‘W.P. Norris’ read the discreet brass plaque fixed beside the large front door of an elegant, red brick town house. They found the house, at the address they had been given, on a pleasant tree lined circus just off the inner ring road of Nottingham. There was no indication of Mr Norris’ profession, or that of anybody else who occupied the other offices within the building. Teri and Tobin climbed to the second floor and entered a door bearing a second, identical plaque.
An expensively furnished reception area with an expensively dressed receptionist faced them. She glanced at the clock on the wall above them and asked, ‘Miss Shaw, Mr Tobin? Good, take a seat, Mr Norris won’t be long.’ She indicated two long settees to the right of the door next to a tall window that looked out to the rear of the building. Tobin could see the backs of the surrounding buildings were all immaculately kept with gleaming paintwork and the brickwork cleaned and restored. Below was an area of backyards, all neatly converted into little private carparks, filled with expensive cars.
A light coloured blind was pulled partly down the tall window to reduce the mid-day sun. Teri admired the abundant foliage of the various potted plants that stood about the room.
The receptionist rose from behind her desk, attracting Tobin’s immediate attention. Tall, tanned and wearing a simple, soft dark dress she walked across to a side table.
‘Coffee or tea?’
Tobin was imagining PC Murdoch maturing like this, there was about ten years difference between them he reckoned, Murdoch was in her late twenties. He didn’t hear Teri’s answer.
‘Coffee or tea?’ Repeated the receptionist.
‘Oh. Sorry. Coffee, please. I was daydreaming.’
‘Yes, I noticed.’ He could feel the start of a blush rising in his cheeks. What a voice. What a figure! Before he could stop himself he glanced at her left hand; and she caught him! She just smiled, it obviously happened all the time! She handed a tea to Teri and a coffee to Tobin, who shrank back into his end of the settee.
The other door opened and a firm voice called, ‘Come in, please. Thank you, Angela.’
Teri was shown to a guest chair in front of the desk and an identical one was brought from the wall for Tobin. He wasn’t sure just what he had expected Mr Norris to look like, but he hadn’t expected him to look like this. Greg Norris was tall, slim and athletic. His age was difficult to determine, but was somewhere in the mid-thirties. He had short, neat, fair hair above a strong, pleasant, open face. An expensive grey suit jacket was unbuttoned over a cream shirt with a striped tie. Old school? Having never knowingly met a private detective before, this executive looking person surprised Tobin. He had the same tan as Angela and the same elegant manner, which was too much of a coincidence. They must be a couple, Tobin thought to himself. Well, you win some and you lose some! Anyway, it was a long way to Nottingham.
Norris sat in a large, well-upholstered chair facing them across an enormous, Victorian partner’s desk.
‘Long trip?’ He asked Tobin, presuming him to be the driver.
‘Not bad!’ Said Tobin, snapping out of his fantasy. In reality he felt exhausted, having spent the entire journey with both feet braced against the footwell and both hands clamped around the passenger seat. Teri had arranged to pick him up after breakfast; he had presumed she meant an early breakfast. But, she had had a leisurely, normal one and had then broken the entire Highway Code to make up time.
‘Good.’ He turned to Teri. ‘In case you should hear anything, I made a few inquiries after your call yesterday, Miss Shaw; I needed to confirm that you were who you said you were. I’m sure you understand.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I was dreadfully sorry to hear of your mother’s death. It’s never an easy time and I gather it’s none too straight forward, either.’ He glanced from one to the other, receiving no response. ‘Well. Where to start, then?’ He reached into a top drawer and took out a folder, opened it and spread out a few papers.
He rested his elbows on either side of the folder and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. Looking at Teri he said, ‘From your phonecall yesterday I can assume that you knew nothing of this? Is that right?’ She nodded. ‘So first I must give you some background.’ He was being gentle, but business-like, a reassuring and competent performance. Tobin relaxed a little and listened, quite impressed.
‘Your mother’s intentions, when she first came to see me, involved divorce proceedings.’ He looked up to gauge her reaction, Teri sat impassive, and Tobin was the one who showed surprise. ‘You are no doubt thinking what I first thought, why on earth come all the way down here when there are perfectly good services at home? Well…’ He straightened up and pulled out a piece of paper containing hand-written notes, placing it in front of him.
‘She explained that it wasn’t a matter of adultery. Although there had been occasions, she believed, but she wasn’t going to cite them. Nor was it any other ‘messy business’, I remember her phrase. It was to do with finances.’ He glanced up at Teri regularly, like a TV newsreader, checking her reactions. ‘She suspected him of having other moneys, other incomes that she knew nothing about. She made a point of saying that he wasn’t a selfish man, and that she wasn’t motivated by greed…’ Teri snorted loudly at this and then promptly apologised.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, ‘I’m regularly told that greed isn’t a motivation. Your mother was suspicious of some activity of your father’s.’
