Risky Business Read online

  I looked at her without saying anything. She was Kendall’s daughter. Of course she’d think that.

  “Besides,” she added passionately, “like I said before, whatever else he is, he’s no killer. Whoever did it was in a real frenzy, and that absolutely isn’t my dad. He didn’t even raise a hand to us girls when we were small, no matter how much we played up.”

  Cleo crossed her arms as though defying me to argue with her. I didn’t because she wasn’t telling me anything that hadn’t occurred to me at the time. That was one of the reasons why I recalled it so well. The other was Detective Inspector Jillian Slater, who led the investigation. Slater was a graduate fast-tracked into a position she didn’t have the experience to handle and so she threw her weight about to counter her inefficiencies. She’d insisted upon going for a prosecution, not seeming to care that they might have the wrong man. A successful murder conviction to her name so soon after being promoted would work wonders for her career. It put everyone’s backs up and made her universally unpopular with the troops. She hadn’t seemed to give a toss.

  “Why are you bringing this up now, Cleo?” I leaned back in my chair and crossed one foot over the opposite knee. “And why with me?”

  “Because Dad said you were always straight with him.” She met my gaze and held it. “He also told me that he suspected you thought he’d been set up.”

  “I don’t know where he got that idea.” I lifted my shoulders and took a swallow of beer. “And even if it’s true, there’s nothing I can do about it now. If you want to get the case reopened, you’ll have to do it through his brief.”

  “Hang on, I haven’t answered the second part of your question yet. Why I’m bringing this up now.”

  I said nothing. I wouldn’t be rid of her until she’d said all she’d come to say.

  “Mum was suffering from degenerative heart disease at the time of the trial.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. The strain of the trial can’t have done much for her health.”

  “No, and nor did surviving on NHS care.” She shuddered at some private memory. “But when Dad was convicted, she was moved to a swanky private clinic. I never knew who picked up the tab but I assumed—”

  “You assumed your father had taken the fall for Spelling’s murder on the understanding that your mother would be looked after.”

  “Well, what would you think?”

  “The same as you, I suppose. Did you ask your father about it?”

  “Yes, but he clammed up tighter than a drum on the subject.” She shrugged. “Said he had no idea but I knew he was lying.”

  Boredom was setting in. There was nothing I could do to help Cleo. Not that she’d got round to telling me what help she wanted yet but I could guess.

  “Mum died a few months ago,” she said, as though sensing my impatience.

  Ah, I see. “I’m sorry. I lost my mother when I was still a teenager, so I know that can be hard.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was a concert pianist.” I shrugged. “I might have had a career in music too but—”

  “But you had a change of heart after she died.” Her smile was full of sympathy. “Can’t say as I blame you.”

  “It was a long time ago now.”

  “It was a merciful release really, for my mum, I mean,” she said, clearly sensing that I didn’t want to say anything else about my mother’s untimely demise. “But the thing is, her final bills were never settled and it’s taken every penny of my savings to clear them.”

  “You don’t have anyone else to help you out?”

  She snorted. “A sister married to a stockbroker and living the high life. The amount involved wouldn’t have made a dent in her dress allowance, but she hasn’t wanted to know about any of us since she married so well. She knew about the bills but didn’t offer to pay them and I wouldn’t take it from the stuck-up cow anyway.” She pulled a face. “Her own mother and she didn’t even see her for the last two years of her life.”

  “So let me guess. Your mother’s gone and the people you think your father did a deal with reneged on their promise to look after her. You don’t see why your father should continue to rot in jail for a crime he didn’t commit and you want me to help you get him out.”

  “Oh, Charlie.” Her dazzling smile told me I’d worded that all wrong. “I knew I could rely on your help.”

  “Well, actually you can’t because, like I already said, there’s nothing I can do. Just get your dad to admit that he did it and then they’ll let him out.” I looked away, concentrating instead on my beer.

  “That’s what he ought to do but he flat-out refuses.”

  “Then I don’t see how I can help.”

  “He’s not well, and I don’t want him to serve out his days in that rat hole when he doesn’t deserve to be there. Besides, I want to know for my own peace of mind what went on. Who picked up Mum’s bills, and why was I forced to use up my savings when they had a change of heart?”

  “In your position I’d feel much the same. I can appreciate how frustrating this is for you, but even if I was still in the force there’s nothing I’d be able to do. As it is, well…” My words trailed off. She was a smart girl. She could fill in the blanks without me labouring the point.

  “You’re right, of course,” she said, sighing and collecting her bag. “Still, it was worth a try.” She stood up. “Thanks for listening, Charlie.”

  I’d been in this situation before. An attractive woman wanted my help with an old case and when I didn’t volunteer it, she deployed her feminine wiles to get me on her side. I’d been expecting Cleo to do the same thing but it obviously hadn’t crossed her mind. Now that I thought about it, she hadn’t even attempted to flirt with me. Perhaps that dented my male ego. Whatever, it was her straightforward approach that piqued my interest. That and the fact that I’d always suspected her father had been set up. I admired his stubborn determination not to make life easier for himself and confess to something he hadn’t done, but Cleo had just lost one parent. She deserved to have the other one restored to her if he really was innocent.

