Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

I’d taken leave of my senses. I have no love of Islam, as you know, but at first, even I thought Katie was indulging in conspiracy theory nonsense. However, when she started showing me the evidence…”

I frowned. “What evidence?”

He paced over to the fireplace and stood with one hand resting on the massive beam that constituted the mantelpiece, the other holding his glass. He gazed down into the cold soot and said, “You’ve probably never heard of Justin Caulfield. He’s a shadow cabinet minister, dyed in the wool communist, all for disarmament, giving up our nuclear weapons, getting out of NATO, give the Falklands to the ruddy Argies. Unspeakable man. Managed to get into the shadow cabinet and could conceivably become Prime Minister.

“Well, Katie gathered evidence…” He turned his head to look at me, “And I mean photographs, films, recordings, emails… the works, showing that Caulfield has close ties not just with the International Communist Party, but with local Marxist parties in the U.K. and with active commanders in Al Qaeda, and with an organization known as the ICP…”

Dehan said, “The Islamic Communist Party.”

He nodded at her. “ Exactly. Was there ever a more absurd or dangerous notion?”

I grunted. “I’m a little confused. We spoke to Sadiq Hassan today, just before coming here. He said your daughter was having an affair with someone he simply referred to as ‘a Jew’.” I shrugged. “But according to Sarah, Katie wasn’t seeing anybody, she was too involved with her work. On the other hand, according to you, she was seeing Sadiq as part of her investigation.” I spread my hands. “Can you clarify that? Have you any idea who Sadiq might be referring to?”

He made a face that suggested he wasn’t very interested in the question. Then he returned to his chair.

“You know the tragedy of this whole thing? I have a reputation around this country for being ‘pro-Jewish’ and ‘anti-Arab’. The fact is I have no idea, and even less interest, in what religions, faiths and ideologies the people I know adhere to. I know my wife is an Anglican because her father insisted we marry in an Anglican church. But ask me about any of my closest friends or family, I don’t know and I don’t care.

“On the rare occasions my daughter brought a chap home, all I wanted to know was, was he kind to her? Would he make her happy, and could he afford her? In that order.” He took a deep breath, held it and then blew out noisily. “But that hardly answers your question, does it? As far as I was aware, she was not seeing anyone in any serious way. All her focus was on her project, and within that, her target was Justin Caulfield. If I had to hazard a guess, I would have to say she was seeing somebody in Caulfield’s employ. But it is very unlikely that anyone in the Labour Party shadow cabinet would employ a Jew. They are deeply and endemically anti-Semitic.”

Dehan was chewing her lip. She said unexpectedly, “The Third Reich was about as anti-Semitic as you can get, but Hitler was part Jewish. He just kept it off his résumé.”

I smiled. “Fair point.”

There was a tap at the door. It opened and Trout stepped in.

“M’Lord, M’Lady has risen and intends to come down to the drawing room for a cocktail before dinner. She asked me to inform you she will be down in approximately ten minutes.”

Chiddester nodded. “Thank you, Trout.” Trout withdrew and Chiddester almost managed a smile. “Shall we take our drinks to the drawing room, then? My wife might be able to give you a different perspective from my own. Sometimes she tells me I only knew one side of Katie.” He paused, and just for a moment, there was a glimpse of the intolerable pain he was living through. “If that is so,” he said, “It is something to be regretted. We should know everything about our children, and we should never outlive them.”

He stood abruptly, went and opened the door, and he and I followed Dehan out into the drawing room. The drapes were still open, as were the leaded windows, and a pleasant breeze was coming in, scented with roses and freshly mowed grass. Outside, you could hear the long, complicated song of a blackbird trailing out into the fading evening light.

Chiddester stood in front of the cold fireplace. It was huge, large enough for him to stand inside, and suddenly, despite his strong, vigorous frame, I had the odd feeling that he had somehow aged and shrunk, even since the morning. He gazed down at the large, cast iron grate and said, suddenly, “I should have stopped her. I should have told her it was too dangerous. I should have refused to help.”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew his feelings only too intimately, but I had nothing to offer him as a remedy. I had never found one. I had never found redemption for Hattie’s death. I found instead my attention riveted to the endless song of the blackbird, calling into the encroaching dark.

Dehan watched him a moment, then said, “Could you have stopped her?”

He looked around, sharply, frowning, then seemed to think about what she’d asked him. “Probably not, but I should have tried.”

She shrugged. “Speaking as a daughter, who lost her father when I was only small, what kept me going, what still keeps me going, is the knowledge that he and I were on the same page.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Maybe I’m impertinent, Chiddester, but we all die. We all have to die sooner or later. But we don’t have to have somebody who connects with us, who knows who we are in this world, and what we are about, and doesn’t try to stop you. You two were lucky. You had that,