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He shook his head. ‘Not yet, but I imagine they will, now they’ve got the body. That detective told me they had now found plenty of forensic evidence.’
She sighed. ‘Poor Terry. He must be desperate. And he loves his son, you know. Sean is the centre of his whole life. I feel so sorry for him.’
They arrived first thing in the morning before even Terry was up, let alone Sean. Tousled, flushed, in a gaudy Stuart tartan red dressing gown, under which he was wearing nothing, Terry stumbled downstairs to open the front door.
Neil Maddrell flashed his warrant card, walking past him as he did so. ‘Your son here?’
‘He’s still asleep. Hey, wait a minute, you can’t just barge into my house without permission!’
Neil was already in the hall. ‘Get him up, Mr Finnigan. We’re taking him to the station for questioning.’
‘You wait a minute. I’m getting my lawyer.’
‘Your son’s going to need him. Tell him to meet us at the station. Because I am taking Sean there, so please get him up, or would you rather we did it?’
Putting on a calm air, Terry argued. ‘Why all this urgency? You’ve already talked to him for hours and you know you can’t charge him. There’s no evidence against him except for what you were told by that neurotic bitch who worked for me.’ They must not know that he had been informed about the body brought up out of the sea. That would make them suspicious of him, of his contacts.
Life had become so complicated since Sean killed that girl. He often felt he was walking through a minefield, always watching where he put his feet, intensely afraid of an explosion that could blow his whole world to smithereens.
‘We’ve found the body, Mr Finnigan. We’ve identified it beyond a shadow of doubt, through DNA, dental records, medical records – and she was three months pregnant and the baby’s DNA will give us your son’s paternity, I’ve no doubt.’
Terry swallowed, realising for the first time that the unborn child had been his grandchild, his flesh and blood. That had been his dream for years, to have grandchildren, but this child, this first one, had died with its mother.
‘I’ll get him up,’ he hoarsely agreed.
When he looked down at his son he had a terrible impulse to punch him in the face hard. How could Sean sleep so soundly after what he had done?
Terry saw the ruins of his life around him and hated the boy for a second, but was it partly his own fault? A child was always the product of his upbringing.
When you were young you had no idea what effect your every casual, impulse-born action would have. He and Sandra had made Sean what he was; loving the child they had always indulged him, given him anything he asked for, made Sean feel he only had to put out his hand and he would get what he wanted. Taught him to feel no guilt for whatever he did. They had rarely smacked him, they hadn’t believed in it. If Sean was naughty they forgave him at once.
How could he be forgiven for killing the mother of his unborn child, and the child with her?
‘Wake up. Sean, wake up.’ He was afraid to lean over and shake him; afraid if he touched him at all he would end up battering the stupid boy senseless.
Sean blinked, lids fluttering, yawned, looked up.
‘The police are here. And they’re taking you away with them. Get up, wash, get
dressed.’
‘Get my brief!’ Sean sat up, glaring, issuing his commands as if his father was a servant. ‘And do it now! I’m not talking to them without him, get it?’
Terry looked at him bleakly. ‘You stupid, arrogant little bastard!’ His love for his son was turning to something like hatred.
But he went down to his office and put through a call to his solicitor. There was nobody in the office yet. The secretary came in at nine, it was only eight thirty. He left a message on the answer phone, stressing the urgency.
Then he stood by his desk staring out at the garden, watching birds looping through the trees calling. It was a beautiful autumn morning; golden and glowing. He had always loved days like this, but his spirits were too low for him to enjoy it now. He felt despair clogging up his throat. You think you’ve built a wonderful future for yourself and your family, then one day it is all destroyed. All because a stupid, selfish boy couldn’t keep his trousers zipped and then couldn’t face up to the consequences of his own folly.
He had booked to fly to Greece this morning. Should he still go? Or should he stay here, in case Sean needed him?
‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ Sean demanded behind him and he slowly turned, looked at his son as if from a far, far distance.
‘You’re a big boy, I’m sure you don’t need me there.’
‘Well, if you don’t want to come . . . well, don’t!’ Sean’s lower lip stuck out petulantly. ‘Did you ring the brief?’
‘Yes, he’ll come along when he can.’
