Her Sister's Secret

by E. V. Seymour

  “You crazy bitch. You fucking ruined everything.”

  Compression increased. Veins in my cheeks careered to the surface. Blood vessels in my eyes bulged. Pressure built and expanded until my head was empty of thought, of belief and hope and love.

  In the sickly silence, my thoughts grew faint, like I was calling from a faraway place and nobody could hear me.

  The room slid. With a tremendous bump, I hit the deck. My chin banged on the tiles, splitting my lower lip and chipping a tooth. Greedy for air, I gulped and tasted blood in my mouth. My heart vibrated against my already battered ribcage.

  Stumbling to my knees, I heard shouts and the dull thud of fists on flesh. On unsteady feet, I stood, swayed and turned around.

  His face contorted with rage; Rocco sat astride Mallis. He had him by the collar of his shirt, smashing his head again and again against the floor. Mallis cursed but didn’t resist. Weirdly, his snake-eyes smiled. And then I saw why.

  Everything happened in slow-mo. I saw the gun first. My voice wheezed, “Rocco.” He dived. My trainer connected with the side of Mallis’s hand, unbalancing me, though I did not fall. A loud crack and flash and the pistol cartwheeled across the kitchen. Mallis rolled towards it, arm reaching. God alone knew how many shots he had left. Enough. That’s all I knew.

  My ears rang and I did not hear the sound of the front door battered off its hinges. I did not see eight firearms officers armed with MP5’s storm the house. My eyes were only for Rocco.

  “Get down, get down,” a man’s voice yelled. I dropped, lead-weight, to the ground, face pressed against the floor. I heard the noise of metal scraping across tiles, Mallis letting go of the firearm and a firearms officer, a stocky figure in black, kicking it away. Glancing up, I watched Mallis, bloodied and granite faced as two officers cuffed and arrested him.

  Alive and unharmed, Rocco’s gaze met mine. As surprised as me that we’d made it, he beamed a magical smile.

  Chapter 84

  It’s a funny thing about the police. In the white heat of a 999, they turn out mob-handed, with vehicles and personnel all over the shop. At least four patrol cars will turn out for a minor prang at a road junction. But once the crisis is past, and the due process of law takes over, they are difficult to locate, let alone track down. Having given a statement, I’d phoned Tracey West and was told variously that she was on a rest day, on holiday, in a meeting, on a course, ‘unavailable’ and out on a call. Fortunately, my contact with Rachel Haran proved more fruitful. We sat in her garden, a modern concoction of gravel and potted plants.

  “I owe you a very big apology. I was wrong.”

  So was I. For too long I’d pushed aside my instincts about my dad and followed my heart.

  “It’s been confirmed that an accelerant used to start the fire at the house at Winchcombe was directly linked to materials in your father’s garage.”

  It came as no surprise. Last seen boarding a flight to Cuba, my parents were on the run.

  “The police really need to speak to your brother.”

  “And that’s not possible.” Zach was still in critical care. Although the doctors were optimistic, it would be some time before he could give a statement or testify.

  “So, what happens?”

  “There will be two trials regarding Miss Temple. The first will try Edie Chancellor.”

  “She admitted attacking Drea?”

  “After a night without her creature comforts, she broke down. I hear she wishes to plead diminished responsibility.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Rachel’s smile was north of chilly. “Not sure the courts will take a sympathetic view despite her excellent lawyer.”

  “And the second trial?”

  “If your father were to magically set foot back in the UK, he’d be arrested and face a separate prosecution. Zach would be called as a witness.”

  “What would my father be looking at?”

  “The holy trinity of charges: Preventing a Lawful and Decent Burial, Perverting the Course of Justice and Assisting an Offender. I don’t need to flag up that the court would view these in a dim light. Your father’s flight from justice doesn’t help. I’m sorry,” she said, looking pained. “Must be difficult for you.”

  Difficult didn’t come close. “What about Edie’s attack on Zach and me?”

  “Separate trial.”

  “And Mallis?”

