Falling (Inspector Walter Darriteau cases Book 10)

by David Carter

  Howard nodded and said, ‘Just as they did, boy.’

  ‘What sort of man are you?’

  Howard steeled himself and glared at his fourth son and said, ‘I am the head of this family, Richard. I am the reason you all exist, along with Cynthia, and it would do you well to remember that. I am the man who clothes you and provides you with the best private healthcare, the man who houses you in this beautiful building, protects you round the clock, provides you with ample funds and a luxurious lifestyle,’ he paused and smirked and added, ‘and feeds you too. That is the sort of man I am, Richard Meade. And while you live under my roof that will remain the case, and I expect and demand your undying loyalty and support in return.’

  Cynthia glanced round the table at her family. Most of them appeared in some kind of shock. Caroline came back in and slumped in her chair.

  ‘You all right, Car?’ said Cynthia.

  She nodded and wiped her mouth on her serviette, still tasting the inside of her mouth as if that disgusting taste would never go away.

  ‘That’s me done with meat!’ she said. ‘It’s vegetarian all the way from now on. We’re all bloody cannibals, you know that? Freaking cannibals! That’s what you’ve turned us into.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Howard, ‘we are. But we are alive and in control, and we must ensure we stay that way. Far better for us to eat them than the other way round.’

  Johnny finished eating. He made a big performance of setting his cutlery neatly down, before wiping his mouth.

  ‘What’s for pudding,’ he said, ‘sugared ears, breast pudding, candied fingers, grilled conk, toe-toes and custard, Banaghan sweetmeats, any idea, anyone?’

  Howard laughed like Henry the Eighth.

  ‘Bugger off!’ said William, getting up, tossing his napkin on the table, ‘Excuse me, I’ve seen and heard and eaten more than enough for one day,’ and he sloped from the room, clasping his mother’s shoulder on the way out, muttering, ‘I can’t believe we’ve sunk so low.’

  Howard caught Suzanne’s eye. She had been strangely silent since the origin of the meat was revealed.

  ‘Suzanne,’ he said. ‘Call by my office in twenty minutes. There’s something I wish to discuss.’

  Wonder what she’s been up to, thought three of the siblings.

  She looked her father in the eye, nodded the merest of nods, and said, ‘Sure, dad, I’ll be there.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Karen pulled the car into the drive at Mandamus and cruised up to the car park. The same three cars were on parade, Jag, Rolls, and a Cayton.

  ‘Looks like everyone’s in,’ said Walter, as Karen parked, and they stood out of the car.

  Walter went to the door and rang the bell. Mrs French opened up; pleased to see Walter and his little mate.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, smiling. She seemed in a better frame of mind than before. Maybe Jago had decided to keep her on, or perhaps she’d landed a cool new job. But that thought was crushed when she seized Walter’s arm and whispered, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve come across anyone who might need a housekeeper?’

  ‘No, not yet, Mrs French, but I haven’t forgotten.’

  She bobbed her head, murmured a thank you, and invited them through to the sitting room. Jago was sitting, busy, sifting through piles of discarded papers, most ripped to shreds, filling three wastepaper bins.

  He glanced up at his visitors and said, ‘Ah, Darriteau and friend. Got to the bottom of dad’s strange sketch yet?’

  ‘Not quite, but we’re making progress.’

  ‘Fancy coffee?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Jago nodded at Mrs French. She was ahead of him, already on her way to fetch the silver and Portmeirion.

  ‘So?’ Jago said, ripping old utility bills into tiny pieces. ‘What can I do for you on this bright morning?’

  ‘A couple of things,’ said Walter. ‘First off, your father’s diaries from fifteen and thirty years ago.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Jago. ‘There’s something odd about that.’

  ‘Oh? In what way?’

  ‘Missing, old boy. The pair of them; and the funny thing is, they are the only ones that are. I have sorted them into date order and they are all present, going back forty years, but those two are obvious by their absence. I’m thinking he might have destroyed them.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘No idea; thought you might know.’

  ‘The obvious reason is because there is something in them he didn’t want anyone to see.’

