‘Good.’ Juliette picked up anotherchip and muttered under her breath, ‘At least he’s getting married.’
Morton rolled his eyes and pretended notto have heard. Since very early on in their relationship, Juliette hadwanted to get married. She wanted the big fairy-tale, whitewedding. He, though, wanted none of it. For years, he knew theblock emanated from his past, that he couldn’t give his betrothed a surnamewhich did not belong to him. But since discovering that his surnameactually belonged to his mother at the time of his birth, his feelings on thematter had begun to thaw.
Juliette, not quite willing to acceptMorton’s silence as reluctance to speak about the subject, draped a chip overthe ring finger on her left hand. ‘What do you think?’
Morton took her hand and kissed thechip. ‘Suits you.’ Then he snatched the chip in his mouth andswallowed it. ‘Fancy going for a walk after this?’
‘Sure. We could walk along the riverpast the windmill.’
‘Great.’
Chapter Ten
Mortonwatched Juliette leave the house. He didn’t take his eyes off her as sheclimbed into her car and headed down the uneven cobbles before disappearing outof sight. He had asked her to text him as soon as she got to work, whichhad immediately aroused her suspicions. ‘What’s up with you?’ she hadasked.
‘Nothing, just want to make sure you’reokay,’ he had replied. She had frowned incredulously at him, but let thematter rest. He hadn’t told her that, when they had returned home lastnight from a walk along the river, a brown A4 envelope had been waiting on thedoormat with his name handwritten on the front. Thankfully, Juliette hadbeen in the toilet when he had opened the envelope or else had she seen thecontents, she would have leapt back on duty and turned into policeconstable-in-training, Juliette Meade.
With Juliette gone for the day, Mortonpadded up to his study wearing his night boxer shorts and t-shirt. Hepicked up the envelope, which he had hidden below a stack of Mercer Case papersand withdrew the contents. On the top was a simple note which read, ‘We can alldig, Morton.’ Next was an incredibly neat, hand-drawn family tree for hisbranch of the Farrier tree. Morton’s name was at the base of an invertedpyramid, which then split into two for his parents. Whoever had compiledthis tree hadn’t done their homework. The parents listed were hisadoptive parents, not his biological ones. At the bottom of thestack, and most alarming of all to Morton, was a photograph of Juliette takenyesterday as she queued at the Kettle of Fish chip shop with the words,‘Juliette Meade, 1975-?’ The threat was made real. Only one personhad wanted him to stop researching the Mercer family enough to warrant this:Douglas Catt.
Morton dialled the Mermaid Inn. ‘Hello, I’d like to speak to a guest of yours please, Douglas Catt,’ Mortonsaid, trying to suppress the anger in his voice.
‘Okay, one second,’ a polite female voiceon the other said. The line went quiet and Morton was treated to a fewrandom bars of an unidentifiable piece of music before the voice spokeagain. ‘Hello. I’m sorry, but Mr Catt checked out two days ago.’
‘Two days? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely. Sorry.’
‘I don’t suppose he left anything forMorton Farrier? A message of any kind?’
There was a small pause and Morton heardsome computer keys being tapped. ‘No, nothing. Sorry.’
‘Okay, thank you for your help.’ Morton hung up, reflecting on what he had just heard. Just because he hadchecked out, didn’t actually mean that he had returned home. He mightwell be staying at another hotel, Morton thought. He remembered thenthat Douglas’s home phone number was in an email sent to him. Bringing uphis emails on his iPhone, Morton skimmed through until he reached the exchangebetween him and Douglas. He quickly located the correct email and thendialled Douglas’s home in Bristol. The phone rang for several seconds beforebeing picked up.
‘Hello?’
Morton hung up; in hearing that singleword he’d ascertained for certain that the voice on the other end had belongedto Douglas Catt. Morton was perplexed. If Douglas hadn’t sentthe packet, then who did?
He tucked the contents back into theenvelope and slid it out of sight from Juliette. He wasn’t sure how oreven if to tell her about it. He didn’t want to worry herunduly. Was it reckless to not tell her? Especially whenthe threat was ostensibly aimed at her?
Morton headed downstairs to his en suitebathroom. As he showered and the hot powerful water pelted his nape,Morton allowed his mind to wander around the Mercer Case. It wasoften at relaxed times like these that he had his Eureka! moments and anavenue of research which he had previously overlooked might jump out athim. However, no such revelatory moments happened today. Hecouldn’t stop his mind from vaulting between seeing Aunty Margaret at Jeremy’supcoming wedding or the haunting words written below the image of Juliette inthe chip shop. By even referring to a possible date of death forJuliette, the author of the package had, presumably as intended, slid a coldknife into Morton’s heart. Allowing his mind to drift without directiontoday was not a wise idea. He switched off the shower, dried himself andpulled his towel around his midriff.
As Morton crossed the hallway, he spotted something at the foot of the stairson the doormat. His heart began to beat faster as he padded down thestairs, fearful of the contents. As he drew closer he could see that itwas a small white envelope. He bent down to pick it up and was relievedto see the familiar blue stamp of the Office of National Statistics emblazonedon the front. Panic over.
Morton
