Mac arrived at Hill House the next afternoon just as the minibus drew up in front of the large front door. His presence attracted inevitable attention.
‘Snitch,’ Brandon muttered as he passed George on the way to the front of the bus.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, you must be. You’ve got your own tame pig.’ This from Richard.
‘No one calls the police “pigs” any more,’ Ursula said, her tone scathing. ‘That’s so last year.’
‘You what?’ Richard looked blank.
Grace actually giggled and George stared at her in shock. ‘So last year,’ she mimicked, which was, he thought, closer to typical Grace behaviour, though George wasn’t clear in his mind if she was taking the piss out of Ursula or Richard.
‘Still a snitch,’ Richard said again and he seemed to think he’d had the last word because he pushed past everyone and stalked into the house.
‘Have I arrived at a bad time?’ Mac asked as George and Ursula went over to greet him.
George shrugged. ‘Not sure there is ever a good time,’ he said. ‘Not for anything here. I told Cheryl you were helping me with my homework.’
‘She isn’t in this afternoon,’ Ursula reminded him. ‘Christine’s in charge and she doesn’t give a damn anyway.’ She led the way into the conservatory and dumped her school bag on the table. Mac and George exchanged a questioning look.
‘You OK?’ George asked. She’d seemed all right on the bus until that silly exchange with Richard and Brandon.
She sighed. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I just hate that word.’
‘Word?’
‘Snitch. It’s so … Anyway, that’s not what Mac is here for, is it?’
Mac did his best to hide a smile. Suddenly, it appeared, he was Mac rather than Inspector McGregor to Ursula as well. He found that he was quite pleased. He sat down opposite Ursula, George dragging a third chair across and positioning it, Mac noticed, so he had a view of both the sea and the door back through to the house.
‘So, tell me,’ Mac invited. ‘What happened? Where did you see him?’
He watched as the kids exchanged a glance and sorted out their thoughts. ‘After school,’ George began. ‘We were meeting the minibus.’
It took perhaps a half-hour to reconstruct an incident which had taken only seconds. Mac questioned everything they said, coaxing as much detail as he could.
‘He was threatening Ursula,’ George said.
‘He was threatening both of you. So, the biggest question is, what is he still doing round here? We made the assumption that he and whoever he was working for planned on leaving and that’s why your dad was in such a hurry to sort things. From what was said on the cliff top that day, they were on a bit of a tight schedule. Maybe we were wrong about that.’
‘Or maybe they’ve just finished whatever it was they were doing then and they’re now on to the next thing.’ Ursula suggested. ‘I really don’t think he expected to see George, but I don’t think he cared either. He didn’t look worried or anything and he didn’t walk off any faster afterwards. It was like we were just insignificant. Like he was so sure we’d be scared off he didn’t even need to think about us any more.’
‘And that annoyed you?’ Mac was both amused and made slightly anxious by her obvious indignation.
She nodded solemnly. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but I suppose it did. You know, just one more person thinking I didn’t matter. We didn’t matter.’
‘OK,’ Mac said. ‘This is what I want you to do. Don’t discuss this any more, not even with one another. I want you both to let it go, try not to even think about it. No, hear me out …’ He held up a hand against their protests. ‘I’m going to arrange for you both to see a police artist. Separately, which is why I don’t want any further talk. There’s this theory that you can build up false memories if you go over the same ground too often and I think we’ve covered it all enough today. Give your memories time to settle, the old subconscious a chance to work and I’ll try and arrange the appointment soon, maybe over the weekend?’
‘All right with us,’ George said. ‘We’re not exactly going anywhere, are we?’
‘Good. If we can get decent pictures of both the blond-haired man and his bald friend, we might have a chance of identifying who they’re working for.’
‘Should we look at mug shots as well,’ Ursula asked.
Again, Mac found himself stifling a smile. ‘Looking through our gallery would also be a good idea,’ he agreed. ‘George didn’t see him last time, but it’s certainly worth another go, especially as we now have a second man to look for.’ He glanced at his watch. From inside the house came sounds and scents that told him that the evening meal was being prepared. It was after five and Rina’s guests were due at six. Mac had the feeling that Jimmy Duggan and whoever he brought as his dining companion would be on time.
‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said. ‘Did I tell you Tim had a job interview?’
George grinned. ‘No? Proper job or clown job?’
