A Moment Of Madness

Twenty-three

Eventually even the Chief Constable agreed that the murder charge against Kelly had to be dropped in view of the fresh evidence. He didn’t like it, though.

‘Basically, Karen, you’re telling me now we haven’t got enough on Kelly, even with his confession, and yet we haven’t got anyone else realistically in the frame either,’ he told the DCI irritably.

Karen, summoned yet again to Harry Tomlinson’s office at headquarters in Exeter, forced herself to remain cool.

‘We now have the murder weapon, there’s little doubt about that, sir,’ she began. ‘Kelly confessed to attacking Angel Silver but he absolutely denies using any kind of weapon. The PPS reckon there are too many grey areas and that any defence brief worth his salt would have a field day with the weapon line. It was found in Ken James’s van, and Ken James had motive in spades. He has made no secret of the bitter grudge he holds against Angel. Manslaughter or murder, it’s never made much difference to Ken. Angel killed his brother. Circumstantial stuff, I know, but the PPS reckon we’ve little or no chance of getting the charge against Kelly to stick.

‘His solicitor has already told me that he has advised Kelly to plead not guilty, in spite of his confession, and I’ve no doubt he’ll just do that. Kelly confessed on the spur of the moment because he was frightened and confused. And we all know how those kind of confessions go down in court. He’ll have plenty of time to think things through, too, before his case comes up at Crown Court, and his brief’s going to be able to drive a truck through our case. That’s what the PPS say, anyway.’

Harry Tomlinson grunted. ‘But we don’t have any chance of getting a charge against James to stick either,’ he responded.

‘Well, no, certainly not as long as Ken James is unconscious.’

‘And if he comes round? You reckon he’d confess?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir,’ said Karen non-committally, although she actually thought it was about as likely as James emerging from his coma and announcing he wanted to join the Salvation Army.

‘So, we’ve no result, nor likely to get one, Detective Chief Inspector. Is that what you’re telling me?’

Karen winced at that dangerously formal use of her rank again. She decided to attempt the political card.

‘Not at the moment, sir. But, don’t forget, if Kelly had gone to trial all that stuff about Angel allegedly telling him she had killed both men and planned to do so would have been bound to come out. It was what caused Kelly to strike at her, after all. So we may have got a result of sorts, sir, within the force, anyway. This way that won’t happen, and the public may never know how wrong we got the original investigation.’

As she spoke Karen realised that her final remark was a mistake.

‘How wrong you got it, Detective Chief Inspector,’ snapped Tomlinson.

But then he appeared to think about the rest of what she had said.

‘Mind you, I suppose you’re right up to a point,’ he remarked eventually. ‘Some things are better kept away from public knowledge.’

Karen arrived back in Torquay just in time to see Kelly, whose reprieve had come before his planned transfer to the County Jail, off the station premises.

‘Thanks for everything, Karen,’ he said when the DCI told him he was free to go.

‘If you want to thank me, John, just stay away from me for the foreseeable future,’ Karen replied tetchily. ‘This case has come very close to bringing me down, and not least of that has been your involvement in it and our so-called friendship.’

Kelly merely shrugged an apology. ‘Don’t worry, all I want to do is keep out of trouble from now on,’ he said.

Karen sighed wearily. Well, there was a first time for everything, she supposed.

In her office she went over and over it all in her mind for the umpteenth time. The new evidence was certainly circumstantial, and there were no fingerprints on the hammer — but Karen and her team had never been very optimistic on that score. Ken James was far too streetwise to leave prints anywhere. But also the combat trousers were virtually brand new and seemed to have been worn over leggings so there was little chance of coming up with any hair or skin particles which could provide DNA confirmation that they had been worn by James.

The chief constable was right enough, she thought. Unless James confessed there was probably even less likelihood of getting a conviction against him than there would be against Kelly.

‘I’d still like to know who made that anonymous phone call, though, boss,’ remarked DS Cooper a little later.

‘And I’d like to talk to Ken James,’ responded DCI Meadows. ‘But who knows if we will ever get the chance.’

‘Even if he does come out of his coma OK, he’ll deny all knowledge,’ said the detective sergeant echoing Karen’s own thoughts on the matter. ‘I’ve never known a James confess to anything yet.’

