No Help For The Dying

Chapter 28

The Puttnam Hotel had seen better days, and had the tired air of a stately home worn down by the passage of too many visitors. The carpets were dull and lifeless, the woodwork of the doors and stairways scarred by wear, and what had once been an elegant, if gloomy structure for well-heeled out-of-towners, was now simply a stop-off point for economy travellers seeking a cheap but convenient place to lay their rucksacks and holdalls.

Riley approached the front desk, where a young Asian girl was arranging brochures in a wooden rack, and asked for Eric Friedman’s room. The girl checked the key-board, saw number eighteen was empty, and rang the room. ‘Sorry,’ she said, flicking back her long hair and tapping glossy, dagger-like fingernails on the phone cord. ‘He must have taken his keys with him. Do you want to leave a message?’

‘Thanks,’ said Riley. ‘I’ll come back.’ She took a quick tour of the ground floor, checking there was no second entrance, then went outside and waited in a café across the street. If Friedman was still spooked from their meeting, he’d most likely head for somewhere he considered safe. She guessed that might be here.

Twenty minutes passed before she glimpsed a familiar figure ghosting along the pavement. Friedman. He was scanning the street with nervous darts of his head. She watched him disappear into the Puttnam and gave it two minutes before following him inside.

He answered the house phone with caution. His sigh of relief when he recognised her voice was audible. ‘I’ll come down,’ he said. ‘The room’s a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.’ He hung up and Riley waited for him to appear on the stairs. When he did, he looked even more tired and drawn, his appearance not helped by the dull interior lighting.

Riley suggested a nearby pub where they could melt into the background. When they were seated with drinks, he gave her a look of apology.

‘I’m sorry about before,’ he said quietly. ‘I get a bit jumpy. Thought I saw a familiar face.’ He took a sip of beer and pulled a face. ‘You must think I’m a sad case.’

‘No,’ said Riley frankly, ‘I don’t. You’ve been through a horrible ordeal.’ She decided to steer the conversation back to Nicholas. As tragic as it was, it at least seemed to make Friedman appear more comfortable. She could always introduce the subject of who or what he was scared of later. ‘You were telling me about your son.’

He nodded and twirled the glass on the beer mat. ‘His being gay was the root of his problems at school. Nicholas had known for some time. He’d tried to fight it, but the older he became the more certain he was.’ Friedman looked up at her. ‘We couldn’t believe it, either. But in the end it seemed simpler to try and help him come to terms with it, rather than put up barriers. Unfortunately, some of the other boys found out. They wouldn’t let go. You know what children are like — they pick on the weakest and exploit their fears and failings. He tried to deny it, but they didn’t believe him.’

‘Is there any likelihood he tried to prove it?’

‘And Katie became pregnant by mistake? I don’t think so. Nicholas didn’t want to change. He was highly intelligent, and in spite of the… problems, he wasn’t ashamed of what he was. It was others who made living with it so difficult.’ He sat back with a sigh. ‘I was very proud of him for that. It took guts. I’m sorry, that’s not what you wanted to hear, is it?’

‘Not really.’ So she was back to square one. If Eric Friedman was right, then all it did was raise the spectre of someone else in Katie’s life; another person who knew what had happened to her. But who? She took a deep breath. ‘Did the Church of Flowing Light initiate the contact?’

Friedman flinched. She’d obviously struck a nerve. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Did the Church approach you or did you contact them?’

‘They rang me.’ He wasn’t looking at her now. It was as if he was retreating into himself, having used up a storehouse of energy coming this far and finally running out of steam. ‘I’d put out posters wherever I thought it would do some good; on walls, lamp-posts, trees — anywhere I thought he might see one. One day they rang with offers to help. They said they might be able to intercede on my behalf… to talk to Nicholas.’

‘So he was with them?’

‘Yes. But he wouldn’t come home. They were kind… understanding… considerate — the way you’d expect. Not at all judgmental. They spent hours talking to him, trying to get him to call us. But it was no use.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘How do you know they spent hours talking to him?’

He didn’t answer right away, but stared right through her. It was almost unnerving, and Riley wondered if the question had ever occurred to him before. Eventually he nodded and gave a flinty smile. ‘You’re right. I don’t. I suppose I took it on trust. Not that I was the first.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The Church of Flowing Light,’ he replied, taking a deep breath which made him tremble, ‘is a scam. They operate as a charity, dishing out soup to the homeless, shelter for the needy and tracking down missing children. You’ve been to their headquarters; you’ll know the man who runs it is a self-styled pastor called Paul de Haan. He’s clever, articulate, charming and dedicated to helping the homeless.’ The expression on Friedman’s face belied the true meaning of the words.