‘It’s at that new hotel, couple of miles up the coast. The Pallisades, or something. I’m told it’s very upmarket and definitely not clown territory.’
Mac arrived to find the Martin household in the state of some uproar. The Peters sisters were in the rear living room, choosing music, should there be an ‘impromptu performance’ after the meal.
‘They’ve been at it all day,’ Rina confided. ‘But at least it’s kept them out of mischief. Did you see George?’
‘Yes, and Ursula. I’ve arranged for them to see an artist. They both got a good look at the blond-haired chap and the man he was with and there’s a good chance we might get them on CCTV. They were right in the centre of Dorchester, near the pedestrian area.’
Rina nodded. ‘He sounded a bit shaky when he spoke to me. Is he all right?’
‘He will be,’ Mac said. ‘How are you holding up?’
Rina didn’t get the chance to reply. The Montmorencys were calling to her from the kitchen. ‘Rina, darling, the meat needs carving, be a love, will you?’
‘And the wine has probably breathed enough, can you put it on the table and … oh, here’s our policeman. Get yourself washed up and settled, Sebastian. They’ll be here any minute.’
‘Sebastian?’ Mac asked, casting a suspicious look in Rina’s direction. ‘Not even my mother called me that.’
‘Stephen wanted to know what your name was,’ Rina told him. ‘I didn’t see the harm. Now, where’s Tim? Keeping out of the way as usual, I expect.’ She sailed off, leaving Mac to fume silently and wonder how the hell he could lose the hated name before James Duggan arrived. He had the distinct feeling that Duggan would take great pleasure in observing his discomfort.
A ringing of the doorbell – an actual bell hanging in the hall whose chime was deep and sonorous – told Mac that it was six o’clock and that, as anticipated, their guests were on time.
A sudden hush fell upon Peverill Lodge. The piano ceased to tinkle and the activity in the kitchen paused as though someone had dropped the volume on the clash of pans and the sizzle of roasting meat.
The bell rang again and Rina marched towards the door. Tim thundered down the stairs. Normal volume was restored in the kitchen and only the piano maintained its silence as the Peters sisters emerged, twittering with excitement.
‘Mr Duggan? Please, come in.’ Rina opened the door wide and James Duggan plus Fitch, the minder, stepped through.
‘This is going to be an interesting evening,’ Tim said as he leapt down the last few steps and landed at Mac’s side. ‘What does your boss reckon to all this?’
Mac grimaced, remembering Eden’s response and grudging approval. ‘He reckons we’re all mad,’ he said. ‘And wishes that he could be a fly on the dining-room wall.’
The table had been extended for the occasion and Mac and Tim seated at the end rather than their usual positions. Fitch was sandwiched between the Peters sisters, the restriction of his elbow room having nothing to do with the lack of space at the table and everything to do with the fact that the sisters were competing for his attention. ‘More wine? Oh, you must have a little more roast beef, a big man like you needs to keep his strength. And roasties. I’m sure you could manage another …’
Rina, as always, took the head of the table and James Duggan the place of honour immediately to her right. He was studiously ignoring Fitch’s plight. It was a rule in the Martin household that business should not be discussed until dessert was served and Rina was holding fast to this. Duggan seemed somewhat uncertain as to what could be talked about in the presence of such mixed company.
He accepted chocolate torte and raspberries with a little cream, clearly enjoying what had been a well-cooked and suitably conventional meal. Mac gave all credit to the Montmorencys for the appropriateness of the menu. He didn’t see Duggan as a fan of experimental food.
From the far end of the table, Rina met his gaze, delivering her best ‘let me do the talking’ look. Mac nodded.
‘Well, here we go,’ Tim muttered. ‘This is going to be fun.’
Mac wasn’t sure that was the word he’d use. Jimmy Duggan was a big man. A large man in size and spectacularly sized when it came to influence. He wasn’t sure just what part of that could constitute fun, but then, Tim had some original ideas.
Rina balanced a sliver of torte on her spoon. ‘I am deeply sorry about your son,’ she said quietly. ‘I know what it’s like to lose someone you really love.’
That volume thing happened again, Mac noted. Rina spoke and the world grew quiet.
‘You lost your husband, I believe. Me and the wife, we’ve been together thirty year. It’d be like losing my right arm.’
Rina nodded. ‘We only had five,’ she said. ‘But they were the most precious of my life. So, Mr Duggan, what do you believe happened to your son?’