Karen Meadows pulled a long-suffering face. ‘So unless something else new, and something bloody good, turns up again, we’ve had it, Phil,’ she said. ‘The only evidence we have against anyone is conflicting and insubstantial and we’ve got little or no chance of any sort of result, as our own dear chief constable has already pointed out to me.’

The DS muttered his agreement. Angel Silver was dead and could not in any case have been tried for Terry James’s murder, having already been cleared of his manslaughter. And there was no evidence to point to that either, nor to prove that she had murdered her husband in the way Kelly had described.

Kelly had destroyed the videotape. All Karen could do was put the case on file. Along with a pending assault case against Kelly, which would almost certainly never be proceeded with, either.

Karen was, however, not quite as unhappy as she maybe felt she should be. There was that one advantage of this lack of action against Kelly — that Angel’s confession to the reporter so shortly before her own death might well not ever come to light now. Karen supposed Kelly could still write the story, but she had a feeling it was the last thing he would want to do. Even if he did, she wondered if anyone would print it. John Kelly had been pretty well discredited, after all, particularly as far as the Silver case was concerned.

And if what Karen sincerely believed now to be the truth — that Angel Silver murdered her husband and then Terry James — was never publicly revealed, then both Karen and her chief constable would probably keep their heads after all. As she had inferred to Harry Tomlinson as directly as she had dared.

Of course, Karen would always have bet on Tomlinson keeping his head. Her own had been another matter. She’d felt sure from the moment things started to go pear-shaped that she was the most likely scapegoat.

‘But do you really think James did it, boss?’ asked DS Cooper. He still thought like a proper policeman, Karen reflected wryly. He’d never get on in the modern force.

However, all she said was, ‘I think I do, Phil.’ And she just hoped she was telling the truth. ‘Either that or there’s been some seriously elaborate frame-up. It’s James’s style, isn’t it, anyway? To be honest, I’m kicking myself. We should have searched his gaff before charging Kelly, confession or no confession. That was a mistake.’

Phil was less self-admonitory. ‘I guess so. But what with the taxi driver and everything why should we have doubted Kelly? You can’t just dismiss a confession. It all added up. Why on earth should we have doubted anything?’

The DCI grunted, unconvinced, dissatisfied with herself. ‘Check every angle. That’s always been my rule of policing. We fell down on it. Crazy thing is, I was somehow never quite convinced about John Kelly, even without the new angle, and I’m not at all sure I didn’t compensate for my own feelings of friendship towards him when I had him charged so quickly. Tomlinson was down on us, but I’ve fended him off before; I should have done so this time.’

DS Cooper shook his head. ‘You’re beating yourself up, boss. Look, we even had DNA evidence which we were damned sure from the start was going to match up. In fact, if you want to know, I reckon there still has to be doubt about Ken James. How the fuck did Kenny get in and out of Maythorpe, for a start?’

Karen shrugged. ‘They’re a bunch of Houdinis, that James lot. In any case, Terry James and God knows who else seem to have had the security code. Maybe Terry passed it on to his brother. Or maybe Ken got it from someone else.’

‘But didn’t Angel change it? She must have been advised to, surely.’

‘Who knows what that woman did. If Kelly’s theory is right, and I bet it is, she knew she wasn’t in any danger, didn’t she? And she was, in any case, a law unto herself, that one. Anyway, there’s bugger all we can do about any of it now.’

‘So it’s over, boss?’

‘I guess so, Phil,’ responded Karen Meadows. ‘Fucking frustrating, though, isn’t it?’

Later that day Karen called Rachel Hobbs. She had, after all, promised to keep Angel’s mother informed.

Rachel listened carefully as Karen gave her a précised account of events, deliberately leaving out her own feelings on the matter and, of course, everything that Kelly had told her about Angel’s confession to him.

‘So it really looks as if Ken James killed Angel simply in revenge for his brother’s death?’ Mrs Hobbs enquired.

‘That’s right.’

‘And how long is he likely to be in a coma for?’

‘Hard to say. It’s quite possible he may never come out of it, I understand.’

