Once theinterview was over, McHale led Morton down the labyrinth of indistinguishableinternal corridors until they reached the front doors where Morton was releasedback into the wild to find that the day had grown grey and chilly as a fine,almost imperceptible coating of drizzle fell from the sky.
Juliette waswaiting in civvies in her car and together they left the compound.
She leant overand kissed him. ‘How did it go?’
‘Fine, Ithink,’ he answered. After all that had gone on, he didn’t feel he was inmuch of a position to fully appreciate the implications of what he had justdone. Before Morton was even halfway through his revelations to McHale ithad become obvious that the ramifications for the Windsor-Sackvilles' politicalcareers would be huge. Not to mention Olivia Walker’s high-flying careerin the police and Dunk’s career in serial-killing. What the police didn’ttear apart, the newspapers surely would. It was all out of his handsnow. Que sera sera and all that.
‘Could we makea quick detour on our way home, please?’ Morton asked.
Juliettegroaned.
Morton nudged open the lych gate toSedlescombe church with the tips of his bandaged hand. Among thedocumentation that he’d handed over to McHale was the burial certificate forMarlene Koldrich in this very churchyard. With the drizzle increasing toa constant saturating rain, he headed straight for the vestibule where, on hislast visit, he had noticed a map of the churchyard pinned to the notice board. It told him that Marlene was buried in section R, grave number 22, which,according to the map was in the back right area of the churchyard.
Oh theirony! On his previous visit here, he had been so absorbed with thetask in hand as not to see the blindingly obvious. In front of him,sheltered by the overhang of an oversized yew, was the clean black granitegrave of James and Mary Coldrick, the tell-tale signs of fresh earth and freshflowers pronouncing Peter’s recent interment and behind it, directlybehind it, was a subtle jaded wooden cross with a simple brass plaque at thecentre.
Marlene, died 6thJune 1944.
Here they allwere.
Together.
If he had beena religious man, he might have uttered a prayer, or quoted some appropriatelines from the Bible about eternal unity, but he simply stood in the dusky wetchurchyard as sporadic droplets fell from the yew above him. His headslightly bowed, he felt a profound sorrow for the remains of the tragic familybefore him; all of them innocent pawns in someone else’s game. He saw it allclearly now - the whole jigsaw completed, all making sense. Marlene,daughter of Eberhard Koldrich, sent to England as a young woman to ingratiateherself into English aristocracy in anticipation of a Nazi victory, findswilling hosts in the Windsor-Sackvilles, a family so self-important that theironly care regarding the war was to be on the victors' side, regardless ofconsequence, ends up not falling in love with the son of an importantgovernment minister, but with the loutish estate handyman. She fallspregnant, manages to convince the Windsor-Sackvilles that they have a male heiron the way, then bang! D-Day happens and the course of the war changesdirection and Nazi-sympathisers beat a hasty retreat. Among the documentsin the box file was a small newspaper cutting that spoke of the death of ‘anunknown visitor’, only known by the name of Marlene, having committed suicideon the village green on 6th June 1944. Goodbye, Marlene. Lo and behold, the Windsor-Sackvilles are there celebrating at Chartwell withChurchill soon after VE Day and David James Peregrine Windsor-Sackville’scompany, WS Construction, lands one of the biggest reconstruction contracts inEurope. Then follows the knighthood and nothing else is mentioned againuntil Mary Coldrick starts researching her husband’s family tree in 1987. Cue fire, cue death, cue huge payments landing in James Coldrick’s bank. Problem solved, until Peter Coldrick becomes curious. Cue gunshot woundto the head. Cue death.
But what thesepeople hadn’t reckoned on was the services of Morton Farrier, ForensicGenealogist.
Morton staredat Marlene’s austere grave.
‘Goodbye,’Morton said. He turned and left the family at peace.
Chapter Twenty
6thJune 1944
Emily held the baby tightly and ran fromthe house. She navigated the orchard easily - nobody knew it better thanshe - and made it to the periphery of the woods. As the baby began toscream and pain spiked her bare feet as she ran, she knew she could neverescape, yet she kept running – pushing further and further into the darkness,her nightie catching and snagging on branches. Behind her, the crunchingof heavy boots was gaining ground, easily homing in on the sound of thescreaming child. She pulled him tightly into her bosom, hoping to stiflehis cries. From the blackness behind her, an unseen hand reached out andgrabbed Emily’s shoulder. It was over.
‘It’s finished,Emily,’ her assailant shouted.
Emily turned toface him. ‘My name’s not Emily!’ she shouted back.
‘Fine. It’s finished, Marlene.’
Emily visiblysagged. All the lies, all the pretense, all the hopes for the future weregone, another casualty of the global conflict. A political union betweentwo prominent families, as orchestrated by her father, Eberhard, and FrederickWindsor-Sackville, was crushed and buried. She cared nothing at all ofit, her initial aspirations shattered the moment her baby son arrived. James. What would become of him?
‘Hand the boyover, Marlene,’ he ordered.
‘What will youdo with him?’
‘That alldepends on what happens next. If you do as I ask, then he’ll live. If you don’t, then neither of you will see this war out.’
Marlenenodded. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for James. She set thesuitcase down, gently kissed him on the forehead and handed him over.
‘Welldone. Now, listen – ’
Marlene didn’twait to hear the end of the sentence; she dropped the suitcase and bolted intoa thicket of coppiced horse-chestnut trees. She knew that she was only afew hundred yards from the Charingsby perimeter fence. If she couldjust run faster!
A sudden loudcrack echoed through the dusky woods, a bullet was fired into the back ofMarlene Koldrich’s skull. She dropped to the floor like a pile of oldrags.
DavidWindsor-Sackville pulled the safety-catch over the shotgun and returned to thecrying baby. He knew what his father wanted him to do to the baby but, ashe held him in his
