It worked. Kevin released his grip and tumbled backwards.
Morton faced an instantaneous decision about what to do next. Dismissing the idea of grabbing something with which to defend himself, he opted instead to try and escape.
He ran into the kitchen towards the backdoor, aware that he had only seconds to get it open and to get out.
He reached the door and, as his hand began to turn the key, something smashed into the side of his head, knocking him to the floor.
Flittering darkness.
Then a sudden bright light.
His head throbbed painfully as he tried to open his eyes.
More darkness.
He was moving. Being hauled to his feet.
Dragged.
Flickering light and he opened his eyes.
He was sitting in the lounge. His assailant was sitting beside him.
The last few minutes, condensed neatly into a split-second clip, zapped into his mind and everything became clear.
‘What do you want?’ Morton stammered.
‘I honestly thought I’d made myself understood that you weren’t to tell anyone anything or there would be consequences.’
‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ Morton said, wincing from the pain in his head.
Kevin laughed. ‘The thing I don’t know now is whether to cut my losses where you’re concerned. By telling people, you’ve left me in quite a quandary.’
‘I swear, I haven’t told a soul. Why are you saying this? You know I haven’t—I’ve had one of your goons on my tail all bloody day long.’
‘Yes, exactly—you park your car, then skip merrily off to the library with one of the goons in tow. Then, whilst you’re out the way, one of your blokes tampers with the tracker on your car. Clever, but not that clever since we found out.’
Morton was unsurprised to learn that he had a tracker planted on his car. What he didn’t understand was who the ‘bloke’ was interfering with it this morning. It made no sense. ‘Look, I haven’t got any blokes. I haven’t told anyone. What did this man do to the tracker then?’
Kevin stretched out, ignoring Morton’s question. He blew out a puff of air. ‘It’s my inclination to remove you from this problem.’
‘Please,’ Morton begged. ‘I can find the original indentures—I’ve made good progress today in the library. Plus I’ve got a solicitor working on them. Please.’
‘This solicitor—how much does he know?’
‘Just the bare bones of the case, nothing else,’ Morton insisted.
A sound from the hallway made Morton leap up. Keys in the front door.
‘It’s Juliette,’ he whispered. ‘If she finds you here it’s over. Please, she doesn’t know. Let me finish the job.’
Kevin stood up. ‘Three days.’
‘Go through the back door in the kitchen. Quickly,’ Morton urged.
The front door opened and Juliette stepped inside, just as the man’s shadow fleeted past.
‘Hiya,’ Morton said, kissing her on the lips.
‘You alright?’ she asked, removing her boots.
Morton heard the click of the backdoor closing and prayed that she hadn’t detected it. He glanced across at her. She didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘Yeah, fine thanks.’
Juliette’s eyes narrowed as she took in his face. ‘What happened?’ she asked, touching the point of impact on his right cheek.
‘Banged it on my study door,’ Morton said, quickly regretting such a stupid excuse that she would immediately see through.
‘Oh right, looks painful.’
‘Yeah, I’m going to have a couple of painkillers in a minute,’ he said, then suddenly remembered that the lounge floor was covered in smashed glass. Another feeble lie was on the cards. ‘Why don’t you go and get changed and I’ll get us a drink and some dinner.’
Juliette kissed him. ‘Sounds good to me,’ she said, padding upstairs. ‘Red and large, please,’ she called.
Morton hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the dustpan and brush and began hastily sweeping up the glass. He slid the damaged frame under the sofa and hoped that he had done enough to hide what had happened.
‘Where’s the wine, then?’ Juliette asked, as she entered the kitchen minutes later, wearing jeans and a shirt.
Morton was rummaging in the freezer. ‘Sorry, still deciding what to eat. It needs to be something quick and easy, though, as I’ve got a long night ahead of me.’
Juliette rolled her eyes as she sat at the kitchen table. ‘No wedding planning tonight, then.’
‘Afraid not,’ he answered, closing the freezer door. ‘I’ll order a pizza.’
‘What’s so pressing with this case, Morton? Last week you weren’t even bothered to do it, now you’re working into the night?’
‘You know what I’m like,’ he replied, pulling out a take-away menu from a drawer and hoping that by being distracted, Juliette wouldn’t guess that something was wrong. ‘Once I get into a case, I really get into a case.’
Juliette stood, waltzed over to him and took the menu from his hand. ‘Let me sort it out, you go and get on.’
Morton grinned and kissed her. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you, too, Mr Farrier,’ she replied with a sigh.
Morton exhaled slowly as he pushed shut his study door. He wasn’t cut out for lying, especially not to her. He sat at his desk and started up his computer. Only then did he remember what he had been doing prior to his attack. Opening his emails, Morton clicked on the one from Roy Dyche, then began to read. Dear Morton, Thank you for your letter. I’m not great on these things—my daughter has had to help me! I do have several boxes of my parents’ things up in the loft. I haven’t been through them for years, so can’t really help with their content. I’ve asked my daughter to come over sometime and go through them with me, so I will let you know if we find anything relevant. Kind regards, Roy.
Morton slumped back and saw his dreams of finding his father slipping from him. There had to be another
