by Anita Waller
Mouse settled back into her seat. ‘Okay, old wise woman, maybe I won’t paddle. Can I have fish and chips?’
‘You can count on it,’ Doris said. ‘I thought that was why we came.’
The foyer of Fairfax was sleek, modern and warm. There were display cabinets showing one handbag per shelf, and Doris heard Mouse gasp.
They approached the reception desk, and Mouse handed over her ID. ‘We’re here to see Mr Fairfax,’ she explained. ‘This is my colleague, Mrs Lester.’ Doris handed her ID to the bewildered employee.
She bent her head to check a diary. ‘You don’t have an appointment today.’
‘I rang about an hour ago, and spoke to the secretary. She booked us in. We’ll sit over here while you check.’ Doris and Mouse wandered over to a settee and sat down.
‘Nan,’ Mouse whispered. ‘These bags are Ciao! I had no idea. When I checked him out it said he was CEO of Fairfax Ltd, makers of fine bags and suitcases. It said nothing about those fine bags being Ciao bags. They are somewhere up in the stratosphere when it comes to price, certainly as expensive as Prada and the likes, and equally as much sought after. I bid for a second-hand one on an auction site, and dropped out at four hundred pounds.’
‘Good lord,’ Doris said. ‘Think he’ll give us a free sample?’
The receptionist walked across to them, and pointed to the far side of the reception area. ‘If you follow me to the lift, I’ll send you to the correct floor and Julia will meet you. I’m sorry about the confusion, the booking was so recent nobody had thought to put it in my diary.’
Mouse smiled at the young girl, who was looking a little put out that her system had been compromised. ‘Don’t worry about it. These things happen.’
Doris and Mouse followed her across to a small lift at the back of the foyer, and the receptionist sent them to the third floor.
Julia was slim, and anyone would have classed her automatically as a secretary. Her hair was neatly formed into a bun, her make-up was perfect and her fingernails shone, yet without colour.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted them. ‘Mr Fairfax is waiting for you.’
She led them through an outer office that was clearly hers, and knocked on a door leading into the inner sanctum of Michael Fairfax.
Doris felt Mouse tense, and they moved towards the man they had researched. It occurred to Doris that it was a pity they hadn’t been more thorough in that research. They had concentrated on tracking him down, and yet it seemed they had the wrong Michael Fairfax. They had both been expecting to see a medium-height man, possibly with fair hair as both his parents had been blessed with blonde hair; they hadn’t been expecting a tall man, black hair, brown eyes, and a beautifully coffee-coloured skin. A remarkably handsome man.
This man couldn’t possibly be the child of Helen Fairfax and Ewan Barker.
Mouse felt sick.
She held out her hand and shook his. ‘Mr Fairfax, my name is Bethan Walters, and this is my colleague, Doris Lester. We are private investigators, and we have been asked by our client to find his son.’
Fairfax nodded, and indicated the two seats in front of his desk. ‘Please, sit down. Can I offer you tea? Coffee?’
‘No, thank you, we’re fine. Do you mind if I take notes?’ She waved her iPad around. ‘Although, I rather think we might be wasting your time…’
‘Oh? Did you believe I was the son?’ He smiled. ‘I probably am. I’ve never seen my father, and my mother assures me I did have one.’
‘Is your mother Helen Fairfax?’
‘She is. So that’s a start, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Does she ever mention your father?’ Doris ploughed on gamefully with the questioning.
‘Not really, no. I’ve always understood she became pregnant but didn’t want to get married, so left Sheffield, which was where she was living at the time. She moved to Scarborough to have me. We have lots of relatives here, and they helped her get back on her feet after the birth.’
‘So you never met him?’ Doris persisted.
‘I’ve never seen so much as a photograph of him. Mum always said she didn’t have one, and I accepted that. I… erm… I feel a little bit shocked by this. Don’t really know how to handle it. Mum is still alive, and I wouldn’t want to hurt her by having some sort of relationship with my father. How did you track me down?’
