Written in Blood Page 22

  ‘Before we go any further, do you have some identification? ’ Wise was unabashed about making the request and Mariner obliged with his warrant card, hoping he wouldn’t need to justify the visit. But all Wise said was, ‘Let’s go for a walk. I need some more fags.’

  ‘Rob was one of my success stories.’ Wise went on. They were out on the pavement again, dodging old ladies and mothers with pushchairs. ‘He’d got out on license. He’d served four years of his seven year sentence and in most respects he’d stuck to his sentence plan.’

  ‘In most respects?’

  ‘He complied with the educational programme, attended all the courses.’

  ‘What kinds of courses?’

  ‘Computer studies, electronics. Is that relevant?’

  ‘It might be.’ If it meant he could fit a tracking device on a car.

  ‘I can look up exactly what he did back in the office.’ They’d come to a small corner newsagent’s. ‘Won’t be a tick. Anything I can get you?’

  Mariner shook his head and Wise disappeared inside the shop, reappearing minutes later with a pack of Marlboros. He ripped them open with the urgency of an addict, lighting up as they walked, and making Mariner wonder if he’d once been a drug-user, too.

  ‘Rob was meant to have cleaned up his act inside,’ Wise said, pulling hard on his cigarette. ‘But that didn’t quite happen. As I’m sure you’re well aware, it’s almost easier to get hold of drugs on the inside than it is on the streets.’

  Mariner had heard that. ‘He was released early,’ he said. ‘So he wasn’t considered a risk.’

  ‘He behaved himself. And he never had been a real danger to anyone else.’

  ‘I thought he was in for aggravated burglary.’

  ‘He was high at the time. He demonstrated remorse for his crime.’

  ‘Surely he could get high again?’

  Wise shot him a look. ‘The decision wasn’t mine, it was down to the parole board, who obviously thought it worth the risk.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Sure.’ They’d arrived back outside the school and stood side by side on the pavement while Wise finished his cigarette. ‘Besides, Rob’s mother was ill at the time, too.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Cirrhosis of the liver, exacerbated no doubt by long-term drug and alcohol abuse. It’s a terrible thing to say but it was the making of Rob.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It was his wake-up call. Made him realise what damage drugs could do. It’s what she died of essentially. A couple of weeks after her funeral Rob joined a rehab programme and successfully kicked his habit. His mother left him a flat and some money and the last time I saw him he was determined to make a go of it.’ Wise tossed down the dogend of his cigarette and crushed it underfoot, before leading the way back into the building.

  ‘Does he still live in the flat?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘He’s under no obligation to keep in touch any more, so I’ve no idea.’

  ‘How did he feel about his spell in prison?’

  ‘Like I said, he expressed remorse.’

  ‘But you know that while he was serving his sentence he made an unsuccessful attempt to appeal his conviction, one that he continued to pursue after his release.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t really surprise me. Up until his mother died Rob was your typical junkie mess, irrational, paranoid. After he cleaned up he seemed to genuinely come to terms with what he’d done.’

  ‘Does he still believe that he was wrongly convicted?’

  ‘He never complained to me. Coming off drugs is a big reality check. Puts things back in perspective again.’ Wise was speaking from experience. Mariner’s instinct had been right.

  ‘So you don’t think Rob harbours any resentment that his application for appeal was turned down?’

  ‘As far as I know he accepted that he’d got what was appropriate. He’d served his sentence and it was time to start again. And like I said, last time I saw him he was very focused on staying clean.’

  ‘Did he ever mention a man called Joseph O’Connor?’

  ‘Not to me, but I know that name. Wasn’t he involved with the shooting of Sir Geoffrey Ryland? Christ, is that what you’re investigating?’ Mariner didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘What the hell could Rob have had to do with that?’

  ‘Probably nothing,’ said Mariner. ‘But his name came up as one of a number of unsuccessful appellants to the JRC and he may have known O’Connor. I need to cross him off the list, that’s all. Can you give me his last known?’

  ‘Why do you need that?’ Suddenly Wise was less forthcoming.

