Fall From Grace Read online

  ‘You could’ve easily been killed yourself, Mr. Foster,’ said Joe.

  No, thought Paul. He knew one thing for certain. Jake would never have killed him. But then again, how could he be so sure? He never thought he’d ever kill anyone else unless it was on the battlefield of war.

  ‘I suppose I could’ve been,’ said Paul, ‘but thankfully, I wasn’t.’

  ‘However, Mr. Foster,’ said Steve, ‘a man was murdered in your presence last night even though you say you couldn’t see anything. That is right, isn’t it? You didn’t see anything?’

  ‘As I said to your uniformed colleagues, Detective, the bag was kept over my head the entire time. I saw nothing. I didn’t even know where the hell I was.’

  ‘But are you sure you didn’t recognise the voice of the third man there?’

  ‘Yes, detective,’ said Paul. ‘I’m quite sure I didn’t recognise it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mr. Foster, we only know of one man who worked for Glenn Barber on a regular basis,’ said Steve, who got the feeling that Paul Foster knew a lot more than he was letting on, ‘his name is Jake Thornton.’

  ‘Is that name familiar to you, Mr. Foster?’ Joe asked.

  ‘No, detective,’ said Paul, feeling very uncomfortable about the lies he was telling. He hated himself. He hated Jake too at that moment. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can add to what I’ve already told you.’

  *

  Lady Eleanor had some decisions to make following the news of Glenn Barber’s death that had come to her on that morning’s Granada Reports.

  ‘New arrangements will have to be made,’ she said as Dieter sat beside her holding her hand, ‘I’m putting you in charge of things now, Colin.’

  Colin Bradley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In the past he had run errands for her that would’ve put him in a court of law if he’d been found out and he’d even beaten people up for her when her usual associates were busy. But this was moving things up quite a notch and he didn’t think he could do it.

  ‘Hey now, wait a minute…’

  ‘…Colin, there simply is nobody else,’ Eleanor insisted. ‘You know the addresses, you know all the clients and you know all about the financial side of things. I’d say you were perfect to step into Barber’s shoes.’

  ‘Lady Eleanor, I’ve got a wife and two children, I’m trained as a butler and now as head of your household I think I do a good job. I know I’ve done some things for you in the past but I didn’t sign on to become involved in murder.’

  ‘Colin, you’re up to your neck in it already,’ said Eleanor. ‘All it would take is one phone call and I’d be able to summon up a team of gentlemen who would be anything but gentle in their methods of persuasion. Now I don’t want to have to do that to you, Colin. You’ve been a loyal servant. But I will resort to those tactics if I’m pushed.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Or maybe I could have something happen to your wife or one of your children?’

  ‘You leave them out of it!’

  ‘That’s it, Colin,’ said Eleanor, ‘some well placed anger is such a good thing. We bottle too much up.’

  Colin Bradley wished he was anyone but himself at that moment. He had no doubt that this twisted old bitch would carry out her threat if he didn’t comply with what she wanted. Anybody who’d ever crossed her had paid the price for it, usually with their life. He couldn’t risk anything happening to Monica or the boys. He’d never be able to live with himself. He wished he had enough money for him to take them off somewhere Lady Eleanor couldn’t find them but he didn’t. And she knew that. How the hell did he get in this state? One too many credit cards, repayments on a loan on top of two others that stretched the finances so much every month that he was nervous all the bills would be paid. Now he was going to end up in hock to this evil witch and her Nazi. There had to be some way out but he was damned if he could find it.

  ‘I will give you all the necessary details with regard to who you need to collect the payments off,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’ll arrange for you to have some muscle with you when you do. But to reduce the risk of anyone finding out about our other operation, I’m going to have to ask you to consider murder a solitary act.’

  ‘It’s really not that difficult, Colin,’ said Dieter. ‘Once you’ve done it once you can do it time and again without any thought at all.’

  You might’ve been able to, thought Colin. But I’m not you. He felt sick.