  “Aside from his attack on you and Mr Noble, Mallis was already under investigation for supplying reconditioned guns to the criminal underworld. Tools for reactivating weapons were found in his basement along with an eye-watering amount of ammunition. Ballistics experts were able to link his activities to numerous crime scenes, including the recent murder of a police informant.”

  It occurred to me that the police had not exactly knocked themselves out in nabbing Mallis on my behalf, but I kept that to myself. The good news was that he was in custody and a trial date set for the following year.

  “How come Mallis escaped prosecution for so long?”

  She flicked a cool smile. “The closest we ever got rested on a statement of an informer, who’d served time, and a restaurant owner who had a string of criminal convictions for fraud.”

  “Not the most credible on the witness stand.”

  “That was the view of the CPS. Despite the testimonies, statements and allegations, nothing ever stuck and then we received a major blow. Our informer suddenly withdrew his statement.”

  “He was got at?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  She didn’t say it, but she meant either by my father or Mallis. I asked her.

  “Whatever I now think about your father, I believe it more likely that Mallis was the muscle.” Which corroborated Tina Vernon’s story. I wondered if I’d ever hear from Cecil Vernon.

  Rachel cleared her throat. “Mallis is talking. How much of what he says is true remains to be seen. Corrupt officers will pretty much do anything to ensure that they stay out of prison.”

  Chapter 85

  We decided not to stay in Hereford after all. I arranged to sell the business to Lenny and my house to Dusty. Rocco put his gran’s old place on the market and gave notice on the rental in Worcester. It was a few months until Zach was well enough to give a full statement to the police. Around the same time, I received a phone call and, taking a trip to London with a thick roll of twenties, spent an afternoon in Room 73. On my return, there was one last thing to do before we left for the West Country.

  “Hi.”

  I looked up, thought how terrible Nate looked, and pushed a pint of Greene King towards him.

  We were in the garden of the Norwood Arms, on the busy corner of Leckhampton Road. Nate’s hand shook when he lifted the glass to his lips. He looked older, more lived-in.

  “Before you say anything, I’m not seeing her anymore. It’s finished. Over.”

  After everything that had happened, Nate’s affair no longer ranked as the crime of the century. I made a sympathetic noise.

  “What did you want to say? Not sure I can stand any more revelations.” His smile was edgy.

  “I want to put the record straight. For Scarlet.”

  He nodded uncertainly.

  “Scarlet was perfect prey for a man like Richard Bowen.” I didn’t rub it in that, in the wake of Nate’s affair, she probably felt lonely and unloved and was flattered by Bowen’s attention. “Whatever she had with the man; I believe it was brief.”

  “I’m not exactly in a position to criticise,” Nate said, dark-eyed.

  “A few days ago, I met Cecil Vernon, a man who’d known Dad when he worked for the MET.” I described what happened.

  “You have to pay for secrets.” Cecil sprawled in the only chair next to a window with a view of a brick wall. He was a short thickset man with a thin comb-over and seventies’ style moustache that did not match the colour of his salt and pepper hair. I kept my distance, back to the door, prepared for a fast exit if necessary. There was no
air-con in the room, but this was not the reason I was sweating. Vernon might be in his seventies but, to me, he was no less formidable; he could still hurt. The deadness behind his eyes told me so.

  I nervously fanned out fifteen hundred pounds on the bed between us. “Is that enough?”

  “It’ll do for now.” He made it vanish like a magician disappearing a dove. “You wearing a wire?”

  “Do I look like I am?” I wore a vest top and shorts.

  The loose skin on Cecil’s face tightened. “No need to be sarky.” He ran his eyes over my body, from top to toe, then back up to my breasts. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, cupping my elbows.

  He gestured with his chin. Light from the window caught a couple of stray grey hairs he’d missed when shaving. “Bag next.” I chucked him my rucksack, watched as he turfed it upside down and ran stout fingers over my belongings. He checked my phone, scrolled down, switched it off. Satisfied, he piled my stuff back in and threw it all back. “Catch.”

