Written in Blood (32 page)

‘Sorry to be nosey,’ Mariner said, putting down the passport. ‘It’s just that the photograph on your prison records—You’ve changed a lot.’

‘For the better I hope,’ said Foster-Young, passing over a mug which contained an unusual coloured beverage. ‘I was in a bit of a state at that time,’ he went on. ‘And my mother had been feeding me all kinds of nonsense that Sir Geoffrey Ryland was my father.’

‘That’s why you went after him when you got out.’ Mariner registered a word Foster-Young had used. ‘You said “nonsense”.’ he queried.

‘It was total crap apparently. When she died, my mother left me a letter, admitting that she really hadn’t a clue who my dad was. It could have been one of several guys but not Ryland. She’d never slept with him. When I pushed Ryland on it he even offered to take a paternity test. I figured that was proof enough.’

‘He could have been bluffing.’

‘He wasn’t. That’s when I stopped harassing people and decided to get my life together.’

Mariner was stunned, and more than a little disappointed. The irony of the situation struck him too. Foster-Young had grown up under the misapprehension that Geoffrey Ryland was his father, while he, Mariner, Ryland’s real son, had lived in ignorance for all these years.

‘My mother was a very mixed-up woman,’ Foster-Young went on. ‘A living product of the age of free love. She wasn’t very good at looking after herself, so my arrival on the scene didn’t help much. Responsibility was never her forte.’

‘So she picked on Geoffrey Ryland.’

‘They were officially dating at that time, so I guess he was the obvious choice. But he wasn’t the only one she blamed.’

‘Norman Balfour.’

‘Poor old Norman. Yes, his name came up too. He’s a priest now, you know. I found him and gave him a really hard time over it, thought he’d be a soft touch. I was a mess back then, having inherited my mother’s liking for intoxicating substances. I’ve cleaned up my act a bit since then.’

‘So I see. You’ve been abroad?’

‘The US. I’ve got family there.’

‘Of course. You had a good trip?’ Mariner asked, regretting the choice of words.

Foster-Young seemed not to notice. ‘Fantastic,’ he said. ‘I met them all. They’d pretty much disowned my mother so I didn’t know how they’d take to the bastard son, but they were brilliant. They made me feel very welcome. Times have changed, eh?’

‘Did your mother often talk about Sir Geoffrey Ryland?’

‘I wouldn’t say often. It was usually when she was drunk or high. Half the problem was I think she really loved him. She wanted me to be his son. And as for Diana Ryland—’ He held up crossed fingers as if warding off evil.

‘She didn’t like her?’

‘The woman had usurped her position.’

‘Did she ever say why that had happened?’

‘Not specifically. She used to say that Diana and Geoff deserved each other. I guess because they came from the same “establishment” background and my mother didn’t. She always resented the English class system, couldn’t stand it. Used to say that Diana wasn’t the little miss pathetic everyone made out she was. Mum was more of free spirit. Unconventional. It didn’t suit Ryland’s political ambitions. Obviously an astute guy. She’d have been a nightmare.’ His face creased to a frown. ‘Would all this really have impacted now?’

‘We’re just being thorough.’

Foster-Young drank the last of his tea, noticing Mariner’s still untouched. ‘Sorry, I forgot that green tea isn’t to everyone’s taste.’ He relieved Mariner of the mug. ‘Well, the whole thing’s a shame. Ryland seemed like a nice guy. I don’t suppose I’ve been much help.’

‘Any background is useful, thanks. We like to build up a full picture.’ Mariner was embarrassed about being there now. ‘Oh, and you might get a call from the Thames Valley police. Similar kind of background stuff. When did you get back into the country?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.’ Lucky man.

Mariner left Foster-Young’s flat feeling despondent. Foster-Young clearly wasn’t involved. Quite apart from anything else, from before the shootings until a couple of days ago he’d been on the other side of the Atlantic. So where did that leave Mariner? The walk back to the tube station was a long one. All the work, all the running back and forth to London and Oxfordshire, the brushes with death, what had it all been for? And what had been achieved? It had become an obsession, but one he found he couldn’t give up. What lay behind the killings wasn’t just drugs, he was certain of that. Somewhere there had to be something vital he’d overlooked.