‘Our client understood your name was Michael Fairfax. It seems your mother and our client discussed you having his Christian name as your middle name, although that isn’t the case. We tracked down two babies born on the same day, a Michael Adrian Fairfax who lives in Aberdeen, and you, living in Scarborough. Our client remembered your mother having relatives here, so we made this our first port of call.’
‘It all fits, doesn’t it. I feel quite pleased, I think,’ Fairfax said. ‘Do you have a photograph of him, this man? My father?’
Mouse wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. She felt truly grateful that Doris had come along with her, she had controlled the interview admirably. Now what would she do?
‘I do,’ Doris said slowly. ‘It’s a small one on my phone. However, there is something you should know. Can I double-check something with you first… is your mother white British?’
‘She is. I get my colouring from my father.’
‘Then I’m afraid I can’t show you this picture. It would breach data protection laws. Our client is white British, Mr Fairfax, and therefore can’t be your father.’
He looked stunned. ‘I’ve actually dreamed of this day for many many years. When I was told by my secretary that you wanted to see me about something personal, I knew. And you’re telling me you’re wrong.’
‘Mr Fairfax,’ Doris said gently, ‘I believe you are the child we are looking for. I believe that everything your mother says happened to her, really did. Except I also believe she knew the baby didn’t belong to our client. She couldn’t marry him, as he wanted, because it would have been obvious at the birth that he couldn’t have fathered you. I’m so sorry. If you really want to see your father, you are going to have to get the truth out of your mother.’
He shook his head. ‘Then the secret will go to the grave with her. She has four to six months to live – cancer. I can’t ask her about this, not now.’
Doris stood and Mouse followed her lead. ‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Fairfax. I’m sorry we couldn’t unite you with your father. We’ll make our report back to our client, and as far as we are concerned, that will be an end to the matter.’
He nodded without speaking, and they left the office, Mouse carefully positioning the iPad as she stood up and taking a photograph of Fairfax. The photograph she took didn’t reflect the smile on his face that appeared as they left the office.
Chapter Twenty
Tessa and Hannah had led the briefing, filling everybody in on the results from the previous day, which were negligible. They sat at their individual desks, going through every form gathered in the church. Nobody had anything good to say about the vicar, but equally nobody had said anything detrimental except Ernie Travers, Clarice’s grumpy husband.
In fact, it was becoming clear to Tessa that every person interviewed in the church would probably have to be interviewed away from that environment. Who, in the whole of that congregation, would have had the guts to say we think our vicar is a bit of a perv? Absolutely nobody, not while he was standing within about six feet of them. As he had been. Offering his support to them. Making sure they knew he was there.
Steve Barksworth had given them a short list of seven people who normally were regular attendees, although hadn’t been there the day of the interviews. They mainly lived in Castleton, with a couple travelling from the nearby village of Hope. One of the non-attendees living in Hope was Emily Carr.
With hindsight, Tessa reflected that maybe it hadn’t been such a bright idea to interview in the church; the list should have been obtained from the vicar and they should have visited them in their homes, where they would have been m
ore relaxed. And maybe more communicative.
‘Hannah,’ she called across the room, ‘let’s go talk to some people. Starting with a vicar.’
The three women – and Martha – were holed up in Kat’s office, the outside shutters down temporarily, announcing they were closed. Martha’s eyes roamed between Kat, Winnie the Pooh, Tigger and Eeyore, then finally settled on Eeyore, the tiny dangling creature attached to the hood on her pram. She began to eat him.
‘Martha’s eating Eeyore,’ Mouse said. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Depends how good he tastes,’ Kat said. ‘If you notice she’s getting down to the bones, let me know.’
