Nothing But Trouble, page 22
part #11 of Jessica Daniel Series
‘What?’
‘She was spotted smiling? What does that mean?’
‘What do you think it means? She was loving it. She couldn’t get enough.’ He stuck his palm out, patting his fingers as if asking for money. ‘Right, who’s your supplier?’
‘The One2One minimart out Moston way. They’ve got loads and they’re doing two-for-one on mini rolls too.’
He rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘You should’ve called in!’
‘I was kinda busy doing real work.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Someone doing the DNA testing has dropped a bollock. According to them, Richie Hyde’s DNA matches two people already in the database.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dunno – I’m only telling you what I heard. They reckon he’s got a half-brother and half-sister that no one’s ever heard of.’
33
Jessica hated trains. It wasn’t simply the cramped conditions and lack of seats; the fact that they stopped at every sodding station; the stupid woman shoving the cart up and down, trying to sell a coffee for eight quid; or the bloke with three – three – massive suitcases he was trying to balance; above all of that, it was the pricks in suits on their phones.
‘Hello? Yeah, sorry, I’m on a train, so it keeps cutting—Hello? Hello? Yeah, right, sorry, I lost you for a moment there. I’m working from the Liverpool office today but Karen said the posters aren’t ready . . . Hello? Right, yeah, I don’t know what’s going on? I called the printers yesterday and they assured me it’d all be sorted? . . . Exactly, and when’s the delivery due? . . . That’s what I heard, I mean I can’t do everything. What are they even doing in Wolverhampton? Hello? Hello?’
The morning after her talk with Pat, Jessica and Archie were both standing on a train heading to Liverpool, stuck listening to the endless conversation about marketing materials and the printers’ delivery. If the first thing she had to do when she got up was have a phone call about printers, Jessica would’ve ended it long before now. Not only was this arsehole’s job so boring that suicide was the preferred option, he was seemingly determined to drive everyone else in the carriage to top themselves too. Archie practically had steam coming from his ears, eyeballing the back of the man’s head so intensely that, seemingly through telepathy, the man on the phone turned around to see Archie’s ferocious stare.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, oblivious to the simmering tension around him.
‘You could hang up the phone.’
The man peered around the windows. ‘There’s no sign to say this is a quiet carriage.’
Archie spoke through gritted teeth. ‘There’s also no sign to say you can’t punch people repeatedly in the head, but no one’s doing that. Yet.’
The man hung up.
Their train eventually arrived at Liverpool Lime Street forty minutes late. Archie was sniffing the air as they walked through the main doors, pulling a face.
‘What are you doing?’ Jessica asked.
‘Bit Scouse for my liking.’
‘Don’t start this again – it was bad enough when we went to London and you spent the whole day moaning about southerners.’
‘What?’
‘Manchester is not the centre of the universe and, even if it was, we’re only thirty miles down the road.’
Archie nodded towards a man walking down the street, wearing a Liverpool football shirt. ‘Look at the state of that,’ he sneered.
‘I knew I should’ve left you at the station – Franks needs someone to help him with paperwork.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I will if you don’t stop whingeing.’
Jessica checked the address on her phone, using the maps app to figure out where they were. ‘This way,’ she said, ‘there should be a hospital down here, then we’re on the next street past.’
‘You’ve not properly told me what we’re doing here.’
‘That’s because we were on a crowded train.’ Jessica stopped, waiting to cross the road. ‘Richie Hyde had never been arrested, so his DNA wasn’t in the national database. He was spotted by a taxi driver on the night he died and was sick all over the taxi’s wheels. Because it was the last time Richie was seen, we had to get the testers in to make sure it was definitely him. Anyway, someone must’ve put a bit of money their way because they tested it super-quickly. When they analysed it, they concluded the vomit belonged to Richie, but they also found a partial match to two people already in the database.’
The lights changed and they crossed to the other side of the road, still following the directions on Jessica’s phone.
‘So two people related to Richie have been arrested before?’
‘Exactly, one half-brother from Liverpool, one half-sister from Southampton, neither of whom we knew about.’
Archie sounded confused. ‘Does that mean Richard Hyde’s the father of all three?’
‘That’s a bit awkward – Richard Hyde’s DNA isn’t in the database. He was done for drink-driving but too long ago for anything to be on record. He’s not been arrested since, so unless he chooses to give us a sample, we won’t know.’
‘Could it be the mother they share in common?’
‘Nope – it’s a paternal match. The three of them have the same dad.’ Jessica continued walking, remembering how Adam had described DNA testing and blood types to her too many years ago to think about. He was the scientist, the one who was able to explain things properly. It was through a situation a little like this that she’d met him in the first place.
‘I heard you had a fun lunch yesterday,’ Jessica said.
Archie paused momentarily, falling a step behind her. ‘It was only lunch. You can’t do anything at work without people sticking their noses in.’
‘It is a police station, that’s pretty much what people’s jobs are.’
‘Ruth only wanted someone to talk to.’
‘Ruth, is it?’
‘I—’
‘It’s fine, I just thought you might’ve said something.’
Archie puffed out a breath. ‘Must’ve slipped my mind.’
