Truth Will Out, page 5
There’s more to this than simply not liking Gorland’s methods.
“Okay, you can tell me to back off, shut up, whatever,” Jonathon began hesitatingly, “but I sort of got the impression that he doesn’t like you very much.”
Mike snorted. “Not like he hid it, right?” He took a long drink from his mug before continuing. “He’s had it in for me ever since I made DI before he did.”
“Ah. Hence the pointed remark about his rank.”
Mike nodded. “At the time he kicked up quite a fuss. Said I hadn’t been promoted because I was good at my job, but for… other reasons.” He focused on the tabletop.
Jonathon couldn’t miss Mike’s body language; it screamed tension. “Other reasons?” When Mike jerked his head up, his eyes wide, Jonathon held up his hands in a placating gesture. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
Mike sagged into his chair. “Look, I suppose I can tell you. It’s not like it’s a secret around here. It’s just not something I go shouting from the rooftops to every stranger who comes into the pub.” His gaze met Jonathon’s. “Except, you don’t feel like a stranger.”
Jonathon waited.
Another drink of coffee. “Gorland claimed I’d been promoted because of… positive discrimination.”
Jonathon frowned. “And what’s that when it’s at home? Discrimination has always had negative connotations in my book.”
Mike sighed heavily. “Positive discrimination first reared its head in Manchester in the eighties and nineties. It’s a policy whereby an employer makes the decision to appoint certain minorities to their workforce, ahead of others, so that they’re seen to be fair. Those who are physically less able, from a racial minority, maybe female, or… LGBT.” He paused. “I don’t think for one minute that the London Metropolitan Police employs such a policy, but Gorland muddied the waters a few years back by claiming I’d been promoted simply because they needed an… openly gay DI to enhance their LGBT-friendly appearance.”
Jonathon fought hard not to let his jaw drop. Mike’s gay? He let that new information seep in.
Mike apparently took his silence for disapproval. “I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you.”
“You haven’t,” Jonathon said quickly.
Mike arched his eyebrows. “Really. Tell that to your face.”
There was no way he could let Mike think of him in those terms.
“You remember I told you I’d be the next heir of de Mountford Hall if my father gets his way?”
“Yes.” Mike smirked. “That was a very recent conversation. I’m hardly likely to have forgotten already.”
“Well, he and I have differing opinions on a few subjects. For one thing, he wants me to give up my ‘little hobby,’ as he calls it, and move into the hall, with all its responsibilities.”
“Little hobby?” Mike gaped at him. “You’re a bloody marvelous photographer. You’re well on your way to becoming the next David Bailey, Lord Snowdon….”
Jonathon’s face grew hot. “You’re very kind, but he doesn’t quite see it like that. And then there’s the fact that he expects me to marry and start producing the next generation of de Mountfords, seeing as the line ends with me.”
“You don’t want to get married just yet? You’re twenty-eight, I think you said? People are getting married older these days. Surely he can wait a while.”
Jonathon cleared his throat. “That’s where we run into certain… complications. He’s already putting together a list of extremely eligible women, and I don’t want to marry any of them.”
Mike nodded sympathetically. “You’d rather find your own wife, rather than having one forced on you. That’s understandable.”
“Not exactly.” Jonathon drained the rest of his coffee. “You see, there’s the small but not insignificant detail that if I ever do get married, it would definitely not be to a woman.” He raised his chin and looked Mike in the eye.
Mike blinked. “Oh.” Then his mouth fell open. “Oh.” A moment later, he started to laugh.
Jonathon gazed at him, perplexed. “What’s so funny?”
Mike grinned. “Gorland’s remark about me being a fast worker? He was trying to imply I was going to make a move on you, because, of course, gay men make a move on every guy they meet, right?” He shook his head. “If he finds out you’re gay, he’ll have apoplexy.”
Jonathon couldn’t help grinning too. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer man. So when do we break the news to him?”
Mike chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Tempting, isn’t it? But seriously, I had no idea you were gay.”
Jonathon shrugged. “Not something I go shouting from the rooftops either. And it’s not going to change anything, is it?”
“Not at all.”
Except Jonathon knew he was lying to himself. It had already changed how he viewed Mike, and he was going to have to work hard not to let it show that he found him very attractive.
A glance at Mike stilled him. Mike seemed lost in his own thoughts, and judging by his frown, they weren’t pleasant.
Something niggled at the back of Jonathon’s mind. That earlier feeling that Mike wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“What’s bothering you?”
Mike’s creased brow smoothed out instantly. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
Jonathon knew a lie when he heard one. He merely gave Mike a pointed stare.
Mike huffed. “Okay. If you must know, I’m worried about my sister. She’s not answering her phone or replying to texts. And she’s not at home either.”
“When was the last time you heard from her?”
“A couple of days ago?”
Jonathon nodded. “Is it possible she’s gone away and just forgotten to tell you?”
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Mike stared out of the window at the village beyond. “Part of me is hoping to God that her not being around isn’t linked to Dominic’s death. Not that I think she’s capable of murder,” he added quickly.
“There’s a but coming.” Jonathon regarded him keenly. “Why should she have had anything to do with Dominic’s death?”