The change of tack was unexpected. Duggan poked at his torte with the tip of his spoon. ‘Best ask your friend Sebastian,’ he said heavily.
Sebastian. Mac flinched and glared at the hapless Steven Montmorency.
‘Mac only knows that he was shot,’ Rina said. ‘Not what led up to the shooting.’
‘And you think I do?’ It was asked without rancour.
‘I think you are a man of influence and a man with connections. I don’t imagine you would have just sat back and waited when you realized your son was missing. You’d have moved heaven and earth to find your child. Any of us would. Most of us would not have your resources.’
He nodded. ‘Fair point,’ he said. ‘But I failed, didn’t I. I didn’t find him and I didn’t bring him home safe. I promised his mother and his sister and brother that I’d do those things and I failed. That rankles. That pains me. That makes me so bloody mad I’d tear the world apart to find out who it was that put a bullet in his brain and then threw him away like so much garbage.’
There followed a few moments of silence, broken only by the scraping of plates as the company hid away behind the social niceties and then by Matthew Montmorency as he pushed back his chair and announced that he would bring the coffee. The tension, Mac thought, was as thick and sticky as the chocolate torte.
James Duggan pushed his plate aside and surveyed those at the table, his gaze finally coming to rest on Tim. ‘You were there the day Parker took his tumble off the cliff.’
Tim nodded.
‘Tim helped to disarm him,’ Rina said. ‘He grabbed Parker’s gun hand.’
‘I read the police report,’ Duggan said. He noted Mac’s reaction. ‘Like Rina here says, I have connections. I still want to talk to the kids.’
Rina shook her head. ‘Karen is gone,’ she said. ‘No one knows where she is and, remember, she’s spent the best part of a lifetime losing herself, keeping one step ahead of a violent father, she’s had a lot of practice. George, I’ve no doubt, would talk to you, but I don’t think he could tell you anything that isn’t in the police report. He barely knew his father. The only thing George really understood about him was that his father was a violent thug who terrorized his wife and abused his children.’
‘And this other man, the one who left Parker on the cliff top?’
‘Still unidentified,’ Mac said. He willed Rina not to mention the new sighting, at least not yet.
‘You got a good look at him?’ Duggan’s question was directed at both Rina and Tim.
‘And we spent hours looking at photographs, as did George. He wasn’t there.’
Duggan slumped back in his chair as though lost in thought, looking up only when Matthew placed his coffee on the table and took his dessert plate away.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘My compliments to the chef.’
‘That would be chefs,’ Rina said. ‘The boys did a fine job, as always. So, Mr Duggan. James, since we seem to be on first name terms. What have you found out? Where did your connections take you?’
Duggan did not answer directly. ‘Tell me more about the girl,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told she was implicated in something else. The murder of some little scrote that killed an old lady.’
Mac tried not to react. Karen’s connection to Mark Dowling’s murder was known to only a very select few so where had he got that from?
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Rina said carefully. ‘Karen is a good girl, she took as much care of her family as she could, kept them as safe as she could.’
‘And now both parents are gone and she’s buggered off.’
‘As you know, Edward Parker fell to his death, the mother took her own life. She’d been unstable for many years, I understand. Edward Parker coming back into her life was probably just too much for her to cope with. I suspect it was for Karen too. I think she’s spent so many years coping, no surprise that she suddenly could not cope any more. But what does this have to do with your son?’
‘Parker worked for me. You know that.’
Rina nodded.
‘And everything converges here. This hole in the wall of a place, no offence, but it’s hardly the centre of the universe, is it?’
‘Some of us are glad about that,’ Matthew Montmorency informed him. ‘Some of us lived for our art and simply want a nice place to be now we’re retired.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ Duggan said. ‘And believe me, I applaud that. I’ve got my own plans for a nice, quiet retirement but it is beginning to look as though the outside world is coming on a visit and your uninvited guest is intending to stop, whether you want him to or not.’
It was a sobering thought and Mac had to admit the man had a point. He changed his mind about not telling Duggan of the blond man’s presence.
‘George saw the blond man again,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t alone.’
‘Where? When? Was the boy able to tell you anything more?’
Duggan’s sudden animation told Mac clearly that Duggan himself had run out of leads.
‘What sort of records do you keep of your employees?’ he asked.
‘Why?’ Duggan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think this other one might have worked for me as well?’
