Outside the Youlen cottage Suzie and Danny were still undecided as to their next move, their minds filled with fearful anticipation. The glimpse of Estelle Hughes-Webb in the doorway had changed the game. Suzie, normally so decisive in thought and action, was dumbfounded. She and Danny sensed they were walking into a trap. Although they had arrived ten minutes early, it was surely no coincidence that Estelle was there, even if she had not planned to be seen until later. And why was Youlen’s front door open? The loud music continued unabated, and while the song had changed the band had remained the same. Danny, who had been feeling quite useless and was sweating profusely, dreading the confrontation he was sure lay ahead, decided to key in Justyn’s number once more and relay the next song to him over his phone.
‘On a black day in a black month at the black bottom of the sea,’ boomed the lyrics.
Justyn urged caution. ‘It’s still Van der Graaf Generator, and this song is “Killer”. There may be a clue here about Hector’s drowning.’ At that point the song became more frenzied. ‘Death in the sea, death in the sea, somebody please come and help me …’
‘Don’t worry, and thanks, “Whispering” Bob Harris.’ Danny hoped his reference to the veteran BBC disc jockey might ease the tension. At any rate he felt more in control for having made the call and having done something. ‘I have a gun in the car,’ he whispered to Suzie.
‘So have I,’ she replied, to his utter shock.
Feeling a bit like a latter-day Bonnie and Clyde, they raced back to their car to arm themselves with what turned out to be identical Colt 45s. Such was their conviction that they were entering a trap that they initially resisted asking one another why each had felt the need to bring firearms along. However, Danny’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’
‘Let’s say it’s another of Father’s legacies.’
Slowly they walked back up to Youlen’s half-open front door and after a moment’s hesitation Suzie pressed the bell. Ivan appeared, unshaven and unkempt, wearing an ancient black roundneck sweater with holes at the elbows. His faded jeans were also well past their use-by date, but his ragged appearance belied an alertness more usually associated with a wild animal circling its prey. ‘So you’re here,’ he said.
The visitors crossed his threshold in silence, and after refusing his offer of coffee they sat where he beckoned in his front room.
Suzie was the first to speak. ‘Yes, Mr Youlen, we’re here, and you know why.’
‘Well, hum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum,’ started Ivan in an eerie vocal; it made no sense to Suzie, who just stared blankly. He continued, ‘And now Trevor says he’s found God.’
At that moment a thin and rather rheumy-eyed woman of advanced years, with a surprisingly nimble gait, walked into the room. She fixed her gaze on Suzie as she walked towards her.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ yelled Suzie, jumping from her seat as Estelle approached.
‘Well, still Daddy’s spoilt little rich girl, are we? And still as brazen as ever!’
‘Up yours,’ said Suzie with a thunderous glare that meant more than Estelle could have known.
‘Now now, manners, please. Daddy wouldn’t appreciate you being so foul-mouthed.’
Suzie felt like slapping Estelle hard in the face but resisted, deciding to refrain from talking or even moving a muscle for a good half-minute while she fixed a steady and disdainful stare on the old woman. What struck her most forcibly about Estelle was the remarkable fact that she appeared completely sober, an unusual state of affairs. Estelle moved closer and leant over to whisper something in her ear. Suzie initially bucked half a step back then opted to listen. Danny was alarmed and wondered whether to intervene, but Suzie, observing this, made a calming gesture with her hand.
Ivan had been no more than a spectator until now but chose this point to break his silence. ‘Welcome to the house of fun.’ All three turned their attention to the clown-like figure, now wearing a frazzled straw hat that looked as if it had been in his family for generations. ‘You see, the sins of the past have arrived at your gates.’ Ivan calmly set out his demands to ensure that everything remained hunky-dory, as he put it. He wanted money of course, large life-changing quantities of it. It was blackmail by any name, and his trump card was not Trevor Mullings but the antique first Mrs Hughes-Webb standing before them.
During Ivan’s monologue Suzie regained her equilibrium. She was not in the least bit phased by his demands and was plotting her own course. She asked in a conversational tone, ‘So where does the fisherman Trevor Mullings fit into all this, Mr Youlen?’
‘He didn’t want that pompous arse Morrison digging the dirt, so ’e tried to put the frighteners on ’im in Zennor and had ’im followed to St Austell. Trevor walked into the sea with that piss-artist Hector and wasn’t too keen on the boys in blue finding out – what with all the old cases being reopened from them days. Besides, no one wanted the piss-artist to drown.’
‘And how does Mullings’s new-found religious zeal square with that?’
‘Oh, that was red herrings.’ At this Ivan roared an odious laugh that originated from deep within the folds of his well-fed belly. ‘Red herrings from Trevor Mullings, the fisherman!’ His laughter increased and his face reddened to rival a ripe tomato, while the others watched in silence, not finding the joke remotely amusing. Estelle, recently seconded to Ivan’s cause, appeared alarmed – but he wasn’t finished.
‘He’s in another place, but I mustn’t carp on about it or you might put on some kipper feet and skate over there. You can’t miss him with his mullet. You see, he hasn’t really caught God, but I’m sure he still catches cod!’ With this witty tour de force Ivan nearly fell off his chair. But then, like the Joker in Batman, he swiftly turned deadly serious. His face looked contorted with hate. ‘So you has a choice. Either you coughs all the readies or Lady Bollocks-Chops here does what she just told her daughter.’
Suzie looked so furious at the suggestion she was from the same bloodline as Estelle from Hell – as she and her brother used to call their father’s ex-wife – that Danny feared she might lose control altogether. What especially troubled him was seeing Estelle whisper in Suzie’s ear. He knew how volatile his friend could be and demanded of the elderly woman, ‘What did you say just to her?’
‘Never mind, Danny,’ said Suzie briskly. ‘We’ll consider your proposal, Mr Youlen. Mr Galvin and I will go outside for a short while. I’m sure you’ll grant us a few minutes.’
‘Well, don’t be too bloody long. Offers get timed out around here, you know.’
Outside Suzie revealed the gist of Estelle’s threat. ‘Apparently the old bag has a doctor friend who’s going to spill the beans about Father in The Lancet.’ She looked distraught. All these years she had protected her father’s name, and, as Grant had discovered, it was this that she cared most about; it defined her life. The thought of her father’s reputation being severely tarnished now, even more than twelve years after his passing, filled her with horror.
‘What the hell do we do?’ asked Danny in a somewhat panicky voice. He knew he had no grip of the situation, nothing he could offer by way of a plan. He was now very frightened.
‘Well, I’m not going to risk shooting her and having a murder charge against me.’
‘No, but I might.’
‘No, Danny. Don’t even think about it. We guessed we were walking into a trap. We now know what it is: blackmail from Youlen using a threat from Estelle. I suggest we leave them for half an hour, let them sweat on it. We’ll have a coffee by the harbour over there to collect our thoughts and decide what action to take.’ As ever, Suzie took the lead, and there was no mistaking her tone. She meant business, whatever the consequences. Danny acquiesced without further discussion, feeling like a dog being led by his master.