Karen considered again the implications of her last few words. She really was becoming more and more convinced that it would be all for the best if Ken James didn’t come round. She didn’t like herself for that, but it wasn’t only the chief constable who understood about damage limitation.

Karen’s imminent promotion to detective superintendent was still on course, she had been told, and that was a real result under the circumstances.

There was all too much in this case that nobody involved wanted to become public knowledge. Including her, she now had to admit. And she hadn’t just been spinning the chief constable a yarn when she had set him thinking that way.

Karen had once believed unfalteringly that a police officer should always seek the truth, regardless of the consequences. But the more senior she became in the force, the more she had learned to accept grim reality. All too often the discovery of truth was neither wise nor desirable.

And there were some cases it was actually preferable never to solve.

When Kelly arrived home in a police squad car Moira opened his own front door to him.

‘God, I’m glad to see you,’ he said, and he meant it.

Kelly was completely washed out. At one point he had quite convinced himself that he really was a murderer. He was now beginning to realise that, at least as far as Angel Silver’s violent death was concerned, he had merely been a victim of circumstances and of coincidence. But it took a bit of getting used to.

His own company had not been an inviting prospect.

Kelly could smell cooking in the kitchen, and he could hardly believe his luck.

He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘I know I don’t deserve this,’ he said. ‘And I certainly don’t deserve you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ said Moira.

Kelly reached out a hand tentatively and stroked her hair.

‘Love is nothing to do with what people deserve, is it?’ she continued. ‘You can’t just switch it off. I tried and it didn’t work.’

‘It certainly isn’t,’ said Kelly, reflecting on the madness of his feelings for Angel, and what it had led to.

Suddenly he leaned forward and pecked Moira on the cheek. He half expected her to resist even that, but she didn’t, although neither did she respond.

‘At least I know I’m not a murderer now,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I could have lived with that under any circumstances.

‘I really did think I’d done it, you know, Moira. I was so confused when I heard Angel was dead, and I’d been so bloody angry. My head just wasn’t working. I didn’t know what I might have done for a bit. But all I did was push her, it seems. I’m not even sure I ever hit her properly. Apparently her nose was shot to hell, that’s why it bled so quickly and so much.’

Moira didn’t know any of what Angel had told him about the night that her husband and Terry James had died, about how she had murdered both of them in cold blood. And Kelly didn’t intend to tell her. Not unless he ever thought she might learn about it from some other source.

But, like Karen Meadows, he reckoned the whole thing might stay under wraps now. And like the DCI, although for very different reasons, he thought that would be, by and large, the best thing.

Kelly’s folly was already great enough in Moira’s eyes, he was sure, as it indeed was in his own. He didn’t see the need to reveal that the woman he had been so obsessed with, the woman with whom he had so recklessly joined on the road to self-destruction, was also a double murderer.

Abruptly, Moira stepped away from him, held him at arm’s length and studied him quizzically.

‘You were a bloody fool, weren’t you?’ she remarked.

‘I certainly was,’ he agreed.

‘You do know that now, don’t you?’

‘I do. Yes.’

Moira nodded. And there was real aggression in her voice when she spoke again. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ she said. ‘Whatever you say, I wouldn’t have blamed you for killing that bitch. I could have done so myself, for two pins.’

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Kelly mildly. ‘Oh no, you couldn’t.’

But Angel Silver could kill, he thought. Just like that. He would carry the terrible truth about her around with him for the rest of his life, and it would be a burden like no other he had ever had experience of. There was another terrible truth too. He hadn’t attacked Angel because she’d told him about the murders she’d committed, as much as because of the contempt she’d shown him. He had still been in love with her in spite of everything. Maybe a bit of him always would be. He had just no longer been able to stand the way she had tormented him.

He avoided Moira’s gaze. At that moment he didn’t dare look her in the eye.

‘We’ve got a lot to talk about,’ she said, and he hoped she hadn’t been reading his mind.

‘Yes,’ said Kelly quietly. And a lot we won’t ever talk about, he thought.

‘But not now, not tonight.’

As if on cue the doorbell rang. Moira reached past Kelly and opened it. Nick stood on the doorstep, his smile more uncertain than Moira’s — but at least he was still smiling, thought Kelly.

