‘He didn’t give a shit, actually, Gerry. When balls were handed out, Gerry got given a pair the size of fucking footballs.’
Kelly, who could see the pride in Nick, even under these circumstances, was becoming more and more starkly aware of just how deep into some other murky world his only son had become immersed. He said nothing.
‘We had this man over there, undercover. His information was dynamite. Always. He was an Irishman, but he was British army through and through. Trained in the Marines. He spent years there undercover. Gerry and I, well, we ran him. The man was amazing. A real hero. Last year they had to get him out, his cover was about to be blown. Gerry was determined to find a new life for him. He got him into the Devonshires, made up some story for him, gave him a new name and a whole new phoney background. You know what they say, if you want to hide a lump of coal, then put it in a coal bunker with lots of other lumps of coal. The Irishman was a soldier. So they slotted him into the Devonshires and made him a sergeant, and Gerry took him under his wing. But, well, he was never an easy man to handle. All that time undercover. It had done something to him. To his head. He was a bit of a monster with women, it’s true.’
Kelly found himself thinking back to when he had been sitting in Parker-Brown’s office at Hangridge. He had a small bet with himself that it had been the Irishman who had opened the door and then quickly closed it again after Parker-Brown had shaken his hand in warning.
‘So he was sent to a barracks where vulnerable young women were being trained? Brilliant.’
‘Well, anyway. Apparently, he’d come on strong to this girl—’
‘Which girl?’
‘Her name was Jocelyn Slade.’
‘Just strong?’
‘Well, she claimed he’d raped her.’
‘Oh, dear God, Nick.’
‘Look, the Irishman had lived too long under different rules.’
‘Oh, yes. I know the type. And he’d think young women soldiers were fair game, of course.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know what happened. Just that it all snowballed. Jocelyn Slade had a boyfriend, didn’t she? She’d told him all about it.’
‘Craig Foster?’
‘Yes. Well, Gerry tried to calm it all down, but Slade and Foster were apparently telling people that they were going to go to the newspapers. Eventually, the Irishman sorted it himself. Slade and Foster. A suicide and a tragic accident. Unfortunately, the other sentry — what was his name?’
‘Gates, James Gates.’
‘Well, he was suspicious of what had happened. The Irishman thought he was a loose cannon, him, and Alan Connelly. They’d been mates with Foster and did a whole lot of talking. Big talking. Anyway, Gerry arranged for Gates to be posted abroad, to Germany.’
‘And then had him killed over there.’
Nick shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Could have been a genuine freak accident, for all I know. But Connelly didn’t think so. So when Connelly went AWOL, Gerry knew he had to find him.’
‘And kill him?’
‘I’ve no idea about that, either. It was an accident on a filthy night, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh, spare me, Nick. I was there. I saw how frightened that boy was. Out of his mind with terror. And no wonder. It was his CO who walked into that pub, and Connelly already believed that soldiers were being killed. It must have been so damned easy to throw him under a truck, make it look like an accident.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that.’
‘I do. I did from the beginning, somehow. Parker-Brown and his sidekick — who was that, then, the Irishman?’
Nick shrugged.
‘I’ll bet it was.’ Kelly paused, thinking back. The second man hadn’t uttered a word that night in The Wild Dog. If he had done, his Irish accent would have been evident.
Kelly’s head was swimming almost as much as when his son had nearly killed him two days previously, but for an entirely different reason. He knew he was experiencing an acute emotional reaction to all that he had been told.
‘And what about Robert Morgan, the soldier knifed in London, on his way to the Gates’ family home? He knew things, too, didn’t he? And he had probably decided not to stay silent any longer. I’d bet my house on that. Am I right?’
Nick shrugged. ‘I think I’ve said enough.’
‘Did the Irishman kill Morgan as well, then? Take his mobile phone? Make it look like a mugging? Was that the Irishman?’
Nick looked away and said nothing.
‘Does this Irishman have a name?’ asked Kelly.
‘Several. But none that I’m telling you. Anyway, he’s gone with Gerry. He’ll have another name today.’
As Nick spoke, Kelly was suddenly hit by another revelation.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t the Irishman who killed Robert Morgan, was it? It was you, Nick. That was you, again. You murdered him.’
Nick continued to avoid his father’s gaze. ‘I’ve told you all I am going to...’
‘Fine. It doesn’t matter, really.’ Kelly’s voice was very flat. ‘You’ve told me all I need to know.’
‘I told you you wouldn’t understand, that’s for sure.’
‘Damn right, I don’t understand. You’re a cold-blooded murderer, Nick, aren’t you? You’re prepared to kill a man on request, an innocent man, and to you, it seems, it’s little more than swatting a fly. You... you, you’re the lowest of the low. You’re inhuman, Nick.’ Kelly paused, and he could feel the tears pricking more incessantly at the back of his eyes. He had to fight to stave them off. ‘Damn right, I don’t understand,’ he repeated.
It was then as if something snapped in Nick. He jumped to his feet and strode across the room towards Kelly, jabbing a pointed finger at him, his lips drawn back over his teeth in an unpleasant snarl. But Kelly wasn’t afraid. He was beyond fear.
‘You wouldn’t, would you?’ Nick shouted. ‘The army was the only family I ever had, Dad.’ And the word ‘Dad’ came out heavy with sarcasm. ‘When I was growing up, you were off all over the world, allegedly on stories, actually cheating on your wife — my mother — at every opportunity, fucking everything that moved, drinking yourself into a stupor and ultimately sticking God knows what up your nose.’
Kelly recoiled. It felt as if Nick had hit him again.
‘Gerry Parker-Brown is the finest man I know, and when the army didn’t want me any more, he turned out to be my best friend. He never let me down. I’d do anything for him and for his regiment. As for the Irishman? I couldn’t begin to tell you what he has done for his country, and his country, Dad, is Great Britain, not fucking Ireland. We owe him. All of us. Everything he has done is down to the British army and what we put him through. Gerry was determined to protect him, and that’s why he came to me. Unfortunately the whole thing got a bit out of hand...’
Nick stepped back, more controlled now and no longer behaving threateningly. Kelly, wondering at the understatement, managed a wry smile.
‘It did, didn’t it?’ he said. ‘But Gerry wasn’t really protecting the fucking Irishman, was he? Not in the end. And neither were you. The more out of hand it all got, the more he was trapped into protecting his regiment, and both of you were protecting yourselves. I dread to think what you two lunatics had done in Northern Ireland. But the Irishman knew, didn’t he? If he went down, you two would go down with him, wouldn’t you? That’s why you were prepared to kill for Parker-Brown, Nick, not for any fucking altruistic reason. You both had so much to lose, too, didn’t you? Parker-Brown had his whole fucking glorious career, and you, and you...’ Kelly looked around the luxurious and expensively furnished apartment, with its breathtaking river views. ‘You had your fancy lifestyle to lose, didn’t you? All of this, your flash cars and your holidays in the Caribbean.’