The Black Sheep

‘Oh.’ My head spun. ‘But . . . but perhaps they started targeting UK doctors after you did your reports. Caspian didn’t die until September 2014.’

  ‘I’m sure that hasn’t happened,’ Dad said gently. ‘I might not be involved with Shield on a daily basis but I often see people who still work there. Nobody’s mentioned any new developments along those lines.’

  I looked down.

  ‘People will write anything when it’s anonymous,’ Dad said bitterly. ‘One bit of misinformation leads to another and hey presto our secret investigations appear sinister.’

  ‘And what about the threats Caspian told Harry about?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ Uncle Perry said with an angry hiss.

  ‘That’s enough, Perry.’ Dad shot him a warning glance. ‘Poor Francesca’s been taken advantage of.’ He leaned forward and patted my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but this Harry person either misunderstood what Caspian said or he’s making it up.’

  ‘Whichever it is, you should stay away from him,’ Perry snarled.

  I thought of Harry’s handsome, narrow face, a smile crinkling around his eyes. ‘You don’t know him. He was just trying to help.’

  Dad raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘He sounds like bad news to me.’

  A tense silence filled the air.

  ‘You’ve certainly let him get you all worked up,’ Perry snapped. ‘Not surprising, I suppose. You’re highly emotional and particularly vulnerable at the moment, especially without faith and prayer to help you.’

  My jaw dropped. Pompous pig. ‘How dare you—’

  ‘Your uncle’s just upset.’ Dad shot another warning look at his brother. He turned to me again. ‘Though he does have a bit of a point, sweetheart, you are vulnerable. And you have always been very emotional. Remember how you were as a teenager? Impulsive . . . easily led by your peer group into dangerous behaviours? Don’t you think breaking into Lanagh with a stranger is exactly that?’

  Irritation roiled inside me. And yet, at the back of my mind, something told me Dad was at least partly right. Since Caspian died, I’d felt like I was in limbo, treading water, waiting for real life to begin again. And Harry’s arrival had brought with it an explosion of real life. Maybe I was coping with the shock as I had done when I was fourteen and realised how sheltered my life really was. I’d wanted to act out, to defy my parents, particularly Dad. Were all my suspicions about him now really a way for me to regress to my rebellious teenage self?

  Dad stood up. ‘We should go,’ he said softly. ‘It’s late. Thank you for being so open and honest with us.’ He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as they squeezed mine. ‘I love you so much and I do hope we’ve reassured you.’

  Tears pricked at my eyes. Talk about vulnerable. For all his height and heft and commanding presence, Dad was one of the most sensitive men I’d ever met. His expression of dignified sadness made me feel ashamed. Whatever else had happened, there was no way he had hurt Caspian. No way at all.

  ‘Thanks, Dad, you’ve really helped, I’m so sorry I upset you,’ I said, hugging him. ‘And please don’t hate Harry for this, like I said, he was just trying to help.’

  ‘All right, sweetheart.’ Dad smiled, relief on his face. He kissed my cheek. ‘Come on, Perry. Let’s leave Francesca in peace.’

  Perry leaned on the arm of his chair to help himself up. He seemed distracted as he followed Dad out of the living room. As he reached the door he turned to face me. Sotto voce, he said:

  ‘Er, did you find anything else in my basement, Francesca?’

  I met his gaze and in that moment I knew that he knew I had discovered his old porn mags. And that Dad had no idea about his being gay.

  ‘Not a thing,’ I said.

  An hour later I was lying in bed, exhausted but too wired to sleep. I had been such an idiot, letting Harry get me carried away with his rumours and innuendos. Like Dad said, the internet was full of trolls and as for the threats Caspian received . . . perhaps Harry misheard. Or else Caspian himself had got it wrong.

  I would call Harry in the morning and explain everything. For now, I just wanted to put the whole business out of my mind. Easier said than done: I lay tossing and turning under the duvet, the bed too big as it had been for the past year and four months. Into the silence, my mobile rang.

