Read Online Written in Blood by Chris Collett - Free Book Online Page B

probably. Judging from the amount of valium we found at the house she was of a somewhat nervous disposition.’
    More silence. Flynn would make a great partner in an interview. ‘How long are you here for?’ Mariner asked.
    ‘Back first thing tomorrow.’
    ‘And if I need to ask more questions?’
    ‘Give me a call any time, though like I said, I’m not completely in the know.’
    ‘Listen. I’d like to tell Anna about this in my own time.
    It’s going to take a bit of getting used to. Is it likely to become public knowledge?’
    ‘No reason why it should.’
    ‘Good, so we can keep this to ourselves for now?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Mariner held up the photos. ‘And I can take these with me?’
    ‘I can’t imagine how they’d be relevant to our investigation. Happy New Year, mate.’
    ‘Happy New Year.’
     
    Outside the pub they went their separate ways. While Flynn returned to his hotel, Mariner dropped down off the main street into Gas Street basin to walk back along the canal to his own place, hoping that he still had it to himself. He covered the distance in record time, pounding along the towpath, barely noticing anything around him, the thoughts that exploded and ricocheted around his head commanding his attention. Never knowing who his father was, of course he’d been aware that the man might be out there somewhere and simply not interested, but there had, at the same time, been the more acceptable alternatives that he was dead, or had emigrated, or at the very least had never been told about Mariner. But now Dave Flynn had turned all that on its head.
    Ryland’s possession of those photographs meant that he was far from ignorant of his son’s existence, and the only thing really stopping him from making contact was the protection of his reputation and his career. It was possible of course that he’d only recently acquired the photos, but if that was the case, why the entire history? One of the photographs in that little collection was of Mariner at just a couple of weeks old. No, what remained was the inescapable truth that Sir Geoffrey Ryland was fully aware that he had a son, he lived only a hundred miles away, but he didn’t want to know him. In the last hour Mariner’s lofty opinion of the man had plummeted to the lowest depths.
     
    Arriving at the cottage in what seemed like no time at all, Mariner was grateful to note that his new tenant didn’t appear to have yet moved in. The place was so cold inside that he could see his breath on the air. He was going to miss the solitude of this place when he didn’t have it to himself.
    He’d only intended collecting Ryland’s autobiography from where he’d left it, surplus to requirement, but his mind was awash with thoughts and questions and the empty, silent house was just too inviting to resist.
    Tonight he’d been given the answer to the biggest question mark hanging over his life, but all that had replaced it were endless other questions. Why hadn’t Ryland stood by Rose? The most obvious explanation was that his career came first. He didn’t want to be saddled with a wife and a kid before he’d had the chance to make his mark on the world. Funny how, even now, women were condemned for making the same kind of choice, but men had always got away with it. The power of the public image was impressive. Mariner would never have categorised Ryland as that kind of man. But he was a politician, an expert at creating a ‘persona’ and the single-mindedness needed to go into the profession in the first place would stand him in good stead. Oh yes, Ryland would be used to getting his own way, selfish bastard.
    Mariner wondered how his mother had felt about it. Had there been bitter arguments, recriminations? It had been hard for her as a lone parent in the sixties and into the seventies. She’d carried that stigma with her. Growing up Mariner had noticed the way that certain people treated her. Rose had never given the impression that