Stephen Booth - One Last Breath

Fry nodded as if she understood. But proud and ambitious parents were one pressure that she’d never had to suffer.

‘So Alan went to your house and waited for you to turn up. But he got into the house, didn’t he? How could he have done that?’

Simon sighed. ‘There was a spare back-door key under one of Mum’s garden ornaments — a concrete rabbit with a hollow base. She didn’t trust me or Andrea not to lose keys of our own, so she always left one under the rabbit for us in case we came home when no one was in. Alan knew about the key. He’d seen me get it from there before. That day, he waited outside for a while, but it started raining, so he got the key and went into the house. He knew I wouldn’t mind — we were good mates.’

‘I see.’

‘You know, Mum carried on doing that, even after we left home. She used to say wherever we all were in the world, her house was still our home.’

Fry watched him for a moment, fearing a show of emotion that she’d have to pretend to sympathize with.

Then she realized that Cooper had tensed and was sitting forward in his armchair. She gave him a glance, but he was concentrating on Lowe. At least he wasn’t going to interrupt at the wrong moment.

‘So let’s go over that again,’ she said. ‘Alan Proctor had gone into your parents’ house to get out of the rain. He was waiting for you, but you didn’t turn up. So what did he do with himself?’

‘He got a bottle of Coke from the fridge, then went up to my room, drew the curtains and put some music on the stereo. That’s what we would have done anyway, if I’d been there. There was nothing wrong with that.’

‘OK. And then?’

‘He waited a bit, until eventually he realized there must be something wrong. After a while, he knew there was a chance of my father coming home, and it would look odd him being in the house without me. So when he heard somebody coming up the path, he scarpered.’

‘Out of the back door?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘So whoever he heard must have been approaching the house from the front?’

Simon shrugged. ‘I imagine he heard my father parking his car and coming in through the gate. Maybe Alan actually saw him — my room looked out on to the street. Dad had a bit of a temper, and he didn’t like Alan very much. He thought he was a bad influence on me — you know the sort of ideas parents get.’

‘Did Alan tell you all this himself?’

‘I’m sure he told me some of it — about going into the house anyway, then leaving sharpish.’

‘When did you see him to talk about it?’

‘Oh, it was days later.’ Simon frowned. ‘In fact, it must have been weeks. Andrea and I stayed at our Aunt Dawn’s for a while, and we didn’t go back to school until nearly the end of term. My memories of that time are all a bit vague. I was thinking mostly about my father, and worrying about my mother. The shock, you know … To be honest, I don’t think it even occurred to me at the time that Alan would have been at the house. Everything else seemed so unimportant.’

‘And when you did see Alan again, did you ask him about it? Or did he volunteer this story?’

‘He volunteered it. Like I say, I hadn’t even remembered that he was going to the house. When he told me, I just thought he was so lucky that he’d got out of the way in time. If my father was drunk and lost his temper, he might have attacked Alan too.’

Fry studied him. Concern for a friend was all very well, up to a point. Had Simon Lowe’s sense and judgement been influenced by his feelings for the people involved? Well, why not? Everyone else’s had.

‘But I don’t understand why you call it a story,’ said Simon. ‘Don’t you believe it?’

‘Surely you can see there’s something wrong with your friend’s version of events?’ said Fry.

‘What do you mean?’

‘According to all the evidence, your father didn’t arrive at the house while Alan was there — or, at least, he wasn’t the first to arrive. The person your friend would have seen coming up the drive was Carol Proctor — his own mother. When she came into the house, he must have realized she was having an affair with your father.’

‘You don’t think he would …?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Fry. ‘What do you think?’

But Simon Lowe said nothing.

‘OK. So let’s try this — who told your father about Alan Proctor being there?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Don’t know? Mr Lowe, there’s only one person it could have been. Apart from Alan Proctor himself, you were the only one who knew.’

She could see Simon was sweating now. If she’d made him uncomfortable, she’d achieved at least part of her aim in coming here.

‘My father wrote to me from prison once,’ he said. ‘His letter sounded almost reasonable.’

‘When was this?’

‘About nine years ago, or a bit less.’

‘So you told him about Alan?’

‘He asked me what I remembered of that day. He said his memories were very vague and fragmented. Well, I understood that. I was like that myself for a long time after it happened. Shock can do that.’

‘Yes, Mr Lowe. So you told him?’

‘I told my father what I could remember. None of it seemed important, especially after all that time. And I never heard from him again, so I put it out of my mind.’

‘Why do you think he didn’t write again?’ said Fry.

‘I don’t know. I supposed he hadn’t really wanted to make contact with me, but just needed the information.’

‘Well, there is another possibility.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Perhaps your father concluded that you knew who’d really killed Carol Proctor, but you’d let him go to prison for it, as everyone else had.’

‘Oh, but — ’

‘And maybe,’ said Fry, ‘he thought your betrayal was the greatest of all.’

Simon glowered. ‘I hardly think betrayal is a word you can use in the circumstances.’

‘No? Didn’t you try to tell your father at one point that you weren’t his son?’

‘That was just something I said in the heat of the moment. I was only a teenager, and I was upset.’

Fry paused for a moment, conscious that it made Lowe nervous about what was coming next.

‘Did you know that Alan Proctor was your half-brother?’ she said. ‘Your father’s son?’

Simon looked as though all his fears had been realized. ‘What? My father — and Carol Proctor? I don’t believe it. That can’t be true, can it?’

‘You know it can,’ said Fry. ‘Ask Raymond Proctor. He believes it. And Alan found out later, too.’

‘That would have devastated him. He thought the world of Ray.’

‘Yes, I think the feeling was mutual. It was a dangerous kind of love, though, as it turns out.’

‘I really don’t understand what you mean, Detective Sergeant. This is all too much to take in.’

Fry knew it was time to leave, and she studied the Lowes for the last time. The brother and sister always looked so close that it made her wonder what it would take to split them apart and set them against each other. There’d be something, no doubt. There always was.

‘What I mean, sir,’ she said, ‘is that DNA isn’t everything. As Raymond Proctor said to me himself only yesterday, blood doesn’t always have to be thicker than water.’

When he saw Ben Cooper back in the office, Gavin Murfin was the first to slap him on the back, as if he were some sort of hero. But Cooper knew perfectly well that he wasn’t anything of the kind.

‘Well, we don’t need to do a DNA test on you, Ben,’ said Murfin. ‘There’s no mistaking who your father was. You’re so like him it’s unbelievable.’

Cooper smiled. It was the reaction expected of him, and he’d practised it.