Isaac Foster looked nothing like Richie Hyde. He had blue eyes compared to Richie’s brown, with fairer hair and a stockier build. Isaac was twenty-four, fourteen months younger than his half-brother, but, while Richie had a rich father and had grown up abroad, Isaac was pure Scouse and worked in a Burger King. He was wearing the dark blue polo shirt with logo and red trim as he welcomed Jessica and Archie into his house. Archie took an instant dislike to the Everton scarves pinned to the walls but managed to keep his mouth shut.
Isaac was nervous, standing next to the dining table and biting his nails. ‘The woman on the phone said this was something to do with the fight,’ he said.
‘Fight?’ Jessica replied.
‘That’s why they swabbed my mouth last year. I wasn’t even involved, I swear, I know what they said in court but I was trying to get away. I was the one who got hit.’
Jessica held her hands up, trying to calm him. ‘We’re not here because you’re in trouble.’
‘Oh . . .’
‘There’s not an easy way to tell you this but you might want to sit down.’
Isaac lowered himself slowly into a chair, eyes widening. ‘It’s not Mum, is it . . . ?’
‘This might sound strange, Isaac, but we think you might have a half-brother. Possibly a half-sister too.’
A pause. ‘Oh.’
‘Is this something anyone’s ever told you?’
Isaac shook his head slowly, confused. ‘I’m an only child, but . . . you’re saying I’ve got a brother and sister?’
‘Maybe. If it’s all right with you, we’d like someone else to come out and re-swab your mouth. It’s only so that we can re-check everything.’
‘Okay . . . but I still don’t really understand how.’
‘This is also an awkward question, but things have moved really quickly. We’ve been able to contact you, obviously, but it’s unclear if either of your parents is alive . . .’
Isaac stood, suddenly perky. ‘They live out back.’
‘“Out back”?’
‘Two streets away. I can walk you round if you want? If we go now, we’ll catch Dad before he nicks off down the legion. It’s a pound a pint before six.’
‘Right . . .’
Jessica gave Archie a shrug as Isaac bounded from the room, grabbing a hoody and leading the way out of the house, through a pair of alleys until they emerged onto a street with long rows of red-brick terraced houses so similar to where they’d just been that it was as if they hadn’t moved at all. Jessica didn’t want to get too deeply into thoughts about why someone would leave home, only to move two streets away into an almost identical house. She figured that was what therapy was for.
On first impressions, Rhys and Nicole Foster did look like their son. That was until Jessica had spent a minute or two with them. She felt bad for thinking it but the three of them were all overweight, which clouded her initial judgement. The more she looked at them, the more she concluded that Isaac didn’t look much like either of his parents. His father had darker, more olive, skin with black hair; his mother was covered in freckles and had dark eyes. Not that any of that particularly mattered. There were lots of kids who looked nothing like their mum and dad.
Isaac’s parents were both in their late fifties and either unemployed or prematurely retired, depending upon a person’s viewpoint. It was an awkward matter to discuss, so Jessica approached it with the same brutal honesty she’d used with Isaac. As the three Fosters sat in a semicircle on the sofa and armchair, Jessica told them that Isaac might have a pair of half-siblings and, if he did, it was the father’s genes that were shared.
Rhys turned to Nicole, who stared back at him. They both seemed bemused. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she said. ‘You know how hard it was having Isaac.’
‘How do you mean?’ Jessica asked.
‘It took me a while to get pregnant. At first, we thought I couldn’t have children and then it just happened.’ She squeezed her husband’s hand.
‘I’m not trying to accuse anyone here,’ Jessica said. ‘I realise this is difficult and there’s still a chance it could be a giant mix-up. Unfortunately, the results of this relate to something we’re investigating in Manchester at the moment. No one here is implicated and I can’t give too many details but, if you’d be so kind to oblige, it would be really helpful if you’d allow me to arrange for someone to swab your mouths. We’ll be able to give you results in a day or two that should give you answers to everything.’
Rhys didn’t seem convinced. ‘How do you mean, answers?’
‘For one, they’ll tell Isaac if he does have a brother and sister. If so, they’ll be able to give some indication of who the father is.’
‘I’m his father.’
‘I realise that.’
‘And I’ve not touched another woman for nearly thirty years.’
He didn’t seem angry, more joking – as if this was one giant mix-up they’d all be laughing about one day.
‘Me neither,’ Nicole added, taking her husband’s hand. ‘Well, another man, I mean.’
‘I’m not arguing with any of that,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m really not – but something’s not right here.’
‘With what?’ Rhys said.
‘I’d like to say there’s been an error with the DNA that was held after your son’s conviction,’ both of Isaac’s parents shot him a dirty look, ‘but I can’t tell you anything for sure without the swabs.’
Three faces frowned at her, for which Jessica didn’t blame them. She’d expected more anger, wishing there was an easier way to ask the question, a method which didn’t involve suspicion of infidelity, but there was only this. Nicole stood quickly, asking them to wait as she hurried to a cabinet at the back of the room and started fussing. She returned with a square piece of paper, thrusting it into Jessica’s hand. It was a birth certificate – Isaac Hayes Foster. Either or both of Rhys and Nicole were soul music fans, with their names etched on the bottom, though that in itself proved little.
