Fogarty: A City of London Thriller (17 page)

“Here. Get this to Bob Radlett and tell him the
Boss is grateful for his information and cooperation. I just want to hang around here for a while to look over our new kingdom.”

Guy
’s Hospital, Great Maze Pond, London.

Wednesday 17
th
August 2011; 1:30pm.

Ben had been sitting by Ashley’s bed for four hours by the time she came around. The first time she awoke she looked dozily at him. A puzzled frown furrowed her brow, before she drifted back to sleep almost immediately. By one o’clock she was mostly awake and able to eat and drink, but she was still confused.

Ben and Ashley chatted, but she had only the
slightest recollection of their meeting in the cellar, and she was surprised to see a photocopy of the note in her own handwriting. The date rape drugs had wiped her short-term memory in a big way, much to the frustration of Ben, who wanted to know what had happened in the house whilst he had been trapped in the cellar below.

Snippets of memory would slip out as they talked, and the doctor had encouraged Ben to keep her talking for as long as she could concentrate without tiring. Ben decided that, as the last twenty four hours were
obviously a blank, it would be better for her to describe her life in more general terms, so that he could better understand how she had become embroiled in Grierson’s dangerous world.

He had heard most of the story before from his grandmother, but Ashley added in a level of detail their grandmother could not have known. Ashley had been adopted whilst Grierson was in prison,
and her new life had been so wonderful that she had become seriously disturbed when social workers suggested she might want to meet her biological father.

Ashley
had attended good schools, followed by University, realising along the way that she loved to learn. She excelled in both academia and in sports. “It must run in the family,” she had quipped.

Eventually she became curious about her birth mother, and made enquiries that led to a cold and unexpected visit from Dennis Grierson. She had been ready to call the police and seek a restraining order when he dropped a bombshell. He was suffering fro
m
Beta
Thalassemia, which involves decreased production of normal adult haemoglobin (HbA). Unfortunately, HbA is the predominant type of haemoglobin. Grierson’s doctors told him the disease was genetically transferred and was often worse for the children than the parents. Grierson suggested she submit herself for tests. He gave Ashley his test results and said that if she wanted to see him again he would leave it to her. He would not bother her again. She was almost twenty-three at the time and she wouldn’t speak to Grierson again for seven years.

“So how did you get over the Beta Thalassa thing?” Ben as
ked, with concern in his voice.

“Beta Thalassemia! I didn’t. I never had it. That was the strange thing. I went for the tests and my doctor asked me some odd questions before explaining something to me. Given Dennis Grierson’s blood group and mine, there was no possibility at all that he was my fath
er, and so I should not worry.”

“Are
you saying......?” Ben blurted.

“Yes, Ben. I’m saying Dennis Grierson is not your
father and he never was! Look at me, then look in the mirror and tell me what you see,” Ashley persuaded. Ben did as he was asked.

“We have the same eyes. Gran says that we have ou
r mother’s eyes,” Ben observed.

“True.
Now look from your nose downwards; it’s more noticeable on you than on me. Who do you see?” Ben looked again but nothing struck him, and he said so. Ashley clarified it for him. “Apart from the eyes, Ben, you are a dead ringer for a young Brendan Grayson.” Ben looked again, and could see what she meant.

“Have you got a reas
on for believing we are the children of a famous Hollywood actor, or is it just speculation, based on his presence on the Farm when we were conceived?”

“I think your Gran suspects it. Brendan slept with
Siobhan regularly, and she knows that. One other person knew, too, but she wasn’t saying until two years ago.”

Ben was curious now. “Who else could know? It was thirty years ago.”

“Patricia Grierson. She suspected Brendan was sleeping with Siobhan, but she could never be certain. Dennis had her convinced that she was the reason they had no kids, but when she left me and Den, to go to the US, she got pregnant almost immediately. When the first baby was born to her and Brendan, the little girl looked just like me. Pat says she was devastated. She was now certain that she had given up Brendan’s first child for adoption because she believed I was Grierson’s child.”

“Bloody hell!” was
all Ben could think of to say.

“I know. The F
lats were a cesspit then, and they are a cesspit now. I despise the place and everyone who lives there.” There was a disturbing violence underpinning her words. “Pat Grayson met me in New York last year when I was there on business, and she brought a vial of blood and Brendan’s medical records with her. After a tearful reunion, we went to a clinic, where they carried out some DNA tests, promising us the results in a week or two. When the results came back four weeks later, Pat sobbed down the phone and pleaded for my forgiveness before asking me if she could tell Brendan.”

“What d
id you say?” Ben was intrigued.

“I said she could tell him if she wanted to, and a week later I received a call from the man himself. He recalled Siobhan’s twins and he hoped that we had thrived, but he said he had no idea we were his kids. He
had believed the Grierson story, like everyone else. He wants to meet us both.”

“You’ve known this for almost two years!” Ben was angry. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Never,” Ashley answered quietly. “I knew who you were as soon as I saw your first All Blacks photo; I followed your career and saw the pride in your new dad’s face as you placed that rugby ball in his hands after your first international try. I couldn’t destroy al
l of that. What good would it have done for you to know that Grierson wasn’t your real father? You had a new life eleven thousand miles away. As far as I knew, you didn’t give a damn about where you came from.”

Ben and Ash
ley sat in silence for a while.

“I understand,” Ben said eventually, “but how did you get involved with Grierson again when you had every reason to wipe him out of your life?”

“That’s a long story, and I’m tired now.” Ashley reached for Ben’s hand and squeezed it gently. “It involves Lawrence, and I can’t believe he’s gone just yet. Give me some time.”

