“Not long after he was released from prison, he broke into this very house and stole it. I assume he also photographed the files which detail all of the member’s favours.”
“Why?”
“I can only guess he wanted to establish who framed him, and ultimately prove his innocence. In the end he got nowhere, and that’s when he decided to systematically blackmail all the members instead. That, Emma, is the reason why your father spent the latter part of his life hiding in the shadows. My best estimate: he extorted millions of pounds from them over the years. I just wanted to get the notebook back so I could finally lay the Clawthorn Club to rest.”
I’m torn. I can’t say I believe him, but I can’t deny it fits with what I’ve learnt about my father: the money he invested in the NLH Foundation, his luxury flat in Chiswick, his expensive taste in clothes, and his bolt-hole in Bethnal Green. All of it supports Eric’s claim my father spent the latter part of his life extorting money, and hiding from the corrupt individuals he targeted.
“I did warn you, Emma” Eric adds. “Sometimes the truth isn’t always what we want it to be.”
“Clearly not,” I grunt. “It certainly wasn’t where you were concerned.”
“I can’t change anything, and I honestly do regret so much of what’s happened.”
“Save it, Eric. I’ve heard enough.”
“Fair enough. I think it would be best if I left now.”
I look across at Clement and he shrugs.
“What else we gonna do with him?” he asks. “Whatever this arsehole has done he’s not our problem, doll. Let’s just see him off, grab the folders, and then get the fuck out of here.”
“So, he gets to walk away scot-free?”
Clement then glares at Eric. “He’ll pay for what he’s done. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one day he’ll have to face the music — you mark my words.”
“Hell and damnation, eh?”
“Something like that.”
37.
Clement orders Eric to stand up. Slowly, the old man climbs out of the armchair.
“I need to get Alex’s car keys,” he says, turning to me.
“Why?”
“I got a taxi here from Bournemouth Airport. If I order a return, it’ll take up to an hour to arrive. I’m sure you don’t want to sit around any more than I do.”
“Fine. Where are they?”
“I assume they’re still in his pocket.”
He’s right, in that I don’t want to spend another minute in his company, nor do I want him hanging around while we collate the evidence which will bring his house of cards crashing down. He might be flying off to warmer climes tonight but, by the time my exposé hits the papers, his days of freedom will be numbered.
I extract my phone and hold it up. Before Eric can protest, I take his photo.
“Just for old times’ sake,” I sneer.
I won’t let on it’ll be the photo which accompanies my exposé. Whether hell is waiting for him or not, I’m confident he’ll be suffering a living hell before long.
Clement orders Eric to walk in front as we exit the study and head back through the house to the patio doors. He strains to slide the door and, as it inches open, a blustery wind howls through the gap.
We step out into a bitterly cold evening; the sky now a shade of slate grey. I’m in no mood to hang around, and neither, it seems, is Eric as he shuffles quickly down the lawn. The pace slows as we approach Alex’s corpse and with his shoulders slumped, Eric stops and turns around.
“Do you mind if I take a moment?” he says in a low voice. “Just to say a final goodbye.”
I nod, and take a few steps backwards. “One minute.”
Eric’s old bones creak as he kneels down and leans over Alex’s corpse. Knowing the man stood next to me was responsible, however unfortunately, doesn’t sit well, and I avert my gaze beyond the sorry sight.
Where the lawn ends, some fifty yards away, a band of dark turquoise abuts the grey sky. I can just about make out the faint light of a ship on the horizon; the captain either brave or foolhardy venturing out in such weather.
“You alright?” Clement asks.
The faint light disappears just before I turn and look up at him. “At this precise moment I’m not sure how I feel. Ask me again in a month.”
“We’ll still be talking in a month?”
“All things considered … probably.”
“Good, I was kinda hoping …”
He stops mid-sentence; his mouth and eyes wide open. For a second I wonder if the stroke I threatened might just have arrived. That theory is given further credence as he staggers back a few steps and collapses to the floor.
Only then do I realise Clement hasn’t been felled by a stroke. Poking out of his stomach are two metallic prongs with almost-invisible wires trailing away.
It takes a second to conclude we’ve been had. Eric was not saying a final goodbye or looking for car keys — he was hoping Alex kept at least one of the Tasers in his coat pocket and had reloaded it. His gamble paid off, and now Clement is convulsing on the floor like a landed fish as thousands of volts surge through his body.
Just as I’m about to turn and confirm my theory, a weight crashes into me. I stumble, and slip on the greasy wet lawn before joining Clement on the ground, albeit five feet away.
I look up just in time to see Eric regain his footing. Without a second glance in my direction, he kneels down and reaches for Clement’s pocket.
In any other circumstance, it would be like placing your hand in a bear trap but, with the big man temporarily paralysed, Eric is able to dip his hand into Clement’s pocket and remove what he had his sights on all along — the pistol.
I scramble to my feet at the exact same moment Eric stands up. He wastes no time in pointing the pistol at me.
“Move,” he orders.
“Where?”
He waves the gun towards the end of the garden I was casually observing just a minute ago. “That way.”
Panic arrives.
