part0076

On days like today, when the weather is clear, the sun has come up and the wind is down, John Pope sits in his garden.

So he doesn’t have to deal with the stairs, his bedroom is downstairs in the second reception room, which lets out directly onto the garden.

He has a blanket over his legs, he has his radio on a wrought-iron table and beside that he has a bottle of whisky and a glass. It’s not yet 11 a.m. but John Pope has a drink whenever he feels like it. If he doesn’t get one, he rages at his son until Aaron gives in.

I stand in front of him and don’t speak. Whenever he ‘needs’ to see me, I come but I do not speak until he speaks to me. We always do this. We always wrestle with each other to see who will give in first. He has time since he rarely has anywhere to be, but I am stubborn. Especially when it comes to John Pope.

He examines his nails in a theatrical manner; he snorts ugly-sounding phlegm to the back of his throat, spits it to the left of where I am standing, then returns to examining his nails.

I can feel Aaron’s pain; his tension, it ricochets around him as he battles with himself not to step in and try to mediate, try to put an end to the atmosphere John Pope and I always create.

Every time he’s tried in the last couple of years, it’s ended badly for him. I still do this despite its effect on Aaron, partly because he needs to see that it is possible to stand up to his father. That just because his father demands something, doesn’t mean Aaron has to give it or do it or say it.

‘Time’s running out, girly,’ John Pope eventually says.

‘No it’s not,’ I reply.

‘I said you could have six months. Six months and then I would hand over everything to my friends. They would then start to reinvestigate your father. They would go through his life properly, thoroughly, forensically, like they should have done years ago.’ He says this with relish, almost salivating at the thought of it. ‘And you will be the one to start it off. You will search his house to see what you can find and if I don’t think you’ve searched enough, I will call my friends.’

‘We agreed a year,’ I state calmly.

The searching using DNA and genealogy wasn’t working fast enough for Pope. He wanted results; he wanted me to have found something by now. Two years was long enough, he said. He had given me an ultimatum: ‘Find Judana Dalton, the identity of the Brighton Mermaid or anything tangible we can use or you search your father’s house for the jewellery. And if you won’t do that, I will turn everything over to the police, kick up so much of a fuss that they will have no choice but to talk to your father again.’

He will unleash hell upon my father, basically. I knew he would do it. And I knew that my family could not stand for that to happen again. Herstmonceux is their island, their escape from everything that began twenty-five years ago. They can be anonymous and safe out there. Dad potters in his huge greenhouse, Mum crochets and goes to church. Police coming back into their lives would be the ruination of them. He gave me six more months and I negotiated a year – but I know he is going to want something by the twenty-fifth anniversary in less than three months.

‘Time’s running out, girly,’ John Pope says. ‘Time’s running out and when it’s gone, you will help me.’

‘A year. We agreed a year. I’ve taken a year off work. I’m doing it full-time. I’m doing all I can. None of this stuff happens quickly.’

‘Time’s running out. If I don’t think you’re moving fast enough, I will call it in.’

‘They’ll arrest you and Aaron for hacking into the police database,’ I remind him.

‘Small price to pay for catching the bastard who killed those women, isn’t it, Boy?’

‘I’m doing the best I can. I’m going as fast as I can. I’ve got more DNA results that should be back this week. I’ll be able to—’

‘Next time I call you, you come straight away, do you hear?’

‘I come when I can,’ I state.

‘Make it sooner,’ he replies. His gaze moves up from his nails to my face. It’s 1993 again. Although I’m the one standing and he’s the one sitting, the dynamic is back: he wants to break me – I won’t let him; he wants me to cry – I’ll never do it in front of him. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’ And your father , he obviously adds silently.

Go fuck yourself , I reply in my head before I return to the house through the double patio doors.

He didn’t need to see me, he just wanted to remind me who was in charge. Who could click his fingers and make me dance to that finger-clicking tune.

This is what happens when you make a deal with an evil man: if you don’t work to produce results fast enough, he starts to reshape and reorganise the deal, he starts to threaten you with everything you fear.

I have to work faster. I’ve been putting off chasing stuff to do with Craig Ackerman because I found him so creepy. I haven’t started a proper search on Maura Goodrich’s friend, although I have sent off his DNA. I need to work faster, but not panic. If I panic, I will miss something and it could be a vital something.

‘I’m so—’ Aaron Pope begins but I hold up my hand because I do not want to hear it.

‘I’ve told you before, Aaron, don’t apologise for him,’ I say. ‘Just … just leave it.’

‘You know he won’t really call anyone,’ Aaron says. ‘Not until we have something more solid. He doesn’t mind being arrested but he would mind losing face.’

Aaron is always doing this thing of trying to make everything better. I feel sorry for him because I know that’s what his role in life must have been for so long. When he’s working, though, when I watch him write code and programs, he’s a different person. Transformed. His body is upright and strong; his face is focused and intense; he becomes the man he is when he is out of his father’s orbit. He stops being the abused little boy whose father still torments him and he becomes Aaron Pope, adult, business owner, funny, thoughtful man.