  ‘Or be reminded of.’

  ‘Quite.’ Walter pulled a face as his brain processed facts, before he said, ‘Where did the family live before coming here?’

  ‘Up on the Wirral, by the sea, though if you know the coast up there, you’ll know the sea vanishes for long periods.’

  ‘Why did the family move down here?’

  ‘Be handier for work, I guess. The main office was always in Chester, and even back then dad was getting older.’

  Karen said, ‘Were you still living at home thirty years ago?’

  He sighed and thought about it.

  ‘Might have been, though I did have five years away in the army. I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘How old would you have been back then?’

  ‘What? Thirty years ago? Is that another way of asking me how old I am?’

  ‘No,’ said Karen, unable to hide a smile. ‘We’re just filling in gaps in our knowledge.’

  Jago nodded, though looked unconvinced, and said, ‘I was thirty-one. Joined the army when I was twenty-nine and left when I was thirty-four, and then went into law seriously, and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  Walter scratched his left forearm and said, ‘Did your father own a boat?’

  Jago grinned at the memory.

  ‘He did. Three, as far as I recall, but not all at the same time. And don’t get the idea they were glamorous ocean-going yachts, because they were not. Smelly old smacks, more like. Small things suitable for a bit of inshore fishing, that’s about it. I went out a couple of times and regretted it. Found out I wasn’t a sailor.’

  Mrs French returned with coffee, smiled down at Walter, set the pot and crockery down on a low table, and glanced at Jago.

  He mumbled, ‘Thanks,’ and waved her away, as Walter said, ‘And the family firm, Hames, Carnes & Wilderton, were the retained solicitors to Markhams Bank in Liverpool at the time.’

  Jago sniffed and scratched his unshaved chin.

  ‘Yes, I think they were. The connection lasted for donkey’s years until the foreigners swallowed the bank in 2009. They wanted their own people in there, so we were “let go”, as they say.’

  Karen said, ‘Do you remember a man by the name of Peter Craig working at the bank back then?’

  ‘Probably not, as I said, I was away with the army, most likely in the Middle East.’

  ‘I think you would remember this,’ said Walter. ‘Because the unfortunate Mr Craig perished, found washed up on Hilbre Island, amid lots of publicity.’

  ‘Ah yes, now you come to mention it, I do remember some kind of scandal about that. Father must have written to me about it. It was probably the biggest news of the month or the year, in his little world. Whereas I saw more than my fair share of dead bodies, so a single one wouldn’t have made much of a mark.’

  ‘You remember anything about Peter Craig’s death?’ persisted Karen.

  ‘No, not really, why do you ask?’

  ‘Because,’ said Walter, ‘I’m confident that Peter Craig was murdered. And we are investigating murders that occur every fifteen years, deaths that may have a connection with weird secret societies, groups that liked to boast they were much more powerful, proactive, and decisive than any other.’

  Jago scoffed and said, ‘Now hold on a minute...’

  Karen held up her hand and interrupted.

  ‘And your father’s diaries relating to fifteen and thirty years ago have mysteriously vanished.’

&nbs
p; ‘Just a minute, just a minute, what’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘We’re building a picture,’ said Walter, and the more pieces we fix into the jigsaw, the murkier the picture becomes.’

  ‘This isn’t on, Darriteau. I have gone out of my way to help you. Are you seriously suggesting my recently deceased father had something to do with Peter Craig’s death?’

  ‘He had a boat berthed at Meols less than a couple of miles from the family home,’ said Walter, ‘within sight of Hilbre Island. And in the previous week your father and Peter Craig met to discuss important business.’

  ‘That’s news to me.’

  Karen said, ‘Do you know what they talked about?’

  ‘Of course not, I’ve just told you, I know nothing about all this, I was in Saudi, getting ready for the big push.’

  ‘The Gulf War?’ clarified Walter.

  Jago pulled a face and nodded.

  Karen asked, ‘Do you know if Peter Craig ever went on your father’s boat?’

  ‘How the hell would I know that? I was thousands of miles away.’