Doris laid out the picture of Michael Fairfax on the desk. Mouse’s further research in the fish and chip café had revealed nothing of the CEO of Fairfax. There was lots of other information online about their products that she hadn’t discovered before, considering it irrelevant. She had been investigating the man, but now she drank in the exclusivity of their range, the brand name Ciao. All the articles and advertising focussed on the goods and the ethics of the business, not on people. Mouse had breathed a sigh of relief as she swung her iPad around to show Doris the photograph she had taken. At least they had this and they could show it to Ewan.
Kat pulled the picture towards her and stared at the man Ewan believed was his son. ‘We have to show him this photo,’ she said, tracing a finger across the face staring up at her. ‘He’s our client, and we have to pass all information on to him. I think the story will end there though. Helen Fairfax left him because she didn’t know who the father of her baby was, not because she didn’t want to get married. What’s the betting that if the baby had been white, she would have returned and claimed she’d had a change of heart and she wanted to be with Ewan?’
‘That’s cynical of you, Kat,’ Doris said. ‘Although,’ she added with a sigh, ‘I suspect you’re right. And I’m sure Ewan will see it that way as well. He’s believed he had a son for all these years, and we’re going to wipe him out.’
‘So what do we do?’ Mouse spoke with a frown creasing her forehead. ‘He’s such a nice man, and we’re going to give him a final report that demolishes any hope of a descendant. Don’t forget he had a plan. He wanted to make sure he contacted his son so that he could leave everything to him when he died. We’ve taken that away.’
‘We haven’t taken it away. Helen Fairfax did that by not being honest with him.’ Doris touched Mouse’s hand. ‘He has the freedom to sort out his affairs, to leave his money to any charities he may support, and then to enjoy the rest of his life. Yes, it will be a shock to have his beliefs crushed, but once he accepts he has no offspring, he’ll bounce back and get on with life, I’m sure of it.’
‘I’ll do the report, but I’d like you both to check it. We have to be a bit careful in that we don’t give anything away about Michael. What do we do when he asks if we tracked Helen?’ Kat waited, knowing they would have to consider their answers.
Mouse spoke first. ‘I’m inclined to say we know where she lives, and leave it at that. If he wants to contact her, we can be the intermediary, as we had to be with Pamela Bird. We can’t simply hand over Helen’s address, not without her permission, but then we have the issue of her illness. Do we tell him about that?’
‘I think we have to,’ Kat said. ‘Once we give him the news about Michael, Ewan can simply say use the remaining money to find Helen for me. Maybe he won’t pursue that if he knows how near she is to the end of her life.’
There was silence around the table as the three of them thought everything through.
Finally Doris spoke. ‘We need to get Ewan in for a discussion. We can give him the final report, not say anything about Helen’s whereabouts and deal with it if he mentions her. But he does need to know our findings from this trip. I’m seeing him tonight, so I’ll ask him to come in tomorrow. Ten okay with everybody?’
They nodded, and Kat picked up the paperwork on the table. ‘I’ll get on with doing it now. Is he a nice man?’
‘Michael? He seemed to be really nice. Because we had said our appointment was a personal one, he’d kind of got himself to a place where he thought it might involve his father, and he was obviously disappointed when we said our client couldn’t be that person. I do wonder what the conversation will be between him and Helen, or if he’ll simply let it go.’
‘Who knows. I like him, he seemed like a gentle, considerate man, but this is massive, isn’t it,’ Doris said. ‘Kat, do the report, keep it fairly clinical, and we’ll see how it goes tomorrow.’
Steve Barksworth was surprised to see the two women back in his church. He crossed his fingers and hoped whatever they wanted wouldn’t take long; he’d left his wife having physio and knew he hadn’t got long before he needed to be back at the vicarage.
They walked down the aisle towards him and he forced a smile to his face. ‘How can I help, ladies?’
‘Is there somewhere we can go to speak privately?’
‘Yes, of course, but I only have ten minutes before I have to be home.’
‘No, vicar.’ DI Marsden was DI Marsden, no longer Tessa who had been in his church on Sunday. ‘It will take as long as it takes. If you prefer, we can wait until you’ve arranged cover for your wife, and make it official in Chesterfield. Today.’