  “Even if you want to help your dad,” I said, motioning her back to her seat, “it’ll be next to impossible unless he’s prepared to tell you who was behind the betting scam.”

  “And I don’t suppose he will. He still thinks I need protecting from all that,” she said glumly. “But he’d probably tell you.”

  “That won’t happen. If I go to Belmarsh, whoever he’s scared of will know about it before the visit’s over. You know what the prison grapevine’s like.”

  “Leakier than that restaurant,” she suggested, nodding toward the dilapidated floating Chinese directly outside the window.

  “Exactly. Look, I won’t pretend I can do anything to sort this out…”

  “But?” she prompted when I paused.

  I sighed. “But, if you go and see your dad, tell him you’ve spoken to me. There are a few things I need to know if he wants my help. We’ll see what he has to say and take it from there.”

  Her face lit up, elevating her from averagely pretty to knockout status. “Thanks, Charlie, I’ll go next week. I usually only visit once a month but I don’t want to wait another three weeks. You might come to your senses and change your mind if I leave it that long,” she added, grinning. “What do you want me to ask him?”

  I gave her a list of questions off the top of my head. She made no notes but I got the impression she was unlikely to forget anything. Unless my ability to read people had lost its edge, there was intelligence and fierce determination beneath that prickly exterior.

  “Oh, and don’t worry about being paid for your services. I’ll get some money from somewhere. My sister will cough up if it means her father will no longer be labelled a murderer.”

  “We’ll worry
about that if I decide there’s anything I can do for you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I gave her my mobile number and we parted at the doors to the pub. I returned to the No Comment, my floating home and pride and joy. I’d inherited the fifty-foot trawler from my uncle and taken up residence on board when I quit my job with the police.

  I received a rapturous welcome from Gil, my larger-than-life, soft-centred mongrel, who shared my bachelor abode.

  “Okay, mate,” I told him. “I know it’s past time for your afternoon run.”

  I picked up his leash and let him out of the salon door. He leapt straight onto the pontoon, wagging like crazy as he turned in tight circles, somehow managing not to fall off the narrow slipway. He lifted his leg against the closest shore power box and I could almost hear him sighing with relief as he took an elongated pee.

  We strolled along our favourite part of the shingle beach to the north of the marina but I didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling upon my bizarre conversation with Cleo. Unless her father was prepared to rat out his partners in crime, nothing would come of it. Instead I concentrated on the week ahead. It was half-term and I was taking my son Harry to visit his grandfather in Yorkshire. It was a confrontation that was long overdue and I wasn’t looking forward to it one little bit.

  Chapter Two

  Harry squirmed about in his seat, asking me every half hour if we were there yet. Well, at least one of us seemed happy to be making this trip. I answered his barrage of questions in the way adults do when talking to kids, being selectively honest yet still able to think about other things.

  We broke the journey in Sleaford and reached the bed-and-breakfast that Dad and his second wife Brenda run late the following afternoon. On the outskirts of Scarborough, high up in the Yorkshire moors, the rugged location was isolated in the winter. Undeterred, they’d settled into the local community and made a success of a business that was popular with hikers in the summer months. Immersing themselves in village life had earned them the grudging respect of the locals who were notoriously slow to place their trust in newcomers.

  At least that was what I’d been led to believe from my spasmodic telephone conversations with my father. So I had trouble hiding my reaction when I pulled up outside the farmhouse. To say it was dilapidated didn’t come close. The sign advertising its existence swung drunkenly from one hinge, which squeaked in the strong northerly wind. In fact the whole place looked as though it was on the verge of returning to nature. The thick stone walls were covered with green mould on the outside, and the window frames clearly hadn’t seen a coat of paint for years. There were broken gutters, slates missing from the roof, and even a couple of smashed windows that had simply been boarded over and obviously forgotten about.

  “Bloody hell!” I muttered.

  Harry, unhampered by the shock that rendered me temporarily motionless, leapt from the car, Gil at his heels. Both of them had energy to burn after hours of being cooped up in the car. Harry ran towards his grandfather, waving and smiling good-naturedly, almost tripping over his own feet in his clumsy haste.

  “Granddad, we’re here!”

  “So I see, son.”

  I was interested to see how my father would greet his only grandchild. He hadn’t seen him for over three years but I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t even touch him. With a half smile he made some inane comment about him having grown since they’d last met and left it at that. His lukewarm response to Harry’s sunny greeting annoyed me. I took my time getting out of the car and walked slowly towards my father, tamping down my irritation. I didn’t want our first words to be spoken in anger.

  His expression was unreadable as I extended my hand, and he hesitated for a fraction too long before shaking it. As he did so I took my turn to examine him. I felt a surge of affection and with it guilt for some of the thoughts about him that had run through my head on the journey up here. More guilt for not having seen him for so long.