  ‘Your father might have mentioned it in letters,’ suggested Walter.

  ‘He didn’t! Look, Darriteau, I think I’ve answered enough questions for one day. I have an enormous amount of paperwork to wade through, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me in peace to get on with it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Walter, ‘But do tell me if the diaries turn up. It’s strange they have gone missing, don’t you think?’

  ‘If I find them, I’ll tell you. Mrs French, our guests are leaving,’ and the woman reappeared, glancing at the coffee going to waste.

  Two minutes later, driving away from Mandamus, Walter said, ‘What did you make of that?’

  ‘Not sure, but they know more than they are letting on.’

  ‘Yes, they do. We need to find out what went on between Torquers Wilderton and Peter Craig. Maybe Martin and Jenny will have discovered something about that.’

  ‘Whatever it was, it didn’t disturb the relationship between Markhams Bank and Hames, Carnes & Wilderton, which continued on for years.’

  ‘True, and that suggests it was something personal between Peter and Torquil.’

  ‘Yes, but what?’

  ‘I can imagine all kinds of unhappy scenarios, but imagining them and hitting on what actually happened are miles apart.’

  ‘Care to share your thoughts, Guv?’

  ‘I will, when I’m more convinced we’re on the right track.’

  ‘I know nothing,’ drawled Karen, mimicking Jago’s voice.

  Walter grinned and said, ‘Yes, that made me smile too. He knows far more than he’s sharing with us. Check Jago was telling the truth about being out of the country.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, driving hard to get back to base.

  Twenty-Nine

  Suzanne Meade made her way to her father’s office. The door was ajar. She tapped on the teak and whispered, ‘Dad?’

  He glanced at the door and said, ‘Come in, Suzanne, close the door, and sit down.’

  She went in and sat before him, crossed her legs and smoothed her long tight white skirt down. There was one enormous desk in there and two sumptuous chairs, one either side, his slightly larger. Oil paintings of Ascot races adorned the walls from the Royal Meeting, specially commissioned by Howard, depicting his winning runners, Meade’s Fancy, Meade’s Fury, and Meade’s Fortune. Top line racing brought him massive pleasure. The winning of cups and rubbing shoulders with the great and the good, and bad too, brought inner satisfaction that little else could.

  He took a breath and said, ‘I thought it might be an opportune moment to share an update.’

  ‘Sure, dad,’ she said. ‘Where do you want to start?’

  ‘How are you getting on with the Banaghan boy?’

  ‘Great, Eamonn’s a nice kid.’

  ‘You won’t get too close to him, will you?’

  ‘No chance of that, dad. I’m a Meade and always will be.’

  ‘And he doesn’t suspect a thing?’

  ‘No. He still thinks the first meet in the travel agents was a coincidence.’

  ‘Good, let’s keep it that way. The information you provided about Eilish and her whereabouts was incredibly useful.’

  ‘Thanks, dad, I’m happy to be contributing.’

  Howard nodded and continued, ‘When is the next scheduled meet?’

  ‘Tuesday. Do you think in the light of recent events, I should go?’

  ‘More to the point, darling, do you want to?’

  ‘It’s a tricky one. I’ve no idea what frame of mind he’ll be in.’

  ‘Yes, we need to be careful. You could be in danger.’

  Suzanne laughed dismissively and said, ‘You mean they might barbecue me and serve me up in revenge.’

  ‘Anything’s possible with that crazy gang.’

  ‘I’d really like to go, dad. I think I’ll be safe enough. He might not turn up, but if he does, I think I can contribute more to the cause. The guy’s eating out of the palm of my hand. Adores the ground I walk on, if he’s to be believed.’

  ‘So long as he doesn’t eat your hand. He will know what happened to his sister, that’s bound to be fresh in his mind. It’s tricky.’

  ‘Yes, but it was nothing to do with me, which it wasn’t. I’ll tell him that, and I think I can convince him of it, too. Is there anything important you want me to get out of him?’