Mike sighed. “Because a week ago, she and Dominic got into a hell of a row, right here in the pub, which ended in her yelling at him that… she was going to kill him.”
Chapter Five
JONATHON STARED at him, cold spreading over his skin in icy trickles. “You don’t really think….” His throat seized up.
“I don’t want to think that, obviously.” Mike looked haggard. “When I picked you up near the station? I’d been for a drive, trying to find her. I’d gone to her house, but there was no sign of her. Then I thought maybe she’d taken the dog for a long morning walk. She does that a lot. I drove along her usual route, but no sign either.”
“She wouldn’t have left the dog… would she?” Jonathon loved dogs, and he hated to think of a poor dog, trapped in a house.
Mike shook his head. “If Sherlock had been around when I went to her place, I’d have known. That mutt starts barking as soon as he hears my car engine.”
“Sherlock?” In spite of his present mood, Jonathon couldn’t help smiling at that.
Mike scowled. “Sue’s idea. I gave her the dog when her husband left her. Figured he’d be company for her. She said the name reminded her of me.” He rolled his eyes. “Sherlock. I ask you! And wherever Sue’s gone, the dog is with her.” He stared at Jonathon. “I know. I should ask the rest of the people she cleans for. Maybe one of them has heard from her.” He got to his feet and picked up the empty mugs. “And we can start with the vicarage. She cleans there once a week.”
The vicarage….
Jonathon caught his breath. “Damn. I forgot to mention. We’re expected for tea there, today at four o’clock.”
Mike smirked. “We are expected? Since when?”
“I met the vicar’s wife when I went for a walk last night, and she invited us both.”
Mike smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like Melinda. Heart of gold, that one.”
“She’d like me to invite the curate for a drink in the pub. I get the impression she thinks he needs to get out more.”
“That definitely sounds like Melinda. Everyone’s mother.”
Jonathon smiled. “That explains Sebastian’s comment about waifs and strays. He seemed nice too.”
Mike nodded. “Intelligent bloke. Apparently he preaches well too.”
“You haven’t heard him?”
A derisive snort exploded from Mike’s lips. “I’m not one for church. There are too many Christians who believe I’m going to hell because of what goes on in my bedroom—not that it’s any of their business.” He chuckled. “And not that there’s anything going on in my bedroom in the first place. Chance would be a fine thing.”
Jonathon coughed. He hadn’t expected such a forthright comment.
Mike’s face reddened. “Sorry. My mouth gets away from me sometimes.” He headed for the kitchen with the mugs but stopped halfway across the pub and turned to face Jonathon. “I meant to apologize, by the way. Gorland shouldn’t have spoken to you so rudely.”
“I got the feeling his bad manners were directed more toward you.”
“True, but he was still bloody rude.” Mike tilted his head to one side. “He might have been more polite if he knew he was speaking to the heir of the manor.”
Jonathon shook his head. “Not until it’s made official, remember?” Maybe a visit to the solicitor’s was imminent after all.
“Okay, got it.” Mike hesitated. “Look, I really don’t think Sue was serious when she yelled she was going to kill Dominic. I think it was one of those moments we all have, when we get carried away and say things we don’t mean.”
“Want to tell me why they were arguing in the first place?” Then it came to him that he already knew. “The local hunt. Dominic’s decision to allow them on his land. That was it, wasn’t it?”
Mike nodded glumly. “Dominic was in the pub for a quiet drink. He did that from time to time, a sort of ‘meet the locals’ kind of thing. Sue marched right up to him and started yelling her head off. He told her he wasn’t about to change his mind. And… she told him she’d kill him before the hunt took place.”
“And you still think it was just talk?” Because to Jonathon’s way of thinking, it was pretty incriminating talk.
“Absolutely. Sue doesn’t… I mean, she wouldn’t….” Mike sighed unhappily. “I know my sister. She isn’t capable of this.”
Jonathon wanted to believe him. “Go clean the mugs, Mike.”
“Sure.” Mike left and headed for the kitchen, his shoulders hunched over.
Jonathon got up and walked over to the large bay window. It was a sobering thought that right then, his uncle’s killer was walking around, possibly someone who lived in the village. It was hard to believe, looking out at the tranquil scene, that such a thing could happen in such a peaceful, beautiful spot.
He cast his mind back to what they’d seen at the hall. That photo album, for instance. Its presence on the desk could be entirely coincidental, but the missing photo made him doubt that assumption. Where is it? Has someone taken it? And if so, why? Jonathon closed his eyes and pulled the image from his memory. He could see it in his head, clear as anything, even down to the clothing he wore. He couldn’t remember the photo being taken, but that was hardly surprising. He’d been barely two years old, according to Dominic.
On impulse Jonathon got out his phone and called his father. “Hi.”
“Have the police been to see you?” As usual, his father came straight to the point.
“I met the detective inspector who’s taken over the case.” Jonathon sat back down in his chair.
“Good, good. Glad to know our family name still carries some weight. Then you know it wasn’t an accident.”
“Yes.”
“Let me know if you meet with anything less than complete cooperation. The police commissioner is a personal friend. He assures me everything will be done to find the perpetrator.”
