Written in Blood (28 page)

In other circumstances Mariner would have hit the roof, having travelled all that distance, but this time it suited him very nicely. ‘Sure. I’ll come back in a couple of hours.’

 

The probation office that Rupert Foster-Young had checked in with was near to his flat, and was part of an old Victorian primary school with separate demarcated entrances for girls and boys. Mariner went into the one marked ‘boys’. From the reception desk he was directed along a corridor of classrooms transformed into open plan offices. He stopped at the door of 3A and approached the woman at the nearest desk. ‘I’m here to talk to Brendan Wise.’

From inside the office a young man with black tousled hair looked up from what he was doing. ‘Inspector Mariner?’ Wise got up and came over extending a hand in friendly greeting.

‘It’s Tom,’ Mariner said.

‘You wanted to talk to me about Robert Foster-Young?’ The swagger put the streets all over him, but Wise’s accent was cultured, and devoid of any regional accent.

‘
Rupert
Foster-Young,’ Mariner said, hoping there hadn’t been some kind of blunder.

‘No, you mean Robert,’ Wise corrected him. ‘That’s what he calls himself now, Rob, to be more accurate.’

‘He changed his name?’

‘Only that part. Think about it. Would you want to be banged up with a name like Rupert?’

Mariner smiled. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘Before we go any further, do you have some identification? ’ Wise was unabashed about making the request and Mariner obliged with his warrant card, hoping he wouldn’t need to justify the visit. But all Wise said was, ‘Let’s go for a walk. I need some more fags.’

‘Rob was one of my success stories.’ Wise went on. They were out on the pavement again, dodging old ladies and mothers with pushchairs. ‘He’d got out on license. He’d served four years of his seven year sentence and in most respects he’d stuck to his sentence plan.’

‘In most respects?’

‘He complied with the educational programme, attended all the courses.’

‘What kinds of courses?’

‘Computer studies, electronics. Is that relevant?’

‘It might be.’ If it meant he could fit a tracking device on a car.

‘I can look up exactly what he did back in the office.’ They’d come to a small corner newsagent’s. ‘Won’t be a tick. Anything I can get you?’

Mariner shook his head and Wise disappeared inside the shop, reappearing minutes later with a pack of Marlboros. He ripped them open with the urgency of an addict, lighting up as they walked, and making Mariner wonder if he’d once been a drug-user, too.

‘Rob was meant to have cleaned up his act inside,’ Wise said, pulling hard on his cigarette. ‘But that didn’t quite happen. As I’m sure you’re well aware, it’s almost easier to get hold of drugs on the inside than it is on the streets.’

Mariner had heard that. ‘He was released early,’ he said. ‘So he wasn’t considered a risk.’

‘He behaved himself. And he never had been a real danger to anyone else.’

‘I thought he was in for aggravated burglary.’

‘He was high at the time. He demonstrated remorse for his crime.’

‘Surely he could get high again?’

Wise shot him a look. ‘The decision wasn’t mine, it was down to the parole board, who obviously thought it worth the risk.’

‘Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘Sure.’ They’d arrived back outside the school and stood side by side on the pavement while Wise finished his cigarette. ‘Besides, Rob’s mother was ill at the time, too.’

‘With what?’

‘Cirrhosis of the liver, exacerbated no doubt by long-term drug and alcohol abuse. It’s a terrible thing to say but it was the making of Rob.’

‘In what way?’

‘It was his wake-up call. Made him realise what damage drugs could do. It’s what she died of essentially. A couple of weeks after her funeral Rob joined a rehab programme and successfully kicked his habit. His mother left him a flat and some money and the last time I saw him he was determined to make a go of it.’ Wise tossed down the dogend of his cigarette and crushed it underfoot, before leading the way back into the building.

‘Does he still live in the flat?’ Mariner asked.

‘He’s under no obligation to keep in touch any more, so I’ve no idea.’

‘How did he feel about his spell in prison?’

‘Like I said, he expressed remorse.’

‘But you know that while he was serving his sentence he made an unsuccessful attempt to appeal his conviction, one that he continued to pursue after his release.’