‘Hi, Dad,’ he said.

‘It’s very good to see you,’ replied Kelly, feeling the tears well up.

‘I called Nick on his mobile as soon as I knew you were being released,’ said Moira. ‘He said he’d come straight away. But I didn’t think he’d be this quick.’

She shot Nick an affectionate glance.

‘I wasn’t so far away. I was on a business trip to Bristol. Lucky coincidence. Just wanted to welcome you home, that’s all, Dad.’

‘Luckiest thing around here is that I’ve still got you two,’ said Kelly. And he found that, at least for a while, he was able to stop thinking about the turmoil of his recent past.

‘Just hold it together this time, Dad. Keep off the hooch and any other crap that’s around, will you?’

‘Yes. I promise.’

‘And stay way from loose women too.’ Nick grinned.

Kelly was not very amused, although he managed a weak grin back. ‘I promise that as well,’ he said automatically.

But all he could think of was that neither Nick nor Moira really had a clue about his feelings for Angel and the strange power she had had over him.

He supposed it really was over now. Angel was dead, after all, and he couldn’t say he was sorry about that any more. Actually, he wasn’t sorry. In fact, in spite of the fact that he probably still loved her, he was almost glad. It was, as he had known from the moment he had first heard of her death on the TV news, the only way any of it could ever be over for him. He was also glad that he hadn’t killed her. That would have been too much to cope with.

He could rebuild his life now. He would rebuild his relationship with Moira too, if she’d let him, and every indication, somewhat miraculously, was that she would. Eventually. He would stay off the drink. And the drugs. If he’d ever harboured the notion that enough time had passed since he’d hit the bottom of the pile and that he could cope with either of them, then he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

In the morning he’d phone Joe Robertson and see if his job was still there for him. He had no idea whether it would be or not, but if there was anyone in the world who would stand by him in spite of everything, after Moira and Nick, of course, it was Joe.

Kelly was being handed another chance again. He knew it, was grateful for it, and he genuinely intended to make the most of it.

He also knew, however, that if Angel were still alive, none of that rebuilding would be possible. Because as long as she were there, somewhere, almost anywhere, Kelly would not be able to stay away. His obsession was something he still couldn’t explain, even to himself. It was not something he liked. It was not something he had ever liked much really, not something he had enjoyed most of the time. It had been completely beyond his control. Angel’s power over him had been frightening and total. He didn’t suppose he would ever have been able to overcome it. Not if she had lived.

Her death had freed him.

He put an arm round both Nick and Moira and the three of them moved together into the dining room. They were his future now. And at least Kelly realised how extraordinarily lucky he was to have any kind of future at all.

Moira had roasted a chicken, the traditional way with sage and onion stuffing.

Nick liked roast chicken. He liked Moira too, and thought, as he had so many times before, how good she was to and for his father.

He would, of course, have preferred his father to have stayed with his mother and to have been the dad he had always wanted, both in his childhood and throughout his life. But even Nick had sometimes to accept that you couldn’t have everything. He certainly didn’t resent Moira. She had arrived on the scene far too long after his father had messed up the first time round, and abandoned him and his mother, to be resented in any way. In fact, one of the reasons he liked Moira so much was that she had been instrumental in giving him back his father. Moira had kept Kelly on the straight and narrow, Moira had provided the kind of family environment that Nick had never thought his father would attain again. Nick liked that. He’d liked it a lot until Angel Silver had come along and spoiled it all.

Nick hadn’t liked it being spoiled. And he hadn’t wanted to lose the father he had so recently regained. Indeed, he had ultimately decided to make sure that he wouldn’t lose him.

People didn’t realise, thought Nick as he leaned back in his chair and watched Kelly and Moira mend bridges, just how much it meant to have a father. To be honest, he thought, he himself had been surprised by the strength of his feelings for a man he had barely known until a few years ago. A man he could have felt just the opposite about, except that John Kelly was the only father Nick had, and that mattered to Nick more than he would have thought possible.