 

Driving back to Birmingham, Mariner tried to work out what it could be that he’d missed. If he tracked it right back to the beginning, it had started before the bombing, that feeling of being watched, except that he’d no hard evidence of that especially now that Robert Foster-Young was out of the picture. The bomb itself could be discounted too, except that someone had taken advantage of it by sending him a threatening note. Was that merely one of his past adversaries making the most of the situation? It wasn’t impossible. There were enough of them to choose from.

Then, almost immediately after that, Dave Flynn had shown up. So far, so unremarkable. Things had really begun to get out of hand when he’d first gone to London, digging into Ryland’s work at the JRC. Somebody knew he was there, had known where he was staying, and also had access to his mobile number. They must have followed his research as it progressed to Rupert Foster-Young, and witnessed his visits to Eleanor, enough to be able to fit him up. But who could possibly have known all of that? He’d even kept Anna in the dark these past couple of weeks. The tracking device in the car would have helped his pursuer to some extent, but there were times when he’d taken to public transport and the period when his car was off the road all together. Despite all that, someone, somewhere was managing to stalk him. But who the hell could it be?

Dave Flynn was the only one who had been in on this from the start, and also had the resources to follow Mariner. Perhaps that’s even why Dave had been brought in to begin with. He’d warned Mariner not to get involved but at the same time knowing that Mariner wouldn’t be able to resist a challenge. Maybe Dave was also being used.

Maybe those photographs were a weird coincidence? Mariner still only had Flynn’s word for it that they’d been found in Ryland’s possession, and it was Flynn who had arranged the DNA test. What if the whole thing was a set up? And if so, what was the point, other than to land Mariner in hot water?

If Ryland was his father then he owed it to the old man to find out exactly what had happened, but suddenly the burden of that responsibility felt overwhelming.

 

When he reached Anna’s house in the late afternoon she was already home.

‘Good day?’ she asked.

‘Fine, thanks.’ She would assume that he’d been at the station all day. ‘How’s Jamie been?’

‘He’s okay. We need to be at the QE by nine fifteen tomorrow so I’ve arranged for the centre to collect him on transport.’

The dreaded appointment. Mariner didn’t know why they were still going through with this. The urgency of them having children seemed to have diminished and suddenly this seemed to be more about Anna’s future than theirs, but then, whose fault was that?

‘You still want to go?’ he asked.

She looked across at him. ‘Why wouldn’t we?’

‘It’s just - things have changed.’

‘Like what?’ She was challenging him to come out and say it, that what they’d had was gone.

But as usual he ducked it. ‘The situation with Jamie for one,’ he said. ‘What if he’s still with us when the baby is born? How will he take to that, and how could we manage Jamie and a baby?’

‘That’s at least nine months away, even if we got down to it right this minute. And I told you. I’m working on Jamie.’ She walked over to him, taking his hands in hers. ‘We’ve been through all this before. Just because you haven’t had first-hand experience of fatherhood doesn’t mean you can’t learn it. And we’d be in it together. You were sure about this once. What’s this really about?’

How could he tell her that the weight of the responsibility was too great, that there were so many people he’d already let down, that he couldn’t bear the thought of doing it again?

‘A lot has happened,’ he said, lamely.

‘You mean the bomb. I know. The world is a dangerous place. You’re up against it every day. We can’t let something like that stop us. Is this why you’ve gone all distant on me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Since Christmas you’ve hardly been here, and even when you are, you’re not. If you don’t want to go through with this now would be a good time to say.’

‘I just think the timing is all wrong.’

She studied him for a moment. ‘Will the timing ever be right?’

‘Truthfully? I don’t know.’

‘We’re only going for advice. There’s nothing to lose, is there?’

She was right. It was nothing that they hadn’t just lost in the last few minutes.

