Chapter Eight

Friday late afternoon brought Adam news that Robin was going to be using the overnight bag he'd packed. He and Ashok were off to the Woodhall Spa area and had stopped for a comfort break, so Robin was taking the chance to get in touch while Ashok was off somewhere ringing his girlfriend whom he'd be standing up that evening.

"Thanks to some neat work by Ryan French, we're in search of the guy who might be Mark's great-uncle. Plan is to interview him on Saturday morning about his sister Moira. I'm hopeful that Ryan could definitely help Mum if he's tracked down a birth family so quickly. Maybe at some point I'll be thinking of meeting my biological great-uncle." Robin sounded surprisingly wistful at the prospect.

"He might have been the one who left all this money. I say all—" Adam snorted "—because we don't know if it'll turn out to be seventy-three pounds and eighty-two pence."

"That would be enough for a pub lunch. I have had one unsettling thought, though. If abortions had been acceptable back when my dad was conceived, then there'd have been no me now."

"Don't go having an existential crisis. Your mum would still have been around, so it would only have been a slightly different you."

"That makes sense. It worries me less than if there'd been no murder at Lindenshaw school, because that might have meant there was no us."

The conversation ended with some endearments, one bonus of Ashok not being within earshot.

When Adam got home, Mrs. Bright was already ensconced in the kitchen. She didn't seem too disappointed about her son not being there, possibly because Robin had explained the night before that Adam would have plenty to update her on, including the details of someone who could help her.

"I suppose you've grown used to his unusual hours, like I did," she said, once Adam had cast the dust of the working day from himself and a bottle of white had been opened. "It's not quite the same as when he was still living at home, because in those days he was merely a constable so he didn't have the responsibility, but there could still be long days to work. When he was part of a team working on a big case, I'd make sure we lived on things that could be reheated quickly. I always wanted him to eat with his dad and me, if we could manage it."

"I bet. It's good to have some comforting routine amongst the uncertainty." Adam settled on a kitchen stool, enjoying the aromas from the stove and a heap of affection from Hamish. "I was half-prepared for this kind of life, anyway. In theory teachers might keep regular hours and get all the school holidays off, but in reality we don't. A bit more predictable work-wise than coppers, though. This little lad will have to get used to the unpredictability too."

"He'll not know anything different. He didn't start with only one of you to care for him like Campbell did." Mrs. Bright put her hand to her mouth. "Should I have mentioned him? I didn't want to upset you."

"You're okay, Alison. He was a good age for the breed, and I think I'm getting to the point I can believe he went in the way he'd have liked to go. Quick, relatively painless—or so the vet says—and in a blaze of glory."

"You'll have to make sure Hamish doesn't attempt any such heroics." The dog had come to investigate what she was up to and got a tickle behind the ear as a reward.

"We've thought of bringing him up believing he's a cat so he doesn't have any thoughts of doing water rescues, but Robin reckons it's in his nature and there's no point fighting it."

"Well, don't you forget that losing a dog hits you like any kind of grief. It'll take longer than you think to get completely back on an even keel, and there'll be steps backwards on the way." Mrs. Bright sipped some wine. "Don't tell Robin I told you this, but he was in buckets of tears when he came round and broke the news. Started talking about your wedding and Campbell carrying the rings." She blinked back a tear. "Right, Alison, you're getting unnecessary. Change the subject and get dinner on the plate."

Adam helped her serve up, then they took the food and wine to the already laid-up dining table. Once they were a few mouthfuls in—and after a stern word to Hamish about remembering his manners—they turned to the inheritance.

"I don't know how much Robin's told you about what's happened the last few days," Adam said. "Probably not a lot, given the other things he has on his mind. I suspect he would have quite welcomed the distraction tonight would have brought. He's also frustrated he can't do more for you."

"I'm grateful he's managed anything at all. He said something about the fraud department."

"Yes. His mate Henry works there and seems pretty confident this inheritance is above board, unless it's a scam they've not encountered yet. New times, new crimes." Adam laughed.

"I like that. Is it from when you do Staying Safe Online with your pupils?"