‘It’s a thought. One worth considering. I’m getting a police artist involved and CCTV recordings requisitioned.’
‘I’ll see to it you have anything I’ve got on my employees.’
‘I’d say he was ex-military,’ Tim said unexpectedly. ‘Um, that bit of speculation isn’t in the police report.’
Hard grey eyes turned upon him and Duggan asked, ‘What makes you so sure then?’
Tim shrugged. ‘I’m a bit of an odd man out amongst my lot. Generations of Brandons were in the forces. My mother’s side too. Family events at our place were like military reunions. You get to recognize the type. Like your friend, here.’ Tim nodded in the direction of the silent Fitch. ‘A lot of Special Forces guys find it hard to settle afterwards. What you might call a disproportionate number end up in security.’
Fitch said nothing. He sipped his coffee and allowed one of the Peters sisters – Mac thought it might be Bethany – to refill his half-empty cup.
‘Fair guess,’ Duggan said. ‘And you’d be right about security.’ He fell silent again.
Rina was watching him carefully. ‘You aren’t the only one this has happened to, are you? This, or something very like it?’
Mac’s attention peaked, remembering the conversation he had had with Andy as they had collated intelligence about the Duggans.
‘Your digging, your connections, what other crimes did you uncover? What other misery?’ Rina persisted.
Rina was watching the man closely; Mac no less so, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and once again the tension, thick as chocolate but not nearly so sweet, pervaded the room.
Fitch drained his cup again and spoke for the first time. ‘I think we should ask our friend to make us more of this coffee,’ he said. ‘Boss, I reckon we should talk.’
Brandy helped the coffee to unstick tongues. Fitch did not partake but Mac did, preparing for the long haul and thinking he deserved it.
‘At first we didn’t know what to think,’ James Duggan said. ‘We didn’t see so much of him when he went to uni, but he’d still pop back a couple of weekends a month and bring his girl with him more often than not. Only reason she wasn’t coming to the birthday do was because it was her mam and dad’s wedding anniversary. Silver. She couldn’t miss it and Pat couldn’t miss his sister’s party so … I keep thinking, what if she’d been with him that day or he’d stopped behind to be with her? Would he still be with us?’
‘Or would we be dealing with two bodies?’ Rina added. ‘James, if whoever it was had decided to take your son then they would have found a time and a place. Either then or later.’
‘Doesn’t stop you wondering though, does it? First, we wondered if he and his girl had had a tiff. We rang her when he didn’t turn up and she thought it was him. She saw the number come up on her phone and thought … First words she said and I knew she and the lad hadn’t fallen out. She sounded so happy, thinking it was him calling her.
‘He’d left, she said. She’d put him on the train, waved him off, then gone back home to help her mam get ready.’
Fitch took up the story. ‘Two days later we got a letter. It was a picture of Pat and a note attached, saying they’d be in touch. Best start collecting our cash together. They didn’t say what or how much.’
‘This letter …?’ Mac began.
Fitch went through to the hall and fetched his coat. From the inside pocket he produced a plastic bag. He handed it to Mac. Rina left her seat and pulled up a chair beside him. The ziplock bag contained a photograph and a single sheet of card carrying a printed message. A single smudge of what Mac realized was fingerprint powder despoiled the corner of the otherwise pristine surface. ‘You had it examined.’
‘Paid. Yes. Like I say, we have contacts. But there was nothing, a smudge of grease, but no prints.’
‘And you never thought to go to the police?’
Duggan shook his head.
‘Were you warned not to?’
Fitch looked at his boss. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you’re right, it wasn’t just Patrick. And there’d been stories about when parents and friends had gone to the police, what was done to … to the ones missing.’
Mac stared at him. ‘What are you telling me here? How big is this?’
‘We don’t know,’ Fitch said. He looked uneasily at the Peters sisters who were listening with rapt attention. ‘Look, I’m not being funny, but it don’t seem right discussing this in front of the ladies.’
‘Oh, don’t mind us.’
‘We’re unshockable.’
‘And it won’t go any further than this room.’ Bethany turned to look at Rina. ‘Oh, I know, Rina darling, you think we need to be protected from the world, but really, we all spent so much time in it already and we’re all still here.’ She beamed at the assembled company and Mac could almost feel Rina’s shoulders sag. Rescue came from an unexpected quarter.
