‘FinlayColdrick,’ Soraya said in a whisper, confirming his assumption. Mortonwas stunned. He hadn’t seen that one coming. He stillcouldn’t imagine Soraya and Coldrick sharing the same house, much less achild. Soraya pulled the door shut and they returned to the lounge.
‘Peter wouldhave gone to the ends of the earth for that boy,’ Soraya said quietly, tuckingher legs up under herself. ‘They had such a close relationship – there’s noway he would have done anything like this. Fin spent the day with him onTuesday. He wasn’t feeling well and Peter looked after him while I was atwork. He’s supposed to have shot himself around seven thirty – half anhour after I left to bring Fin home. The police were like a dog with abone about our separation – like he was some Fathers for Justice martyr orsomething,’ she said, a mild undertone of anger in her voice. ‘But thatcouldn’t be any further from the truth. We never saw the need to sort outcustody arrangements or make anything official, we’ve always been perfectlyamicable and put Fin first.’
‘I guess it’sjust the police looking for a motive,’ he said, surprising himself by soundinglike Juliette.
‘Well, they’rewrong: he didn’t commit suicide. It’s got something to do with hisfamily, I know it,’ she said resolutely, as if that was her final word on thesubject, regardless of any investigation.
‘It’ll be thecoroner’s decision, I guess.’
Sorayascoffed. There was a slight pause before she said tentatively, ‘Do youthink you can find out what’s going on, Morton? For Finlay's sake?’
‘That’s whatI’m here for.’ The new knowledge of Peter's son only reaffirmed Morton’scommitment to finding out the truth about the Coldrick’s family history.
‘So, what do wedo now?’ she asked.
‘I’m going toneed to know everything about James and Peter – their hobbies, friends,political views, jobs - the lot.’
Soraya took amouthful of wine. ‘Okay,’ she said with an uncertain laugh. ‘Whereto begin?’
‘Thebeginning.’
Morton had been taking scribbled notes formore than three hours. His hand ached from the writing and his brainached from the sheer monotony of the father and son’s lives. He felt likehe knew their frankly dull existences inside out, including James’preponderance for The Shipping News and The Archers and his fearof flying but love of caravan holidays in Rhyl. Scintillating stuffindeed. ‘James sounds…’ Morton racked his brain for the correctword. A polite word. ‘Well, ordinary.’
‘I suppose hewas. He was certainly a very reserved man. He’d sit quietly in thecorner of the room – always on the periphery of what was going on – justobserving with a gentle smile on his face. I never once heard him raisehis voice or become embroiled in an argument or complain about hiscancer. Just a very, very kind and placid man who liked the simple thingsin life.’ Morton nodded. James Coldrick sounded like a plainand simple man; but for one thing. It was time to bring up the bankbalance.
‘Something’sbothering me,’ he ventured.
‘Go on.’
‘James lived ina run-down council house for most of his adult life, having worked as anagricultural labourer, yet he was sitting on a sizeable amount of money when hedied last year,’ Morton said.
Sorayalaughed. ‘You have been digging, haven’t you? Well, neither of uscould fathom it when he died and the solicitor told Peter about it. Itcame as quite a shock, I can tell you. As far as Peter was concerned,there was no inheritance for him. As it turned out, he left it all toFinlay for when he reaches twenty-one.’ She paused momentarily forbreath. Morton thought that he detected an undercurrent of resentment inher voice. She continued, ‘James didn’t have a car, didn’t have anyexpensive habits or luxuries and he only upgraded to a colour telly about tenyears ago and that was going halves with Peter. He was forever scratchingaround for loose change to walk up the shop with.’ Soraya pausedagain. ‘He even bought a bloody lottery ticket every week! Can youimagine! What would he have done with the winnings, for God’s sake?’
‘That’sbizarre. Where did Peter think the money came from?’
Sorayashrugged. ‘He hadn’t got a single clue. At first he thought thatmaybe his dad was unaware he had the money until Peter asked at the bank. They wouldn’t say much, data protection and all that rubbish, but they did saythat he’d had the money in a high-interest account for a long time and receivedregular statements, so he certainly knew he had it. I think Petersuspected that his dad had inherited the money or that it was somehow connectedwith his family. Again, it all comes down to genealogy and you.’
‘If only itwere that simple,’ Morton muttered.
‘I've got everyfaith in you.’ Soraya smiled.
‘Thanks.’
‘Is thereanything else you want to know?’
‘I thinkthat’ll do for the time being,’ Morton said. ‘I’ll leave you my mobilenumber. If you think of anything else, give me a call.’ He handedover one of his business cards and Soraya scribbled her own mobile number on ascrap of paper. Above it she scrawled what looked like her name, thoughthe letter a bore more resemblance to the number nine.
‘I’ll be intouch when I’ve got something to report.’
Morton drove into the blood-orange sunset,the overwhelming heat finally abating. It was a curious and unforeseenend to the day. He had in no way anticipated leaving Soraya’s house underthe employ of a young child that he had not known existed four hours ago. How old was Finlay Coldrick? From the restricted view he had, heestimated him to have been about six, but then what did he know? His onlyexperience of children was when he was a child himself and that didn’t reallycount. And yet he felt an odd affinity with Finlay Coldrick, both of themhaving a similar rupture in their parentage. Although he had to admitthat being told your father’s head was blown off at close range won the titleof potentially most messed up childhood. Whoever had killed Coldrick musthave been waiting, watching the house until Soraya had collected Finlay atseven o’clock, before persuading him to open the door. It had to havebeen meticulously planned, not some arbitrary burglary that had