"No. I made it up, spur of the moment, but I'll have to use it in the future. Anyway, Henry managed to prize a bit of gen from your solicitor, some of which I can update you on."

"Ah." Mrs. Bright gestured with her knife. "I did wonder, because Mr. Caswell rang me to say he'd had police contact. I had to explain."

"I hope that didn't cause difficulties?"

"Not at all. I think he was quite impressed I was taking—What did he call it?—due diligence. He knows about Robin's job anyway, so he'd have guessed who'd put Henry on the trail." She scooped up some gnocchi. "One of my better efforts, this. I've put a couple of portions aside to freeze for both of you."

"You're a star." The meal was certainly proving a gastronomic treat: simple yet good-quality food, well prepared. Maybe it was a sign of age that Adam preferred this kind of meal to something experimental and exotic. "Did your Mr. Caswell mention tax treaties?"

"Yes. He said he couldn't say much but I should research them, which I did on Google, although I'm not sure I'm much the wiser. Was Henry behind that?"

"I believe so. He was hoping the stratagem could help narrow down where the money's coming from, geographically. The solicitor was playing his confidentiality card on that, so Henry leaned on him a bit to clarify the position tax-wise. It must have worked, because Mr. Caswell told Henry that the money hadn't had inheritance tax paid on it in the country of origin because that country didn't have such a tax in place."

"How nice. Or is it? What do you think, Hamish?" Mrs. Bright must have worried that the dog was feeling left out of the human conversation. "I guess you have to raise money somehow or other, unless you want to cut back on public services. I wouldn't want to be a politician and make those decisions."

"We won't let Hamish go into politics, either." Adam grinned at the dog's puzzled expression. "Henry's sure that New Zealand has no tax on legacies, but before you assume he's hit bull's-eye with his first dart, Australia doesn't, either. There could be a whole raft of Commonwealth countries in that category, although the information could be useful alongside the family history stuff."

Mrs. Bright nodded. "I'll be like Robin with one of his investigations. Putting various clues together to build up a picture. I hope his case is moving on."

"He's certainly getting plenty of information." He didn't seem that optimistic it was getting him closer to the killer, however. "He'll probably be grumpy that I said this, but the case is a bit near to home. The dead bloke's mother was adopted, although he didn't know until she was at the end of her life. He was on the trail of his biological grandparents, which is why Robin's gone off to Lincolnshire, to talk to the guy's great-uncle. He's told his team about the similarity to his dad."

"Very sensible. Otherwise, some bright spark's bound to make a thoughtless comment." They finished eating and topped up their glasses before she continued. "I wish you'd known David. He'd have liked you. And the dogs."

"That's what Robin always says. That the pair of us would have gone off to the pub, leaving you two to wonder what we would be talking about together."

Mrs. Bright giggled, the wine clearly having an effect. "That sounds right. I think—Robin doesn't know any of this, so don't go telling tales out of school—the one reservation David did have about Robin being gay was that he'd have come home with somebody like Larry Grayson on his arm. You probably don't remember him, but he was as camp as a scout's outing. I mean, David would have been charming and not said anything, because parents shouldn't have a view on their child's choice of partner, as long as they don't go knocking them about."

"I'm with you on that." Adam had seen too much parental interference among his friends, gay or otherwise.

"But he'd have definitely preferred a bloke's bloke. Like you are."

Adam would take that in the spirit it was offered. He'd come across plenty of camp gay men—plenty of camp straight guys too—and more power to their elbows if that was the way they were. As the pupils at Wickley were encouraged to think, people were all different, on the outside and the inside and they were all of the same worth. But it would be stupid to ignore the fact that some of the stereotyping on the TV and radio through the years hadn't helped the cause of equality. If every fictional gay man people encountered was a screaming queen, it would naturally lead to people thinking all gay blokes were like that.

"If we're talking about not telling tales out of school, then I'm going to hold you to the same promise," Adam said. "Robin's having a few doubts about what his dad really felt about being adopted. I know your David made it plain to his son that he had no interest in who gave birth to him, but was that a white lie? Not least to himself?"