‘Stepfather.’ She corrected him.
‘Ah! Yes. I beg your pardon.’ He paused while hunting for the right phraseology. ‘As you are no longer a dependent your mother had not, shall we say, included you in the equation.’
‘I can believe it!’ She looked skywards, shaking her head.
Norris glanced at Tobin for his reaction, a brief raise of the eyebrows. He cleared his throat and continued. ‘She gave me the basic background on your … stepfather. She also gave me a hefty advance against our fees and expenses. Which, I might tell you, has hardly been touched.
‘I was to trace as much as possible of Mr Harper’s background, starting from birth; hence her coming to Nottingham. Alan Harper was born here. That was a simple matter to confirm, which is why we have not spent much of the advance.’
She interrupted. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you’ve only got as far as his birth, is that it?’
‘Not quite. But, there’s a simple explanation why we went no further, as we explained to your mother.’ Teri looked puzzled.
‘We reported this to your mother the week before she died.’ He was trying to break something gently, that was clear. ‘Mrs Harper was coming to see us last week because we reported to her that we had a death certificate in her husband’s name.’ He paused again, gauging the reactions. Tobin and Teri just stared back, unsure if they had heard correctly. ‘It wasn’t a clerical error. Alan Martin Harper died aged six, in London, where he was living with his mother, and was brought back here for burial.’ He pulled out a large black and white photo and passed it across for her to see. It showed a small headstone complete with dates and parental names. A birth certificate and death certificate followed the photo across the desk. They sat in silence for some minutes.
Norris rose from his desk and walked quietly to the door and spoke to Angela outside. She followed him back in carrying a tray of hot drinks and placed it on the corner of the desk. She brought herself a chair and placed it next to Norris’.
Teri gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Does that mean that Alan Harper isn’t Alan Harper … he’s a… a fake?’
‘I’m afraid that it does look that way. I cannot think of another explanation, at the moment. Now you see why we didn’t take it any further. That really is all your mother needed to know. I didn’t go into great detail in the letter, but made last week’s appointment. We were on the point of inquiring after Mrs Harper when you rang yesterday.’
‘Is it … would it be possible …
how much would it cost … …?’
‘To find out who he really is?’ Norris finished the question for her. She nodded.
‘It’s possible. But, I think the chances are slight, at best. If there is a connection between the two Alan Harpers then there’s a chance, but it’s a fifty-year-old chance, seeing that he died at the age of six. If, however, our impostor happened across Alan Harper’s identity by chance then I wouldn’t hold out much hope at all.’ He glanced at Angela who nodded in agreement. ‘It used to be fairly easy to adopt an identity, it isn’t that difficult now, and he’s been Alan Harper for … how long now … twenty or more years? And that’s only the twenty years that we know of. For how long was he Alan Harper before that? Another twenty?’ Norris spread his hands in a gesture of query.
‘He had a French background and came to this country in the early seventies,’ explained Tobin helpfully.
‘And trained in accountancy,’ the detective added, demonstrating his knowledge. ‘Or, so he said!’ He left the implication hanging. After a pause, he continued.
‘A colleague of mine in Newcastle has been doing a little inquiring.’
‘Ah!’ Said Tobin, knowingly, as he began to understand, but he kept quiet. Norris frowned at him and continued. ‘He says that it would appear that, despite what is said locally, the business side of his affairs seems to be quite in order. The only question mark is purely one of confidence, now. His private life though, would seem to be a little complicated. Well, it was complicated, now it’s complex! Wouldn’t you say? I’m sorry. You were going to say something Mr Tobin.
Tobin was going to comment that Norris’ colleague was a bit heavy-handed, he hadn’t been very subtle in his enquiries, he thought, camping out at the house, according to the milkman; and terrifying Linda and the pub barman, but thought better of it. ‘Not really. I’m just glad that you can confirm that his business is OK. That’s all.’
‘Good.’ Norris glanced at Angela and back. ‘Well. The ball’s in your court now, I think. We can arrange a statement of account and a cheque for the balance of the money, or … what would you like? Is there anything else we can do for you? The cheque would have to be in your mother’s name, of course, to go into her estate.’
All three of them looked at Teri. She thought for a moment.
‘Hang on to the money. I’ll get in touch later. No! No. I think you should follow my mother’s instructions and keep digging. Is there enough money? I don’t remember seeing a cheque stub or anything.’ She thought out loud.
