Written in Blood Page 6

  ‘These are the entire contents. According to the bank, Ryland had accessed it not long ago, too, sometime in November.’

  ‘Christ.’ Dazed, Mariner sat back a moment, trying to assimilate what this all meant; his father, a man in the public eye whom he’d known and yet not known at all, a man until recently very much alive and well, successful and wealthy, and apparently aware that he had a young son growing up not so very far away. This area of his life that had been void was suddenly filled with a huge persona, not just anyone, but Sir Geoffrey Ryland, and Mariner was overwhelmed by it. It was too huge to take in right here, right now. He’d deal with that later. In the meantime he steered the conversation back to the questions that came naturally. ‘So I finally find out who he was, weeks after he gets shot. Are the press on anywhere near the right track about that?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ said Flynn. ‘I mean, I’m not party to the main investigation, it’s being led by Chief Superintendent Griffin. But she has a good reputation. For a change the media have got a lot of the facts right. Ryland’s chauffeur, Joseph O’Connor was a former client. The JRC successfully backed his appeal against a possession-with-intent charge in 1998.’

  ‘Do you know the history?’

  ‘Vaguely. O’Connor was arrested for driving around north London in a van with a large amount of H stashed under the boot. He claimed he had no idea it was there.’

  ‘If his conviction was quashed then doesn’t that mean he was right?’

  ‘That part’s a bit hazy. As you know, the Commission was created in response to cases like the Guildford Four and the Birmingham Six, to look at wrongful convictions and to root out police corruption. It was one of Sir Geoffrey’s bugbears. A lot of people felt that he’d been appointed to the chair for that reason. From what I understand O’Connor’s conviction was overturned on a technicality, mainly because his statement had been coerced. I don’t think there was much question that rules were broken during the interview. Let’s face it, that sort of thing happened more often back then, didn’t it? Trouble is that dodgy interview techniques can cloud the issue of whether a suspect is actually guilty or not.’

  ‘Ryland must have believed he was innocent otherwise why would he have taken him on as a chauffeur.’

  ‘Self-justification? Ryland had a point to prove where O’Connor was concerned. There’s no doubt that at the time of his conviction O’Connor was spending a lot of time in the company of some major league drug dealers. They split into two factions soon after his arrest, and he may have been innocent of the original crime, but it looks as if he made contact with one of his old acquaintances after the dust had settled.’

  ‘Or they got in touch with him,’ Mariner said. ‘Why have the press dubbed it a revenge killing?’

  ‘It’s not in the public domain yet, but the killers used the victims’ blood to write a message to that effect on the window. The two factions are rivals in an ongoing tit-for-tat turf war, as violent and deep seated as the one going on between the Johnsons and the Burger Boys on your patch. The MO is a perfect example of a drug-related hit executed by one of these gangs, identical to the others there have been in the last couple of years. The only deviations are the fact that in this case the innocent bystanders happened to be VIPs and the unusual location.’

  ‘How’s that explained?’

  ‘The drugs were in the car being shifted around London until the Rylands’ trip to Oxfordshire interrupted the transfer. The assassins must have seen it as a golden opportunity. They were right to. Out in the sticks nobody saw or heard anything.’

  ‘But why would O’Connor get involved in that stuff again and risk what must have been a steady job?’

  Flynn clearly hadn’t anticipated this interrogation, but he played along. ‘Why does anyone get involved with drugs? It’s bloody lucrative. Ryland might have employed O’Connor, but it was only as a driver. He wouldn’t have been paid much, would he? And it was the perfect cover for moving drugs around. Who’s going to stop and search a diplomatic car? He might have only done it the once. Perhaps he was presented with the right offer and was tempted.’

  Seemed like a nice guy, the girl in the bookshop had said.

  ‘And are you happy with the theories?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t know all the details, I’m only on the secondary investigation team, but from what I know, it’s where all the evidence points. They wouldn’t be following that line for nothing.’

  ‘So if it’s that straightforward, why involve Special Branch at all?’

  ‘Ryland’s position. The Home Office has to make sure we get it right, especially with him.’

  Mariner had a feeling that it wasn’t quite all, but Flynn’s tone implied that he’d no more to say.

  ‘So what else can you tell me about Ryland?’ Mariner asked instead.

  ‘Recent history? Probably not much more than you already know.’

  Mariner felt a sudden unbearable surge of anger. ‘Well at least I know now why he pissed off and left us. He must have been an ambitious son of a bitch.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Maybe there was good reason—’

  Mariner’s glare cut him off. ‘Like what?’

  Flynn gave an impotent shrug. ‘He kept your photographs. You must have meant something—’

  ‘Sure. So much that in over forty years he couldn’t be arsed to get in touch or come and see me. Not exactly living at the other end of the planet, was he?’

  ‘You have no memory of him at all?’

  ‘No.’ Despite the emphatic reply, something niggled at Mariner; a vague recollection that he could hardly give substance to. At his mother’s funeral Maggie, a friend of hers, had mentioned a limousine she’d seen pulling away from their flat shortly after Mariner was born. The two men sat through a long silence.

  ‘Does this mean I’ve got half-siblings?’ Mariner said at last.