‘I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t really surprise me. Up until his mother died Rob was your typical junkie mess, irrational, paranoid. After he cleaned up he seemed to genuinely come to terms with what he’d done.’

‘Does he still believe that he was wrongly convicted?’

‘He never complained to me. Coming off drugs is a big reality check. Puts things back in perspective again.’ Wise was speaking from experience. Mariner’s instinct had been right.

‘So you don’t think Rob harbours any resentment that his application for appeal was turned down?’

‘As far as I know he accepted that he’d got what was appropriate. He’d served his sentence and it was time to start again. And like I said, last time I saw him he was very focused on staying clean.’

‘Did he ever mention a man called Joseph O’Connor?’

‘Not to me, but I know that name. Wasn’t he involved with the shooting of Sir Geoffrey Ryland? Christ, is that what you’re investigating?’ Mariner didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘What the hell could Rob have had to do with that?’

‘Probably nothing,’ said Mariner. ‘But his name came up as one of a number of unsuccessful appellants to the JRC and he may have known O’Connor. I need to cross him off the list, that’s all. Can you give me his last known?’

‘Why do you need that?’ Suddenly Wise was less forthcoming.

‘I just want to talk to him,’ Mariner said. ‘Nothing heavy, I swear.’

‘Well you should know that after he was signed off, he was planning to travel.’

 

The address Wise gave Mariner wasn’t far from the office and the probation officer supplied good directions. It was a second floor apartment in an imposing but rather shabby house. Repeated ringing of the bell for Foster-Young’s place brought no response, so in desperation, hovering over the list of names from which he could deduce nothing, and risking a mouthful of abuse, Mariner tried the bell for flat 1B which hopefully would be situated directly below Foster-Young, making the occupant aware of his presence. This time a young woman came to the door carrying a baby on her hip.

‘I’m looking for Mr Foster-Young in flat 2B. He’s about forty—’ Suddenly Mariner realised that he didn’t have an up to date description. He didn’t need it.

‘Rob, yeah, I know, don’t we, Lauren?’ she addressed the baby, her manner pleasant and in no way troubled by the interruption. ‘Uncle Rob looks after you for me sometimes, doesn’t he?’

‘You leave your baby daughter with—?’ Mariner checked himself. He’d been about to say ‘junkie’, but Foster-Young had cleaned up and Lauren’s mum may not know anything about his dubious past. No need to alarm her, especially as Lauren appeared none the worse for her experience.

Lauren’s mum was looking at him. ‘It’s just while I pop to the shops and stuff. At least he does when he’s here. He comes and goes a lot.’

‘He doesn’t seem to be here now. Any idea when he’ll be back?’

‘Sorry.’ Lauren was beginning to fidget. ‘He’s been gone a while, visiting family I think he said.’

‘If I leave you a number, would you call me when he gets back?’

‘If you like. Shall I tell him—?’

‘No. We’re old mates and I want to surprise him. If you could just let me know that would be great.’ Mariner left his name and mobile number on a scrap of paper.

From the probation offices Mariner got back to the CPS only a few minutes late, to be told by a different clerk that they were awaiting information from colleagues in Tirana. ‘How long are you in London for?’ he asked Mariner.

‘A couple of days.’

‘I can do some chasing up again for you this afternoon and see where we stand,’ he offered. ‘Then I can give you a written summary to take away with you. Can you come back in sometime tomorrow?’

‘No problem,’ said Mariner.

 

There was a good chance that Rupert Foster-Young wouldn’t appear before Mariner returned home, so the next place on his list, covering all the options, was St Dunstan’s Roman Catholic Church. Set in lawned grounds at the end of a residential street, the church was a modern light-bricked building, with a sharply angular asymmetrical tower at one end, and a wall entirely made up of stained-glass depiction of the parable of the loaves and fishes. A handful of individuals were bowed in private prayer in the sleek, pine pews, but a verger directed Mariner to the office-like vestry where Father Balfour was behind his desk. ‘None of us escapes the paperwork these days,’ he said apologetically, inviting Mariner to sit. Norman Balfour did still look remarkably youthful for his age, with a round shiny face and thick head of hair, liberally streaked with grey. A little fuller in the face, he’d hardly changed since the wedding photos. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to talk about old times.’