  ‘Now Colin, you’ll be making a lot of cold, hard cash by agreeing to what I ask and you could be spending it on that wife and family of yours. Can I take it you’re in, Colin?’

  ‘I don’t think I have much of a choice, Lady Eleanor.’

  ‘I’m glad you’ve been sensible,’ said Eleanor. ‘Now if you go to the property you’ll find a girl called Michaela Cowley. She earned us a lot of money in the short time she’s been with us but now she’s outlived her usefulness and needs to be dealt with. She’ll be your first, Colin and seeing as it’s your first time, I’ll give you a week to get the job done.’

  ‘Or else?’

  ‘I think I’ve already spelt out my terms in as clear a way as I can.’

  ‘Come and see me when you’ve finished your shift here, Colin,’ said Dieter. ‘I’ll show you a particularly effective strangulation technique. It’s been a while since I practised it but it’s like riding a bike. You never lose the touch.’

  It must’ve been the look on Colin’s face that provoked a reaction from Lady Eleanor.

  ‘Colin, I’m inviting you to sit at the top table.’

  ‘You’re inviting me to commit murder,’ said Colin, ‘and you’re not even inviting me.’

  ‘Oh well of course you could say no and there’d be no hard feelings.’

  Colin knew this must be some kind of trap. ‘That’s not what you hinted at before.’

  ‘Well if you do agree to work with us then I’ll have no need to tell your wife about your affair with the barmaid of your local pub,’ said Eleanor. ‘What’s her name? Cheryl, isn’t it? We’ve got pictures and I think she looks rather common compared to your wife Monica, but who am I to judge?’

  ‘Alright!’ Colin snapped. ‘I’ll do it. Just don’t tell Monica about me and Cheryl. Please, don’t ever do that.’

  ‘Then listen to instructions and listen good,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m not good at repetition.’

  *

  Tim and Sara had settled into a kind of suspended animosity of late. They weren’t exactly bosom buddies but they weren’t barely concealing their mutual contempt whenever they were together either. Both of them knew that the rest of the squad had noticed and that was the point when they’d had to get a grip on the situation, doing whatever they could to put their personal feelings aside.

  They’d been through the employee records of Gatley Hall going back to the early 1970’s. Out of the many names they could’ve started with they decided the most obvious choice was the man who’d been head of household for Lady Eleanor at the time of her husband’s murder and her daughter’s disappearance. He lived in Stockport and they drove over to see if he’d be able to shed some light on the identity of Clarissa Harding’s mysterious boyfriend.

  ‘I could’ve taken Joe with me on this,’ said Sara who was driving, ‘but I thought it would be good for us to do it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Tim, it’s been like there’s the Atlantic Ocean between us,’ said Sara.

  ‘Do you really think I’d have turned my back on you and our child?’

  ‘Oh here we go, you see this is why we should’ve given it longer.’

  ‘Well forgive me for not being able to let go of the fact that you didn’t tell me you were expecting my baby.’

  Sara took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ I’m sorry. But I did explain my reasons.’

  ‘You did,’ said Tim, ‘I’m just struggling to come to terms with them. I was the father. I should’ve had a say. It wasn’t all down to you.’

>   ‘And I’m sorry for that now, Tim,’ said Sara. ‘I truly am.’

  ‘And I’m sorry for the things I said to you the other day,’ said Tim. ‘I was pretty harsh.’

  ‘It was a bit much, Tim,’ said Sara, ‘but I didn’t consider how you’d feel about the baby and perhaps I deserved it.’

  ‘Can we try and move on?’

  ‘I’m willing to give it a go,’ said Sara, relieved that the conversation was going this way.

  ‘I suppose it hit me harder because Helen and I have been trying for a baby for the last two years,’ said Tim, ‘she wants us to go for tests.’

  ‘And now you know there’s nothing wrong with you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Tim, ‘and I don’t know if I should front up or go through with the tests and wait for the results to give her the answers. I’m between a rock and a hard place, you see. Either way she’s going to be hurt.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Tim,’ said Sara.

