It was Beverley. She'd found Michael Bentford's mother but there was no way of asking her anything. She was in a semi vegetative state in a care home and had been that way for more than twenty years. When she was forty a truck had slammed into her car putting her into a coma from which she had never really emerged. Beverley hadn't found out her husband's real name. There was a sister but she couldn't find out her married name. As far as she knew there were no other relatives.

  Trucks seemed a bit common around Michael Bentford, I thought. I knew that wasn't fair because he'd have only been twenty at the time. Or was it? I'd make that judgment when I got more information. I told Beverley to keep digging.

  12

  Over lunch, we tossed around ways of getting the information I wanted about Bentford's father's name. It was becoming so pressing I rang someone I knew at the Department of Foreign Affairs. She was not helpful. No, they could not access name changes for private reasons. You had to have an international emergency to do that. Did I have one?

  `What about Interpol?' asked Anna.

  `No one's done anything, Anna.'

  `Just run you off a mountain road.'

  `Hardly an international crime. No, I don't think we're going to get anywhere legally.'

  She jumped up and strode to the kitchen slapping ham and tomato onto some slabs of bread. `Marvellous. Who do we know who can break into the files we need, whatever they are? It would have to be someone in England wouldn't it? Another sandwich?'

  She flopped down next to me shoving a doorstep of a sandwich into my hand, and peered into my face, eyes gleaming.

  I smiled and took it, looking back into her lovely face, so like her vicious mother's and so unlike it. Anna's face was mobile and alive where her mother's had been as frozen as her soul. As I searched her eyes, she pulled back a little but I felt it wasn't as much as before. Each time we spent time together she seemed to thaw a bit more. Today she'd kissed me. I would hang in because I loved what I knew was there, what I'd already seen, underneath the darkness and fear.

  Maybe she was right. A hacker. But on reflection, maybe not. It would take a genius of a hacker to break into the births, deaths and marriages registry of the United Kingdom. What was I thinking?

  `The church!'

  Anna jumped. `What church? Are you all right Harry? Did last night’s accident do something to your head?'

  `The church Bentford's parents married in. The parish records. People search those all the time looking for lost relatives. I bet that family always married in the same church. The sister would have too. So all we have to do is find out the parish church nearest the Bentford estate. How about that for detective work?' I praised the light in my mind and beamed at my brilliance. `What about a drink?

  `After we find the church. You keep looking. There's a loose fence on the North boundary, and as it's going to be fine for the rest of the day, I'll go up there and fix it.'

  `Please be very careful, Anna.' I smiled. I won't say I felt an omen, but I was very aware of what might come next.

  `As always and the animals will follow me. That includes Lara who guards me along with the others.'

  I texted Beverley again. This time to ask her what platforms she was using to dig up all this stuff and to ask her if she had any friends in England who might live near the Bentford home. Within ten minutes she was back. Her niece lived in Surrey a scant half hour's drive from the village of Wotton which was the nearest town to the Bentford estate. It had a wonderful old church called St John's. Beverley had been there and was sure her niece would be happy to check out the marriages' registry for 1976.

  Now we were talking. I went back to Milos Mladenovic's business affairs. I called the bloke I'd asked to check where all his money went. He didn't pick up, so I emailed him. I wasn't expecting much. He was great researcher but this was probably beyond him. Normally complex business arrangements, yes, but these were criminals. Who knew what they'd done?

  I lay back and closed my eyes hoping that inspiration might strike me because I was relaxed. I was fighting off a small army of knife wielding Kashmiri warriors when I woke with a start. It was cold. The fire had dropped to a few embers and it was nearly dark. Anna would kill me for letting the fire go out. Where was she? She should have been back before dark.

  Oh God, not again. I jumped off the sofa, ignoring the creaks of my damaged body and raced outside, almost into her arms. We swayed together for a minute struggling for balance as Lara leapt all over us.

  `What's wrong?' She sounded worried as well. `What's happened?'