  Flynn shook his head. ‘There are no kids. The people we’ve dealt with most have been Ryland’s mother, Eleanor Ryland, and his staff. Diana doesn’t seem to have much family either, apart from a sister who lives abroad. She’ll be flying in for the inquest. Oh, and they had a dog; company for Mrs Ryland probably. Judging from the amount of valium we found at the house she was of a somewhat nervous disposition.’

  More silence. Flynn would make a great partner in an interview. ‘How long are you here for?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Back first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘And if I need to ask more questions?’

  ‘Give me a call any time, though like I said, I’m not completely in the know.’

  ‘Listen. I’d like to tell Anna about this in my own time.

  It’s going to take a bit of getting used to. Is it likely to become public knowledge?’

  ‘No reason why it should.’

  ‘Good, so we can keep this to ourselves for now?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mariner held up the photos. ‘And I can take these with me?’

  ‘I can’t imagine how they’d be relevant to our investigation. Happy New Year, mate.’

  ‘Happy New Year.’

  Outside the pub they went their separate ways. While Flynn returned to his hotel, Mariner dropped down off the main street into Gas Street basin to walk back along the canal to his own place, hoping that he still had it to himself. He covered the distance in record time, pounding along the towpath, barely noticing anything around him, the thoughts that exploded and ricocheted around his head commanding his attention. Never knowing who his father was, of course he’d been aware that the man might be out there somewhere and simply not interested, but there had, at the same time, been the more acceptable alternatives that he was dead, or had emigrated, or at the very least had never been told about Mariner. But now Dave Flynn had turned all that on its head.

  Ryland’s possession of those photographs meant that he was far from ignorant of his son’s existence, and the only thing really stopping him from making contact was the protection
of his reputation and his career. It was possible of course that he’d only recently acquired the photos, but if that was the case, why the entire history? One of the photographs in that little collection was of Mariner at just a couple of weeks old. No, what remained was the inescapable truth that Sir Geoffrey Ryland was fully aware that he had a son, he lived only a hundred miles away, but he didn’t want to know him. In the last hour Mariner’s lofty opinion of the man had plummeted to the lowest depths.

  Arriving at the cottage in what seemed like no time at all, Mariner was grateful to note that his new tenant didn’t appear to have yet moved in. The place was so cold inside that he could see his breath on the air. He was going to miss the solitude of this place when he didn’t have it to himself.

  He’d only intended collecting Ryland’s autobiography from where he’d left it, surplus to requirement, but his mind was awash with thoughts and questions and the empty, silent house was just too inviting to resist.

  Tonight he’d been given the answer to the biggest question mark hanging over his life, but all that had replaced it were endless other questions. Why hadn’t Ryland stood by Rose? The most obvious explanation was that his career came first. He didn’t want to be saddled with a wife and a kid before he’d had the chance to make his mark on the world. Funny how, even now, women were condemned for making the same kind of choice, but men had always got away with it. The power of the public image was impressive. Mariner would never have categorised Ryland as that kind of man. But he was a politician, an expert at creating a ‘persona’ and the single-mindedness needed to go into the profession in the first place would stand him in good stead. Oh yes, Ryland would be used to getting his own way, selfish bastard.

  Mariner wondered how his mother had felt about it. Had there been bitter arguments, recriminations? It had been hard for her as a lone parent in the sixties and into the seventies. She’d carried that stigma with her. Growing up Mariner had noticed the way that certain people treated her. Rose had never given the impression that she’d felt abandoned or hard done by, but by the time Mariner was old enough to understand their situation she’d had years to come to terms with it.

  On the other hand, Ryland could have simply been scared of the prospect of fatherhood in much the same way as Mariner was now. With a flush of guilt Mariner remembered his reaction six years ago when his then-girlfriend Greta had announced out of the blue that she was pregnant. He’d been shocked and appalled. They’d only known each other a year and had never even discussed the idea of children. Had Rose pulled the same stunt on Ryland? Mariner’s reaction to Greta had hardly been supportive. Luckily, if that was the word, he’d got away with it, discovering later that Greta had miscarried their baby. But if he couldn’t handle it as a mature adult of forty, how would he have felt at twenty years younger?

  The disparity in his situation of course was that Greta’s actions had been calculated. Things would have been very different for Rose in 1959. The pill didn’t come in until two years later and other forms of contraception were pretty unreliable. Ryland would have known if he was sleeping with Rose that pregnancy was always a risk. The likely scenario, as Mariner had suspected for some time, was that he’d been an accident. But along with that rationale had been the comfortable assumption that his father, whoever he might be, had never been told. What disturbed him now was the revelation that Ryland did know about him and must have done from the start. It was beginning to look as if failing to face up to paternal responsibility could be a hereditary disposition.

  Chapter Five

  Rose’s letters would help to clarify things. First Mariner arranged them in chronological order, starting from when he’d have been about three months old.

  There were apologies from her to begin with for not having responded sooner to a letter Ryland must have sent: ‘. . . but you wouldn’t believe how much time a new baby takes up. Not much time to sit and write. I know this is hard for all of us but I’m sure that in the fullness of time you’ll see that it’s for the best. Your parents only want what’s right for you and now I can understand what a powerful force that is. Already Thomas and I have our own routine and it wouldn’t fit with yours. He likes to cry for most of the evening. It would hardly enhance your studying!’

