Last Rites (25 page)

Mason pushed open the main door and stepped inside, the warmth hitting him like a blanket. There was a small open fire blazing away in the grate to his left and he noticed several heads turn to inspect him as the occupants of the tables there glanced in his direction. Uninterested in him they continued with their subdued conversations and the teacher walked up to the bar, peering around for any sign of Kate Wheeler. He noticed that there was another bar through a set of thick red velvet curtains and he moved through into this smaller alcove.

There were two men sitting at the bar drinking, both of whom paid cursory attention to Mason as he walked in. The only other occupant of the bar, seated at a table close to a window, was Kate Wheeler.

She smiled happily at him as he walked across to her and she picked up her coat from the seat she’d been saving for him.

‘I don’t think anyone would have taken this seat,’ she told him. ‘But better safe than sorry.’

‘I haven’t kept you waiting, have I?’ he asked.

‘I’ve only been here a couple of minutes,’ she assured him.

Mason leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. She smelled of freshly laundered clothes, newly washed hair and a perfume that he couldn’t identify but that he found captivating. That, combined with her perfectly made-up face and the tight black cowl-neck sweater she wore over equally skin-tight black jeans tucked into ankle boots,caused Mason to look admiringly at her for a moment. It was a gesture she wasn’t slow to notice and she smiled broadly at him, enjoying the fact that the effort she’d put into her appearance had so obviously been appreciated.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked.

‘Bacardi and diet coke, please.’

He nodded and walked back to the bar where a rotund, red-faced barmaid took his order.

The two men sitting at the bar took no notice of him as he waited for the drinks which he dutifully ferried back to the table.

‘Cheers,’ Kate pronounced and they both drank.

‘I was going to get a bag of crisps but I thought I’d better not,’ he told her.

‘Don’t you dare. Dinner’s all prepared. As soon as we get back we can eat.’

Mason was aware of someone approaching their table. He didn’t hear any footfalls or see anyone, he just felt the presence close to them.

He looked up to see one of the men who’d been sitting at the bar standing over them.

‘You’re from that school,’ the man proclaimed, flatly.

Mason met the man’s gaze and saw something burning in his eyes that looked like anger.

‘Langley Hill,’ the man repeated.‘I heard that you come from there.’

‘That’s right,’ Mason explained.

‘Both of you?’ the man snapped.

Kate nodded and moved a little closer to Mason. ‘We both teach there,’ Mason told him. ‘Why?’

‘I need to talk to you,’ the man said, pulling out a chair and seating himself opposite them.

‘We’re just trying to have a quiet drink,’ Mason protested. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

‘I said I want to talk.’

Frank Coulson leaned forward menacingly.

63

Mason thought about telling Coulson to leave them alone but the determined look on the newcomer’s face persuaded him to wait.

‘Listen, I’m sure if you want to know anything about Langley Hill then we’ll do our best to help you,’ Mason began.

‘There’s lots of things I’d like to know about that place,’ Coulson snapped. ‘But, for the time being, you listen to me.’

The two teachers sat motionless while Coulson ran appraising eyes over each of them in turn.

‘My daughter,’ he said, his tone losing some of its venom.‘She died last week. Her name was Amy Coulson. She was seventeen.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Mason admitted. ‘I lost my daughter too.’

Coulson fixed his gaze on Mason for a moment then continued.

‘Amy killed herself,’ he told them. ‘Because of what was done to her by some of those little bastards up at that school where you both teach.’

‘How can you be sure of that, Mr Coulson?’ Mason ventured.

‘It’s true,’ Coulson snapped. ‘I spoke to one of the kids there on the phone. The one who caused it. Andrew Latham.’

Mason glanced briefly at Kate then returned his attention to Coulson’s tortured features.

‘He’s about eighteen, this Latham kid,’ Coulson went on. ‘Spoilt, rich little fucker like all of those kids up there.’

‘What makes you think that Latham caused your daughter to kill herself ?’ Mason asked.

‘Because of what he did to her. He humiliated her. Tricked her into sleeping with him and then he filmed it and put the film on the fucking internet. That’s the kind of kid you’ve got at that school of yours.’