  I felt like an idiot. The overprotective male thing taken to extremes. But it wasn't really. We'd faced some murderous bastards only a few months ago and now someone was at it again. Just different ones.

  `Sorry, I was asleep and I woke up…and you weren't there. And I thought you should have been. That’s all. And I let the fire go out…or nearly out.'

  I marched around to the woodpile and swore to chop a whole lot more tomorrow to make up for my carelessness today. The new wood caught quickly and soon the fire was roaring again. In fact, I had a glass of wine on the bench, veggies in the pot and steaks on the grill before she reappeared in her pyjamas and robe.

  She laughed as I handed her the wine. `You should stuff up more often, this is lovely. I was late because I got bogged at the bottom of the hill and had to drag some bracken across to get me out. I should have taken my phone, especially after what happened to you yesterday.'

  `Not because I could have come and helped you un-bog, then?'

  `Yeah, that too. I know, but I'm so used to managing on my own I forget that things might be easier if someone could help sometimes.'

  But I knew she had a problem asking. It was part of the trust thing. If no one ever came to help you out when you were little, you'd assume no one ever would. So if you don't ask you won't be disappointed.

  I raised my glass. `To the easy life.'

  We clinked glasses and dropped to the sofa. Anna leaned back against me and put her feet up. I slid my arm across her shoulders and dropped my hand under her robe to stroke her breast. She wriggled slightly to make it easier for me and looked up grinning.

  `To the easy life.'

  It was these evenings where we could relax away from our collective pathologies and just enjoy each other's physical presence that were at the heart of my love for this complicated woman. Sure I wanted more, but for now this was fine.

  Farm hours are different from city ones, so we headed early for the bedroom full of good food and wine. It was a night to remember, an oasis of pleasure and happiness in the maelstrom that was to come.

  As usual Anna didn't linger for an early morning embrace. With Lara scratching at the door at dawn, she was up and out to her first loves, her animals. In winter they spent the night in the barn so her first chores of the day were to feed them, turn them out, then clean up after them. When I stayed I felt obliged to pitch in. Though metaphorically shovelling shit was part of my job, shovelling the real sort was quite relaxing. Real shit didn't try to sue you, threaten to break your legs or try to kill you.

  After that we sat down to breakfast and I reached for my phone. Had Beverley had time to find out anything?

  `What are you looking for, Harry? Who do you think Michael really is?'

  I hadn't told her about Vlado Mladenovic because the name would upset her. I knew that he was her cousin, as his father and her grandfather were brothers. I knew, too, that Vlado was a major criminal in Serbia and had some kind of operation planned for Australia. So she couldn't know I thought Michael Bentford might be his son, her first cousin.

  She was smart enough to know if Vlado Mladenovic had something going on here and his son was approaching her, then she was involved somehow in something, at best not quite right. That it was a whole lot more than family catching up.

  `I don't know. I'm still waiting for my contact to get back to me.'

  She looked at me sideways. `But you have suspicions. I know you Harry Nichols, you think something's up and I'm in it somehow.'

  `Yes, I have suspicions and yes, I do think you're involved. As you said Bentford knew things he shouldn't have about an attempt on my life and he was here with you when it happened. I don't know much yet, but it might have something to do with your grandfather.'

  `My grandfather? But he died before I was born. I know nothing about him.'

  `I know. But he was a wealthy man and we don't know what happened to all that when he died. Maybe it's something to do with that?'

  `I imagine whatever he had went to Mother and Aunt Geraldine. That will all be swallowed up when R.S. goes under. Except…I told you that my inheritance from Father is okay, but still, all my shares in R.S. are all but worthless now.'

  `Do you still keep in contact with the accountant—'

  `George? Yes, he's all right. He was horrified by what Uncle Roger was doing. He says he still can't believe Mother was involved too. No, he's done stuff, I don't know what, to keep my money safe. I don't ask either because I'm not sure it's legal.'