‘There won’t be one. Your mother paid cash, and I think there’s plenty to be going on with.’ He looked to Angela once again.
‘Good. Then just let us know how you’re getting on.’ She rose, suddenly very decisive.
‘Certainly. Angela will get straight back on to it.’
‘So, you’re not just a receptionist?’ said Tobin, thoughtlessly.
‘I’m not the receptionist at all!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘She’s having a long lunchbreak!’ A perfect set of white teeth flashed in complement to the laughing eyes as she reached for the file. In explanation, she added. ‘My brother and I took this business over from our father when we left the police.’
‘You’re brother and sister!?’
Teri led him firmly from the office.
An hour’s fast drive north brought them to a service area at the intersection of two motorways. Neither of them had spoken much on the journey and now they sat over two coffees, still silent.
‘You know … ?’ began Tobin.
‘What!?’ snapped Teri, preferring the silence. She could not make up her mind how she should feel about Alan.
‘I hadn’t realized Alan and Rosemary’s marriage was as bad as that.’ Perhaps he hadn’t looked enough to see.
‘I don’t think it was ever good. I can see that now, looking back. I never liked him, you know? My mother made sure of that. I was insanely jealous. I was seven years old and there had never been anyone other than my mother and me for the last five years, about as long as I could remember. Then, suddenly there was this man, taking her away. She played on it, made a great thing out of it to me, getting married again. It made me feel second in everything, third even. Everything I did was always put down, criticised. I never received any praise, all comments were negative, if it was good nothing was said, that was the only way I knew that anything was OK, she couldn’t find anything to fault. It has a terrible effect over the years, you know? It eats away at your confidence, you’re never sure if it’s safe to do something ‘cos you know it’s going to be criticised.
‘Anyway, she married him for all the wrong reasons. Money and image were top of her list. Status. She didn’t want to stay single. My real father left us when I was two; just dumped her and left. It scarred her deeply, took all her confidence, she said. So I think she married out of spite, to show that she didn’t need him anymore; that she was still attractive enough to get a man, to get another rich man; and to spite men in general. That’s the way she was and that’s the way she brought me up! So, it’s not surprising that that’s the way I thought and behaved. Now I know better, I hope! Now I know that she was a greedy, scheming, manipulative cow!
‘She took. She took and took and took! She never gave anything in return. She took my father’s money, she’s taken Alan’s money; and she’s taken my life … and ruined it!’
Tobin sat, stunned and speechless. There was a lot of history and emotion pent up behind this outburst. He had the feeling it had only just begun.
‘I don’t think I have ever met my father since he left. I was only tiny, but I think I can remember him, despite the distortions of my mother. Do you know, she openly boasted about how much she got out of him? She used to complain that it was nothing compared to what she could, or should, have got. I didn’t know any better, I just accepted what she said. That’s why I’m still called Shaw. Alan wanted to adopt me, but she wouldn’t let him, so my father had to keep on paying, but it was still Alan who paid to keep me! I had to keep that a secret. But he knew all along, of course, he wasn’t stupid, but having a little secret between us helped keep that little distance between Alan and me. She was clever. She’s kept all the money to herself all this time. Everything from my father, who I now know was very generous; an awful lot from Alan who was equally generous; and I think she was stealing from him, too! But, I can’t find the bank accounts anywhere to prove it. All those details are missing somewhere.’
‘It would show up on bank statements, surely? Withdrawals, things like that?’ He volunteered, helpfully.
‘Possible, but I doubt it, if I could find them. No, every time she went to the supermarket or big shop she would get fifty pounds cashback, it soon mounts up! I know what her idea was; she told me. In dribs and drabs, she was going to screw him for as much as she could get and then divorce him for as much as she could get, of what was left! Lovely lady, eh? And I was ‘left out of the equation’! That’s because I wouldn’t help her these last couple of years, I ‘abandoned her’. I left home, you see, with Alan’s help. I ‘defected’. That was unforgivable in her eyes. Alan found that flat in Jesmond and paid the deposit for me, and a bit more, too, but she didn’t know about any of that. In her eyes, I was a traitor; she called me just that in a stream of abuse one day.
‘So, that’s my darling mother for you. Does that explain why I didn’t cry much? She’d already made me cry enough. You know, when I was little, she would make me cry just so she could be seen comforting me.’ She turned away and stared out at the empty motel carpark. Tobin could see the tears forming in her eyes as she blinked rapidly, taking deep breaths as she fought them back. She wasn’t finished.