‘I’ve met him.’

‘His real name is Paulie James Deane and he was born in Fort Worth, Texas, one of six children. His father was a convicted rapist and petty burglar and his mother was a prostitute whenever she could crawl out of her trailer and find herself a fix of smack so she could stand upright. Amazingly, given that background, Deane aspired to a different lifestyle.’

Riley didn’t say anything; she was too stunned — not least by the strength of passion in Friedman’s voice.

‘Deane started out as a petty con-artist, duping old people out of cash in return for worthless medicines and faith treatments. Then he got more ambitious. He’s now wanted in the States on several charges of embezzlement and using criminal means to take money from gullible and desperate people. Three of his so-called churches have been closed down because of tax fraud and alleged money-laundering, and attempts at getting him extradited from the UK have failed because of poor paperwork by the FBI and the skill of de Haan’s lawyers.’ Friedman took a deep draught of his beer and Riley guessed he had been waiting a long time to get this off his chest. It must have been as stressful as it was cathartic.

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Because I’ve spent a long time looking into Deane and his enterprises. Too much time, as it happens. That’s what I was doing when you saw me outside the gates. Over the years, it cost me my job and my marriage.’

‘I’m sorry. What put you on to him?’

He looked down at the table and twisted his hands together. ‘When de Haan told me Nicholas didn’t want to… to come home, I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t, I suppose — it was too much to take in. I told you we were close… and in spite of him running away, it was true. But to suddenly cut us off like that… ‘ He shook his head again.

‘Go on.’

‘We decided to be patient and wait. It seemed the sensible thing at the time, because the Church was talking to him. But every time we rang them they said pretty much the same thing: that it was delicate, that Nicholas was fine but needed some time to come round. He was fairly happy, they said, but it was best to wait.’ He shrugged. ‘They seemed to know what they were doing, so we did as they suggested.’

‘How do you know they actually had him?’

‘I thought of that. I demanded proof that he was in their care or I’d get the police involved. Every now and then they let us have something… a comment or something that could have only come from Nicholas. Something about himself or school or a friend, things like that.’ He toyed with a beer mat, the ghosts of the memories in his face. ‘It was when they told me he’d talked about being gay that I knew for sure. It wasn’t something we’d made public, you see. How else could they have known? It was quite wicked, what they did. It was as if they’d kidnapped him. I think they worked on him, his insecurities and his… fears, until he couldn’t distinguish between what was real or false.’

‘Brainwashing?’

‘No. They’re too clever for that. They don’t want acolytes, or groups of disciples going around preaching their philosophies — they don’t need them. They’re far more interested in money.’

‘And the parents’ undying gratitude,’ Riley added. It confirmed what she’d thought. It was a neat scheme. What parents wouldn’t be grateful to the group responsible for returning a lost son or daughter — and with no hint of a threat or a demand. She wondered if Katie Pyle had always worn her crucifix, or if it had been put in place in the final few minutes. ‘But how do they get them to come in? Most kids these days are too streetwise.’

‘They use Sirens.’

Riley stared at him. ‘Come again?’

‘Sirens. It’s a term taken from Greek mythology. They find a connection to the target — a friend, someone they can work on to draw them in. If they can’t find a close contact they make one — usually a person of the opposite sex. Once the target is drawn in, the Siren’s work is done.’

Nikki’s words about Delphine Wishman being introduced to the Church by a boy she knew came floating back. ‘What happens to the Siren afterwards?’

‘Unless they can use them again, they push them away. It’s not hard; these kids are accustomed to rejection — what’s another along the way? As I said, it’s all about money. Profit. Don’t confuse that with compassion.’

‘What else?’

He shrugged. ‘People in the States said Deane had a reputation for fast living and grandiose schemes. That’s how he ran into trouble; investors in his church schemes discovered there was no payback other than the gratitude of The Lord. They didn’t want to wait that long. When the complaints became public, he shut up shop and moved over here. Since then his priorities have changed. He still likes money but now he’s developed a taste for power and influence, mixing with so-called society. Same game, different style.’

‘And they fall for it.’

‘Evidently. And in the meantime he keeps gathering more new targets and grateful parents.’ It was a frightening thought that if cultivated carefully, de Haan/Deane’s scheme could continue indefinitely, boosted every year by a new intake of relieved and beholden families.

‘But surely there must be some who tell him to get lost?’

‘Of course. If he can, he applies more pressure — especially if there’s anything unsavoury in the background. Don’t forget he has these kids for weeks, talking them round, prying into every deep, dark corner of their minds. Some are bound to come complete with secrets the parents would rather remained hidden.’

‘Child abuse?’

