by Roberta Kray
‘Where else would she go?’ Harry said. ‘She’s not got that many choices. At least Al had the decency to keep her name out of it. He told the police he’d been sleeping in the van since the accident. She’ll be okay – well, as okay as any girl working in a place like that. Stagg won’t touch her. He knows the score; he knows that I’ll be keeping an eye on her.’
Jess grinned. ‘I bet you will.’
‘It’s not like that.’ Harry pulled a face. ‘I only meant—’
‘Oh, lighten up,’ she said, slapping him lightly on the arm. ‘You don’t need to take everything so seriously.’
‘You’re right,’ Harry said. ‘I mean here we are, two relatively young carefree people heading for a fun afternoon out at Maidstone jail. What’s to moan about?’
She laughed. ‘It could be worse.’
‘Easy for you to say with all those bright shiny prospects looming ahead. Just how many job offers have you had since that article came out?’
‘A few,’ she replied coyly. ‘But you’re hardly in the dole queue either. I’m presuming that Mac will be able to salvage the business now he’s got Ray Stagg off his back.’
‘Yeah, it looks that way.’
‘No need to sound so enthusiastic’
They came out the other side of the tunnel, emerging into a bright white landscape. A few flakes of snow were still falling. He turned the windscreen wipers on.
‘I’m trying my best.’
‘Try a bit harder. You’re good at what you do, Harry. Just because things don’t always turn out exactly as you’d like doesn’t mean you should give up.’
‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind.’
Jess nodded. ‘Are you worried about meeting Deacon?’
‘I never said I was worried.’
‘You don’t say a lot of things. Fortunately my skills as a major investigative journalist enable me to read between the lines.’ She paused. ‘Well, either that or you’re completely transparent.’
Harry raised his brows. A few easy retorts rose to his lips but he swallowed them again. This wasn’t the time. The truth was, for all her flippancy, she was right: he was anxious. He felt thoroughly uneasy about the visit. ‘I just don’t understand why he wants to see us.’
‘He doesn’t want to see us,’ Jess said. ‘He only wants to see you.’
‘But I thought—’
‘He only rang me because he couldn’t contact you. He kept getting your answering service.’
Harry tried not to think about how often he’d had his phone turned off recently. Or, more to the point, how often he’d been too drunk to answer it. ‘So you’ve only come along for the ride?’
‘What, to hold your hand?’ Jess laughed again. ‘It’s a sweet thought but no. I’ve got a delightful visit of my own to look forward to – with Mr BJ Barrington. And if you’re feeling a touch apprehensive, just imagine what I’m going through. I’m in the joyous position of having to inform a ten-foot giant of a man that his dreams of being the subject of a number one bestseller aren’t exactly going to come true.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’
‘Tactfully?’ she suggested.
Chapter Sixty
Having gone through all the necessary procedures, Harry was seated in the visiting area. It was a long room painted in the usual shade of utilitarian magnolia. The tables were laid out in straight rows a couple of feet apart and a raised platform, occupied by three prison officers, dominated the end closest to the entrance. A few sad strands of tinsel, a nod to the festive season, were slung across the windows.
Harry was one of a mere handful of male visitors; most of the tables were occupied by women. Jess, who had gone in before him, was sitting a few yards in front. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. He smiled back before switching his gaze to the rear of the room. For the next ten minutes a steady trickle of inmates continued to come through the door.
Although he wasn’t sure if he’d recognize him, he was in no doubt when Paul Deacon finally walked in. A tall upright man, he didn’t look too different from the press photos taken over twelve years ago. Only his hair had changed: the black had turned to grey and was receding from his forehead.
Harry stood up and Deacon strolled over.
‘Mr Lind?’
‘Harry,’ he said.
‘Thank you for coming.’
They shook hands. ‘I’m still not quite sure why—’
‘Grace asked me to talk to you.’
Harry felt his heart jump. ‘You’ve heard from her then?’
Deacon pulled out the chair and sat down. There was something overly precise and controlled about his movements. ‘She sent me a letter.’ He leaned forward and placed his elbows carefully on the table. ‘And if you’re about to ask if I know where she is now then … no, there was no return address.’
‘Did I ask?’ Harry said.
Deacon gave a thin smile. ‘You’d have got around to it.’
Harry couldn’t deny that. He couldn’t help wondering too if the letter had been posted from abroad. And then another thought occurred to him. ‘Does she know about her mother? Does she—’
Paul Deacon nodded. ‘She’s heard. She knows that Sharon’s dead – and how she died. I don’t think she’ll be returning for the funeral.’ He paused, his forehead creasing into a series of ridges. ‘There are, however, certain facts that she believes you should be made aware of. Personally, I think she’s wrong but this is her decision and I have to respect it. I haven’t exactly been the perfect father but this is the one thing that I can do for her.’
It occurred to Harry that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. His level of anxiety shifted up a few notches. It was clear that Deacon wasn’t happy but bearing in mind his history of sweeping anything even faintly inconvenient under the carpet – including the existence of a daughter – that was hardly surprising.
As if reading his mind or perhaps just his expression, Deacon said, ‘I don’t suppose you have a very high opinion of me.’