‘As I’ve come to see these things these last two years, there have been a few times when I could have ‘helped’ her down the stairs in that way myself! She still tried to control my life, still picked at me, and s
till manipulated me because she still needed me around. She was miscast in this life, she would have made a great actress; she loved the attention and the drama. But, what did she become? She was a lonely, bitter old lady; old way before her time and lonely because she drove any possible friends away with her bitterness and hatred. And then the drink! And, could she drink!’
Tobin had witnessed a few of Rosemary’s drinking sessions. Like the recent rugby charity dance, Teri and a friend had to pour her into a taxi. Alan had to leave the event and lock Rosemary in the house before returning to carry on running the evening. He had been that distracted by events that night that the ill-fated photo had been taken without him realising.
‘I just wish I knew why she was like that. I dread the thought that I’ll go the same way. Why did she treat my father that way? She would never tell me the details.’ Teri sat, amazed at herself and exhausted; drained by the outburst.
‘Phew! Shit!’ She finished her coffee and stood. ‘Sorry. But, now you know! Let’s go!’
There were six messages on his answerphone when Tobin returned that evening. He checked his mobile, flat battery. Two messages were from women wondering where he was, Sandra Hickman and Vivienne Davies. The other four were all from Detective Sergeant McColl. He had left a phone number for Tobin to contact him immediately on his return, regardless of the hour. Tobin did and at ten p.m. the flat doorbell rang.
‘You said you wouldn’t mind,’ said McColl, ‘so I thought ‘while the iron’s hot’, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Tobin, who had just got home with an Indian takeaway meal.
‘You go ahead and eat, I already have.’
‘Thanks. This is all very urgent, sergeant. What’s up?’
‘Well, it could wait if you insist, sir. It’s just that you are a hard man to pin down and I do need a few answers.’
‘Well. OK. Ask away, if I can help.’ McColl watched keenly as Tobin unpacked his meal onto a warm plate waiting under the grill. He put the plate onto a tray with some cold beers and they adjourned to the living room. Should he offer McColl a beer? He’d wait and see.
‘Have you known Rebecca Shaw long?’
‘I’ve been acquainted with her for something like fifteen years, almost since Alan and her mother married. But, I’ve only got to know her properly in the last couple of years, maybe not that long.’
‘When she was living at home, what was her relationship with her mother like?’
‘Very close. That’s why I said I was only acquainted with her, no one else could get near her.’
‘Was she a very dominant mother?’
‘Very!’ Tobin was wary of where this was going to lead. He tore a chunk off his paratha and fished around in the vegetable side dish for an interesting morsel; keeping his eyes on his plate.
‘So when they parted it wasn’t amicable?’
‘I don’t know that I would call it parting, Teri moved out into a place of her own. Just part of growing up, I thought. Eventually, Teri had to make her own way and leave home. Alan helped Teri out with the flat, I know, but if that caused any trouble, I don’t know.’
‘But, possible?’
‘Certainly possible.’
‘She was a temperamental woman?’
‘She certainly was.’
‘And, she had a drink problem?’
‘She certainly did.’ Tobin’s thoughts flashed back to that afternoon.
‘Was any treatment ever sought for the drink problem?’
‘Several times, I believe. But, I don’t think she ever stuck with any of them. I think Alan thought the best remedy was the drink itself. She would work up to a tremendous binge, be desperately ill and stay off the drink for a while. But, she always drifted back on it in the end.’
‘That’s very interesting.’ McColl had taken out his notebook and was making a few notes. Tobin knew he had gone too far.
‘Did Mr Harper ever induce any of these ‘binges’?’
‘No! I can see where you’re going now, and, no he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He actually did care for her, and about her, you know. She may not have justified that care, in fact it’s common knowledge that she behaved dreadfully towards him at times, but, I know he took his marriage … very seriously.’ Tobin had nearly said deadly!
‘Really? Now that’s not what we’ve been hearing. He was unfaithful to her on many occasions, I am led to believe. There is even a suspicion that she knew.’ He stopped, waiting for a response.
‘Maybe, if you say so, though I prefer not to listen to gossip. It’s none of my business what other people do in their private lives.’ He had gone off his food now and placed the tray on the floor beside him.
‘But, you’re a newspaper man, Mr Tobin; surely it’s your business to know these things?’
‘No! I’m not a newspaper man. I just do bits and pieces for the ‘Reporter’, I’m not a full time reporter!’ McColl’s eyebrows rose at the vehement answer.
‘How do you make your living then, Mr Tobin. You seem to live very nicely here.’ He cast his eyes around the flat, ignoring the untidiness. ‘Do you rent or own it?’