  ‘I just want to talk to him,’ Mariner said. ‘Nothing heavy, I swear.’

  ‘Well you should know that after he was signed off, he was planning to travel.’

  The address Wise gave Mariner wasn’t far from the office and the probation officer supplied good directions. It was a second floor apartment in an imposing but rather shabby house. Repeated ringing of the bell for Foster-Young’s place brought no response, so in desperation, hovering over the list of names from which he could deduce nothing, and risking a mouthful of abuse, Mariner tried the bell for flat 1B which hopefully would be situated directly below Foster-Young, making the occupant aware of his presence. This time a young woman came to the door carrying a baby on her hip.

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Foster-Young in flat 2B. He’s about forty—’ Suddenly Mariner realised that he didn’t have an up to date description. He didn’t need it.

  ‘Rob, yeah, I know, don’t we, Lauren?’ she addressed the baby, her manner pleasant and in no way troubled by the interruption. ‘Uncle Rob looks after you for me sometimes, doesn’t he?’

  ‘You leave your baby daughter with—?’ Mariner checked himself. He’d been about to say ‘junkie’, but Foster-Young had cleaned up and Lauren’s mum may not know anything about his dubious past. No need to alarm her, especially as Lauren appeared none the worse for her experience.

  Lauren’s mum was looking at him. ‘It’s just while I pop to the shops and stuff. At least he does when he’s here. He comes and goes a lot.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be here now. Any idea when he’ll be back?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Lauren was beginning to fidget. ‘He’s been gone a while, visiting family I think he said.’

  ‘If I leave you a number, would you call me when he gets back?’

  ‘If you like. Shall I tell him—?’

  ‘No. We’re old mates and I want to surprise him. If you could just let me know that would be great.’ Mariner left his name and mobile number on a scrap of paper.

  From the probation offices Mariner got back to the CPS only a few minutes late, to be told by a different clerk that they were awaiting information from colleagues in Tirana. ‘How long are you in London for?’ he asked Mariner.

  ‘A couple of days.’

  ‘I can do some chasing up again for you this afternoon and see where we stand,’ he offered. ‘Then I can give you a written summary to take away with you. Can you come back in sometime tomorrow?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Mariner.

  There was a good chance that Rupert Foster-Young wouldn’t appear before Mariner returned home, so the next place on his list, covering all the options, was St Dunstan’s Roman Catholic Church. Set in lawned grounds at the end of a residential street, the church was a modern light-bricked building, with a sharply angular asymmetrical tower at one end, and a wall entirely made up of stained-glass depiction of the parable of the loaves and fishes. A handful of individuals were bowed in private prayer in the sleek, pine pews, but a verger directed Mariner to the office-like vestry where Father Balfour was behind his desk. ‘None of us escapes the paperwork these days,’ he said apologetically, inviting Mariner to sit. Norman Balfour did still look remarkably youthful for his age, with a round shiny face and thick head of hair, liberally streaked with grey. A little fuller in the face, he’d hardly changed sinc
e the wedding photos. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘I wanted to talk about old times.’

  ‘Did you indeed? And who, may I ask, are you?’

  Mariner sensed a straight-talker, so took a chance. ‘I’m Sir Geoffrey Ryland’s son.’

  ‘Dear God in heaven. Are you sure?’ Balfour recovered a little. ‘Forgive me. That was not the most tactful thing to say, but you’ll know that it’s rather a surprise.’

  ‘I understand.’ Mariner smiled. ‘I haven’t had the DNA results yet, but I’m as certain as I can be.’

  Balfour was studying him. It was a look Mariner was becoming accustomed to. ‘Well, well, the young Thomas. Haven’t you turned out to be a strapping lad?’

  ‘So you knew about me, too.’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s uncanny. You look so much like him.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘You’re in the police force, aren’t you?’

  ‘West Midlands.’

  ‘And is this official business?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m trying to find out more about my father. I wondered if you could tell me about Carrie Foster-Young. ’

  ‘Carrie?’ Balfour sighed. ‘Poor Carrie. She and Geoff were engaged at one time, but he broke it off when he found out she was pregnant.’