  It was Harry. My heart skipped a beat. Was he just calling to find out if I’d spoken to my dad? Because once I told him I was sure Dad was innocent, we’d have no reason to speak any more. Or was he concerned about me? About how I was doing with all the revelations of the day? He’d said he’d told me about the threat against Caspian out of a sense of duty. Was that still what was motivating him?

  Maybe it was more.

  I hoped it was more.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, glad he couldn’t see the blush that burned my cheeks.

  ‘Fran.’ He sounded upset. Worried. ‘Did you hear? It was on the news.’

  ‘Hear what?’ I sat up straight in bed.

  ‘Another abortion doctor’s been murdered. A stabbing. Somewhere in Surrey. Similar profile to your husband’s death.’

  I gasped, all the reassurance I’d gained from my conversation with Dad vanishing in an instant. ‘Do you think it’s PAAUL?’

  ‘It fits.’ Harry paused. ‘I also think you know the man. I recognised his picture from the memorial service. I think he might have been a friend of your husband.’

  ‘What was his name?’ I held my breath.

  ‘Simon Pinner,’ Harry said. ‘Wasn’t he . . .?’

  ‘The first person who told me about Dad being head of PAAUL?’ I said, my voice hoarse. An image of Simon’s doughy face with those thin, wet lips flashed into my head. ‘Yes, he was.’

  6

  My doubts had reared up again, leaving me in an agonising state of uncertainty. Whether or not Dad had been involved in Caspian’s and Simon’s deaths, there was surely a strong possibility that PAAUL was behind them both. And believing that changed everything. It meant that Caspian wasn’t killed in a meaningless attack but deliberately targeted for his beliefs. It meant he’d been hunted down like an animal, by a highly disciplined and effective organisation. It meant I had, at last, someone to blame, a place to direct my own anger, a chance to get justice for my husband.

  I don’t know what I would have done next if I’d been left to my own devices but, after tossing and turning all night, then waking late and rushing the kids to get ready for school, I arrived back home to find a man ringing my doorbell.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, hurrying along the path.

  The man turned, holding up a police badge. ‘Francesca Hoffman? I’m Detective Sergeant Chris Smart.’ He had a nasal edge to his voice, and deep-set, wary eyes. He was tall but wiry, his ill-fitting suit too broad for his shoulders. ‘Do you have a moment? Not rushing off to work or anything?’

  ‘No, I’m working at home today.’ The sun was shining but I shivered. Had something terrible happened to Dad or Lucy? There was nothing in the officer’s manner that suggested crisis or calamity.

  ‘I’m hoping to ask you a few questions about Simon Pinner,’ DS Smart went on. ‘I understand you spoke to him at the weekend?’

  I nodded, my blood running cold.

  ‘I’m not sure if you’ve heard but he passed away last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know.’

  DS Smart gazed at me. His dark eyes had a piercing quality that made it seem as if he were looking straight through me.

  ‘May I come in?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’ I took DS Smart into the living room. He sat in the armchair by the TV. What was coming now?

  ‘So your father is Jayson Carr?’ he asked.

  ‘Er, yes.’ I frowned.

  ‘He’s the head of that prison charity committee. Chief Super’s on it.’ DS Smart grinned, revealing sharp, pointed teeth. ‘Gave me the third degree about minding my Ps and Qs when I interviewed you.’

  ‘Right.’ I fidgeted nervously. I was used to
Dad having powerful contacts and used, when I was younger, to find his privilege and influence profoundly irritating. But right now all I felt was an uneasy fear. What did Dad knowing the Chief Super have to do with the investigation into Simon Pinner’s murder?

  ‘What, er, did you want to ask me?’

  DS Smart consulted his notebook.

  ‘I understand from your father that you spoke to Mr Pinner at your husband’s memorial, but that you hadn’t met him before?’

  ‘That’s right. At least, Simon said we’d been introduced years ago at a dinner party, but I didn’t remember him.’

  ‘We know that he was asking around for your address after the memorial service. And an examination of Mr Pinner’s phone suggests he did indeed come to your house on Sunday afternoon, just over twenty-four hours before he was killed.’

