The Doll's House - [23]

She grabbed her bag from her office and was about to leave the empty incident room, when she paused. It was stupid really, worse than that it was pointless, but still something compelled her to sit down at the vacated computer terminal and log into the system. She used DC Lucas’s personal codes this time, which wasn’t on, but needs must. She typed Robert Stonehill’s name into the PNC and hit Search. Why did she do this to herself? She blamed herself entirely for ruining this innocent young man’s life, but even so, what was achieved by this endless trawling? It was a fruitless search, which always ended in bitter disappointment.

Except tonight it didn’t. The computer suddenly came alive with times, dates and more importantly a case number.

There was a match. Robert Stonehill. The nephew whom she had loved and lost was back from the dead.

38

He slipped the key into the lock and turned it silently. He had stayed out late – and drunk too much – and he didn’t want to wake his father by crashing around. Stepping inside the door, Lloyd Fortune listened. He had expected, and hoped for, silence, but the TV in the living room was still on, despite the late hour.

‘Evening, Dad. What’s on?’ Lloyd said brightly, perching on the vacant end of the sofa.

‘The usual fools,’ his dad replied, gesturing at the talking heads on a late-night politics show.

‘Tea?’ Lloyd continued.

‘Yes, I will. I expect you could do with one too,’ his father replied evenly.

Lloyd headed to the kitchen, the earlier fun of the evening already starting to recede. Lloyd loved his father as much as any son could or should, but he was a hard taskmaster and Lloyd often bridled at his implied criticism. And he was the success story of the family, for God’s sake. His brother and sister were work-shy, living off benefits, unwilling to work as hard or as diligently as their father had when they were growing up. Lloyd knew they resented the fact that their father had seldom been present when they were small, often levelling this at him during furious family rows. Lloyd understood their grievance, but he never backed them up. His father had brought the family over from Jamaica with nothing – he’d had to work all the hours God sent just to keep the family in food and clothing.

It had been backbreaking work too – twelve-hour shifts down at the Western Docks as a stevedore – the legacy of which still made itself felt now. At one time or another Lloyd’s father had strained, fractured or broken most parts of his body – Lloyd particularly remembered one nasty fall that had resulted in a broken back that had laid his father out for weeks. His mother had cried pretty much non-stop during that time, as the family stared destitution in the face. But his father had eventually risen from his sick bed and returned to work. He carried on doing just that until they handed him his cards some time later.

So even though he was a hard man to live with, especially now their mother had passed away, Lloyd refused to criticize him. His brother and sister he was less equivocal about, especially as their failure to live up to the hardworking strictures laid down by the previous generation meant that Lloyd was now the sole repository of his father’s dying hopes and ambitions. His father, Caleb, was extremely tough on Lloyd, pushing him to get the best examination results, to pass out of Hendon top of his class, to climb the ranks from PC to DC to DS, faster, faster, faster. Nothing ever seemed to satisfy him. Lloyd kept on achieving, only to find he had still not earned his father’s approbation. He had already gone further and faster than most of his peers, but still he fell short.

Lloyd handed his father a full cup of tea and settled down to watch the politicians insinuate and evade.

‘Look at this one. Lying through his teeth and he doesn’t even bother to hide it.’

His father had no time for politicians, but he still watched these shows. Caleb was a man who took life seriously, who set the highest standards and always seemed to be on the lookout in case someone fell short. Especially his own son, Lloyd thought to himself, as he drank his tea. Especially his first-born son.

39

Helen stared down at the file, her heart breaking. She hadn’t slept a wink and had been on edge all morning, waiting for the file she’d requested on Robert to be faxed through. But now she had it in her hand, she was no further on and her fragile hopes lay in tatters.

There had been some kind of assault in Northampton city centre, which had resulted in Robert’s arrest and detention. A fight outside a pub between Robert and another individual over a trivial matter. The injuries were relatively minor – thank goodness – but that was about as much as Helen could make out. The rest of the two-page report had been heavily redacted, great swathes of it blacked out, so that only scant details of the incident remained. There was no clue as to whether charges had been brought, where Robert was living or what had happened to him. It promised so much but, obscuring its precious content from view, delivered only bitter frustration.