‘I own it!’
‘Big mortgage, presumably?’
‘No, as a matter of fact, outright! Look. What has this to do with things? I agreed to see you because you wanted my help, now I find myself in the spotlight.’
‘All right, sir, just wondering. It’s a nice place, though; well placed. Must be worth a bit?’
Tobin forced himself to sit quietly and leave the response he had formed unsaid. The policeman noticed the effort and smiled to himself.
‘Do you know a Miss Lambert? Julie Lambert?’
‘Yes, I do. Alan Harper employed her when he had the estate agencies. She stayed with them when they were sold and now she’s the area manager. I know she’s a friend of Alan’s, but whether there’s any more to it than that I wouldn’t know!’ He had been drawn he realised, a bit too late. He was a bit too defensive, a bit too quickly there. The truth was he didn’t know for sure, but he certainly wouldn’t have been surprised. He shut up.
‘Thank you, sir.’ The eyebrows had risen again.
McColl found a clean page in his notebook and looked at Tobin.
‘What were you doing the weekend before last?’
Tobin had to think for a moment. He gave a brief rundown of the weekend. Not much.
‘And the Monday?’
‘Much the same. I find a quiet weekend often leads to a quiet Monday.’
‘Mmm. And the rest of the week?’
‘Yes. Quiet, too.’ That wasn’t quite what McColl had meant, but he let it go.
‘You didn’t hear from Miss Shaw or Mr Harper in that time?’
‘No,’ why had he said that? It was sort of true. He hadn’t opened Alan’s letter till this week. The letter! ‘I … erm … .’ He was about to admit having the letter when McColl asked him.
‘Do you know what Miss Shaw was doing that week?’
‘Erm … no. I don’t, actually. She doesn’t live round here, anymore, so I don’t keep track of her movements.’
‘She went to France.’
‘Really?’ He was genuinely surprised.
‘At the same time as Mr Harper disappeared.’
Tobin’s mouth was open, but no sound came out.
‘She went by the tunnel in her own car on the Monday morning. Mrs Harper had been away for a couple of weeks before that, without her husband. Was that common?’ Tobin shook his head and spread his hands with a shrug.
‘Well. It is late, now. I’ll leave you to your meal, I think it’s getting cold. I’ll see myself out. Goodnight.’
The estate car swooped down on to the bridge across the river Tyne and headed toward the north bank and the city of Newcastle upon Tyne. It was the end of a journey that Alan Harper had done many times. He was later than he had intended to be as the ferry had been
late into Hull and then they had all been held on board because of a ’security alert’, an incident involving a tanker of some sort. When they had eventually been released all the vehicles had been whisked through with the minimum of delay and the minimum of attention.
He had not been able to inform the hire company of the vehicles return. Four hours after Teri and Tobin had stopped for their break Alan had pulled into the same motorway service station and found he had no change for the phone. He had thrown away his credit cards two weeks previously, together with is mobile phone, and could not be bothered to get change from the shop. Well, what the hell, they’d find the car soon enough. He had climbed back in and headed north up the A1.
The car turned off the bridge and into the city heading for the office of the car hire firm. He parked in the far corner of the private carpark, as per the instructions in the company’s handbook, checked he had left nothing in, locked it up and deposited the keys in the box provided. He hefted his rucksack onto his back and left the small carpark.
A few hundred yards further down the road at the Central station a representative from the same car hire company was waiting for the late London train to arrive. He knew the client from several previous meetings and no longer had to hold up his clipboard displaying the company logo. The client found the rep’ first. The routine was quickly done; the forms were all pre-filled with the details gathered from the previous hires. The client obligingly proffered his driver’s licence and had it waved away. A set of car keys changed hands and the rep’ gave the client directions to the parking bay where he had left the car. They parted company just a couple of minutes after meeting.
The car hire rep’ looked around for his girlfriend who was late coming to pick him up. He checked the time on the large station clock above his head, the train had been a few minutes early, he realized. As his gaze returned to head height he was surprised to see his client walking briskly towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’ He asked. The man looked puzzled, but said nothing. ‘I’m terribly sorry! I thought you were someone else,’ said the rep’ as he took in the man’s clothes. He was dressed like a hiker and carried a rucksack. The man said nothing and strode straight past. At the platform he looked up and down and walked to a figure standing in the shadows beneath the footbridge. He stooped down slightly and kissed the figure. They walked out into the station concourse arm in arm and talking quietly. The tall white-haired hiker and the smaller, red-haired woman left the station as the last of the passengers queued for taxis.
-------------------7-------------------
A Web of Lives Page 6