No wonder Gorland had mentioned very long strings.
That photo was still on his mind, however.
“Father, I’m trying to locate a photograph that Dominic had in one of his albums. You might know of it.”
“What makes you say so?”
“Well, you worked with him, and the photo was taken during an office day trip to the seaside. It was of Dominic, with me sitting on his lap.”
Silence followed, lasting a couple of seconds. “Dominic never took you to the seaside.” Jonathon could hear the tone of puzzlement.
“Are you sure? There was another figure in the photo, a lady who worked with him.”
“Oh? Ohhhh. Yes. Now I remember. I’d forgotten all about that. Why are you trying to locate it?”
Some inner sense bade Jonathon hold his tongue. The same inner sense was telling him his father had just lied to him. “Oh, no special reason. I just wanted to see it again. Dominic told me all about it years ago.”
“I see. Well, you have more important things to do with your time than to waste it looking for photographs. Dominic’s solicitor, Mr. Omerod, has an office in the village. Perhaps you should pay him a visit?”
Jonathon was well acquainted with his father’s speech patterns. There was no perhaps about it. For all Jonathon knew, Mr. Omerod had already been told to expect him. “Yes, sir.” There seemed little point in arguing.
He disconnected the call just as Mike came back into the pub, walking over to him. Before he could speak, however, Jonathon blurted out, “It wasn’t me in the photo.”
Mike frowned. “But…. What makes you say that?”
“Because I just asked my father about it, and what I got back was pure obfuscation.”
Mike sat opposite him. “Who told you it was you in the photo in the first place?”
“Dominic.” Jonathon leaned forward, elbows on the table, his fingers steepled. “Why would he tell me the boy was me if it wasn’t?”
“You’re sure about this photo?”
Jonathon stared at him. “I can tell you what was in the background, what I—what the boy—was wearing, what the—”
“Okay, okay.” Mike held up his hands. “I believe you. In which case, it’s obvious.”
“It is?”
Mike nodded. “The toddler was the woman’s child.”
“Then what was Dominic doing in the photo? Why was the child on his knee? And why would he lie to me?” None of it made any sense, especially the most puzzling thing of all—the photo was missing.
“Don’t think about it now,” Mike urged him. “You need to think about more practical matters, such as visiting Dominic’s solicitor. I’m assuming that’s on the cards, right? For everything to be made official? And I need to think about shopping.”
Jonathon had to smile. “Shopping?”
Mike rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, some of us need to do mundane things like shopping, so other people,” he said, pointing at Jonathon, “can eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, and have silly little things like lunch and dinner.”
“Point taken.” In that instant the last thing Jonathon wanted was to visit a dusty solicitor’s office. “Can I come too?”
Mike chuckled. “Seriously? If you really want to. I could split the list between us and we could get it done in half the time.”
“You’re on.” Anything was better than sitting around, letting his mind come up with all kinds of theories.
That could wait until later.
THE VICARAGE sitting room was exactly how Jonathon had pictured it. The vicarage itself was a tall building constructed in a dark gray stone, and inside it was a maze of large rooms, sloping corridors, and stairs that led off in all directions. The sort of house, he concluded, that would have been wonderful for a child growing up.
Then he gazed around the warm, cozy sitting room, taking in the absence of family photos.
Maybe that’s why Melinda has so many surrogate children. She and the vicar have none of their own. The thought saddened him. Melinda would make a great mother.
“Jonathon?”
Her quiet utterance was a nudge back into reality.
Melinda regarded him, her eyes sparkling. “Nice of you to join us. I was just asking if you wanted more fruit cake.”
“No, thanks, although it was delicious.” He peered at the table, the crisp white cloth barely visible beneath a delicate china cake stand containing three layers of sandwiches and cakes, a plate on which a rich fruit cake stood, a squat teapot, and taller, more elegant coffee pot, plus all the accoutrements of an English tea. “Is there any more carrot cake?”
Mike snickered. “You’ve already had two pieces.”
Melinda gave Mike a mock glare. “And if he wants a third piece, he can have a third piece. I didn’t hear anyone commenting when you helped yourself to virtually all the chicken paste sandwiches.”
It was Jonathon’s turn to snicker, especially when Mike’s expression turned sheepish.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name last night, Jonathon.” Sebastian leaned forward to cut himself a thin slice of fruit cake. “I’m a fan of your work.”
“Thank you.” Jonathon took the plate of carrot cake from Melinda.
“Where will your next trip take you?”
“I’d planned a visit to Vietnam,” he told the curate. “I was going to photograph the tunnels, among other things.”
Lloyd Talbot peered at him, his brow furrowed. “Forgive me, but your choice of words makes it sound as though you’re no longer going there.” His voice quavered and cracked.
“Let’s just say I may have to put my plans on hold for the time being.” Jonathon took a bite of the moist cake. Melinda definitely had a golden touch when it came to baking.
“Speaking of plans….” Melinda poured more tea. “We need to speak to whomever takes over the hall. The village fete is almost upon us, and if it is to be canceled, we need to know sooner rather than later. Your uncle was always so good to us, letting us hold it in the grounds of the hall.”