‘Does it matter what my opinion is?’
‘No, but it is important, for Grace’s sake, that you trust me enough to accept that what I tell you today is the absolute truth.’
Paul Deacon had the kind of smooth cynical face that was more than capable of deceit but at this moment there was a shadow of desperation hanging over it. Perhaps for the first time in his life he was actually trying to do the right thing. Against his better instincts, Harry found himself feeling almost sympathetic. He was in the presence of a man who had paid, and was still paying, for all the dreadful mistakes he had made.
‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
Deacon lowered his head and then looked up again. ‘I met Sharon at a party. It was a long time ago. I was married and I loved my wife but … It was just a fling but then Sharon told me she was pregnant and as soon as I was sure that the child was mine I agreed to support her.’
‘You agreed to pay her off,’ Harry said. ‘There’s a difference between cash and support.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘And your wife didn’t know anything about it?’
‘Not then.’
‘Was Michael Harper aware that Grace wasn’t his?’
Deacon shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have been that hard to figure out. But he was in love with Sharon; he wanted to be with her. From what I understand, he didn’t ask too many questions.’
‘But he must have resented Grace. After all, she was another man’s child.’
‘No, I don’t think so. For all his faults, Michael did his best to be a decent father.’
Harry stared at him in disbelief. Decent? How could anyone describe what Michael Harper had done as decent? Anger grew inside him, a fountain of rage that threatened to overflow. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward across the table. Deacon was either completely in the dark – and surely that wasn’t possible – or he didn’t view what had occurred as
in any way abnormal. ‘Are you trying to tell me that—’
Deacon quickly raised a hand. ‘You haven’t heard the whole story,’ he said sternly. ‘Don’t start passing judgement until you have.’
Harry glared at him for a few seconds longer and then sat back, still scowling.
‘So,’ Deacon continued, ‘I didn’t hear anything more until eight years later when Grace went missing. By then Sharon had become more seriously involved with that gangster, Jimmy Keppell. He was the one who got in touch demanding further payment. It was blackmail, pure and simple.’
‘I know all this,’ Harry said impatiently. ‘And you coughed up, right? You paid because you didn’t want your name splashed all over the papers. You didn’t want the world to know that you had a child by another woman, a child you had no contact with and who had now gone missing, and you especially didn’t want the police to come around asking awkward questions.’
Deacon didn’t even try to deny it. He gave another of his thin smiles. ‘Just bear with me, please.’
Harry deliberately looked at his watch. He was beginning to suspect that the purpose of this visit was more to do with Deacon justifying his shabby behaviour than anything Ellen had specifically asked of him.
‘When Grace came back to London,’ Deacon said, ‘after the Corbys died, it didn’t take her long to find out the truth. She linked up with Tony Keppell and he filled her in on all the details. It was a shock for her, discovering that Michael wasn’t her real father.’ He paused, clearing his throat. ‘Instead her father was a man who had turned his back on her twice over, who had preferred to pay hard cash than to ever publicly acknowledge her existence. She felt betrayed and rightly so. She wanted … I was going to say revenge but perhaps that’s too strong a word. Perhaps it was simply some kind of justice.’
‘And who could blame her?’
‘Quite so,’ Deacon agreed. ‘And it didn’t help matters that her mother was less than pleased to see her. Sharon tried to keep her at a distance; she was terrified that her new life, a life that had been constructed on a lie, was about to come crashing down about her ears.’
‘But what she’d done in the past, she’d done to protect Ell … protect Grace. It might not have been the right thing but it was done with the best of intentions. Grace understood that; others would have too.’
‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Deacon said.
Harry wasn’t sure that it was. ‘At least she had Tony,’ he said.
‘Hardly. He was just a means to an end, a way to get at me.’
Recalling what Ellen had said, Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Oh, I know what she told you: that they were close, that they were in love, but that wasn’t the case – at least not on her side. Tony was weak and stupid, a disappointment to his family. He was easy to manipulate. Grace had him twisted round her little finger.’
‘What’s the deal here?’ Harry snapped. ‘You think you can excuse what you did by bad-mouthing her? You think I don’t know about what you and Tony—’
‘I think it might be better if you wait until I’ve finished.’
‘And is that likely to be any time soon?’
There was a short antagonistic silence. Harry wished he hadn’t come. He considered standing up and walking out. He didn’t need to listen to this garbage.
Deacon was the first to speak again. ‘I apologize,’ he said softly, ‘if I’ve upset or offended you. I wasn’t intending to be critical of Grace, merely attempting to relay what she asked me to. These are as much her words as mine.’
Harry gave a growl. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘It makes no difference to me whether you believe it or not. You have the good fortune of being able to leave right now if you wish to do so.’ Deacon steepled his fingers and stared calmly across the table. ‘To be honest, if you did make such a choice it would be a relief. I’d have fulfilled my promise to Grace without having to tell you anything more than you already know.’
Harry could see why he’d become a politician. He’d probably been a damn good one too if good meant playing the kind of game that always got you exactly what you wanted. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just walk away; he was going to have to see this through to the bitter end. ‘Go on,’ he said roughly. ‘I’m still listening.’