‘I’m really not doubting you,’ Jessica said, handing the paper back. ‘It’s probably a mix-up but I can’t say for certain without the tests. The labs are going to rush it through if you agree – it’ll should take around two days.’
Jessica and Archie were on their way back to the train station, her walking deliberately quickly because she knew he’d have to quick-step to keep up.
‘Well, that was awkward,’ Archie said, arms swinging crazily as he attempted to match her pace.
‘No one was trying to hide anything – Rhys is certain he’s Isaac’s dad and I believe him when he says he’s not fathered any other kids. She’s being honest too. They’re going to be devastated if the test suggests otherwise.’
‘If they’re both telling the truth, then how can Isaac and Richie Hyde be half-brothers?’
‘I really don’t know – let’s wait for the results. The potential half-sister in Southampton is being tested too. It’s probably one big cock-up and we’ve overreacted. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody’s mucked up.’
‘What if they are all related? How does that affect the fact the Hydes are being targeted?’
‘I don’t know that either, Arch.’
Jessica upped her pace further, hoping it would keep him quiet. She checked her phone as she walked – no calls, thankfully, but there was a text message from Bex: Hey. Been thnkin – gonna c helena again 2moro morn. Dint quite work last tim. X
Jessica sent her a message back: Want company?
Her phone fizzed almost straight away: Not this tim. Gotta do by self ;) Thx tho. X.
Jessica left it at that.
34
The following morning, Jessica drove to Richard Hyde’s house, her thoughts with Bex, not the dwindling family of apparent crooks, of whom she was thoroughly sick. It was Friday, with Natalie nowhere in sight, though Richard was dressed down in loose chinos and a golf jumper. He pottered around his enormous bright white kitchen, making coffee as Jessica sat on a high stool, watching and waiting for him to settle. Hyde was muttering under his breath, asking where the milk was, then answering himself. He seemed like a bumbling old man, not the fearsome figure Serious Crime had painted. The deaths had unsurprisingly hit him hard, leaving Jessica unsure if it was worth talking to him at all, especially as the DNA results were at least a day away.
‘Sugar?’ he barked.
‘No.’
‘How many?’
‘I said I didn’t want any.’
He tugged on his jumper, then stuck a finger in his ear. ‘Oh . . . milk?’
‘Just a splash.’
Preferably not poured using the finger that had just been in his ear.
Hyde finally stopped moving around the kitchen, settling on a stool next to Jessica, though he couldn’t sit still. He started with the tiptoes of each foot touching the floor, then lifted his legs up, then dropped them again, all the while fidgeting and twitching. He seemed broken.
‘Are you sure you’re all right to talk?’ Jessica asked.
‘Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. All I do is talk.’
‘We could do this another time.’
‘I’ve got to get to the casino, so out with it.’
He sounded like her primary school headmaster.
‘Do you have any other children, Mr Hyde?’
Hyde eyed her like she was stupid. ‘Natalie.’
‘Other than her.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Is there any chance you could have a son in Liverpool, or a daughter in Southampton?’
‘Absolutely none.’
‘When we found Richie’s body, we DNA-tested it as we were trying to work out his final movements. We discovered that there are two other people in the database who are related to him.’
He was now fixed on her: ‘Two?’
‘There could actually be more – those are the pair who are in the DNA database for whatever reason. If there are two half-siblings on our system, it’s statistically likely there are others who aren’t.’
It took him a moment to take it in. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘It could be a mistake but I’ve spoken to the labs this morning and it’s looking increasingly likely that it isn’t – because it wouldn’t be one error, it’d be a series. We’ll have final confirmation soon, but your son, Richie, almost certainly has at least one half-brother and one half-sister.’
Hyde was unmoved, staring at her, impossible to read. Was he surprised? Confused? The fidgeting had stopped but that had been replaced by a statue-like stillness. ‘But it could be a mistake . . . ?’ he stammered.
‘It wouldn’t just be one mistake, it’d be two or three. It’s possible but unlikely. That leaves an obvious question – are they your children?’
‘I . . . who are these other people? These other kids?’
‘I can’t tell you that but, for instance, the young man in Liverpool is fourteen months younger than Richie.’
‘The same mother?’
‘No, they have the same dad.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I – but you must see why this matters. If someone is targeting you and your family, these other people could be in danger. We’re testing the fathers from Liverpool and Southampton to see, but—’
He stood, jabbing a finger towards her, small smile appearing. ‘Aaah, I get it. Absolutely not. Is that what this is all about? One big con? These so-called other children don’t exist, do they?’ He tapped a finger into his temple. ‘You’re trying to get in here, because you want me to agree to giving you a sample.’
‘I can assure you that’s not the reason.’
‘You’ve spent all these years trying to pin something – anything – on me, but I know the law. If you want to take my DNA or fingerprints, you need a reason to arrest me. You can’t just steal things I’ve touched because it doesn’t count in court, you need my permission – and you’re not having it. My daughter runs a legitimate business and I’m retired.’
