‘Yes, Idid. I took it home and read it cover to cover. Then I re-read itand re-read it again. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing. Just the names of children being admitted to a children’s home. I didn’tget it. In a funny way, that kind of made it easier to hand over. It wasn’t like I was giving away the Domesday Book.’
‘I don'tsuppose you recall seeing the name Coldrick in there?’
Max shook hishead. ‘As I said, nothing stood out. I couldn't now tell you a singleword that was written in there.’
Morton didn’ttrust Max but he felt that he was being honest with him. ‘Who did thisWilliam Dunk work for?’
‘I don’t know,he never said and I never asked.’
‘How could Ifind him?’ Morton demanded.
‘He’s probablysix feet under by now, I shouldn’t wonder. He was at least in hisseventies back then.’
‘In hisseventies? And he threatened you?’ Morton said, slightly incredulousthat a beefy man like Max could be intimidated by a pensioner. He hadvisions of this Dunk character propped up outside Max’s house on his Zimmerframe.
‘When I saythat he came to the house, I meant that he was inside my house. With acrowbar held over my wife’s head.’
That revelationslightly dampened the damning fires of Morton’s moral condemnation. Still, he couldn’t quite let Max off the hook; he could have reported it to thepolice or something. ‘Oh,’ Morton said.
‘Exactly.’ Maxpaused. ‘Look, Morton, I know it goes against everything that I’ve everworked for and I do feel guilty about it, but I’d like to meet the man whooffered a polite ‘no’ to William Dunk and his crowbar. The question is,what are you going to do now that you know I took it?’
‘Hadn’t thoughtabout it,’ Morton said, dismissively.
‘Can I ask whatyour desperation is to locate this one register?’ Max asked.
Morton took aleisurely sip of his drink before answering. He didn’t want to divulge athing to Max. ‘Just a case that I’m working on, that’s all.’
Maxsmiled. ‘You think I’m still working for them, don’t you?’ he said. When Morton wasn’t forthcoming with an answer he added, ‘I’m not, you know.’
‘Whateveryou say, Max,’ Morton said glibly. He downed the last of his coffee,burning the roof of his mouth, and marched indignantly back to his car.
Morton left Lewes with a fresh piece ofjigsaw to add to his case notes: William Dunk. If Max was correct, andDunk was now dead, then the implication was that a lot of people had beenworking for decades to cover up the past – a task which was continuing to thisday. He had no doubt at all that the removal of the admissions registerwas because of James Coldrick. As he zipped through along the High Streetin Rye towards his house, he contemplated his next step. To connect thisnew piece of jigsaw to the bigger picture, Morton needed to know more aboutWilliam Dunk.
As he turnedinto Church Square, he noticed an aged war veteran, standing proudly by the churchentrance wearing a blue beret and a full selection of medals, collecting moneyfor charity. His mind flashed to the future – would Jeremy survive anarmy career in these unstable times and be standing outside a church in hisseventies? He felt happier that he was now, at least, headedsomewhere that the Foreign Office hadn’t blacklisted as a traveldestination. He needed to stop being so damned morose and think aboutsomething more positive. Like Juliette. She’d be home watching television,waiting for him. Maybe they could do something nice together.
‘Hiya,’ hecalled into the lounge when he got home. The television was off and therewas no sign of Juliette. Her car was still on the drive but he couldn’tsee a note or any clue as to where she might have gone. Ordinarily hewouldn’t have paid it any heed, but after all that had occurred, visions of herbeing bundled into the back of a blacked-out van sprang into his mind. Hechided himself for being so melodramatic. He picked up his mobile and calledher. She answered. Thank God.
‘Are youalright?’ he asked, trying to conceal his concern. She soundedbreathless.
‘Fine, I’m justout for a jog. What’s up?’
‘Nothing, I’mhome and just wondered where you were,’ Morton replied. Jogging? In this heat? Was she mad?
‘You soundweird,’ Juliette puffed.
‘No I’m fine;I’ll see you in a bit.’
‘Okay. Bye.’
Morton hung up,relieved. Since she was out frying herself in the heat, he had a momentto switch on her laptop and run a search in the Ancestry online death indexesfor a William Dunk, born circa 1917, give or take ten years. Theresults flashed up on screen.
William Dunk, 1 May 1913 – May 1993,Havering, Essex
William Dunk, 7 Mar 1902 – Mar 1999, NorthSomerset, Somerset
William Charles Dunk, 1 Apr 1913 – Jul2002, Hastings and Rother, East Sussex
William Edwin Dunk, 21 Dec 1911 – Nov1986, Hackney, London
William George Dunk, 6 Aug 1910 – Sep1993, Shrewsbury, Shropshire
William Isaac Dunk, 12 Mar 1911 – Jan1998, Leeds, Yorkshire
William Joseph Dunk, 1 Jun 1912 – Mar1997, Poole, Dorset
William Roy Dunk, 11 Oct 1934 – Nov 1989,Grimsby, Lincolnshire
William Thomas C. Dunk, 21 Jan 1915 – Jul1985, Chorley, Lancashire
He looked at the list in front ofhim. Several of the men’s ages ruled them out. One would have beenway too old and one too young to pass for a man in his seventies in 1987 andtwo of the men were dead by that time. That left five men to choosefrom. Dorset, Yorkshire and Shropshire as places of death were possible,yet seemed unlikely, somehow. That left William Charles Dunk, who died inEast Sussex in 2002 as the most probable candidate.
Mortonjotted down the details, opened up a new tab in his web browser and went to www.gro.gov.uk to order Dunk’s death certificate. Ordinarily, he would have selected the £9.25 standard option but decided thatit was worth spending £23.40 to receive the certificate on the priorityservice, since Dunk was a potentially significant window into whomever washiding the Coldrick past. A few simple clicks later and the certificatewas ordered.
He opened the ColdrickCase file. It was now starting