 

Anna was nervous. As they sat in the plush waiting room at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital, she was too chatty and laughed too easily. Having Jamie back home these last few days had brought the implications into sharp focus and despite her optimism Mariner knew that if the odds of their child having autism were too high she wouldn’t take the risk. Secretly, Mariner was glad.

Dr Chang bombarded them with science, then spent more than an hour asking questions about Jamie, his diagnosis and about Anna’s extended family, all the while taking extensive notes.

‘And what about you Mr Mariner? Is there any history of autism in your family?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Mariner said. ‘On my mother’s side I’m fairly certain not.’

‘And your father’s?’

Mariner considered what he’d read about Ryland, what he knew about him. To operate successfully in the world that he had, the man had to have finely honed social skills. ‘I don’t think so.’

Anna turned sharply. ‘But you don’t know for sure, do you? Tom’s never known his father.’

The consultant glanced at Mariner for clarification.

‘That’s right, I don’t know,’ Mariner obliged, convincing himself that technically he was telling the truth. He couldn’t possibly know that about Ryland.

Having taken family history details Dr Chang then talked a lot about statistics. Research into autism was still relatively new and there were a lot of unknowns. ‘There are, however, clear genetic links, although at present it’s not clear exactly how they work. It certainly is not inevitable that any child you have will have autistic spectrum difficulties. In real terms the chances are small, around three per cent, and you’re already ahead of the game. The knowledge that your child may have a predisposition is invaluable. There are lots of things you can do with the new baby to minimise the chances of the disorder developing. And of course if you didn’t want to take that risk there are other options open to you, such as adoption.’

‘So is that good news or bad?’ Mariner asked tentatively as they emerged. They were trying to make light of it.

‘It’s what I expected.’ He could hear her disappointment. ‘The risk is there all right, isn’t it?’

‘But it’s reduced if we’re vigilant after the baby is born. And I suppose we could always go down the adoption route.’

‘But he didn’t advise against us having a family.’

‘That’s not his job,’ said Mariner, gently. ‘All he is meant to do is present the information to us. The decision is ours.’

‘So we need to decide.’ But over the last weeks, it seemed have evolved into a different decision.

 

 

In the afternoon Mariner went back to work.

‘We’ve had a breakthrough,’ Charlie Glover said.

Mariner instantly thought of Ryland, but of course Glover was talking about Alecsander Lucca. ‘The CPS have given the go-ahead to apply for extradition. They’re starting negotiations with Albanian officials. Your trip down to London must have done the trick.’

‘That’s great,’ said Mariner, absently, his mind very elsewhere. He didn’t like to tell Glover that the negotiations could take months. He retreated to his office, but a couple of minutes later Tony Knox put in an appearance.

‘How did it go?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘The appointment.’

‘It was interesting.’

‘So you’re going ahead with it?’

Mariner was feeling sorry for himself. ‘It’s such a big change. I don’t know if I can handle it.’

‘Changes happen to everyone whether they like it or not,’ said Knox irritably. ‘Sometimes you have to just grit your teeth and get on with it.’ And he stomped out again.

Even though he’d run out of leads, Mariner couldn’t stop thinking about Ryland. Perhaps he’d been wrong about those cash payments and Ryland really had been involved in some kind of gambling racket. But in every other respect it just didn’t fit. He’d uncovered no other evidence that related to it, and Norman Balfour had stated categorically that Ryland wasn’t a gambler. And if he was involved in some kind of dubious business venture, why involve Sandie? No, Mariner was convinced now that those payments were down to blackmail. But with Rupert Foster-Young out of the picture there were no other candidates.

Nor had Mariner exposed any other Achilles heel that a potential blackmailer could take advantage of. Ryland had no other weak spots, unless he’d committed some kind of impropriety at the Commission. But, according to all those who knew him, the man was overloaded with integrity. He was a brilliant politician but had not fulfilled his potential, turning down a government office for what was largely an administration post at the JRC. The job needed a political heavyweight because there were some difficult waters to navigate, but Ryland could do it with his eyes closed. Starting out in politics his ambitions were such that he’d made a very careful and precise choice of partner, and when things had got tough for her he’d abandoned his career plan to support her through illness.