  `Shame on you, Anna, I thought you were a stickler for the law.'

  `About morals, not so much about money. But anyway, I'm working with George on putting everything I don't need to run the farm into a foundation for animal rescue. You know animals that have been exploited, like racehorses and greyhounds and any others that are put down when they don't earn enough money. So if what George is doing is dodgy the outcome will be to save animals from even worse abuse. Is that okay?'

  She was defiant in her own defence. I threw up my hands.

  `Sure okay. It sounds great. Is that where Billy came from?'

  `Yes. I'm calling it the Dixie Foundation and Billy was one of the first to be rescued.'

  Her whole face lit up as she told me of the research she was doing to find fellow travellers, of how she was working out all the logistics and costs involved in homing these animals. She dug out the papers and paced around the room flinging her arms about as she described the abuses her foundation would address. Her passion was infectious and I wound up nearly as excited as she was.

  After the terrible events all those months ago she'd been lethargic and depressed. Understandably so, after the massive betrayal as her mother and her father's friend and colleague she called `uncle' both tried to kill her; and did kill her beloved Dixie. She fought them all and won but afterwards the fight went out of her. I did my best to bring caring and love into her life but it was only now that she was fired up and ready to go.

  13

  My phone rang. It was Beverley. Her niece had been to St John's church in Wotton in Surrey. She had found the former name of Bentford's father. Bentford. He didn't simply take his wife's name when he married, he changed it before the wedding. But fortunately she had found Julia Bentford's sister. She might know something.

  `I mean,' said Beverley, `it looks like he was very serious about hiding his real identity. Why? They knew he was a foreigner so was he on the run from the law somewhere? Was he illegally in the country? Were his bona fides so suspect that Julia's family would just throw him out? Very odd.'

  Indeed, and now it was probably impossible to find out who he really was. Beverley's niece was going to see the sister in London on Monday. Apparently they were both members of the same women's club. I didn't hold out much hope because this man had covered his tracks very thoroughly.

  Anna was watching closely so I shook my head. `Nothing, I'm afraid.'

  `Ah well, we'll just have to agree to not trust him as far as we can throw him and leave it there. We'll both steer clear and ignore him.'

  That was fine, but if he needed me dead, steering clear wasn't helpful. Meanwhile I had the investigation into her grandfather's business going on and I needed to talk to George, her finance man at R.S. Holdings.

  As I sat back thinking I remembered I no longer had a car. It was time to tell my insurance company what had happened. The thing wasn't worth much and I needed every cent to replace it. They had a hire car option so I had two weeks to buy another car. One of my colleagues was a car nut and I called her. She was thrilled to help but disappointed at how little I planned to spend. Cars simply don't do it for me. Just a tin can on wheels to get me from a to b. With airbags to keep you inside it.

  To get more about Mladenovic I needed to look back through the notes on my computer, the one at the bottom of a ravine. Of course I'd backed everything up on memory sticks but they were down there too. I sighed. Stymied. But something stirred in my mind. Something Beverley had found out. I scrolled through my phone. Yes.

  The accident to Bentford's mother. Would the institution she was in have records of who was paying the bills? Mladenovic used his own name now, did he change it again after his wife's accident? The more I thought about it the more other avenues opened up.

  Was Mladenovic senior at the wedding? What did the press say about Julia and her boyfriend before there was an engagement? There was no internet then but there were newspapers including the gutter press who'd stop at nothing to dig up dirt on society figures including wealthy families and upstart foreigners.

  I had to research the gossip columns of the 1970s. Even a Mladenovic couldn't hide all of it. But I couldn't do it on my phone. Anna's old computer was at the repair shop so I had to go back to Beverley. It was less effective because when you're doing your own stuff you're free to reach for outlying clues, and innuendo which you can't put into instructions for others. Beverley was more intuitive than most but…

  I underestimated her. By four in the afternoon the old journalist had found exactly what I wanted. A small group of gossip column articles in a rag of a paper known for being racist, bigoted and xenophobic.