Without another word, he led them to the vestry.
Once inside, he pointed to the sofa and indicated they should sit. He moved behind his small desk.
‘Thank you, Reverend Barksworth. Information has been given to us following our investigation into Orla French’s death.’
Hannah was watching his face carefully and saw the blood drain from it.
‘Can you tell me about the relationship between you and Orla, please?’
‘She’s a member of our church, our fundraising group and our choir. I therefore meet up with her quite a lot.’
‘In here?’ Tessa indicated the confines of the vestry with a wave of her hand.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Hannah wrote rapidly, making notes of his words, but also of his body language. He was nervous.
Tessa nodded, and temporarily shelved the vestry issue. ‘So where did you see her?’
‘In the church and in the church hall.’
‘Was she alone or with others? Emily perhaps?’
‘Occasionally alone, but usually with Emily or any of the choir members.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘You don’t have anything to do with the choir. Isn’t that the remit for Annabel Knight? When I spoke to her she indicated she trained the choir.’
‘I’ve always got something that needs attention in here,’ he said. ‘And it pleases me to hear them. It’s better to do paperwork with a choir singing in the background.’
‘Reverend Barksworth, did you go to our mobile headquarters at the school and give a DNA sample?’
He looked startled. ‘No, I didn’t. Why would I? I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘It doesn’t matter, we’ll take one now.’
He tried to protest but Hannah was waiting patiently for him to open his mouth for her to access his inside cheek.
‘Thank you, vicar,’ Tessa said. ‘The tests are used for elimination purposes.’
He looked at his watch and then at Marsden. ‘DI Marsden, I really do have to go back to my wife.’
‘We’ve almost finished, vicar. In fact, I think I’ve only one more question. I expect you to answer it truthfully, but taking your career into consideration, I’m sure you will be honest. Have you ever had sex with Orla French?’
Way to go, boss, Hannah thought, say it like it is. She watched as Steve Barksworth’s face turned red, then he stood and turned his back on them as he looked out of the vestry window.
There was silence, and Tessa held up a hand to indicate she didn’t want Hannah to speak.
They waited.
It seemed like forever as they watched the man of God bat
tle with his conscience; both women knew that was happening. His face had told the story.
Finally he turned to face them. ‘Yes.’
Marsden’s eyes never left him. She was aware of Hannah taking notes, aware of the utter stillness in the room following the one word Steve had spoken, yet Tessa held back, waiting to see if he would say anything else.
When it seemed he wasn’t going to expand on what he had said, Tessa spoke. ‘Did you kill her?’
He sank down onto his chair, and covered his face with his hands. ‘Of course I didn’t kill her.’ His words were muffled. ‘I loved her.’
He asked Annabel Knight to come in and sit with his wife while he went into Chesterfield to police headquarters. He explained he had to give a statement, but gave no further details.
Annabel watched as the police car pulled away, and gave a small smile before setting off towards the vicarage. Did he really think he could fool her? He was lucky that policewoman hadn’t asked her the direct question of was your vicar screwing the pretty blonde chorister, because she might have had to answer honestly.
Chapter Twenty-One
Steve Barksworth arrived back at the vicarage to find Annabel watching an old episode of Silent Witness.
‘Thank you, Annabel,’ he said, his voice raw with emotion. ‘Have you said anything?’
‘To your wife?’ she asked.
‘No, but she did ask where you had disappeared to. I told her it was parish business. They’ve not arrested you then.’
‘Clearly not,’ he snapped. ‘I haven’t actually committed any crime.’
‘Legally, I suspect you’re right,’ she said, her own anger bubbling to the surface and reflecting in her voice. She could have spent the night at home with her husband. ‘But morally, ethically, that’s another thing altogether, isn’t it. You have a wife, Steve. I’ve seen you and Orla together…’
The look of alarm on his face spoke volumes.