‘Yes. If they can be coerced, he applies subtle pressure. A word here, a hint there. But never anything direct. He’s too smart for that. If they still don’t pay, he cuts his losses. No fee means no return — in the financial sense. Deane is a very practical businessman. He doesn’t need to make enemies.’

‘It makes sense.’ Riley chewed her lip for a while. She’d been putting off the obvious question, but decided it couldn’t wait any longer. ‘But you didn’t get Nicholas back.’

From the expression on Friedman’s face, she almost wished she hadn’t asked. Yet she needed to know the answer, because what had affected him through his son had also struck at the heart of Katie’s family. And others.

‘About six months before Nicholas left,’ Friedman said softly, ‘I and a couple of friends had set up a small company offering legal advice on the Internet. In the beginning, we restricted ourselves to things like family law, contracts, property and dealing with the police, courts and so on. The first signs were good. Better than good. We were a discount shop for people wanting cheap, reliable advice before they ran up big fees with their own solicitors.’ He paused and Riley could feel the awful dread of what was coming. ‘We became victims of our own success. We took on a couple of tax experts, and to justify the extra costs, encouraged them to broaden the field into the corporate market. It seemed a sure-fire winner. We began to advertise, setting up the company headquarters here in London. We had to borrow heavily, but the potential was enormous. Then one of the tax people was asked to advise a small group of offshore companies operating out of Gibraltar. It was simple stuff to begin with; setting up shell corporations, tax planning, building investment funds and so on. Plenty of others were doing it, but we were cheaper. Gradually we all became involved, to share the load.’

‘What happened?’

‘Some of the advice given was flawed. Deeply so. The clients went ahead with an investment scheme on the basis of what we’d told them, and lost everything. Unfortunately, they hadn’t told us everything, and ended up dragging a lot of other people down with them.’ He stared down into his glass. ‘We hadn’t done our homework properly. It was awful.’

‘But you had professional indemnity, surely?’

‘Yes. But when your other clients suddenly lose confidence and melt away, and the banks get nervous, professional indemnity isn’t much good.’ The creases in his face deepened with bitterness. ‘The whole fabric collapsed around us. It was staggering. We paid off a lot of the debts but it wasn’t enough. I was suspended from my job at the MOD.’

‘And Deane found out?’

He nodded. ‘That’s when I discovered what he was really like… when he realised I had nothing to give. He began making vague comments about how the news of our son being gay might become public knowledge. I thought it was my imagination: they were a charity and a church, surely they couldn’t be making threats like that? He began ignoring my calls, so I went to see him. Deane has two men working with him who do all the legwork. They also operate the soup vans, although that’s just a cover for finding these kids, of course. They wouldn’t let me in. Not long afterwards they delivered a message.’

‘What sort of message?’

‘The same as the one they just sent you. They destroyed my home.’

‘Is one of these men called Quine?’

‘Yes. The other is Meaker — an American. He and Quine are like twins, although I think it’s a look they cultivated to intimidate people. The three of them are the Church of Flowing Light. They are all very dangerous; you shouldn’t underestimate them.’

‘I don’t. Did you report them?’

‘More than once. The last time was after they visited my house. I went to the police but they couldn’t find any evidence it was them. They said it looked more like kids trying to score money for drugs, and it got out of hand.’ He shook his head. ‘By then things between my wife and I were at rock bottom. The distress had got to both of us, but I suppose I’d ignored her. It proved the last straw and she left. Not that I blame her. Then my financial problems became public knowledge, and there were rumours about an insurance scam. I kept a low profile after that, although I’m pretty sure Quine and Meaker would like to meet me in a dark alley somewhere.’ He gave her a grim look. ‘Pastor de Haan is not a man who forgets those who cross him.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

‘Not long afterwards I met a couple who’d been cut off by Deane in the same way. Oh, he was very careful in the way he did it. But the method was the same: no money meant no help. And if pressure didn’t — or couldn’t — work, then all contact ceased.’

‘What about Nicholas?’

‘I heard from him once afterwards. He’d left the Church and was trying to get work. I think he was ashamed of what he’d done… of the pain he’d caused. I tried to talk him round, but it was like talking with a stranger. I thought brainwashing at first. Then I realised the Church had done the worst thing possible… they’d convinced him that I’d refused to have him back. They hadn’t mentioned the financial problems or the lengths I’d gone to find him. He was devastated.’ He stared into the distance. ‘I begged him to come back… tried to convince him he’d been used. The last thing he said to me was that he could never trust me again.’ His eyes swivelled round to Riley and his voice broke. ‘He was a confused and unhappy boy, Miss Gavin. He didn’t deserve that.’

‘What happened?’

‘They found him in the river two days later. By Putney Bridge.’