In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner (Inspector Lynley, #10)(218)

Julian said, “I'm finished in here. Let's walk back to the house,” in a bid for time to gather his thoughts.

They left the kennels. They started down the overgrown lane. He said, “Dad's talked about giving up booze before. He's even done it. But he only makes it for a few weeks. Well … once it must have been three and a half months. But apparently now he's come to believe—”

“That he can do it.” Samantha finished the thought for him and linked her arm with his. She squeezed gently, “Julie, you should have seen him. If you had done, you'd know. I think that the key to success this time round is if we can come up with a plan that will help him. Obviously, it's done no good in the past to pour out the gin, has it?” She gave him an earnest gaze, perhaps seeking to see if she'd somehow offended him by pointing out what he'd previously done to attempt to wean his father from the piss. “And we can't exactly stop him going into an off-licence, can we?”

“Not to mention barring him from every hotel and pub from here to Manchester.”

“Right. So if there's a way … Julian, surely we can put our heads together and come up with something.”

Julian saw that his cousin had just given him the perfect opportunity to speak to her about money for the clinic. But the words that went with that opportunity were large and unpalatable, and they stuck in his throat like a piece of rotten meat. How could he ask her for money? For that much money? How could he say Could you give us ten thousand quid, Sam? Not lend us, Sam—because there wasn't a snowball's chance in the Sahara that he'd be able to repay her anytime soon—but give us the money. Lots of it. And soon, before Jeremy changes his mind. Please make an investment in a yammering drunk who's never kept his word in his life.

Julian couldn't do it. Despite his promises to his father, he found that face-to-face with his cousin, he couldn't even begin to try.

As they reached the end of the lane and crossed the old road to make for the house, a silver Bentley pulled round the side of the building. It was followed by a panda car. Two uniformed constables emerged first, peering round the grounds as if they expected ninja warriors to be lurking in the bushes. Out of the Bentley climbed the tall blond detective who'd first come to Broughton Manor with Inspector Hanken.

His cousin laid a hand on Julian's arm. Through it, he could feel how she'd stiffened.

“Make sure the house is secure,” DI Lynley said to the constables, whom he introduced as DCs Emmes and Benson. “Then do the grounds. It's probably best to start with the gardens. Then go on to the kennel area and the woods.”

Emmes and Benson ducked inside the courtyard gate. Julian watched, astonished. Samantha was the one who said, “Hang on, you lot,” and her tone was angry. “What the hell are you doing, Inspector? Do you have a warrant? What right have you to barge into our lives and—”

“I need you inside the house,” Lynley told her. “Quickly. And now.”

“What?” Samantha sounded incredulous. “If you think we're going to jump just because you say so, you'd better think again.”

Julian found his voice. “What's going on?”

“You can see what's going on,” Samantha said. “This twit has decided to search Broughton Manor. He's not got a single reason in hell to tear things apart, aside from the fact that you and Nicola were involved. Which, apparently, is some sort of crime. I want to see your warrant, Inspector.”

Lynley came forward and took her by the arm. She said, “Get your hands off me,” and tried to shake his grip.

He said, “Mr. Britton's in danger. I'd like him out of sight.”

Samantha said, “Julian? In danger?”

Julian blanched. “In danger from what? What's going on?”

Lynley said that he'd explain everything once the constables had ascertained that the house was safe. Inside, the three of them retired to the Long Gallery, which was, Lynley said when he saw it, an environment that could be well controlled.

“Controlled?” Julian asked. “From what? And why?”

So Lynley explained. His information was limited and direct, but Julian found that he couldn't begin to absorb it. The police believed that Andy Maiden had taken matters into his own hands, Lynley told him, which was always a risk if a member of a police officer's family became the victim of a violent crime.

“I don't understand,” Julian said. “Because if Andy's coming here … here to Broughton Manor …” He tried to come to terms with the implication behind what the inspector had told him. “Are you saying that Andy's coming after me?”

“We're not certain whom he's after,” Lynley replied. “Inspector Hanken's seeing to the safety of the other gentleman.”

“The other … ?”

“Oh my God.” Samantha was standing next to Julian, and immediately she dragged him away from the Long Gallery's diamond-paned windows. “Let's sit down. Here. The fireplace. It's out of sight from the grounds, and even if someone barges into the room, we'll be too far from the doors … Julie … Julie. Please.”

Julian allowed himself to be led, but he felt dazed. He said, “What are you saying, exactly?” to Lynley. “Does Andy think I might have … Andy?”