Kate Wheeler moved a little closer to Mason, her heart thumping hard.

‘What do you want us to do?’ Mason asked, cautiously.

‘I want to speak to Latham,’ Coulson announced. ‘I want to see that little cunt face to face and get him to tell me why he did that to my Amy.’

Mason nodded, placatingly.

‘He was expelled today, Mr Coulson,’ he said.

‘That’s not enough. He should be prosecuted for what he did to her. For what he made her do,’ Coulson snarled, glaring at Kate who was eyeing him warily, the colour having drained from her cheeks.

‘Do you know him too, this Latham kid?’ Coulson wanted to know.

She nodded.

‘Whatever you think he did to your daughter, Mr Coulson, I’m sorry,’ she told the other man. ‘And I’m sorry for your loss but my colleague is right. Unless you’ve got evidence against Latham then there’s nothing you can do. And he’s gone now.’

Coulson looked evenly at her, listening carefully to each word.

‘You’re Irish, aren’t you?’ he stated.

‘Don’t hold that against me,’ Kate said, falteringly, trying to force a smile to defuse the situation.

‘And you teach up there, at Langley Hill?’ he persisted.

‘Yes,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t see what my nationality has to do with what happened to your daughter though.’

The woman who held the camera had an accent. I think it was Irish.

Charlie Stone’s words drifted into Coulson’s head and stuck there like a splinter in soft flesh.

A strong Irish accent.

Coulson sat for a moment longer then he got to his feet.

‘I won’t let this go,’ he said, menacingly. ‘I want to talk to that fucking Latham kid and no one’s going to stop me. If the police won’t help me then I’ll deal with it myself.’

He turned and walked out of the pub, slamming the door behind him as he left.

They both heard the roar of a car engine outside and Mason peered out of the window to see Coulson driving off.

64

Mason drained what was left in his wine glass and set the empty receptacle down on the coffee table before him.

He looked around the small sitting room where he was seated and smiled to himself. The meal he’d eaten had been delightful, the conversation had been good (once they’d both got over the meeting with Frank Coulson) and he could smell the pleasing aroma of coffee coming from the small kitchen behind him. He glanced around at the bookshelves covering three walls of the sitting room, his eyes also straying to some of the photos that shared space with the hundreds of paperbacks and hardbacks, DVDs and assorted other paraphernalia that was on display.

Mason hauled himself off the sofa and walked across to the nearest of the shelves. There were framed photos there. Some of Kate and, he assumed, of her family. Her image smiled back at him.

‘Oh, no, not the photos.’

He turned as he heard her voice behind him.

Mason looked around and saw that she’d placed two cups of coffee on the table by the sofa and was about to return to the kitchen.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be nosy but I like the look of this one.’ He held up a picture that showed Kate, he guessed aged around twenty-three, standing with two other young women, arms around each other. They were all dressed in bikinis and sporting suntans, beaming for the camera.

‘That was taken in Italy,’ she informed him. ‘About two weeks after I got my degree. Myself and two friends went for a holiday there to celebrate.’ She pointed to another blonde girl. ‘That’s Trisha and the dark one is Sasha.’

‘Very nice,’ Mason said, approvingly.

‘Yes, they are, aren’t they?’ Kate said.

‘I meant the photo,’ Mason explained.

Kate smiled and shook her head then retreated briefly to the kitchen once again.

Mason replaced the picture and moved across to another. It showed an older man who was gazing unsmilingly back at the camera from a high-backed leather chair.

‘That’s my dad,’ Kate informed him, solemnly, appearing at his side. ‘It was taken about five years ago.’

‘It’s a good picture,’ Mason told her.

‘It just hurts to look at him there and then remember what he’s like now.’

Mason nodded as he replaced the picture.

‘I haven’t got any pictures of my daughter on display in the cottage,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about her. I hate old photos. I think that all they do is remind you of time you’ve lost that you can never get back.’

Kate squeezed his arm gently.

‘Come and have your coffee,’ she said and the two of them stepped back to the sofa and sat down.

‘When was the last time you saw your dad?’ he enquired. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

Kate shook her head.