  Allelujah. And two strikes against his father.

  ‘She hadn’t told him?’

  ‘Of course not, she knew he’d been through it before.’ Balfour looked mildly embarrassed. ‘With you.’

  Mariner’s heart had begun to pound. ‘But he was the father?’

  ‘No. That was the whole point. Monogamy wasn’t Carrie’s forte. At the time she was going out with Geoff, Carrie slept around.’

  ‘She was having an affair? Who with?’

  ‘It’s not something I’m proud of.’ Balfour lowered his gaze to the untidy desk. ‘And neither would I dignify a couple of opportunistic leg-overs by calling them an affair.’ He glanced up at Mariner. ‘Don’t look so startled. I’m the original prodigal son. Celibacy may be a requirement of this job, but it wasn’t always a requirement for me. Those were hedonistic days. But I don’t kid myself that I was the only one. Carrie wasn’t choosy, she slept with anyone. I thought it the duty of a good friend to warn Geoffrey about it before he made a commitment.’

  ‘So you told him about her pregnancy?’

  ‘I felt he had a right to know.’

  ‘But how could anyone be sure that the child wasn’t his?’

  ‘Geoff and Carrie had never consummated the relationship. Having already got your mother into trouble when he was a student, Geoff was pretty determined not to make that mistake again, especially as he was about to try and get himself elected.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘What he said made absolute sense. It may have been the first time in history that women had effective contraception, but they also had control over whether they felt like using it. He knew how unreliable Carrie could be, so the only way of being sure was to exercise some restraint until after they were married. She apparently agreed, then got her kicks sleeping around with just about everybody else. It was a shock when Geoff found out.’

  ‘Is that why they split up?’

  ‘Theirs was always a volatile relationship.’

  ‘And Sir Geoffrey married Diana Fitzgibbon.’

  ‘Rebound with a vengeance? Partly I suppose. Diana was about as far from Carrie as you could imagine. While the rest of us were out enjoying the new permissiveness, Diana was at home doing her flower arranging.’

  ‘One extreme to the other.’

  ‘Not as strange as it might seem, given Geoff’s aspirations. ’

  ‘Diana was a good career move,’ Mariner said.

  ‘You make it sound calculated. There was more to it than that. It’s true, Diana was from the right kind of family, but she and Geoff also had a lot in common and there was a genuine connection between them. You only had to see them together. Diana was a very fragile sort. When I introduced her to Geoff she’d been away recuperating from a kind of breakdown. Geoff took her under his wing, as I knew he would. They just seemed to click straightaway. I suppose they each had something that the other needed. Isn’t that often how it works?’

  Like Knox and Selina, Mariner thought. ‘You introduced them?’ he asked.

  Balfour held up his hands, palms forward. ‘Guilty as charged, Officer. Diana’s family has been friends with mine for years. I was taking her out to dinner one evening. The thing with Geoff and Carrie had just blown up so I asked Geoff to come along. Diana had been through the mill and needed someone solid and dependable, and Geoff responded to that.’

  ‘Carrie must have been upset.’

  ‘Furious, I’d say. One thing worse than a woman scorned; a pregnant woman scorned.’

  ‘Did you ever find out who the child’s father was?’

  ‘Not definitively. Carrie pointed the finger at all of us. She was a manipulative woman, skilled at playing one of us off against the other. At that time of course paternity was impossible to prove and since she was bedding all of us it could have been anyone.’

  ‘Except Ryland. So pregnant Carrie was abandoned?’

  ‘Oh, Carrie did very nicely out of it. Her own family in the States cut her off without a dime because of her predicament. But she was a parasite. Had money from everyone to put the little bastard through public school. Not that it did him any good.’

  ‘You know Rupert Foster-Young? When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘About ten years ago, I suppose. His mother had attempted suicide. He couldn’t get near to Geoff so came after me for money, accusing me, and all of us, of ruining her, claiming that we had started the drinking and drug abuse. I knew differently though.’

