bar. ‘By some miracle, I managed to tap the phone before the therapy session began, but before that I overheard a telephone conversation between Clare and Dr Jameson, talking about Abigail as if she’d just left minutes before, which she had. I saw her. I know I did.’

  Her assumption was that others thought her unreliable as a witness. She couldn’t blame them, because she doubted herself sometimes and could’ve done with support from Mal. But he was still deep in conversation at the bar where the Ribbles had joined him and Konrad. The noise level in the whole pub increased significantly on their arrival, mostly due to Barney’s effervescence and Netty’s natural, cheerful disposition. As if on cue, Netty peeled away from the men and, with glass in hand, made her way to sit adjacent to Ella.

  ‘Three wise monkeys in a row,’ she sang, clinking her tall tumbler against Ella’s. ‘Skinny tonic water for you too. We are doing well.’

  The smile on Ella’s face reflected the pleasure she felt at Netty’s arrival. She was such a comforting presence.

  ‘Every time I see you, I swear you’ve lost another half a stone,’ Lorna said in admiration.

  ‘I have,’ said Netty, proudly puffing out her chest. ‘And to prove it, much to Barney’s disgust, I’m down two cup sizes.’ She reached for her satchel that sufficed as a handbag. It was thrown carelessly against the side of the wooden pew they were sitting on. ‘And, before I forget, here’s a couple of letters for you, Ella. As you can see, the one in the brown envelope was marked as urgent and I brought the other one along just in case.’

  The trembling fingers of Ella’s hands signalled how anxious the buff envelope had made her. She was dreading this. The printed logo and details of the sender confirmed just how crucial the contents could be to her future. She didn’t know whether to open the envelope or not. The three women sat in silence for several seconds, each set of eyes boring into the letter, wanting to know the content and at the same time afraid to find out.

  ‘Explain this to me again,’ Netty whispered.

  Ella lowered her head. ‘I’m released from hospital on a conditional discharge, but I still have restrictions in place because of my criminal conviction and risk history.’

  ‘That’s laughable,’ Netty scoffed.

  ‘That’s the law,’ Lorna added with all seriousness.

  Ella continued to stare at the envelope in her hands, a large part of her wanting it to disappear. ‘The tribunal hearing recommended that the responsible clinician, in my case the new consultant, should apply to the Secretary of State for the restrictions to be lifted.’

  ‘Complete discharge?’

  ‘If they agree to consider the case.’ Ella shook the brown envelope. The longe
r she held it for, the more ominous its contents became, and she began to feel overwhelmed. ‘This is the letter to say one way or the other. But … I don’t think I’ve got the guts to find out.’

  ‘Look, Ella. You did what you did because you were unwell. You don’t deserve to be locked up for years, not now. You take your medication, you keep to every single word of your conditions, you go to appointments, and you see the community team when they can be bothered sending an appointment… everything. You’re working, for God’s sake.’ Lorna was staring at Ella intently as she spoke.

  ‘Not officially.’

  ‘Not yet, but soon.’

  Netty groaned. ‘Stop chatting about it and open the blasted thing. I’m in suspenders.’

  With the noise of Lorna’s laughter and that of the busy pub fading into a background hubbub, Ella read through the lines of the official letter. It was short and to the point.

  ‘This is from the Ministry of Justice’s Mental Health Unit. They’ve agreed to the review. That’s something at least.’ She forced a smile. Inside she felt a corkscrew winding her intestines into a tight knot as thoughts rampaged around and threatened to undermine her hard-won confidence.

  What if? That was the killer question. What if they decided against her discharge? What if she was forced to go back to St Cuthbert’s? What if she lost all this?

  She looked at Netty who blew a long releasing breath and swung an arm around Ella’s shoulders to squeeze her. ‘Cheer up. That’s great news.’

  Brushing a stray tear from one eye, Ella nodded.

  ‘Right,’ said Netty. ‘That’s it. Alcohol.’ She raised herself to her feet, and braced against the table she shouted, ‘Barney. Bottle of red please.’ She looked down at Ella. ‘Red alright for you?’