"Oh, bless him. This case has given Robin a right shake, hasn't it?" If the white wine was making Mrs. Bright a touch giggly and rather flushed on the cheeks, it wasn't affecting her perceptiveness. "I could have a word with him, offer a bit of reassurance, although seeing as we're not supposed to be having this part of the conversation, I can't offer it out of the blue."

"We'll have to be subtle. You can reassure him, then?"

"To an extent. David did have the odd wobble." She paused, no doubt collecting herself. "I'll tell you all about it over a bowl of crumble, and then you can decide how much you want to share. You can say I got maudlin over the wine, then let it all come out, and I'll pretend I can't remember much about what I said or why."

"You're a treasure, Alison." Adam kissed her cheek, and they set about clearing the table.

The crumble smelled wonderful—so wonderful that Hamish had to be threatened with locking in the kitchen if he didn't leave off trying to cadge bits at the dining table.

"So, when Robin was small, one of David's cousins was very ill and needed a bone marrow transplant. He's fine now, thank God and modern medicine, but it was touch and go back then and they were testing family members to find a match. Poor David felt really bad that he couldn't make the offer. Nobody in the family blamed him for not putting his name forward, because they all knew what the situation was, but it got to him. Not only that he couldn't help Aaron—the cousin—but that somebody in his birth family might be in the same position and David wouldn't be able to help them, either."

Adam nodded. Robin would probably have had a similar wobble in the same circumstances: he was definitely his father's son. "Robin would have been too young to remember that, I guess, although it could have registered at some level and be the cause of his disquiet."

"That's possible. I managed to come up with a good solution, though. I got David to sign up with a bone marrow register, so if one of his biological relatives did need help, they'd be able to match him. It doesn't mean he wanted to be found, though." Mrs. Bright seemed sure of that. "I'm the one on the trail and this mysterious inheritance has given me a great excuse to do it."

"Did you need an excuse?"

Mrs. Bright turned her gaze onto her glass, which she was slowly twirling. "It does feel a night for confessions, so I'll add another. It's going to sound totally daft, but Clare lent me one of those crime books she likes. It was better than the usual twaddle she reads—don't tell her I said that, either—and the story concerned a murder that resulted from people keeping family secrets to themselves rather than making everything plain. I know that's not what's happened with David, although it left me feeling upset. I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever had gone on with his parents. I'm guessing it's nothing other than the usual story of an unmarried girl finding herself up the duff and having no alternative than do what people were telling her was the best for her baby. I'd like to know, though." She faced Adam again. "Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense, as far as it goes. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me the whole truth." Adam briefly squeezed his mother-in-law's hand.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to someone who cares for you and doesn't want you or your best boy hurt."

Mrs. Bright paused, then forced a smile. "This money, Adam. What if it's from Robin's biological grandparent and turns out to be the proceeds of crime, which is why they're being so secretive?"

Adam stifled a laugh; she was serious. "Maybe Henry from the fraud department could hold your solicitor's hand to make sure he covers all the angles in checking it's legit. He'd do it for Robin's sake."

"I'll suggest that. I don't want it plastered all over The Sun that Robin's benefitted from laundered money. Which is also part of why I want to find out about David's parents. I know me poking around in his family might dig up all sorts of unsavoury things, but Robin would want to know one way or the other, surely? Before someone else discovered the dirt and made trouble."

Adam thought of the tabloids at their worst, then remembered the conversation in the car heading home from Mrs. Bright's. "He's aware of the risks and he knows he can cope with whatever emerges. As long as he's got us to help him."

"You're a star." Mrs. Bright blew her nose, clearly pulling herself together.

"Thanks. This star agrees to support your point of view but you two need to pick your way through the revelations together, as well." Adam pushed his plate away. "Now, if and when this money turns out to be squeaky clean, do you have any secret plans for what you'll do with it?"

The conversation moved on to the many choices Mrs. Bright had before her, a round-the-world cruise with Clare apparently being number one if the total ran to that, although her conscience was pricking her to make a big donation to the RSPCA. The discussion lasted until they'd stacked the dishwasher, let Hamish have a run around the garden, and got themselves comfy in the lounge, with glasses topped up and the dog snoozing on the carpet.