  My father was well into his seventies now and not ageing well. His hair, once as thick and curly as Harry’s and mine, was now straggly and thinning on top. His face was deeply etched with lines, his eyes faded and tired-looking. But it was the difference in his physique that troubled me the most. He must have lost at least four stone since we’d last met and he hadn’t exactly been overweight then. His clothes hung off his frame as though they were using it as a hanger, and when his trousers flapped against his legs I could see how spindly they actually were. His shoulders seemed to have developed a permanent stoop and he moved as though every bone in his body protested at the pressure being placed on it. We used to be the same height but I now towered over him.

  I wondered if he was ill and hadn’t told me or whether his condition was simply attributable to the passage of time. If he was unwell, it would account for the downturn in the property but it wasn’t something I could ask him about straightaway.

  “Dad, how are you?” His hand was skin and bone in mine and I was careful to shake it gently.

  “Fine, Charlie, and yourself?”

  “Never better.”

  “Good journey?”

  I shrugged. “Well, motorways, you know.”

  We seemed to have run out of things to say to one another already. This wasn’t a good start. There was no sign of Brenda so I filled the awkward silence that threatened by hauling our bags out of the boot, and headed toward the house with them. Dad didn’t offer to help. The inside of the farmhouse was in a similar condition to the rest of the place, the large kitchen cold and untidy with a thin film of grease clinging to every surface. Dirty plates were piled high in the sink. There was no way this place could still be a going concern. The Health and Safety bods would have apoplexy if they clapped eyes on it and close it down immediately.

  “Not open for the season yet?” I asked him.

  “We haven’t been open for several years now.”

  I allowed my surprise to show. “You never said.”

  “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  Well, that told me. I was standing at the kitchen window watching Harry and Gil charging to the bottom of the large and unkempt garden. Harry was throwing stones into the gushing stream and Gil was splashing about in it, flapping his tail and enthusiastically trying to retrieve them.

  “What made you pack it in?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not enough trade to make it worth all the hassle of keeping it up to the required standards.”

  I could relate to that, bureaucracy being what it is nowadays, and nodded sympathetically. “Well, I guess you’ve both earned your retirement.”

  “We’ve not closed through choice, if that’s what you’re thinking. We still need to earn a crust.”

  “But…” I closed my big mouth at the last minute. I was about to remind him that the life insurance had paid out over a quarter of a million quid when Mum was killed. It also paid off the mortgage on the detached house they’d owned, which he’d sold at the top of the market. I couldn’t help wondering where all that dosh had gone. It sure as hell hadn’t been invested in this place, but now wasn’t the time to get on to the thorny subject of money.

  “So, what do you do now?” I forced an upbeat note into my voice as I put the kettle on. Dad obviously wasn’t going to offer me anything to drink so I helped myself.

  “Not a lot.” He slumped into a chair beside the open range, remembering to remove newspapers, a pair of spectacles held together with masking tape, and the remains of what appeared to be a curled-up cheese sandwich just before his buttocks hit the cushions. “Brenda plays in a local quintet, which brings in a bit of extra. That’s where she is now, at rehearsals. Apart from that we rely on our pensions and just about make ends meet.”

  I thought of the property and cash I’d recently inherited from Jarvis, who’d been my mother’s manager, and felt guilty f
or not offering to share it with Dad. But it wasn’t too late. I’d been wondering what to do with it. The house would be sold eventually because I liked living on the boat and had no intention of being drawn back into a conventional lifestyle. A friend of mine, Kara Webb, was currently living in the house with her nephew and niece, but she was making noises about buying her own place.

  I dunked a tea bag in a mug, added milk and sugar, gave it a quick stir and handed the resulting brew to my father. He grunted something unintelligible, which I took to be thanks. For myself a hefty spoonful of instant coffee with hot water poured over it was all it took.

  With no further displacement activities to delay the moment, I sat in the chair opposite Dad’s and searched about for something to say. “Harry’s been excited about coming up. He’s been going on about it for weeks.”

  “Oh yes?” He quirked a bushy brow. “I thought kids only wanted to go to Disney World nowadays.”

  “He does that with his mother.”

  “How is Emily?”

  “She’s well and happy with her new husband.”

  “You shouldn’t have let her go, Charlie. She was good for you.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  I let the conversation die. I hadn’t been here ten minutes and already we were on to contentious issues, so I was glad when the door opened and Brenda came in. I’d never liked my stepmother much and knew the feeling was mutual. She was about ten years younger than Dad and had once been good-looking. She appeared to have gained the four stone Dad had lost and was bundled up in a weird assortment of clothing. A bright red jumper beneath a baggy shocking-pink cardigan and a shapeless long skirt in faded shades of mauve.

  I stood to give her the obligatory peck on the cheek and we spent a few minutes exchanging trite pleasantries. To her credit she made more of an effort to pretend pleasure at seeing me than Dad had done. She was good with Harry too, asking him about school, what he was doing for the rest of the holidays and about Chelsea’s chances of winning the Premiership. Thanks to her we got through the evening without coming to blows.