  Then later: ‘As Thomas gets older it will be more difficult for him to understand. I think it might be better if your visits stopped. I know it’s difficult for you to spare the time anyway. And it will be more complicated, when he begins to talk.’

  Then when Mariner was aged two and a half: ‘The girl you’ve met sounds lovely, congratulations on your engagement. It was quite a surprise, and I really do hope you’ll be happy. Diana sounds good for you, and you’re right. She mustn’t know about us. After what she’s been through we’re the last thing that she needs. You must look forward to the future and starting a family of your own together.

  ‘Thomas and I have a good life. In a few weeks we will be moving away from London and it’s best that you don’t try to get in touch. Mum and Dad are helping out so we won’t need financial support. If you honour this wish I will continue to keep you abreast of Tom’s progress but if you don’t then communication will cease entirely. We each have our own lives now. We always have had, haven’t we?’

  The final letter was postmarked Leamington, but there was no address given at the top of the page.

  It could hardly have been put more plainly. The decision to go it alone was Rose’s, something she’d been cheerful about, even proud of. The letters he’d read offered nothing to dispute it. The thing he’d never learn was exactly how far the young Geoffrey Ryland had gone in guiding her into that way of thinking.

  Disappointingly, though not surprisingly, the letters were all from his mother’s side and told him little about Ryland. Mariner hoped that the book would reveal more. The pile of leftover Christmas gifts was where he’d left them in the lounge, among them One of the Good Guys.

  The first thing Mariner turned to was the photo on the dust jacket, which he took over to the mirror. It was in the eyes, he thought. Those in the picture were almost exactly like those reflecting back from the glass. How had he not seen that before? Because he hadn’t been looking of course.

  But as he probed more deeply, Ryland’s autobiography was disappointing. Ryland was obviously planning to milk the book-buying public and this was a first instalment only, covering the time of his childhood and student activism up until the time he became an MP in 1967. And of course it told only what Ryland wanted to tell, painting a story of a charmed life. Suddenly Mariner was learning about his privileged roots. From an upper-middle-class family, his father went to Oundle public school before studying law at University College London. It seemed that Ryland’s father’s thwarted political ambitions had been mostly responsible for his entry into the political arena.

  Mariner was glad he’d read the letters first. Over the next hour he was presented with a different view of Ryland; a rather spoiled only child who somewhere along the line had seduced Rose and then deserted her to pursue a more glamorous life. A war baby, born in 1940, it would have made Ryland only nineteen years old when Mariner was born, his mother slightly older. The book described his time at university when he became politically active. It would have coincided with his meeting Rose but nowhere was she mentioned even in passing. Mariner wondered if Ryland had contacted her about the book, but thought it unlikely.

  Every few chapters there was a collection of illustrations; photographs of past Ryland generations and Ryland’s childhood, as a toddler through to a teenager, looking startlingly like the snapshot of Mariner at around the same age; then graduation, and finally photographs of Ryland’s wedding and early married life.

  The wedding photos were from 1965, so Ryland was no longer a student, but he’d still been young when he married. Mariner wondered how Rose had really felt about that. In her letter she’d seemed happy enough, but was she just making it easier for Ryland? In later life Rose had stifled Mariner, becoming
increasingly demanding and capricious. But all this reminded him of the side of her, generous and considerate, that he’d known as a kid. Mariner was drawn to the photos of the wedding group. Ryland’s espoused, Diana, was the eldest daughter of Lady Elizabeth and successful businessman Sir Reginald Fitzgibbon, who had made his money from pulp products, mainly packaging. Judging by the formality of the photographs it had been a proper society wedding, morning coats and top hats, at what looked like some country pile. Was that the first hint that Rose hadn’t been good enough for Ryland? If he’d married her it would have been a very different affair. There could have been something in that because otherwise the newlyweds looked an ill-matched pair.

  Ryland cut an attractive, charismatic figure but his wife appeared, to put it mildly, dull. She was slim to the point of emaciation and sporting an auburn bouffant à la Margaret Thatcher that owed more to the 1940s than 1960s. But then, though he knew her name, Mariner had heard little about the woman, so the likelihood was that she possessed the qualities essential to the wife of a politician; quietly supportive, remaining in the background yet loyal to her man. Mariner tried to picture Rose playing that role but it made him smile; she’d have had far too much to say for herself. Ryland couldn’t afford that when he was starting out in politics.

  Mariner frowned at the picture. Diana Ryland looked oddly familiar, but then he must have seen her picture in the press countless times before, at her husband’s side. He studied the rest of the wedding group; proud parents, Charles and Eleanor Ryland alongside the mother of the bride, her father conspicuously absent. The youngest of the bridesmaids, who looked about twelve, was Felicity Fitzgibbon, the sister Flynn had mentioned, or perhaps a cousin? The best man, Norman Balfour, had also featured on the graduation shots earlier in the book. The two men must have been good friends and Mariner wondered if the friendship had endured.