  ‘Yeah, me too.’

  They waited almost a minute after they’d rung the doorbell before the door was opened. The man standing in front of them was tall, well over six foot and he had a mop of neatly combed white hair parted on his left hand side. He was neatly dressed in a shirt and tie, sharply pressed trousers and shiny black shoes. He was from another generation that believed in always looking your best and he reminded Sara of her dear old Granddad who she still missed even five years after he’d passed away.

  ‘Leonid Sulkov?’ Tim asked as he and Sara held up their warrant cards.

  ‘Who is it who wants to know?’ asked Leonid.

  ‘I’m DCI Norris and this is DI Hoyland, sir,’ said Tim, noting Leonid’s soft but unmistakable East European accent. ‘Greater Manchester Police. We’re re-opening an investigation into the death of Ronald Harding at Gatley Hall and the disappearance of Clarissa Harding, Lady Eleanor’s daughter. You were Lady Eleanor’s head of household at the time and we wondered if you could help us?’

  ‘It was a long time ago,’ said Leonid, ‘but there’s a lot I can tell you. Please come in.’

  Tim and Sara looked at each other before following Leonid into his council semi and through to the living room. He gestured for them to sit down.

  ‘Can I make you some tea?’ Leonid offered.

  ‘No, we’re okay,’ said Sara, ‘but thank you.’

  The first thing Sara noticed was that there were no photographs on display anywhere. Usually, even people who’d had a fairly lonely time of it had a photograph of someone to show off. Her parents used to have a neighbour called Elsie. She was a widow and she hadn’t seen her only son Trevor and his family for years since they’d emigrated to Australia. But she still had a photo of them in a nice frame. Shame they didn’t get to see how proud she was of them. They hadn’t been home in the twelve years since they left but when she died they came over to ‘sort out the house’ and claim their inheritance. Of course they’d never been able to afford to come over whilst she was alive. But as soon as she’d gone they somehow found the money for the airfare. Funny that Sara had thought. But Leonid had nobody to keep their beady eyes on him and Sara wondered why that was. The room was functional. It had furniture, a TV set in the corner. But it was all cold. Everything was in dark colours except for the walls which were painted a plain off-white.

  ‘So Mr. Sulkov,’ Sara began, ‘can you just confirm to us when you worked at Gatley Hall for Lady Eleanor?’

  ‘Yes, I started there in late 1945, shortly after I arrived in England.’

  ‘Where did you come from?’ asked Sara.

  ‘The war,’ said Leonid, simply ‘but originally from Ukraine.’

  ‘And you left Lady Eleanor’s employment in 1974?’ asked Tim.

  ‘That is correct,’ said Leonid, ‘right after the unfortunate incidents involving Lady Eleanor’s husband and daughter.’

  ‘But you’d been with Lady Eleanor a very long time, sir,’ said Tim. ‘Something pretty drastic must’ve happened to question your loyalty to that extent?’

  ‘Did you witness the death of Ronald and disappearance of Clarissa Harding, sir?’ said Sara.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you told detectives at the time that you didn’t,’ said Sara. ‘You told them that you’d been in a different part of the house and that the only thing you were aware of, was that a row had been going on and you heard a gunshot.’

  ‘I lied,’ said Leonid.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To protect my friend.’

  ‘Who was your friend, Mr. Sulkov?’ asked Tim.

  ‘His name was Ed Foster’ said Leonid.

  ‘And why did you need to protect him?’

  ‘Because he shot Ronald Harding.’

  ‘But Lady Eleanor said that her daughter Clarissa shot him?’

  ‘Well she lied,’ said Leonid. ‘Ed Foster shot Ronald Harding. I watched him do it. He was a fool but he was in love and nothing could’ve stopped him.’

  On the way back to the station, Sara received a call telling her that DNA found on the body of Shona Higgins pointed to Glenn Barber having murdered her.

  *

  Kelly and Lydia drove over to Blackpool to see Paul’s Dad and were both shocked to see the deterioration in him since the last time they’d been.

