‘Jesus,’ York muttered.
‘When I returned, it was as if nothing had happened. I don’t even think he remembered what he did. That was when I came up with my plan to save those boys. After he put me in hospital, questions were raised about what had happened. But I kept quiet. He threatened to kill Mary if I said anything. I just couldn’t risk it because I knew he was true to his word. And so I disappeared alone, leaving the boys with their deranged father.
‘Questions were already hanging in the air about the sanity of Arthur, and I knew my disappearance would stir all kinds of rumours. He would be investigated and the brutality of the Faulkner house would be blown wide open. I waited for news. Every day I checked the local paper expecting to read that Arthur had been taken into custody. But it never came. Lack of evidence meant the man walked free. That’s why I never came forward. Those kids deserved so much more, and I failed them.’
A tense silence hung between them for a few seconds, the room bathed in syrupy quiet. Eventually York broke the spell. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie.’
‘I know those boys are responsible for the recent murders,' said Maggie. 'They will have to stand trial for atrocities I can’t even imagine, and then they’ll spend the rest of their lives in a cell. They’ve been prisoners since birth to a father who never understood them, only how to raise them with brutality and violence…’
‘Maggie…’ York interrupted gently.
‘It’s okay, Nicolas, really. I just wanted you to know, that from the moment those boys were born, they never stood a chance.’
*
‘So, would either of you like to tell me what I should do with you?’
Standing in front of Mason’s desk, York and Graham remained silent. After revealing to Mason their unauthorised operation into the Lincolnshire house, she went ballistic.
‘I’m open to suggestions,’ she urged.
‘Don’t suppose it matters that our investigations led to the arrest of Robert Faulkner?’ said Graham.
Mason’s ice chips locked onto Graham’s eyes. ‘Is that sarcasm I’m detecting, Will? Because if it is I would suggest you curb it, right now.’
‘I wasn’t being sarcastic, guv, I was just trying to point out a fact.’
‘Which is?’
‘Come on, boss,’ Graham implored. ‘Braddock was not the right man for this assignment and you know it. Taking Nick off the case at a pivotal point in the investigation was a bad decision. I knew it, which is why I fed him the information. Braddock had no interest in following up on the Faulkner house lead and you backed him up, which was your second mistake.’
Mason shot to her feet. ‘Will, the ice you’re on is wafer-thin. I’d think about getting out of my office before I break pieces of it off and jam them up your arse!’
York expected Graham to scamper out the door, tail between his legs. Instead he strode confidently from the room and clicked the door gently closed.
‘Developed some balls recently, hasn’t he?’ York muttered.
‘What the bloody hell is going on around here, Nick? Maybe I have made some decisions lately that you don't agree with, but that does not give you or that pinhead the right to go behind my back and act as you see fit!’
‘I know that, guv. And I can only apologise for the deception. But what Graham said was right. Without our unauthorised investigation Robert Faulkner would still be out there, would still be using this very station and watching our every move. Now Julian Faulkner is out there alone and is probably very confused. Without his brother, it won’t be long before we find him.’
Mason sat back down and sighed heavily. ‘Three weeks unpaid suspension for the pair of you. That’s final. By all accounts, Nick, you’ve both got off lightly.’
He turned to leave.
‘Oh and Nick,’ she added. ‘If I find out that you or Will Graham have been involved in any police work within the next twenty-one days, you’ll spend the rest of your careers ticketing vehicles in Peckham, am I understood?’
‘Perfectly,’ he said.
60
For the hundredth time, York stared down at the scrap of paper in his hand and read the house number aloud. The terrace directly across the street matched the address. He was in the right place, the poor neighbourhood brickwork of a working-class community. The peculiar thing was he’d been parked opposite for almost three hours and there hadn’t been a scrap of activity, zip.
Technically staking out a house full of supposed criminals would constitute police work. Still, as much as he had no desire to be demoted to traffic copper, there was nothing on earth could’ve dragged him away from this place. If his son was inside, he was going in there to get him.
He climbed from the car and crossed the road, a handful of people milling around on the pavements. No one looked in his direction. As he reached the house he snuck a peek into the downstairs window. Nothing, only a beat-up old sofa sitting atop a scabby carpet.
Three doors down, he found the alley leading to the rear of the houses. With no gates to hinder his access he strolled straight through. At the back of the house he found a door built into a tatty kitchen extension. The tiny garden was a mess, overgrown, countless cigarette butts littering the floor around the doormat – a doormat which carried the instruction, Wipe Your Feet. He supposed it was referring to the way out.
He checked all the