  The articles asked why the daughter of a well credentialed upper-class family was dirtying herself by hanging out with a Yugoslav. It went to postulate that this `Yugoslav, or worse, a `Serbian', was after her money and the respectability his family lacked, even in Yugoslavia.

  They had a searing exposé of the man's father, claiming he was a well-known crime figure in his home country. They also showed fuzzy photographs of this man taken during the war, one Bogdan Mladenovic and his brother wearing Nazi uniforms. It was brutal. They didn't name the brother.

  There were several photographs of a pretty blonde girl with a good-looking young man whom they named as Vlado Mladenovic, aged twenty-six. Others included the old man, Bogdan.

  Just before Anna came back in, I got another dump from Beverley. Much smaller. It showed wedding pictures of Vlado and Julia, now Mr and Mrs Bentford. Nothing was said about the name.

  Apparently the nasty rag had gone out of business shortly before the wedding. The only way Beverley had got this stuff was through a man she knew who'd worked there. Briefly, he claimed, and he was very young at the time. Beverley's exclamation mark said plenty. He also said the owner of the rag had been killed in a road accident and the heirs closed the business. Bogdan was thorough.

  So now I knew Michael Bentford was Vlado Mladenovic's son. His move towards Anna was not a reach for friendship, nor was it benign or he would have introduced himself as her cousin.

  I also knew that Vlado Mladenovic was behind all three attempts on my life so I was, in some way, a threat to them. I had no idea why. But instead of making me back off what they'd done was make me look harder. To save my life I had to talk to the old accountant, George Mayhew. If anyone knew about whether Vlado's uncle, Milos Mladenovic's money had come into R.S. when Eleanor was married to Anna's father, it would be him. If it had, how, and how much?

  Had Valdo come calling about family money? If he had had significant holdings in R.S. he'd be pretty mad at me. So revenge might be the motive after all.

  When Anna came in she was panting, her face flushed and her eyes gleaming.

  `You look happy,' I said.

  `I've been riding Billy. Do you know he jumps too? I didn't know until today. I kept him away from obstacles like logs and stuff. He's an old horse and I couldn't bear it if he broke a leg or anything.'

  She dropped onto the sofa and stretched out. I handed her a glass of wine which she waved away.

  `I didn't even see the log tonight. It was alongside a small branch of a tree. The next minute we were flying. I got such a fright I nearly fell off and he seemed to know. He slowed right down until I was centred again.' She stood up. `Horses are psychic like that, you know. Dixie was too. She always knew if I was upset.' She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

  I hoped they were prescient over danger too. But I had my doubts. After she'd showered we sat down and I told her everything I'd found out. Including that both her grandfather and his brother were on the Nazi's side in the war. Young men on the make was the way she described that with a shrug.

  `Does it worry you?'

  `No. It disgusts me but I never knew either of them. I guess that sort of man would have daughters like my mother and aunt. They were fascists too. But is this Vlado man here or is he counting on the horrible Michael to do whatever rotten thing he's planning?'

  I couldn't help her on that, but I needed her to try and think of anything she may have heard about her grandfather's business. More than just `property'.

  `Really, that's all I ever heard. My parents never spoke about him when I was around. Come to think of it, they hardly ever spoke at all.'

  `They didn't point out any houses or buildings or anything that might be his?'

  She took my face in her hands. `You have to understand, Harry, my parents didn't travel anywhere with me in the car. We never went out as a family, ever. Well, my father took me out once in a while but…hang on…wait a minute. Yes, yes, there was one time…I was very small…a park, or something…a field…He pointed and said, `that's yours.' I didn't know what he was talking about.'

  `Was it vacant land? Big?'

  `I don't know. I was only four or five. All I have is a picture in my head of some empty land. I'd forgotten all about it till now. I was small so anything bigger than our garden would have been like a park to me.'

 

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