"Before I forget," Adam said, "there's a witness in Robin's case who was working with the dead bloke to find his mother's birth family, and we think he's been successful. This guy's not a suspect because he's got a solid alibi, unless he's somehow faked being on a cruise with his aunt. We thought he could be useful to you. I gave his website the once-over and his charges aren't unreasonable, compared to what some similar services are quoting."

With an air of nonchalance that would fool nobody, Mrs. Bright said, "What's his name?"

"Ryan French."

Mrs. Bright licked her forefinger and made a stroke in the air. "One up to Alison. I've already contacted him. Actually, we're meeting tomorrow for a pubby lunch and a chat. I don't think he knows I'm connected to Robin."

That was a blessed coincidence. "Great minds think alike. Why him?"

"He's local, and one of the testimonials on his website appeared to be from somebody I knew. I contacted her and she said he's the business." Mrs. Bright giggled again. "As far as families are concerned, I mean. He's supposed to be a bit on the boring side, bless him."

"We were going to warn you about that. You'll need to keep him to the point or else you'll be hearing all about his aunt and his cruise and everything he's ever done."

"Perhaps you and Hamish could come along and keep him under control? Given that Robin won't be back until late afternoon at the earliest."

"Sounds great. Hamish can practice his pub etiquette. He hasn't lost his L-plates yet."

On cue, the dog raised his head, gave them both a withering look, and went back to sleep.

Saturday morning dawned dreary. Robin had managed a good night's sleep: the hotel bed proved comfortable and his exhaustion meant he'd gone out like a light. Perhaps they'd take a leisurely breakfast, as they wouldn't be seeing Thomas McKay until ten o'clock, although any thoughts of making the most of the opportunity to explore a bit of the local area beforehand had been put paid to by the weather. He and Ashok would have to make do with coffee, checking emails and reading the complimentary newspapers in the hotel until it was time to hit the road. First, he rang Adam.

"Morning, gorgeous," Robin said, pleased at the fact his husband answered quickly and wasn't still lying in a hungover haze. "How did it go with Mum?"

"Great. Good food, good chat, a bit of a heart-to-heart that I'll tell you all about when you're home. I've just heard her get up so she can't have too much of a headache." Adam certainly sounded chipper.

"How many bottles of wine did you two get through?"

"Only one and a half. We were both yawning by then."

"And you haven't even got an interview with Ryan to blame for that."

Adam laughed. "True. We're meeting him for a pub lunch today, so if anything turns up that we should know about, drop me a text. We could subtly quiz him on it."

"Will do. Can you do the same?"

"Yeah, although I suspect you'll have greater success than us."

"Let's not tempt fate. That was quick work about getting in contact with Ryan, by the way."

"It was all done and dusted before your mum arrived." Adam chuckled. "She'd already emailed him, independent of us, because of a recommendation from a friend. Anything I should be particularly listening out for?"

"I have no idea. I assume that you're experienced enough by now to know what's worth reporting back. Better than some of the constables I've worked with."

"Smooth talker." Adam lowered his voice. "Just to keep you in the loop, a couple of things came out last night about your dad. I think he was telling you the truth about not wanting to know the details surrounding his biological parents, but he did have what your mum called a couple of wobbles." Adam related a story about a crisis of conscience and a much-needed bone-marrow donation. "Your mum seems to have played a blinder on dealing with that—I'll tell you everything when you're home—because you'd probably have been too young to remember it happening. Doubt they'd have told you what was going on, at that age."

Robin nodded, then grinned at himself for doing that when Adam couldn't see him. "I might have picked up something in the air, though."

"That's what I thought. Something that's lurked at the back of your mind and maybe gave you doubts about what he really felt."

"Yeah." Robin would need to process that but, as a theory, it seemed both plausible and reassuring. "We'll have a lot to discuss later."

"Don't we always? Never a dull moment round here."

And Robin was eternally grateful for that state of affairs.