  ‘For now, nothing at all. If you pump him for information, he’ll see through you and realise you are nothing more than a spy. No, play it cool, listen to everything he has to say, but don’t ask too many questions. You need to regain his trust and that could take time. Act girly and teenager, dismiss any talk of gangsters and killings as if it belongs to a different world. Once he trusts you again, that’s when he’ll reveal more telling titbits, perhaps by accident.’

  ‘Got that, dad. I can do girly dopey teenage nonsense with the best of them.’

  Howard smiled and nodded and said, ‘I’m sure you can. What did you think of it?’

  ‘The meat or the plan?’

  ‘Both.’

  She paused a moment, pondering on her words.

  ‘I thought they were both brilliant.’

  Howard delighted in her approval.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Family’s everything,’ she said. ‘They slaughtered our Grahame in the most brutal fashion. They had to be taught a lesson and you did that, dad, in the most unforgettable way. It must have shaken that family to the tips of their toes. It’ll make them wonder what might happen if we ambush them on the streets alone.’

  ‘That was the idea.’

  ‘Seriously, dad, the whole plan was quite brilliant. How did you come up with it? So ingenious.’

  ‘It had to be something sensational. Something amazing that had never been done before. Something that would jolt them and stop them in their tracks. A simple drive-by shooting would never have had the same effect. A beating up in some dark alleyway, I don’t think so. Anyone with a couple of crazed hoodlums could do that. The Meades do things differently. We do it our way, and that way has never been seen in London before. The Banaghan crew now knows that.’

  ‘You’re right, dad. But how did you manage to get the joint into their house, and how do you know they ate it?’

  Howard smiled and bobbed his head. His best girl was amazing.

  ‘I’ve always been fussy about the meat I eat. You all know that. That’s why I only ever buy meat from the one traditional and quality proven provider, the aptly named Butcher & Sons.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I still go there at least once a week. I want them to know I pay attention. We have been running an account there for over twenty years. I always demand the freshest and best meat they can supply, money no object; and they are happy to oblige, and run up a big bill. They take the cash and give us first dibs on the best cuts. One day I was in there chatting with Jimmy Butcher, and he men
tioned that he supplied the Banaghan family. I didn’t know that before. To be honest, I think he regretted letting that slip the moment he mentioned it, but once the cat was out of the bag, there was never a way to force it back in.’

  Suzanne grinned and said, ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I took him to one side and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Old Butcher’s the proud possessor of four girls, did you know that? Pretty things, too. To tell you the truth, I think he’s a little frightened of me.’

  ‘I’ll bet he is, he should be, and more than a little.’

  ‘Well, to cut a long story short, my chaps delivered two parcels to Jimmy at closing time, knee to thigh, shaved and skinned. I don’t think it was obvious what the meat was, though I guess a trained butcher would know. Looked a little like pork or veal, my fellows said, and Butcher boned and dressed it, and had one delivered to Saint Patrick’s with their usual order, with a note that said: try this special joint for your Sunday lunch with my compliments. You won’t be disappointed. It must have worked because as soon as I spoke to Liam I knew by the shocked tone in his voice they’d eaten it, swallowed it whole, so to speak, and that brought me great pride, and the first true warmth I’ve felt since Grahame’s passing.’

  ‘Brilliant, dad, I think you’re amazing.’

  ‘Thanks, Suzanne. Now about next Tuesday. Do you want to take a gun?’

  ‘God, I hadn’t thought about that, dad. But now you come to mention it, maybe a small thing in my bag wouldn’t go amiss, though I’ve never fired a gun in my life.’

  ‘No, but it would give you some protection. A Derringer,’ he said, ‘that would be perfect, it’s tiny. Magnum make the new ones. I bought two when we last went to Greece. But don’t underrate it. It packs a real punch. Shoot someone in the eye with a Derringer and they’re a goner. No doubt about it.’

  Suzanne nodded, as she grew fonder of the idea, but wondered how easy it would be to use.

  Howard sensed the unease and said, ‘Come down to the range in the basement at half-past six. I’ll show you everything you need to know, give you a little practise and get you up to speed before your date. You’ll be fine.’