Page 10 of Indefensible
“But you aren’t bent.”
“My brother-in-law is still walking the streets,” was all Deryn had to say. Because he might have shared one secret with the FBI man, but he wasn’t sharing any others. “Is that why Mason asked you to come over? To help nail my family?” Which would be absolutely fine with him.
Murphy shrugged. “The Mason they were talking about in there, that’s not who he was back home. He said he’d changed, that he’d found what he wanted to do with his life. But I hadn’t heard from him for years. I got an email out of the blue, pretty much begging me to come. Gotta be honest, I’m not New York field office employee of the month just now, so it seemed like a good time to take a vacation.”
“Is he the kind of bloke to go after drug dealers? You did say he wasn’t a fan of law enforcement.”
“If he hasn’t had a complete personality transplant, he’s reckless enough to try. And if people like that Evans guy told him that the local police are corrupt, then it’s possible. He knows the police can be bought, because that’s what his family did to get him off the hook for drunk driving. Twice.”
“We need to search his house. See if he left any information about what he was up to,” Deryn said. He wasn’t sure ifwemeant him and Murphy, or Glamorgan Police, but Murphy made the decision for him.
“Let’s go. We’ll probably only find copies ofCamping and Woodcraft, but we won’t know unless we look.” Murphy set off at a brisk pace towards Mason’s house, leaving Deryn no choice but to follow.
They both paused at the police tape across the back door of Mason’s house. Once they crossed the threshold, the crime scene, if that’s what it was, would be compromised. Any evidence might not be admissible in court.
“We don’t even have gloves,” Deryn said.
“If it helps us find him …” Murphy said, and pulled the tape away from the door. He slid it open and stepped inside.
Deryn wasn’t a hundred percent convinced they were doing the right thing, but, he was increasingly convinced Mason was introuble. With Glover concentrating on the two overdose deaths, he wasn’t going to persuade her, or anyone else, to resource a search for an able-bodied, wealthy American on the basis of a bit of overturned furniture and a couple of small bloodstains. There were too many innocent explanations.
He moved over to the bookshelf. There was noCamping and Woodcraftbut there were a lot of books about Scouting. There was also an entire shelf about Buddhism, and half a shelf about spiritual quests. A small section, including maps, dealt with the local area, and another with community work. The rest were fiction. Deryn recognised many of the titles from his own collection of LGBTQ mysteries.
“Look at this,” Murphy said from behind him. Deryn turned and saw that Murphy was pointing to a calendar — one with a picture above the fold and a small square for each date below. Deryn moved next to Murphy and peered at the scribbled notes on the squares. Most were for Scout group meetings, but on the day before was “Brody, Heathrow, 7am,” with a red circle around it.
“He meant to meet you,” Deryn said.
“And what’s this?” Murphy said, pointing to a blank space at the bottom of the calendar. Also in a red circle was the word “Fromow, tunnel?”
“Fromow is my brother-in-law’s surname,” Deryn said.
“So, maybe Mason really was chasing the local drug dealer,” Murphy said.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” A wave of determination rolled through him, settling the anxiety that had plagued him for days. He had done with making resolutions, it was time to act. “Right now.”
CHAPTER 8
DAY TWO
Phillip and Branwen’s house sat on a private road, high above the village, with a view down the valley, guarded by a high fence and electric gates with an intercom and cameras. Happily, Phillip and Branwen weren’t smart enough to conceal the entry code for the gates, or not from family, anyway. Deryn had watched his sister as she put the birthdate of her firstborn in to unlock her phone so often that he was certain it would also be the code for the gate. He entered the numbers and heard the click. He had driven over here alone, without explanation, fuelled by his resolve, leaving Murphy behind.
Deryn had always thought it a ridiculous house; too many bedrooms and bathrooms, a kitchen the size of a tennis court, a heated swimming pool in its own building and a hot tub in the garden. It was furnished with items chosen — in Deryn’s opinion — because they were expensive, rather than because Phillip and Branwen actually liked them. At least the kids used the swimming pool, and no doubt the adults spent plenty of time watching the sixty-inch television in the room referred to asthesnugas opposed to thefamily room,which had a not much smaller screen, and where children were allowed. He could hear the hum of traffic from the road far below and smell the newlycut lawns surrounding the house. Inside, he knew it would smell of expensive scented candles, and underneath that, a pervasive odour of weed – a reminder of what had paid for all this. A house built from other people’s misery, no better than a coal owner’s mansion.
Phillip’s silver Jag was parked outside the triple garage, so Deryn climbed the five wide stone steps to the oversized dark wood front door and leaned on the doorbell until it was answered.
“What the fuck do you want?” Phillip said. His brother-in-law was wearing jeans and a Wales rugby shirt, which failed to conceal his growing belly. Growing fat on the proceeds of crime. On his feet he wore expensive loafers without socks. He was all of a piece with the house, cost over style, and it made Deryn despise him even more.
“I want you to tell me where you took Mason Abruzzi.”
“Who the fuck is Mason Abruzzi? I don’t know how you got in here, but you can fuck off out again.”
“I hope the children aren’t in. I’d hate them to hear your language.” Deryn smiled as his brother-in-law stepped forward and raised his hands, with the intention of pushing him down the steps written all over his face. “I don’t think so,” he said, and kicked Phillip’s ankle. Hard. On the bone. Before Phillip could do more than yelp and spit out a curse, Deryn pushed him back into the house and into the oversized kitchen. “Now then,” he said, “why don’t you sit on one of those stupid bar stools, take the weight off your sore ankle and tell me where to find Mason Abruzzi?”
For a moment it appeared that Phillip would comply, but only for a moment.
“Listen to me, little bro. The only reason I haven’t told everyone and his dog that you dress up as a girl is that I need a tame copper, and you’re it. Push it, and that could change.”
“Tell,” Deryn said. “Then you won’t have a tame copper. Because I’m done with your threats. Sorry and all that.”