The kind of father-son relationship that, it seemed to Nick, almost everybody else in the world had, came to him late. But he had eventually found it. And it had genuinely destroyed him to see Kelly lying in a hospital bed, bashed and battered and damn near down and out. Nick had quite a lot in common with the James clan, really. He was fiercely loyal to his family, even though, unlike the Jameses, Nick had never really had a family. However, that seemed only to make his feelings for his father more intense once he had been reunited with him.

Although it was Nick’s nature to take action when he or anything that he wanted or revered in life was threatened, he had never intended to do anything about his father’s situation except offer his support. He really hadn’t...

‘Nick, Nick.’

His father’s voice, somewhere in the distance, interrupted Nick’s thoughts.

‘Sorry, Dad. I was miles away.’

‘Could see that. Look, there’s an AA meeting in town tonight. I don’t want to go. But everyone tells me how important it is, and I reckon I ought to start how I mean to go on.’

‘Sure, Dad.’ Nick liked the sound of that, saw it as an indication of just how serious his father was this time.

‘It’s down in Union Street and I was wondering if you might drive me there. I shan’t be driving myself for a bit, as you know,’ Kelly finished wryly.

It was when they swung into Union Street, just by the magistrates’ court, that Kelly was suddenly overwhelmed with unwelcome memories.

It was there that he had watched Angel first plead not guilty to manslaughter. There that he had sat in the press bench and been overwhelmed by her beauty and her composure.

Kelly found himself staring at the old courtroom building, turning his head round for a further look at it over his shoulder.

He was aware of Nick shooting him a quick glance. They were close, father and son, surprisingly so considering how long they had been separated. Kelly was fairly sure that Nick knew what he was thinking. And he seemed to be right.

‘You are going to be able to put all this behind you, Dad, aren’t you?’ Nick asked, a note of tension evident in his voice.

‘I promise you, Nick,’ Kelly said.

Nick made no reply as he drew the Porsche to a halt a hundred yards or so further on down the street, outside the venue for the AA meeting.

Then, just as his father was getting out of the car, he asked testily, ‘For Christ’s sake, Dad, how did you come under that woman’s spell the way you did? What the hell was it?’

Kelly was taken aback. The outburst was completely unexpected.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ he answered honestly. Then he smiled. ‘She was very beautiful, you know.’

‘Beautiful?’ Nick shouted the word, his handsome features suddenly contorted. ‘She was a slag, for Christ’s sake. A filthy slag. Rich, famous, and a slag. Nose shot to hell by what she stuffed up it. Old makeup smudged all over her face and a filthy stinking old dressing gown. That was her style. That’s how she was when she died and that’s how she was when she lived.’

Abruptly Nick reached out for the car door which his father was still holding open and slammed it shut, almost trapping Kelly’s fingers.

Kelly was both disturbed and thoughtful as he watched his son roar off. He was shocked by the level of Nick’s anger, and he was also puzzled.

He didn’t think that a detailed description of the state Angel had been in when she was killed had ever been released by the police. Even the stuff about her wrecked nose wouldn’t become public knowledge until the inquest into her death, which had yet to be heard.

Kelly stood quite still on the pavement as the Porsche disappeared into the distance, concentrating very hard, forcing himself to remember everything.

Nick had even known about the grubby dressing gown Angel had been wearing when she was killed.

Kelly shook his head, partly to clear it, and partly in denial of the unthinkable.

Nick took deliberately measured long deep breaths as he drove far too fast through the town.

This would never do. He was usually so controlled. But this entire business between his father and that bloody woman had caused him to lose it more than anything else, ever.

He really would have to be more careful. Not that he regretted what he’d done, of course. Not for a moment. He just realised that he might well have said too much, and could only hope that Kelly had not taken in the significance of his angry remarks.

He stopped the car down by the seafront, deciding to wait there for the hour or so his father would be at the AA meeting, rather than return to St Marychurch, where he would be expected to talk to Moira.

It was a clear moonlit night. Nick wound down a window and gratefully drank in the cool fresh air.

It had all begun for him on the night before Angel Silver’s death, the day his father was discharged from Plumpton House. What Nick witnessed that night changed everything. Before that he really hadn’t intended to do anything.