I don’t know how long it takes for the effects of the Taser to wear off, but Clement is my only hope of rescue. I need to buy time.
Slowly, I raise my hands in surrender, but stay put.
“Don’t fuck with me, Emma,” he warns, his voice now frantic. “Move.”
He scurries around and stands behind me. To make his point the barrel of the pistol is jabbed between my shoulder blades.
With little other choice, I take a few slow steps forward — the pistol barrel remains in place.
“What do you want, Eric?”
No reply. Perhaps the wind carried my question away. I ask again.
“Shut up,” he replies. “Or I’ll shoot you here and now.”
Silently, we move closer and closer to the end of the lawn; the strip of dark-turquoise sea getting larger with every step. I try to turn my head to see if Clement has moved but Eric nudges me forward by pressing the pistol barrel hard into my back.
The wind grows stronger as the lawn gets shorter and my panic mounts.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen feet.
Ten feet.
Five feet.
By the time we reach the edge of the lawn, and I see what lies beyond, it takes every ounce of resolve to remain upright. A sheer drop of maybe eighty or ninety feet down to an outcrop of rocks at least as wide as the lawn on which I’m currently stood. I stare down in horror as the outcrop is assaulted over and over again by a barrage of frothing waves; each so high the rocks temporarily disappear beneath an explosion of foamy seawater. Either side of the rocks, the sea is a maelstrom of white peaks and dark ridges.
“Turn around,” Eric orders.
With no wish to look down on the watery abyss a second longer, I spin on my heels to a sight no less terrifying — Eric has taken a dozen steps back and the pistol is aimed squarely at my chest.
“Jump,” he orders.
“What?”
“You heard.”
“Are you insane? It would be … suicidal.”
“Well done. That is kind of the point.”
“What …why? You could have just left … why are you doing this?”
“Because you’ve left me with no other choice. The truth about Clawthorn simply can’t be revealed — I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Does it matter now? You’ll be … wherever you go … and you said … you can’t hide from the truth forever.”
“I don’t want forever — just long enough for me to enjoy my retirement.”
“But … if you’re in hiding, on the other side of the world?”
“Oh, it matters, Emma. Do you have any idea what level of vengeance will be unleashed if you attempt to identify the Clawthorn members? Many of them will not go down without a fight, but if they do go down, they’ll do everything possible to take me with them.”
“I … okay, I’ll go. I’ll leave the files and never mention Clawthorn ever again.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “The risk is too great, and I know you too well.”
“Please, Eric.”
“Jump. Now.”
My opinion of Eric has already crashed to an unbelievable low, but this is beyond anything I could ever have envisaged. He appears deadly serious — he wants me to leap from this cliff to a certain death.
“What happened to you, Eric?”
“I’m losing patience.”
He takes a step forward — I have nowhere to go; another few feet and I’ll be making a terminal trip to the rocks below. I glance over his shoulder, and I can just about make out Clement’s bulk still lying on the lawn where he fell. In the gloomy light it’s impossible to tell if he’s conscious or not. I need to buy more time and the only place open is a casino. I’ve got to take a chance.
“Go on then,” I cry. “Shoot me.”
“You don’t think I will? As you so eloquently stressed in the house, Eric Birtles is dead so it’s safe to say I have nothing to lose.”
He raises his arm a few inches and fires the pistol. Instinctively, and I suppose, pointlessly, I duck down, but it seems his intention was to fire a warning shot rather than kill me.
“Go on — do it,” he urges. “Because dead or alive, you will be heading over that cliff.”
I slowly turn my head to the sea. At very least I want him to think I’m considering his insane order. I scan the rocks to confirm what I already know: even if I survived the fall — in itself a near-impossibility — the chances of swimming to safety in such turbulent seas are practically zero. The best I could hope for would be to die on impact; preferable to shattering every bone in my body and then drowning.
“Chop chop, Emma. I haven’t got all night.”
His casual manner irks.
“Fuck you,” I retort. “Let’s swap places and we’ll see how decisive you are.”
“I’m good here, thanks.”
I glance over his shoulder and Eric turns to see what I’m looking at.
“He won’t be coming to the rescue,” he says flatly. “But he will be joining you for a swim.”
Some way down the garden I can still make out Clement’s frame on the ground. I try and recollect his position the last time I looked. I can’t be sure but I think he might have moved slightly. To call it even a glimmer of hope would be a stretch.
Eric turns back to face me. “Ready?”
“To jump off a cliff to my certain death? Funnily enough … no, I’m not.”
I have one chance left, and the only way that chance might work is if I can rile Eric the way Alex used to.
“I know why you want me to jump. It’s because you’re a fucking coward.”
“I’m sorry?”
“All this pissing around. You could have shot me, and kicked my body over the edge by now … if you had the balls.”
“Actually, Emma, you’re wrong. You jump and the authorities will assume it was suicide. However, if your body washes up with a bullet wound in the chest, it’ll attract attention I’d rather avoid.”
“How very candid.”
“But, as we’re running out of time, it appears I have little other choice. Even to the very end, Emma, you’re proving quite a pain in the backside.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not jumping.”