Deacon gave a slight bow of his head. ‘Tony approached me at a charity do. He was there with his father – Jimmy always gave very generously at charitable events, particularly the high-profile ones where the press were likely to be present – and he asked if he could have a quiet word. It didn’t take him long to get to the point. I presumed he was working on behalf of Jimmy and Sharon – coming back for seconds, so to speak.’
‘And you had no idea that Grace was still alive?’
Deacon shook his head. ‘Of course not. That was the one thing he was never going to divulge. I’d already come to terms with the fact that she must be dead and my being the secret father of a “murdered” child gave Tony the kind of leverage he needed to screw me for every penny he could.’
‘But it wasn’t just to do with money,’ Harry said. ‘You developed a relationship with him.’
Deacon barked out a laugh. ‘No! At least not in the sense you’re referring to. I have my weaknesses – I’ll willingly admit it – but boys, men, males of any age aren’t one of them. The only relationship I ever had with Tony was a purely financial one.’
Harry stared at him. This was all a bit different from Ellen’s account. ‘But you still paid up?’
‘Plenty of times.’ Deacon ran a hand across his face. ‘He asked for a thousand at first and then a few thousand more but then it soon became clear that it wasn’t just money he was after – he demanded to be taken out to fancy restaurants, to clubs, to bars.’
‘And you obliged?’
‘I didn’t have much choice.’
‘And then he upped the stakes.’
‘If you call putting a gun to my head upping the stakes then yes, he certainly did that. He came to the flat one night and demanded twenty grand. He also produced a set of photographs. They showed us together at various times and in various places. There was nothing especially compromising about them but in the wrong hands they could have been misinterpreted.’ Deacon paused. ‘They’d decided to add an extra dimension to the blackmail.’
Harry noted the use of the word ‘they’. His mouth curled down in disgust. He knew that Ellen had been involved but not in the way that Deacon seemed to be suggesting. ‘Which was when you decided that enough was enough?’
‘I thought he was just playing the big man. I didn’t think the gun was loaded. God, I didn’t even think that it was real.’
Harry shrugged. ‘We all know what happened next. If you’ve brought me here to explain that you acted in self-defence then fine, I’m sure you weren’t entirely to blame.’
‘This is nothing to do with that,’ Deacon said sharply. ‘It’s to do with Grace. It’s to do with why she came to see me ten months ago.’
‘It must been a shock – finding out that she was still alive after all these years.’
A shadow passed across Deacon’s face again. ‘That’s between her and me. We talked it through. We came to terms. I never asked her to forgive me. How could she?’
‘How indeed,’ Harry said.
‘And she didn’t come to play Happy Families. There was something else on her mind. She couldn’t deal with what had happened to Tony. She couldn’t bear to feel responsible for another death.’
Harry started. A cold chill slipped down his spine. ‘What do you mean – another death?’
Deacon lowered his eyes and slowly raised them again. ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
Harry wasn’t sure at all. His palms were starting to sweat. What he really needed was a double shot of whisky but a strong hit of caffeine would have to do. ‘I should have asked before. Would you like a drink?’
‘Tea would be fine,’ Deacon said. ‘Milk, n
o sugar.’
Harry stood up, slid between the two tables to his left and joined the short queue at the refreshment counter. He was glad of the escape, even if it was only temporary. There was a part of him that wanted to walk, to get out of that room as fast as his legs could carry him, but he knew that he couldn’t. Whatever was coming could not be avoided. Deacon’s words kept revolving in his head – another death, another death. What did he mean? He glanced across at Jess who was deep in conversation with BJ. She was waving her hands around and BJ was grinning back. The old Vaughan charm seemed to be doing the trick. The queue shifted forward too quickly. Harry bought the drinks and took them back to the table.
Chapter Sixty-One
Deacon picked up his cup. He stared at it, frowned and put it down again. Like a doctor preparing to break bad news, he carefully adjusted his expression. ‘Grace didn’t mean to hurt her.’
‘Hurt her?’ Harry repeated. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘As you may recall,’ Deacon said, ‘she wasn’t the only child who went missing that August.’
‘Theresa Neal,’ Harry muttered. ‘But her disappearance had nothing to do with …’ As he realized what Deacon was implying, he vehemently shook his head. ‘You’ve got this all wrong.’
‘No,’ Deacon said firmly. ‘I haven’t. You’re going to tell me that the two girls didn’t know each other but they did. They went to different schools but didn’t live that far apart. Occasionally their paths crossed. It was just a casual friendship but on the day in question Theresa was on her way back from the park. She took a shortcut through the alley, saw Grace in the yard and stopped. Sharon had company, Jimmy Keppell, and was – how shall I put it? – entertaining him. Grace had been told to stay outside.’ He paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts or simply to wait for Harry’s permission to continue.
‘Go on,’ Harry urged.
‘After a while the girls got bored and went into the house. They were just doing what kids do, larking about. Keppell had left his jacket over the back of a chair. The chair got knocked over and a gun fell out of his pocket. Grace picked it up. She didn’t know it was real. How could she? They ran around for a while; it was just a toy, a game, cops and robbers. Then she pulled the trigger and …’