Under the impression, like Moira, that Kelly was not being released until the next day, Nick had arrived unexpectedly at Plumpton just as Kelly was leaving. The taxi carrying his father had passed Nick as he’d pulled off the main road into the lane leading to the rehabilitation centre. Kelly had been using his mobile phone, and had not noticed his son or his distinctive car. Nick had been about to blow his horn and flash his lights, but something stopped him. He decided instead to turn the Porsche round and follow the taxi at a discreet distance.

It was already dark and Nick was good at surveillance. He had, after all, been trained in it. And somehow, he wasn’t altogether surprised when the taxi swung off the main Torquay drag into the road, past the hospital and the Argus offices, which led to Maidencombe. As Nick by then expected, the taxi had turned into Rock Lane and proceeded down the hill to Maythorpe Manor. Nick switched off his headlights and coasted into the entrance of another house just up the lane, hoping that nobody would want to come in or out. He watched his father get out of the taxi and open the electronic gates to Maythorpe, unsurprised that he seemed familiar with the appropriate combination number.

Then, during the brief time that Kelly was inside the old manor house, Nick sat and thought about exactly what he was witnessing.

Nick knew that his father was a weak man, but he blamed Angel Silver for Kelly’s fall from grace even more than Kelly himself.

And suddenly, rather in the way his father had later realised it when he heard the radio report of Angel’s death, it had struck Nick with devastating clarity that as long as Angel Silver was alive, John Kelly would never be able to extricate himself from her. He would be under her spell always. He would almost certainly start drinking and doing all manner of drugs all over again, because of her.

If that was allowed to happen then Nick would lose his father again.

It was then that he made a decision. Nick was good at decisions. And he was extremely well equipped to carry out the decision he had made.

Nick was indeed a computer expert, but of a very special kind. He was an expert at overcoming security systems, and his special talents, plus his all-round exceptional ability as a soldier, had led to him being seconded to the SAS, a regiment well suited to his nature, which was both daring and devious.

But Nick had always liked the good life, something he had inherited from his father, he thought wryly, although Kelly, of course, had had seriously to downsize his expectations in that direction.

As a lucrative sideline Nick had farmed out his knowledge, and even some of his equipment, to various freelance operations of the kind that the British army could never approve of. More often than not some dodgy mercenary outfit.

Nobody outside his regiment knew, least of all his father, but Nick’s days in the army had ended abruptly when one of his extramural activities had been discovered. Nick had not been thrown out. That would not have been good either for army morale or regimental reputation. Instead, he was discreetly asked to leave, and always being one to know when the game was up, unlike his father on most occasions, Nick had done so promptly and discreetly.

Now he just continued out of uniform what he had started while in it. He lent his expertise to almost anyone who had a security system to breach. Often, because of his army background, there was a military connection. Sometimes the operations he took part in were criminal. Nick didn’t care a lot. He loved adventure and did not understand morality very much. He knew what he wanted and how to ensure that he got it.

The striking of a clock somewhere in the town interrupted his thoughts. Nick checked his watch. It was time to collect his father. He started up the Porsche and motored slowly along Union Street. Kelly was just stepping out on to the pavement as he approached.

Kelly was apprehensive. He had been preoccupied throughout the AA meeting. Unwelcome speculation filled his head.

‘Hi, Dad,’ said Nick cheerily. Kelly looked him up and down. Nick was smiling and seemed absolutely calm and controlled, the way he usually did.

‘You all right?’ Kelly enquired casually.

‘Sure, Dad. Sorry about earlier. It really shook me up, you know, you going back on the hooch and then being charged with murder, for God’s sake!’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Kelly did, too. Of course it was perfectly natural for Nick to show his anger occasionally. It was Kelly who’d behaved like a prat, not his son, he reminded himself.

He opened his mouth to ask Nick how he knew so much detail about the way Angel was when she had died. Then he thought better of it. It could only antagonise Nick. There would be a simple explanation. For a start, Kelly had not seen all the papers when he’d been locked up. More than likely some journo somewhere had got hold of more than the official line.

Nick put his toe down as they hit the hill leading up to St Marychurch. Like his father, he was inclined to drive far too fast.

Kelly studied him affectionately.

He couldn’t even allow himself to think along the lines he had been earlier. It was total nonsense even to consider that Nick could be involved in any way.

Kelly would just put that out of his head, along with so much else.