  ‘I see.’ I gulped. All my suspicions and here was an actual detective, sent to my door. Should I tell him what Harry had told me? Should I pass on my suspicions about PAAUL killing Simon – and Caspian? Should I confide my agonies about whether Dad was involved?

  DS Smart sat forward. His eyes were not just set deep, but also too close together, giving him the appearance of a wolf sizing up its prey.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s just . . .’

  DS Smart waited.

  ‘It’s just I’ve been wondering about Simon . . . about him being killed. It seems similar to Caspian . . . my husband, the way he was killed.’

  DS Smart frowned. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘The methods, places, times of death were quite different.’

  ‘But they were both doctors.’ The words blurted out of me.

  DS Smart tilted his head to one side, his frown deepening.

  ‘Abortion doctors,’ I went on. ‘You know as well as I do that there are some violent, extremist anti-abortion groups out there. Surely it’s possible one of them is . . . is on a campaign to kill doctors that carry out abortions.’

  ‘Did Mr Pinner mention such a group had threatened him?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘But he knew about one. It’s called PAAUL. Based in the States. Pledge to Avenge the Assassination of Unborn Lives. I asked him about it, because I think PAAUL might have been behind my husband’s murder.’

  DS Smart drew back. ‘You’re saying you think Simon Pinner and your husband may have been killed by a violent anti-abortion group from the US?’ he asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘What’s made you think this?’

  I gulped. ‘Somebody told me at the memorial service that Caspian told them he was being threatened by this group just before he died.’ I stopped, unwilling to mention the possible connection between Dad and PAAUL.

  I hadn’t meant to say this much.

  ‘Somebody told somebody who told you?’ DS Smart pursed his lips. ‘I’m sorry but I looked at your husband’s file before I set out and there’s absolutely nothing to suggest his death was anything other than a random attack.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’ I stopped again. There wasn’t much more I could tell the detective without bringing Dad into it.

  DS Smart cleared his throat. ‘Let’s start again,’ he said. ‘When you spoke to Simon Pinner on Sunday, did he give any hint about being in fear for his life? From this organisation, PAAUL, or anyone else?’

  ‘No,’ I conceded.

  ‘Did he seem worried, or anxious, as if he were being threatened but was too scared to say?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘What was the nature of your conversation?’ DS Smart persisted.

  ‘He said he’d liked talking to me at the memorial service and . . . and he asked me out.’ I paused. ‘I said no and . . . and he left. I think . . . I got the impression he thought I liked him . . . and he was a bit pissed off I didn’t want to go on a date . . .’

  ‘I see.’ DS Smart sighed. ‘Doesn’t sound like he was in the grip of any distracting anxieties then.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ I said.

  ‘True.’ DS Smart shut his notebook. ‘But what I do know is that Mr Pinner gave no indication he was being threatened. He certainly didn’t tell the police. Just as your husband didn’t.’

  ‘Okay, but it still seems like a weird coincidence that I find out my husband was possibly being threatened by an organisation that clearly had a reason to attack him. Then a colleague of his dies in a similar attack just over a year later.’

  ‘Mmn.’ DS Smart wrinkled his nose. ‘To be honest the connections don’t look as strong to me. Yes, they’re both abortion doctors, but the attacks happened in totally different places and at different times and – I’m sorry to be graphic – but the weapons used weren’t the same and nor was the pattern of attack. Anyway, no organisation has come forward to claim responsibility.’ He paused, straightening up and adopting a more formal tone. ‘We did look into motives for killing your husband very thoroughly when it happened. I wasn’t on the case, but I remember it. We found no evidence of any extreme anti-abortion organisations wanting to kill him or any other doctors.’ He sighed and offered me a sympathetic look. ‘I know a random death is hard to accept, but sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to these things. Just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He paused. ‘Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Like where you got this idea of your husband being threatened?’

  My stomach twisted into an uneasy knot. If I gave Harry’s name, then Dad would inevitably get dragged into the whole thing. Anyway it was obvious DS Smart thought the idea PAAUL might be behind Caspian’s and Simon’s deaths was preposterous.