‘Did you indeed? And who, may I ask, are you?’

Mariner sensed a straight-talker, so took a chance. ‘I’m Sir Geoffrey Ryland’s son.’

‘Dear God in heaven. Are you sure?’ Balfour recovered a little. ‘Forgive me. That was not the most tactful thing to say, but you’ll know that it’s rather a surprise.’

‘I understand.’ Mariner smiled. ‘I haven’t had the DNA results yet, but I’m as certain as I can be.’

Balfour was studying him. It was a look Mariner was becoming accustomed to. ‘Well, well, the young Thomas. Haven’t you turned out to be a strapping lad?’

‘So you knew about me, too.’

‘Oh yes. It’s uncanny. You look so much like him.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘You’re in the police force, aren’t you?’

‘West Midlands.’

‘And is this official business?’

‘Not exactly. I’m trying to find out more about my father. I wondered if you could tell me about Carrie Foster-Young. ’

‘Carrie?’ Balfour sighed. ‘Poor Carrie. She and Geoff were engaged at one time, but he broke it off when he found out she was pregnant.’

Allelujah. And two strikes against his father.

‘She hadn’t told him?’

‘Of course not, she knew he’d been through it before.’ Balfour looked mildly embarrassed. ‘With you.’

Mariner’s heart had begun to pound. ‘But he was the father?’

‘No. That was the whole point. Monogamy wasn’t Carrie’s forte. At the time she was going out with Geoff, Carrie slept around.’

‘She was having an affair? Who with?’

‘It’s not something I’m proud of.’ Balfour lowered his gaze to the untidy desk. ‘And neither would I dignify a couple of opportunistic leg-overs by calling them an affair.’ He glanced up at Mariner. ‘Don’t look so startled. I’m the original prodigal son. Celibacy may be a requirement of this job, but it wasn’t always a requirement for me. Those were hedonistic days. But I don’t kid myself that I was the only one. Carrie wasn’t choosy, she slept with anyone. I thought it the duty of a good friend to warn Geoffrey about it before he made a commitment.’

‘So you told him about her pregnancy?’

‘I felt he had a right to know.’

‘But how could anyone be sure that the child wasn’t his?’

‘Geoff and Carrie had never consummated the relationship. Having already got your mother into trouble when he was a student, Geoff was pretty determined not to make that mistake again, especially as he was about to try and get himself elected.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘What he said made absolute sense. It may have been the first time in history that women had effective contraception, but they also had control over whether they felt like using it. He knew how unreliable Carrie could be, so the only way of being sure was to exercise some restraint until after they were married. She apparently agreed, then got her kicks sleeping around with just about everybody else. It was a shock when Geoff found out.’

‘Is that why they split up?’

‘Theirs was always a volatile relationship.’

‘And Sir Geoffrey married Diana Fitzgibbon.’

‘Rebound with a vengeance? Partly I suppose. Diana was about as far from Carrie as you could imagine. While the rest of us were out enjoying the new permissiveness, Diana was at home doing her flower arranging.’

‘One extreme to the other.’

‘Not as strange as it might seem, given Geoff’s aspirations. ’

‘Diana was a good career move,’ Mariner said.

‘You make it sound calculated. There was more to it than that. It’s true, Diana was from the right kind of family, but she and Geoff also had a lot in common and there was a genuine connection between them. You only had to see them together. Diana was a very fragile sort. When I introduced her to Geoff she’d been away recuperating from a kind of breakdown. Geoff took her under his wing, as I knew he would. They just seemed to click straightaway. I suppose they each had something that the other needed. Isn’t that often how it works?’

Like Knox and Selina, Mariner thought. ‘You introduced them?’ he asked.

Balfour held up his hands, palms forward. ‘Guilty as charged, Officer. Diana’s family has been friends with mine for years. I was taking her out to dinner one evening. The thing with Geoff and Carrie had just blown up so I asked Geoff to come along. Diana had been through the mill and needed someone solid and dependable, and Geoff responded to that.’

‘Carrie must have been upset.’

‘Furious, I’d say. One thing worse than a woman scorned; a pregnant woman scorned.’