Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

'I have no idea,' I said.

'Try.'

'Lisa I suppose. And her brother Eddie. Maybe her mother.'

Mahoney grunted. 'I'll leave it to his lawyer to confirm whether you're right. But let's just say you might expect to get some money coming to you as a result of Mr Cook's death.'

I sighed. 'I suppose so. But I've never thought about it until now.'

'Do you own a gun, Mr Ayot?' Another change of tack.

'No.'

'Do you know anyone who owns a Smith and Wesson model six forty, three fifty-seven Magnum?'

'No.'

'Do you know how to use a gun?'

I paused. 'Yes.'

'How's that?'

'I used to be in the British army,' I answered. 'They teach you how to use a weapon.'

'I see. So you know all about guns, right?' He thought for a bit. 'Have you ever killed anyone?'

'Yes,' I said quietly.

'Tell me about it.'

'I'd rather not,' I said.

'Was it while you were in the army?'

'Yes.'

'In Ireland, maybe?'

'Yes.'

The blue eyes hardened.

'I don't have to answer this sort of question,' I said sharply. 'Am I under suspicion, or what? Do I need a lawyer?'

Mahoney relaxed. 'Look, we've got a job to do here. We're just gathering information from whoever might be able to help us with this, that's all. Thank you for your help, Mr Ayot. I'll be back if I have any further questions.'

With that, he was gone, leaving me feeling distinctly uneasy. As I waited for Lisa to return, Mahoney's last question rankled.

I remembered the vehicle checkpoint in a quiet country lane in Armagh, the beaten-up Ford Escort slowing down, Lance Corporal of Horse Binns bending down at the car window, the look of surprise and shock on his face, the two shots in rapid succession, his head disintegrating, his body thrown backwards, the car engine revving, my own weapon raised to the window, the explosion of noise and shattering of glass as I emptied the magazine into the car, the vehicle careering out of control into the side of our Land Rover.

I had killed two members of the Provisional IRA. I wasn't proud of it, but it had been something to tell Binns's parents.

Frank's murder was entirely different. I might have shot two terrorists while on active duty, but that didn't mean I could murder my father-in-law in cold blood. Mahoney's insinuation that I could infuriated me.

I didn't have much time to worry about that, though. Lisa needed me, and I was reluctant to leave her alone. She seemed dazed, sometimes crying and sometimes just staring into space.

I did the best I could, but I felt helpless. I could see and feel and touch her pain. It stretched forward into the coming weeks, months and years. It scared me. I had no idea how Lisa would react, how badly she would be hurt, whether any of the damage would be permanent. I wanted to protect her, to wrap my arms around her and defend her from the horrible thing that had happened to her father. But no matter what I did, I couldn't protect her from the central fact. He was gone. Eventually her pain might lessen, become more bearable, but that day was a long way off. Things would probably get worse before they got better.

And I had my own feelings towards his death to deal with. Frank and I had got on so well at the beginning. Until recently, I had counted him as a friend and mentor: I had him to thank for my job at Revere, and then for my wife. He had liked me and respected me, I was sure. And then our relationship had deteriorated, culminating in the last time I had seen him when he had turned his back on me. Literally. I had heard that grief brings guilt with it. I was beginning to understand what that meant.

So far in our lives together, we hadn't faced anything more serious than a broken dishwasher. I wondered how Lisa would cope with what had happened. I was determined to do all I could to help her, however inadequate that might seem.

The door buzzer buzzed. It was another reporter. I told her, as I'd told all the others, that we had no comment, and Lisa was too upset to talk to anyone. Frank's murder had been in the morning papers, and on TV, and they were all looking for grieving-relative quotes or pictures. I knew it was inevitable, but it made me angry, as though Lisa and I were expected to meekly take our parts in a play that had been put on without our knowledge or consent. Still, it would probably have been worse in England.

There was a lot to be done. Frank was to be buried the next day. Lisa's mother and brother were flying over from California, and were staying at a bed and breakfast round the corner from our apartment.

We picked them up from the airport that evening in Lisa's Honda. They were easy to spot. Lisa's brother Eddie was tall and thin with dark hair cut so short it was little more than stubble. Their mother, Ann, was a bustling dark-haired woman who, with the help of careful attention to clothes, make-up and hair, was still striking. The three of them embraced, tears running down the cheeks of Lisa and her mother, Eddie's face a foot above them, his eyes blinking.

I stood awkwardly to one side.

When they eventually broke up, Lisa's mother gave me a hug. I extended a hand to Eddie, who shot me a cool glance before shaking it. We all made our way back to the car, Lisa tucking herself happily under Eddie's arm.

I cooked them supper in our apartment. Lasagne. A bottle of red wine quickly disappeared between the four of us before the meal, and I opened a second one as we all sat down.

Ann looked around her. 'I don't see how you two live in such a small apartment. You've got so many things. I don't know how you keep them all tidy.'

The answer was, of course, that we didn't.

'Oh, Mom. We couldn't afford a bigger place around here, you know that,' Lisa said. 'We fit everything in. But I'm really sorry there isn't room for you and Eddie.'

'Oh, don't worry about that,' Ann said. 'The B and B is delightful.'

'It's kind of nice to have a bed instead of crashing on your floor,' said Eddie, smiling at his younger sister.

Everyone helped themselves to the lasagne.

'What I don't understand,' said Ann, returning to the subject that was in all our minds,'is why anyone would want to kill Frank. He never had any enemies that I knew of. He was such a nice man. Always.'

Then why did you divorce him? I thought, but didn't say. Ann's attitude towards Frank was poles away from my mother's attitude towards my father. My mother had been a reluctant attendant at her ex-husband's funeral, her face and manner betraying no emotion whatsoever. There must have been feelings in there, somewhere, but I couldn't guess what they were. There could be no doubting the genuine sadness Lisa's mother felt.

She turned to me. 'Didn't people like him at work?'

'Oh, yes,' I replied. 'We all liked him. And he was very well respected.' All of us but Art, I thought.

'Have the cops any ideas who did it?' Eddie asked.

'I don't think so,' I answered.

'Simon seems to be their best guess,' said Lisa. I glanced across at her sharply. 'The questions that Sergeant Mahoney guy has been asking. It's obvious what he's thinking.'

Eddie looked at both of us. Two years Lisa's senior he had dropped out of medical school several years previously and was in some kind of post graduate school at the University of California in San Francisco, studying social work. Lisa admired him for following a career path devoted to helping those in need, which paid little. I tried not to think middle-aged thoughts about perpetual students. He and I had never had much to do with each other. As little sister's boyfriend and then husband, he was both suspicious and polite to me. As a titled Englishman who worked for an East Coast financial firm, I was irredeemably uncool. Since his father had left the rest of his family, he had taken on the role of man in the family; his mother and his younger sister hung on his every word. I suspected he didn't like the way they showed every sign of hanging on mine, too.