  ‘Hello,’ smiled Ed, ‘it’s lovely to see you two.’

  The girls went either side of Ed and each took one of his hands in theirs. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Kelly.

  ‘Better for seeing you two.’

  ‘We bet you say that to all the girls,’ said Lydia.

  ‘No,’ said Ed, attempting a smile. ‘Only to my special ones.’

  ‘We’re special, then?’

  ‘Always have been’

  Paul’s mother always made herself scarce when any of Paul’s friends came to see his father. They always looked at her as if she was guilty of the most heinous of crimes and of course, as far as Paul was concerned, she was. Kelly and Lydia especially gave her the evils and so she made tea for them and then said she was heading for the shops.

  ‘How’s our Paul doing?’ asked Ed.

  ‘He’s alright, Ed,’ said Kelly. They’d decided to abide by Paul’s wishes and not tell his father about how he’d been beaten up and by whom. The bruises on his face wouldn’t be visible in a day or so and then he’d be back to see his Dad. But the girls were worried. Kelly especially was furious with Paul for not telling the police that it was Jake who’d beaten him up and shot Barber. She didn’t mourn the loss of a lowlife like Barber. But she feared what Jake might do on the run and the danger that could put Paul in.

  ‘He’s worried about everybody just like he always is, Ed,’ said Lydia.

  ‘He showed us that watch you gave him,’ said Kelly. ‘It’s stunning.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ed. ‘It always was.’

  ‘So come on then, Ed?’ said Lydia, teasingly. ‘Tell us about the girl who gave it to you.’

  ‘She was Paul’s mother.’

  Kelly and Lydia’s jaws dropped.

  ‘His what?’ asked Kelly.

  ‘Two years into my marriage to Mary I had an affair with a woman called Clarissa,’ said Ed who was so glad to be relieving himself of this terrible burden he’d been carrying around all these years. ‘We had Paul but Clarissa died and I came back to Mary with Paul who was only a tiny baby at the time.’

  ‘I take it Paul knows nothing of this?’ said Lydia, shocked at what she was hearing.

  ‘No,’ said Ed who then asked Kelly to take an envelope out of his bedside drawer.

  ‘It’s got Paul’s name on it,’ said Kelly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ed, ‘when I first became ill I wrote the whole story down in a letter to Paul and I want the two of you to keep it until after I’ve gone. Then you can give it to him.’

  ‘Oh Ed, sweetheart,’ said Lydia. ‘Paul’s our friend. I don’t know if we can do this.’

  ‘I’m a dying man, Lydia,’ said Ed. ‘Surely you can’t deny me a dying wish?’r />
  ‘Well when you put it like that, Ed,’ said Kelly, squeezing his hand affectionately.

  ‘I haven’t got the strength to deal with it all now, Kelly,’ said Ed. ‘It’s all explained in the letter. When the time comes just tell him that I love him and that I never meant for there to be any trouble.’

  The girls watched a tear run down Ed’s face.

  ‘And tell him that, despite what he might think after he’s read the letter, I did what I thought was best. His mother meant life itself to me and I’ve never forgotten her.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Now,’ said Leonid, ‘I will need to put the events of that night into context for you or else you will not be able to comprehend.’

  Sara always wondered why it was that foreigners could often sound so much more eloquent in English than many of her fellow countrymen and women.

  ‘Please do, sir,’ said Tim.

  ‘Ed Foster was a prominent member of the British fascist movement right throughout the sixties and into the seventies,’ said Leonid. ‘Oh he never did anything violent but like the political wings of various paramilitary groups today, he knew who the perpetrators of violence on behalf of the cause were, and on some occasions he provided the okay for such actions. But he was always there when the movement demonstrated in the streets, usually to protest against a coloured family moving into a street or a neighbourhood becoming overrun with such types of people. The movement went into the white community that were afraid of such influxes and stirred up trouble. They gave them the bullets to fire, Detectives, figuratively speaking of course. They put fire into the will of all the local white thugs.’