  Perhaps it was.

  I sat back. ‘No, that’s everything.’

  DS Smart left. I went to ring Harry but found instead a voice mail from him explaining he had to go to Manchester to visit his sister and would be out of town until Friday. It was a good thing, I reflected. I was probably being hysterical, putting two and two together and making fifteen. A complete stranger like Harry was the last person I should be confiding in. Still, I badly wanted to talk everything that had happened through with someone.

  Ayesha was at work. I couldn’t imagine she’d have any more patience with my theories than the detective had. There was Dex, of course. But my cousin would probably just tease me as a drama queen for imagining a covert US-based conspiracy against Caspian and Simon Pinner.

  Lucy was definitely out of the question: my sister would be devastated at the idea anyone could connect Dad with two murders. Lucy had always been supersensitive. She would be upset for days if she found out what Harry claimed Caspian had said. What I really wanted was to talk to someone who knew Dad well enough to disregard the supposed threats he’d made to Caspian but who would take seriously the threat from PAAUL.

  Of course. A smile spread across my face. I knew exactly who I should speak to.

  I did a few hours’ work – I’d make up the time that evening – then picked up Ruby from school and went straight to auntie Sheila’s house. Sheila was on her own when I arrived, dusting her tiny living room. It was funny: Mum’s home had been cluttered and chaotic while Jacqueline’s version of the same property was minimalist and organised to within an inch of its life. Auntie Sheila’s house managed, somehow, to be both neat yet crammed with stuff. Every surface was covered with meticulously placed china ornaments. They ranged from a couple of beautiful and expensive pieces Mum and Dad had given her to chipped, well-worn dolls from her childhood and mementoes from her holidays in Italy and Spain.

  When we were kids, Dex used to complain that they only ever went to places where there were Catholic churches to visit.

  ‘At least you get actual holidays with planes and beaches after you’ve been round the churches,’ I remember complaining back. When I was little Dad was always too busy to get away from the UK and Mum didn’t like to travel abroad without him, so Lucy and I spent many summer holidays staring out of rain-spattered windows, wishing we could go abroad like other families to play in the sun.

  Mum
and Sheila had always been very close and their friendship only intensified after Uncle Graham left home. I can still remember the thrill of Sheila and Dex’s arrival in the middle of the night after he’d gone – the adults all hushed and appalled and poor Dex shaking from the trauma. The split had been a long time coming – Graham had hit Sheila several times before they finally separated, not that I knew that at the time.

  ‘Come on in,’ Auntie Sheila said, beaming from me to Ruby. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

  I told Sheila I needed to talk to her, then settled Ruby down on the sofa in front of the iPad to watch Brave yet again. She’d viewed the download about fifty times and showed no signs of tiring of the movie yet. I wondered if her obsession with the film was normal or something to do with losing her dad. My psychology degree had taught me that any parent in my position was likely to view normal developmental foibles through the prism of bereavement. Or, as Ayesha, who was generally my go-to person for parental advice, had put it: ‘Stop sweating the small stuff. Kids act weird sometimes. And they change. All the time. Whether or not they’ve lost a dad.’

  Auntie Sheila bustled about the kitchen, fetching and carrying an orange juice to Ruby next door, then settling herself down in front of me at the kitchen table. Like the house around her, she managed to appear both excessively neat – everything tidily tucked away – and yet wildly over-decorated, with all the colours and patterns of her clothes clashing. Today she was wearing a floral shirt with a pink-and-white striped cardigan, while a polka-dot headband kept her helmet of grey hair off her face.

  ‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she asked, wide-eyed. ‘You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world.’

  I gave her a rueful smile. Now I was here it was harder to begin than I expected. Sheila was in her own way as much of an innocent as Lucy, eager to see the best in people, especially men. She had loved Mum deeply and treated Lucy and me as the daughters she’d never had, but she practically hero-worshipped Dad and had always adored her only son, refusing – despite knowledge of at least one of Dex’s affairs – to lay any of the responsibility for his marriage breakup on his shoulders.