  I caught hold of it by the strap.

  “And before you get cocky, you breathe one word of our little chat to anyone, I’ll deny we ever spoke and then I’ll hunt you down.” Calculated and deliberate, his voice didn’t change in pitch or tone. He could have been ordering a range of dishes from a takeaway menu. Was I frightened? Yes.

  “You spoke to my sister.”

  “I did. Pretty girl. Nervous but nice.”

  “What did she ask you?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “You don’t muck about, do you? That sister of yours was the same. Right eager beaver. Sorry to hear what happened,” he said, as if suddenly remembering. “Tina told me.”

  I nodded. Couldn’t bring myself to thank him.

  “Must be a blow to you all. Bad job for your folks. Shakes you up.”

  I wasn’t paying for a counselling session. “What did she want?”

  “Hold up. Do me the courtesy of allowing me to pay my respects.”

  I had no choice but to suck up his rebuke. I bowed my head so that he wouldn’t see how furious and frustrated I was.

  The silence seemed to extend forever. Eventually, Vernon smoothed his sweaty palms down his shirt, took a breath in and, when he was good and ready, said, “Your sister wanted information about a man called Richard Bowen. I told her what I’m gonna to tell you. I never met him.”

  It came as a crushing surprise. Surely, it hadn’t ended there. “What about your mate, Charlie Binns?”

  “Some nosy git copper put the squeeze on poor old Charlie. Got him tied up in all sorts.”

  “Bowen?”

  “Funnily enough,” Cecil said, without a trace of humour, but plenty of sarcasm, “he didn’t leave his name and address.”

  “What did this copper want?”

  The sterile light behind his eyes didn’t alter. “Information.”

  “What kind of information?” I doubted a skilled inquisitor with torture in his repertoire would easily make Cecil Vernon open up. “Charlie must have described the conversation.”

  Cecil paused, picking at a molar and dislodging a piece of food that he flicked away. “Said the man was snooping, digging up ancient history about a friend of ours. Clever with it. Tried to stitch Charlie up.”

  “Clive Mallis?”

  “Mallis? Gotta be fucking joking. No friend of mind. Superglue wouldn’t stick to that geezer. A right sort. Proper gangster. Violence, the lot. Shouldn’t wonder if he wasn’t involved in offing Charlie.”

  “You’ll be pleased to hear he’s in custody.”

  A wondrous light entered Cecil’s eyes. “That so? Fucking ace.”

  Before he got too carried away, I prompted him to continue.

  “Ah, now we’re getting to the nitty-gritty. Got that same hungry look in your eyes as your sister. Ravenous, she was.”

  I chewed my bottom lip until it bled, agonised by the thought of Scarlet’s desperation. She’d have hated to come to a place like this to talk to a man like Vernon.

  “Charlie calls his mate and his mate tells him to stay low. Says he’ll sort things out and promises to protect Charlie’s arse.”

  I felt as if I’d be driving for miles with the handbrake on. With it off, I careered forward, no gear changes, everything sharp and focused and speeding towards me. The ‘sorting out’ involved Mallis and one of his contacts, but the visitor was someone else.

  “Was Charlie’s mate Detective Chief Inspector Roderick Napier?” I felt like a child reading aloud.

  Cecil frowned. The folds in his cheeks fell over the lines around his jaw. “Bit formal. Why don’t you call him your dad?”

  Because he doesn’t feel like my dad anymore. I shrugged a whatever. Disdain gave form to the folds in Cecil’s face. His mouth was one straight edge. How could a man like Napier breed such a disrespectful child?

  “Your old man was a top bloke. I liked him a lot. So did loads of people. Old school. Proper gent. Reliable and all. Straight as a dye when it came to business. He—”

  “I’m not looking for a character reference, or a stroll down memory lane, Mr Vernon. I want to know what he did.” I want explanation. I need detail.

  Cecil shot me a look of pure contempt. “Your dad was a better source of knowledge than Google.”