‘Of course I don’t,’ she told him. ‘It was two days ago. He seems to be a little worse each time I see him and I know he’s not going to get any better. The terrible thing is that I don’t know how long he’s going to be in the nursing home and it isn’t cheap to keep him there.’

‘How does Latham know about him?’

Kate ignored the question at first, more intent on sipping her coffee.

‘I know he seems to know everything that’s going on at Langley Hill but how did he find out about your father’s illness?’ Mason continued.

He studied her expression for a moment and thought he saw tears welling in her eyes.

‘Kate?’ he said, softly, reaching out one hand and resting it on her arm. ‘How did Latham find out about your father?’

She exhaled almost painfully and looked straight at Mason.

‘If it wasn’t for Latham, my father would probably be dead by now,’ she said, flatly. ‘He pays for the nursing home where he is now.’

65

Mason was stunned.

For a moment he wasn’t sure if he’d even heard Kate correctly.

‘Andrew Latham pays for your dad’s treatment?’ he said, finally. ‘But how? Why?’

‘Because I can’t afford it myself,’ Kate told him.

Mason shook his head.

‘I understand that,’ he told her, agitatedly.‘But Latham? How did this all happen?’

She took a sip of her coffee then set the cup gently back on the table.

‘I was desperate,’ she breathed. ‘I don’t know how Latham heard what was wrong with my father but he volunteered the money.’

Mason listened intently.

‘I said no to begin with, of course,’ she went on.‘Apart from the complications and the conflict of interests and breaking God alone knows how many ethical considerations. I didn’t want to be in debt to anyone. Especially not someone like Latham.’ She licked her lips. ‘But I took the money. I accepted his offer. I had no choice. I love my father and I couldn’t see him just left to die. Left to shrink away.’

Mason nodded.

‘I understand,’ he murmured.

‘I’m not sure you do,’ she snapped. ‘If someone had offered you a way of saving your daughter wouldn’t you have taken it? Wouldn’t you have done anything to help her?’

‘Yes I would.’

‘And it’s the same with my father. I know he won’t get better but at least he’ll have the best care that money can buy. Or should I say that Latham’s money can buy. And I’d do it all again if I had to.’

‘How much did he lend you?’

‘That’s not important. The money isn’t the issue, it’s what it can buy.’

‘So you pay Latham back a bit at a time?’

She nodded.

‘Who else knows about this?’ Mason persisted.

‘No one.’ She sighed. ‘Well, possibly Latham’s little group but I haven’t told anyone else except you.’

‘What about Simon Usher? Did he know about it?’

‘What the fuck has it got to do with Simon Usher?’ she snapped. ‘You’re obsessed with him. Why would I tell him?’

‘Because Latham said you used to spend a lot of time at his cottage. I just wondered.’

‘Wondered what?’ she cut in angrily. ‘Wondered if I was sleeping with him? Would it have mattered if I was? He’s gone now, isn’t he? Anyway, why would you believe anything that Latham said about me? Are you going to trust his word over mine?’

‘Kate,’ Mason said, putting a hand out to calm her. ‘I just asked.’

She got to her feet and walked back into the kitchen out of sight. Mason ran a hand through his hair and exhaled wearily. Moments later, Kate returned carrying a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two glasses.

‘I would have offered you more coffee,’ she told him, slumping down on the sofa beside him once more. ‘But I thought I needed something stronger.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just telling you what Latham said. And hearing about you borrowing money from him was a bit of a shock too. What are you going to do now he’s been expelled? How are you going to get the money to him?’

‘I’ll find a way,’ she murmured.

They looked at each other silently for a moment.

‘Truce?’ he asked, his hands in the air in supplication.

She nodded.

‘If there’s anything I can do to help, Kate,’ Mason said.

‘I’ll manage. I have done so far.’

‘And what if you can’t? What then?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

She filled a glass and pushed it towards him. Mason hesitated a moment then took it and sipped at the liquor.

‘Perhaps if we found Abbot Bartholomew’s treasure you could pay Latham off,’ he said, quietly.

66

It was Kate Wheeler’s turn to look bemused.

She looked more closely at Mason’s face, perhaps expecting to see the beginnings of a smile but there wasn’t one.