‘Bethany,’ Matthew said, ‘why don’t you and Eliza go and sort out your music. I’m sure, if our guests have the time later, they’d love to hear you play.’
‘Oh, what a good idea.’ Bethany clasped her hands and got to her feet, gesturing to her sister to follow. ‘We’ll be in the back parlour.’
Fitch watched them go and visibly relaxed.
‘Are they, you know, all right?’ Jimmy Duggan asked.
‘No less all right than they ever were,’ Matthew told him. ‘Now, Mr Duggan, would you rather we left as well. I understand just how difficult this all must be.’
Duggan sighed. He was, Mac thought, as confused by the surreal atmosphere of the Martin household as Mac had been the first time he had encountered it. ‘Frankly,’ he said at last, ‘I don’t know what I want. My son is dead, nothing’s going to make that less of a fact.’
‘And are other sons and daughters dead?’ Rina asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Not so far as we know. There have been at least five so far, we think, though the parents won’t talk. They all have good reason not to go to the police, all thought they could handle things themselves. Or should. All got their kids back, but not always unharmed.’
‘I need names, Mr Duggan,’ Mac told him.
‘I’m not sure about that. They were warned, all of them. Say anything and your kids are gone, this time for good. They believe that and so do I. I pushed too hard and now my Patrick’s dead and if his mother gets to know what I’ve done, I’ll lose her and my other kids as well. She’ll never live with knowing, not knowing what I’ve done.’
‘You got him back once?’ Mac was incredulous.
Duggan nodded. ‘The first time it happened was just … unbelievable, but five days after he was taken, I got a call telling me where to take the money. Patrick was returned that night, left at the train station where they’d taken him from. He was dopey, like he’d been drugged, but he was OK. I thought it was all over and I was mad as hell. Bridie, the wife, she told me to leave off, wanted to put it all behind us and get on. So, we’d lost some money. So what, we’d got our son back and that was all she could see. Me, well, I let it play on my mind. Let it rile me that they’d done this. Taken me for a fool and put one of mine in harm’s way and it got to me too that there’d been others. Of course, I didn’t know then. Didn’t know all of the facts, but I wanted to know and I kept on digging, kept on pushing, kept on following the rumours and cutting through the lies people were telling to protect themselves. And then Patrick was gone again and now he’s dead.
‘I can’t name names, not knowing what they did to my boy. I can’t put others at risk. One little kiddie was just five years old. The parents didn’t have the cash, they said they needed more time so the bastards cut off a finger and sent it to them. A five-year-old kid.’
‘Did they get the money?’ Matthew was horrified.
Duggan nodded. ‘That was how I found out about them. They needed cash and they needed to borrow and they went to some associates of mine.’
‘So, the kidnappers,’ Rina said. ‘What would have made them think these people were suitable targets?’
‘Because six months ago, raising the cash would have been a no-brainer. Then, well, like they say, investments can go down as well as up so …’
‘Are we talking legal or illegal investments here?’ Mac asked.
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might. Had their losses been in the public domain they might not have been targeted.’
Duggan shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He sounded unconvinced.
‘And the fact that the kidnappers didn’t know may give us an idea of what circles they move in.’
‘Academic though, isn’t it, seeing as how I’m not giving names. And don’t start with the threats about interfering with a police investigation, withholding evidence or whatever the jargon is. This is a private conversation at a private dinner party and I didn’t say any of it. Anything you happen to find out off your own bat, well, it didn’t come from me.’
Mac thought about challenging him on that but decided against. It would gain nothing.
‘What timescale are we looking at?’
‘Near as we can make out, eighteen months, give or take.’
‘And, you say, at least five incidents?’
‘That we know about.’
‘And what sort of money are we talking about? You said you were told where to take the cash.’
Duggan and Fitch exchanged a look. ‘A lot of money,’ he said. ‘But when you say “cash”,’ Fitch elaborated, ‘it wasn’t like your holdall stuffed with banknotes.’
‘Bank transfer,’ Tim guessed. ‘Wireless?’
Fitch nodded. ‘We were told to go and sit behind this fast food place. They’ve got Wi-Fi for their customers. We made the transfer, had it confirmed, drove home. Patrick was returned that night. We’re told it’s nigh on impossible to trace, we didn’t even log on to the system, just piggybacked on someone else’s signal. A month later, Patrick was gone again.’