He glares back at me and I recognise the same hint of indecision I saw in the house. I need to capitalise.
“Killing someone in cold blood isn’t your style though, is it?” I continue. “You prefer to hide in the shadows and let others do your dirty work. People like Terry Brown, Alex Palmer, and Thomas Lang … and let’s not forget Lance Nithercott. Three of those men are dead because you’re such a fucking coward.”
“Get your facts straight. One of them died because he was a drunken liability who refused to repay his debts and the other two are dead because you couldn’t keep your nose out of my business.”
“No, Eric. That’s the one thing I’ve come to realise with this whole Clawthorn business — not once have you dared poke your head above the parapet. Fuck, even that stupid Tallyman name was just another way to hide, wasn’t it?”
“Shut up.”
“Come to think of it: is that why my father didn’t want anything to do with Clawthorn? So many dodgy deals and every member taking a risk … except you, Eric. You were the mysterious Tallyman who knew all those dirty secrets but you didn’t put your arse on the line, did you? All ego and no spine — did my father see through your cowardice?”
“I’m warning you.”
I’ve reached the point of no return.
“Touched a nerve, have I? I bet you shat yourself when you realised my father had stolen the notebook, eh? Almost as much as when you discovered I had it.”
“You know nothing.”
“Aww,” I mock. “Did my daddy steal the Tallyman’s special notebook? Did you have a good cry about it, Eric?”
Even in the muted light, the veins throbbing in his temple are clearly prominent.
“You know what, Emma,” he sneers. “You really are a chip off the old block.”
“Meaning?”
“Principled, but gullible. And just like I took away your father’s life, I’m going to take yours.”
My mocking comes to an abrupt halt.
“What do you mean … you took away my father’s life?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he goads. “It was me who fitted him up for that murder charge.”
“What … why?”
“Because, that self-righteous fool didn’t just want to leave the Clawthorn Club — he wanted to shut it down. He threatened to expose our members so I called in a few favours myself, and your father went to prison. And as a happy by-product, your mother disowned him too — for some reason she wasn’t best pleased Dennis was in a prostitute’s flat in the first place. When you factor in the poor woman was raped before she was murdered, it’s no surprise she wanted nothing to do with him.”
Eric might not have shot me, yet, but his revelation is every bit as grievous.
“In your mother’s defence the evidence against Dennis was overwhelming,” he adds, with a sneer. “And the sweetest part, for me, was befriending you. You can only imagine how much that killed Dennis; knowing the man responsible for destroying his life had taken his place.”
“I don’t believe you … why would any man tolerate that?”
“What could he do about it? Your mother had already made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with him, and I held the only evidence which proved his innocence so he couldn’t touch me. He had no choice but to watch from the sidelines as I garnered the affections of his precious daughter. You have to admit: it was a beautiful punishment for stealing the notebook.”
“So … it was all a charade. You befriended me just to get at my father?”
“Initially, yes, but I can’t deny I developed a soft spot for you. The problem is, Emma, it wasn’t reciprocated �
� least not the way I wanted.”
“Eh? I don’t understand.”
“All that nonsense about thinking of you as the daughter I never had — I wanted you to be my lover, not my daughter.”
“But … oh, my God. You’re sick.”
“Am I? All those hugs and kisses we shared. All those evenings out and weekends away for work. Don’t tell me at least some part of you didn’t crave more?”
“Fuck …no … never in a million years.”
“No need to be so dismissive,” he barks. “You’d do well to remember it was my feelings that aided your career. Why else do you think I looked out for you? Love, lust … call it what you will, but I lived in hope my feelings might one day be reciprocated. Hell, I even got Terry to set up a camera in your bedroom when he popped in to look for the notebook. That’s how much I missed you.”
Every square inch of my skin crawls in response to his admission.
“Unfortunately,” Eric continues. “It appears your affections now lie with that Neanderthal on my lawn. So, as much as it pains me, I must now accept you and I will never be … not least because one of us is about to die.”
He takes two steps forward and straightens his arm so the pistol is only five or six feet from my chest.
“This isn’t what I wanted,” he adds. “But at least you’ll meet your maker knowing the truth about your father. And who knows, if you believe in all that religious crap, you and Dennis might even be reunited in the afterlife.”
He stares at me, dispassionately. A face I know so well but no longer recognise.
“Last chance, Emma. Three small steps and it’ll all be over.”
I edge one step back.
“Good girl.”
The hopelessness is all-consuming. I now face the last decision I’ll ever make — take the jump or take the bullet.
I inch another step backwards.
“That’s it,” he calmly purrs. ”Nearly there.”
My body is numb from the cold and my mind numb from the shock of Eric’s revelations. Death would, if nothing else, be a permanent release from both.
I move my left leg back until my foot is only inches from the edge. The wind picks up and howls in my ears; a chorus of whispering voices urging me to follow Eric’s instructions. One voice in particular cries the loudest … a voice deep and gravelly but the words are drowned by the waves crashing behind me. I close my eyes and focus. Is that …?
Clawthorn (Clement Book 3) Page 33