They are all dead now, Father.’
‘I don’t want you coming back here.’
‘All of the sisters. You can see them whenever you like. Do you now finally take the time to visit them?’
‘I want you to leave.’
‘Am I right?’
‘What?’
There are no more, are there.’
‘No.’
‘Ifyou’re lying to me, Father, I will find out.’
‘I know.’
‘And I won’t be happy.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘If you are lying, Father, I will do two things. I will find the girls and I will kill them. I will make them suffer. Do you want to know what the second thing is?’
‘No.’
‘I will come back here, Dad, and I’ll cut out your tongue so you can never lie to me ever again.’
chapter fifty-two
It’s about as official as it can get. The dead girls are Father Julian’s daughters. Their killer is Father Julian’s son. I look down at the photographs of Jeremy and Simon and Bruce. Then I look at the photograph of the fifth girl, Deborah. Could be she is dead already, dead and buried and never found, or it could be she is living in another city in another part of the world, oceans and landscapes away from all of this.
Father Julian’s logs show who he was recording and blackmailing, but they don’t show how many children he had.
The bank statements don’t show that either. There aren’t any Aldermans in these statements for a start. There isn’t enough information to know how many women Father Julian used his position to take advantage of.
There are seven names on the bank statements. Four of them belong to the families of the dead girls. Of the three left, two might be for Simon and Jeremy, and one might be for Deborah, or it could be for different children I don’t know about. All I can do is hope the photographs match up with the bank statements.
I have three first names — Jeremy, Simon and Deborah — and three last names from the bank statements. I grab a phonebook and start matching the names up, hoping for a hit, and the first one comes when I end up speaking to Mrs Leigh Carmel. I identify myself and she quickly asks what it’s about, and there is a hesitancy in her voice that suggests she thinks I’m about to try and sell her something. I tell her I’m trying to track down her son, figuring I have a two-to-one chance it’s a son rather than a daughter, and I’m correct.
‘What’s he done now?’ she asks.
‘I just need to talk to him. It’s important.’
“He’s always done something,’ she says. ‘That’s always been the problem with Jeremy. Why don’t you speak to his probation officer? They seem to have a closer relationship than we’ve ever had.’
She gives me the number, and I hang up and call the probation officer straight away.
‘You know that ain’t the kind of information I can give out over the phone,’ he says. “Not to a private investigator.’
“How about I give you my number and he can call me?’
‘We’re not in this business to forward on messages.’
‘Okay, okay, let me think a minute. Right, can you tell me where he was two years ago? Was he in jail?’
‘Two years ago? Yeah. He was in jail then. He’s been in for a four-year stretch. Got let out two months ago.’
‘What’d he do?’
‘It’s public record,’ he says. ‘Look it up.’
I thank him for his time and cross Jeremy Carmel off my list.
It leaves me with two first names and two last names that could match up either way.
My next hit comes a few calls later, when a woman answers the phone and I ask for Simon.
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, I mean Deborah. I’m trying to get hold of her.’
‘Well, so are we. We haven’t seen her since yesterday. Can I ask who’s calling?’
Her words make me tighten my grip on the phone. I tell her who I am and that I’m a private investigator.
‘Investigating what?’ she asks. ‘Has something happened to Deborah? Is she in trouble? Is that why we haven’t heard from
her?’
“No,it’s nothing like that.’
‘Then what?’
‘I just need to get hold of her. It’s important.’
‘I don’t like the way you sound,’ she says, and I realise my grip is so tight on the phone my knuckles have turned white. ‘You make it sound like she’s in danger.’
I decide to go with the truth. ‘She might be. Please, you have to help me out here, I need to …’
‘What kind of danger? Tell me! What’s happened to my
daughter?’
I ignore her question and push on. It’s the only way, otherwise I could end up spending two hours on the phone with her. ‘Do you know if she was seeing anybody?’
‘Is this some kind of joke? Has somebody put you up to this?
I’m calling the police.’
‘Wait, wait just a second. Does Deborah know who her real
father is?’
The woman says nothing, and I don’t jab her with another question, just ride the silence out, knowing her shock at the question may turn to anger or denial.
‘Who are you?’