Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘You’ll be glad to hear, senator, that your instincts are in line with public opinion. The station’s switchboard has been jammed with calls of sympathy for Nat Cartwright and his wife, and my bet is that Elliot will lose by a landslide tomorrow.’

‘Which will make it that much tougher for me,’ said Fletcher, ‘but at least one good thing comes out of it.’

‘And what’s that, senator?’

‘Everybody has finally found out the truth about that bastard Elliot.’

‘I wonder if that was wise?’ said Jimmy.

‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ said Fletcher, ‘but it’s no more than your father would have said.’

When the ambulance arrived Nat decided to accompany his son’s body to the hospital, while his mother tried helplessly to comfort Su Ling.

‘I’ll come straight back,’ he promised, before kissing her gently.

When he saw the two paramedics sitting silently on either side of the body, he explained that he would follow in his own car. They just nodded.

The hospital staff tried to be as sympathetic as possible, but there were forms to be filled in, and procedures to be carried out. Once that had been completed, they left him alone. He kissed Luke on the forehead and turned away at the sight of the red and black bruises around his neck, aware that the memory would remain with him for the rest of his life.

Once they had covered Luke’s face with a sheet, Nat left his beloved son, passing bowed heads murmuring their sympathy. He must get back to Su Ling, but before that, he knew there was someone else he had to visit first.

Nat drove away from the hospital on automatic pilot, his anger not diminishing as each mile clocked up. Although he had never been to the house before, he knew exactly where it was, and when he eventually turned into the driveway, Nat could see some lights coming from the ground floor. He parked the car and began to walk slowly towards the house. He needed to be calm if he was to see it through. As he approached the front door he could hear raised voices coming from inside. A man and a woman were arguing, unaware of the visitor outside. Nat banged on the knocker and the voices suddenly went silent, as if a television had been switched off. A moment later, the door swung open and Nat came face to face with the man he held responsible for his son’s death.

Ralph Elliot looked shocked, but recovered quickly. He tried to slam the door in his face, but Nat had already placed a shoulder firmly against it. The first punch Nat threw landed on Elliot’s nose and sent him reeling backwards. Elliot stumbled, but regained his balance quickly, turned and ran down the corridor. Nat strode after him, following Elliot into his study. He looked round for the other raised voice, but there was no sign of Rebecca. He turned his attention back to Elliot, who was pulling open a drawer in his desk. He grabbed a gun and pointed it at Nat.

‘Get out of my house,’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll kill you.’ Blood was streaming from his nose.

Nat advanced towards him. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘After that stunt you pulled tonight, no one will ever take your word again.’

‘Yes, they will, because I have a witness. Don’t forget that Rebecca saw you barge into our home making threats and then assaulting me.’

Nat advanced ready to take a second punch, causing Elliot to step back and momentarily lose his balance as he stumbled across the arm of the chair. The gun went off, and Nat leapt on Elliot, knocking him to the ground. As they fell to the floor, Nat jerked his knee into Elliot’s groin with such force that his rival bent double, letting go of the gun. Nat grabbed it and pointed the barrel at Elliot, whose face was contorted with fear.

‘You planted that bastard in the audience, didn’t you?’ said Nat.

‘Yes, yes, but I didn’t know he would go that far, surely you wouldn’t kill a man because...’

‘Because he was responsible for the death of my son?’

All the colour drained from Elliot’s face.

‘Yes, I would,’ Nat said, pressing the barrel of the gun against Elliot’s forehead. Nat stared down at a man who was now on his knees whimpering and begging for his life. ‘I’m not going to kill you,’ said Nat, lowering the gun, ‘because that would be the easy way out for a coward. No, I want you to suffer a much slower death — year upon year of humiliation. Tomorrow you’re going to discover what the people of Hartford really think of you, and then you’ll have to live with the final ignominy of watching me take up residence in the governor’s mansion.’

Nat rose to his feet, calmly placed the gun on the corner of the desk, turned and left the room to find Rebecca cowering in the hallway. As soon as he had passed her she ran into the study. Nat strode on through the open door and climbed into his car.

He was driving out of the gates when he heard the shot.

Fletcher’s phone was ringing every few minutes. Annie took all the calls, explaining that her husband had no further comment to make, other than that he had sent his condolences to Mr and Mrs Cartwright.

Just after midnight, Annie unplugged the phone and made her way upstairs. Although the light was on in their bedroom, she was surprised to find that Fletcher wasn’t there. She went back downstairs to check the study. The usual papers were piled up on his desk, but he wasn’t sitting in his chair. She climbed slowly back up the stairs and noticed a light shining under Lucy’s door. Annie turned the handle slowly and quietly pushed the door open in case Lucy had fallen asleep, leaving her light on. She looked inside to see her husband sitting on the bed, clinging on to their sleepy daughter. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He turned and faced his wife. ‘Nothing’s worth that,’ he said.

Nat arrived back home to find his mother sitting on the sofa with Su Ling. Su Ling’s face was ashen, her eyes sunken; she had aged ten years in a few hours. ‘I’ll leave you with her now,’ said his mother, ‘but I’ll come back first thing in the morning. I’ll see myself out.’

Nat bent down, kissed his mother goodbye and then sat next to his wife. He held her slight body in his arms, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

He couldn’t remember how long they had been sitting there when he heard the police siren. He assumed that the grating noise would quickly disappear into the distance, but it became louder and louder, and didn’t stop until a car came to a screeching halt on the gravel outside their front door. He then heard a door slam, heavy footsteps, followed by a loud banging on the front door.

He removed his arm from around his wife’s shoulder and made his way wearily to the front door. He opened it to find Chief Culver with a police officer standing on either side of him.

‘What’s the problem, chief?’

‘I’m sorry about this, remembering what you’ve already been through,’ said Don Culver, ‘but I have no choice but to place you under arrest.’

‘What for?’ asked Nat in disbelief.

‘For the murder of Ralph Elliot.’

It was not the first time in American history that a dead candidate’s name was listed on the ballot paper, and it was certainly not the first time an arrested candidate had stood for election, but search as they might, the political historians were unable to find both on the same day.

Nat’s one call that the chief permitted was to Tom, who was still wide awake despite it being three in the morning. ‘I’ll get Jimmy Gates out of bed and join you at the police station as soon as I can.’

They had only just finished taking his fingerprints when Tom arrived, accompanied by his lawyer. ‘You remember Jimmy,’ said Tom, ‘he advised us during the Fairchild’s takeover.’