  “You mean he gathered information?”

  His hands clenched into fists. He looked thunderous. “What do you take me for, a fucking grass?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Should fucking think so.”

  I saw how my dad had made it his business to collect people: to recruit and exploit, to manipulate and to drain them of knowledge. “My father gave you information? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Cecil threw his head back and laughed. Tears sprang to his eyes and trickled down the lines on his face. It didn’t make me feel any more secure. “Lord above. Don’t they educate you kids these days? Mr N didn’t give us nothing. He sold it.”

  I’d had to get my head around a lot of things in the past few weeks, most of it outside my comprehension, but I thought my heart might explode with shock. My father had fooled everyone, Rachel Haran included, for a very long time.

  “My father sold details of active police investigations?” My breath came in shallow bursts and blood fled through my veins as if seeking an exit. Vernon clicked his tongue and cast his eyes across the empty bed. I slapped down another couple of hundred pounds, which he scooped up, counted and spirited away. “It will cost you more than that. Five hundred. Take it or leave it.”

  I gave him the rest of my cash. “This is all I have,” I said, wobbly-voiced.

  “Don’t make my heart bleed.” He took it, settled himself again. “We had a little name for it, Operation Jericho. Talk about bringing the walls of the Old Bill crashing down,” Cecil said with a fat chuckle. “Mr N gave us tip offs about drugs raids, warnings about swoops on brothels and porn shops. Sometimes, drugs and cash were stolen. And there was bigger stuff going on, cuts from the profits of robberies and wotnot.

  “Don’t know why you’re looking so fucked off,” he said, reacting to my horrified expression. “That’s how things were done back then. Straight business. No sodding about. You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

  “And you told Scarlet?” I could barely get the words out, but speak I did. I wanted cold hard facts

  “Of course, I told her. That’s what she paid me for. Funny thing,” he said, sucking in through his teeth, “I think she already knew.”

  “Christ,” Nate said in dismay.

  “It confirmed everything Bowen had threatened to disclose, that our dad was corrupt and not only capable of covering up murder, but complicit in instigating it.”

  “And Scarlet knew that if Bowen blabbed—”

  “Everything would be destroyed.”

  Stunned, Nate ran his fingers along his face and jaw. “She meant to kill him.”

  “She did.”

  “Fuck. Fucking hel
l.” Nate bowed his head. “She must have been out of her mind.” I could only agree. It wasn’t what I would have done.

  He looked away, his eyes focusing beyond the railings, on the road, houses and shops on the opposite side. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

  “No, Nate.”

  “How can you say that? “There was genuine anguish in his eyes.

  “We all played a part. Me, included.’

  Chapter 86

  “That tap to your head was heaven sent,” I teased.

  “Ha-bloody-ha!”

  It was true. The likelihood of Zach making a good recovery, kicking his addictions, and finding a purpose had seemed as remote as an Indie band playing at a State funeral – of which Zach no doubt would approve – but he’d done it.

  In the autumn, when the stags were baying and sheep tupping, Rocco and I moved to Exmoor. We bought two small cottages, side by side, with land and outbuildings. Over time, we planned to convert and let them out for holiday rentals. Zach and Tanya came with us. Along with Mr Lee, this was our family now.

  And yet; the search for answers had immunised me against the raw pain of bereavement. Now all I had was silence and loss.

  “Fancy a walk?” Rocco said, as the sun drifted over the hillside. I nodded and he took my hand. We headed down through the orchard, over the gate and up into a neighbouring field. The sky seemed as wide and alive as Rocco’s smile. When we reached a five-bar gate, Rocco drew me close. “You okay? You’ve been very quiet.”

  “Have I?”

  “It’s been a big move. No regrets?”

  I shook my head. Maddeningly, a tear welled up and trickled down my cheek. “I miss Scarlet so much.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sure her voice spoke to me when I was in the quarry and now it’s gone. She’s gone.”

  “Your mother might have Scarlet’s human remains, but you carry her in your heart. She carries you with her too.”