Nick was relieved. He’d got away with it again. His father obviously didn’t suspect a thing.

He smiled to himself, thinking back over the smooth operation he had conducted.

He hadn’t wanted to follow his father into Maythorpe Manor that night, and possibly allow suspicion to fall on Kelly, so he’d decided that he would return the next night, which would also give him time to sort out the necessary equipment.

And so, just before midnight the following day, Nick had driven out towards Maidencombe, parked his Porsche in a concealed lay-by a mile or so away, and walked across the fields to Rock Lane. He wore dark camouflage gear, combat trousers and jacket, and had pulled a black balaclava over his head. A small rucksack on his back had contained all that he needed. He climbed over a gate into the lane, as near as he could to Maythorpe, and kept close to the tall hedges until he reached the wall which surrounded the old manor house. No vehicle passed him. Had one done so Nick, in his camouflage gear, would have literally thrown himself into the hedge almost certainly out of sight. He knew how to avoid detection.

The defences of Maythorpe Manor, sophisticated as they might seem to civilians, presented him with no more problems than he had expected.

His natural athleticism, plus the grappling equipment he had brought with him, meant that he did not find it difficult at all to scale the tall wall. And it didn’t take him long to disable the system of alarmed cable at the top of the wall in such a way that the security company to which it was connected by telephone link was not alerted. Nick had, after all, been trained by arguably the best in the world to do just that.

He knew all about creating an alternative circuit so that there would be no alert when he cut through the sensitive original wire. Nick was an expert. And when he had entered the house he had done so with admirable stealth.

He found Angel Silver in the kitchen. And it was there that he killed her.

She had had her back to him as he entered the room and had not even known he was there, silently closing in behind her, until he had swung the lump hammer into her skull and smashed the life out of her.

It was only when she fell to the ground that he realised that her nose had been bleeding and that she had been standing over the sink trying to stem the flow. As she fell, some of the blood splashed on to his dark combat trousers. He didn’t need to check that she was dead. Nick had also been trained to kill with one blow. He turned away almost as she hit the ground.

Then he had simply exited swiftly in the way that he had entered, repairing the security circuit behind him in such a way that only the most minute of examinations could ever have discovered it.

It was only when his father had been arrested and charged that Nick had realised that John Kelly must have been at Maythorpe Manor earlier that night — indeed, by unfortunate coincidence, only minutes earlier, Nick later learned.

Nick then made another decision. He had to take further action to protect the father he did not intend to lose.

Fortunately the lump hammer and his bloodstained trousers had still been in the boot of the Porsche. After all, Nick was not even remotely under suspicion and he had had a strange feeling that sooner or later both might come in useful. His plan had once again been very simple. Nobody had a bigger grudge against Angel Silver than Ken James, who Nick knew had actually publicly threatened her. So Nick staked out the Jameses’ house, followed Mrs James to the seaside caravan site where he found Ken James’s van.

He planted the lump hammer, wrapped in the trousers, in the back of it, later calling Karen Meadows anonymously to tip her off.

Very straightforward. And it had all worked extremely well. Of course, Ken James getting his neck broken in a pub brawl had been an added bonus. A real stroke of luck. But then, Nick reckoned you made your own luck in the world. And he should know, the way he’d been brought up.

It had meant nothing to Nick to kill Angel Silver.

Nick didn’t have a great deal of respect for human life. Much of it deserved to be snuffed out, in his opinion. The due process of law took far too long to satisfy him. And Angel had been a prime example of a human being who was a complete waste of space. Indeed, Nick reckoned he’d probably done the world a favour.

As he pulled into Crown Avenue, Nick turned towards his father. John Kelly looked tired and wan but there was a kind of resignation about him. He too must realise that at least it was over now, thought Nick. And he was clean and sober, and likely to remain so. A darn sight more likely than he would have been with Angel around, that was for certain.

Nick was happy. He’d fixed it. Angel was out of the picture. His father had his life back, which meant Nick had his father back.

Quite suddenly he felt Kelly’s hand on his shoulder.

‘I’ll never let you down again, son,’ his father said.

‘I know, Dad,’ replied Nick. ‘I won’t let you.’