Ashley teared up. Ben regretted not being brave enough to tell his new found sister that her father and husband were dead, and so he had left the awful task
to the doctor earlier in the day. To the doctor’s surprise Ashley already knew. She had recalled seeing Lawrence’s dead body through the bathroom door, although she appeared to remember little else. Ben felt Ashley’s hand relax in his as she slipped into a deep sleep.

Guy’s Hospital, Great Maze Pond, London.

Wednesday 17
th
August 2011; 6pm.

Ashley seemed much brighter than she had been during the morning, and DCI Coombes and DS Scott had been sitting at her bedside for over an hour now. For the last sixty minutes they had been gently interrogating her about the events leading up to the Blackheath Rectory murders. Ashley had been unable to furnish them with much detail, explaining that the last thing she remembered before passing out was preparing for dinner. Ashley had a vague recollection of someone trying to drown her in the bathtub of the en-suite bathroom, but she admitted that her recollection seemed more like a dream than a true memory.

During the entire interrogation Ashley held on to Ben's hand, squeezing it occasionally when a sensitive question elicited an emotional response. At one point, when she rebuked herself for being too vague, DS Scott noted that, considering the fact that she had lost her husband in the carnage the night before, Ashley had remained
remarkably calm and coherent.

DCI Coombes knew it would be up to him to ask the hardest question of all, but once he had asked it he realised that he was not alone in wondering how Ashley had allowed the psychotic Grierson back into her life, having escaped from his clutches many years before. Ashley’s long explanation surprised the policemen, as well as her twin brother. She spoke
softly as she recalled events.

"Two years ago, when I found out that Dennis Grierson was not my real father, I experienced conflicting emotions. I knew that I should have been happy that I wasn't the offspring of a vicious criminal, but at the same tim
e I realised that I had spent twenty-nine years cutting the wrong father out of my life. I’m ashamed to say that there were two or three dark weeks where I was so depressed that I sought treatment from my doctor, who prescribed beta-blockers for my anxiety attacks. As you might expect, Lawrence was very concerned about my health, and one evening he encouraged me to explain how I felt about having a father who was rich and famous but with whom I'd had no relationship. Lawrence listened but it soon became clear that he had a morbid fascination in Dennis Grierson. You see, Lawrence had been brought up in a privileged environment and would never have encountered criminals like Grierson before. Over the next few days, and on more than one occasion, I caught Lawrence reading old press reports about my erstwhile father and his sordid life.

One night after dinner, when I was feeling a little tipsy from the red wine, Lawrence quizzed me about Dennis Grierson and his income. I knew that the gang had salted away hundreds of thousands of pounds over the years, but I didn't realise at the time that Lawrence was sizing Dennis Grierson up as a potential investor in his failing property company. Unbeknown to me and to his father, Lawr
ence was in financial difficulties. Despite his heritage and his position, Lawrence had never been a great entrepreneur, and the only reason he headed up Garner-Brinkman was because he had been raised to be his father's successor as managing director. The reality was that Harry, Lawrence’s dad, knew very well that his son was ill equipped to run the company, and so he headhunted me. In reality, whilst Lawrence was the de facto managing director, I was responsible for the day-to-day running of the company. After a short while we began dating, and a year later we were married. Harry Garner was ecstatic, as he now had genuine succession management in place and the business would remain in the family.

Lawrence wasn’t as happy
about it as his father, though. You have to understand that Lol – sorry, Lawrence - had been raised and supported financially by his parents through school, university and even his early career with Price Waterhouse Coopers. The truth of the matter was that he was entirely dependent on funding from his father, who disapproved of his profligate lifestyle and his uncontrolled spending. So when he joined Garner -Brinkman, Harry paid him a generous salary but refused to subsidise his uncontrolled spending. Lawrence ended up on a tight financial rein and he was unhappy about it. He was also unhappy at work because, whilst Lawrence appeared on the letterhead as the managing director, there was no doubt that he felt emasculated by the fact that I was running the company and everyone that mattered to him knew it.

Given his temperament it was inevitable he would try to break free of his father’s control, and so to provide the funds he yearned for he established his own property development company without his father's knowledge. The single purpose limited company was called Blackheath-Voss, because it had been established solely to purchase and develop the semi derelict rectory on Blackheath Green. The Voss brothers from the Netherlands contributed half a million pounds towards the purchase of the rectory, and Lawrence borrowed the other half a million himself. The idea was that the rectory would be converted into four luxury apartments, the selling price of which would be around half a million pounds each, and so the return on investment would be around one hundred per cent, which was an attractive proposition for any property investor. Unfortunately, the property crash of 2008 coincided with the work reaching completion, and the lender insisted that a chartered surveyor value the property before they would lend the money necessary to complete the fixtures and fittings. The chartered surveyor valued the completed building at just over three quarters of a million, and so the lender was unprepared to make a further loan. Lawrence was obliged to use the remaining inheritance from his mother's estate to complete the works, but now Blackheath-Voss had spent almost one point three million on a property that had a market value of less than a million pounds. The Voss brothers were angry but resigned to their loss, and they asked Lawrence to find someone to buy the property so that they could split the revenue fifty-fifty with Lawrence. Unfortunately for Lawrence, a sale would have left him with a debt of around three hundred thousand pounds, with no security, knowing that the lender would demand repaymen
t on completion of the sale.”

Ashley paused, then reached over to the bedside cabinet and picked up a glass of tepid water.
She took a drink and continued.