  ‘And did you give him money?’

  ‘I’m a priest. Do you know how much I’m paid? He might not have been sure who his father was but he was his mother’s son all right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Drugged to the eyeballs himself. He wanted the cash to feed his habit. Insisted that I owed it to him. He was a nasty little shit.’ Colourful language for a priest. Balfour saw what Mariner was thinking. ‘Something for the confessional this week,’ he smiled. ‘I agonised for days about whether I should help him, after all it’s my job. But giving him money would have simply speeded his demise, so I prayed for him and trusted in the Lord to find another way.’

  ‘Did Foster-Young claim Sir Geoffrey as his father?’

  ‘Carrie’s doing I suppose, but it was more the collective responsibility for his existence that he seemed angry about. He was one of those people who believes that the world owes him a living.’

  ‘He’s done a spell in prison since you saw him, you know.’

  ‘Geoff told me. He’d been pestering them at the JRC. Then everything went quiet. He’s probably dead himself by now. No great loss to mankind I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘On the contrary, from what I’ve learned, Rupert Foster-Young has got his life back together again.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ But for someone who might be expected to have faith in the essential goodness of man, Balfour didn’t sound particularly convinced. Even if Foster-Young could play the part of the good neighbour, babysitting a small child when needed, it didn’t mean he’d completely changed.

  It was Mariner’s belief that Foster-Young had equally powerful and not entirely wholesome reasons for cleaning up his act. If he harboured resentment against Ryland and was planning to do something about it he’d need to be thinking straight. And just because he persuaded the professionals he was over it, didn’t mean that there wasn’t a grudge lurking underneath the surface somewhere. In Mariner’s experience resentment like that didn’t simply evaporate, and the last person he’d allow to see it would be his parole officer. Wise had described Foster-Young as being focused, but what was it that he was focused on?

  ‘Sir Geoffrey and Lady Ryland didn’t
have children.’ Mariner said.

  ‘They both wanted it that way. It was one of the things that bound them together. Diana was very fragile and prone to depression. Not that it was common knowledge of course. I think most people made the assumption that they had tried to start a family and failed. Back then of course there wasn’t much you could do about it. Had to accept your lot and get on with life.’

  ‘Did you know Diana well?’

  ‘We saw less of each other over the years, but she came to mass from time to time.’

  ‘She was Catholic?’

  ‘No, but she was a great support when I entered the priesthood and after a while I think she found comfort in the ritual of it all. Many people do. After the service we would talk.’

  For one outlandish moment Mariner considered the possibility that Diana and Balfour could have been having an affair, but he dismissed it instantly.

  It brought Mariner to the blackmail. ‘Was Sir Geoffrey Ryland always a gambling man?’ he asked, casually.

  ‘Delete always, insert never,’ Balfour said. ‘I’m the one who used to like a flutter. Geoff was always chastising me for wasting my money.’

  ‘You don’t think he could have changed?’

  ‘It’s my experience that people are born gamblers.’

  It was Mariner’s view, too.

  ‘Geoff thought a lot of your mother, you know,’ Balfour said. ‘He had me contact her old friend Maggie quite recently.’

  ‘She told me that. Was there any special reason?’

  ‘He was writing his memoirs and I think it had stirred up all kinds of thoughts and regrets. I suppose he wondered how you were getting on, his only son. It wasn’t the first time I’d fulfilled that role. Our lives had followed very different paths, and politicians have to exercise such discretion in their private lives, but I think I remained a trusted link with the past.’ Balfour seemed to hesitate. ‘You should know that I counselled Geoff against contacting you directly. I know he considered it from time to time. I warned him that it would do more harm than good. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, I’m your man.’

  But by now Mariner was beyond blame, and somehow the priest made it sound too simplistic. Leaving the church, Mariner felt he was in the middle of a balloon debate. Who did he believe? The probation officer backing his reformed client, or the Catholic priest who perceived Foster-Young as a ‘nasty little shit’. The only way of making up his mind would be to meet Rupert Foster-Young in person. But when he checked his phone there were no messages.