Chapter 153

While Dave Morris and Jane Tobias were wrestling with what to do about the certificates, local journalists and fancy-coloured cake covered in marzipan, those of the party still sitting in the lounge had been contemplating weightier matters.

Harry McFry remained loathe to speculate too much about the news they’d just received. Harry’s favoured form of speculation was, anyway, linked to the idea of accumulation and, just now, he was gambling on something else. He’d noticed how Lillian seemed to be relieved by the diversion afforded by Dave Morris’ dramatic interruption.

“Lillian,” he said. “I know this news must be very upsetting for you.” He was being politer than he needed to be. “But, if you remember, we were talking about Thomas…”Lillian McFry bristled. “Thomas McFry!” she exclaimed. “I think you know everything you need to know about him.” She didn’t seem to want to look anyone in the eye, and was staring, pointedly, at the wall above the fireplace.

Harry wasn’t the only one to sense that Lillian was pulling up the draw bridge. When Laurel had revealed herself, Danny Longhurst had wondered whether Lillian might not have taken some offence at the idea of having being duped. If she did, she hadn’t shown it immediately, but there was something about her tone now which suggested she was having second thoughts.“So, this whole mixed-up affair is down to Thomas, is it?” Harry asked. He didn’t sound convinced.“That’s right. If I’d never met him, things could have turned out different.” Wistful. That was how Danny thought she sounded, now. Harry thought it was an act and, though he had his suspicions that they weren’t getting the full facts from Lillian, he knew he wasn’t in a position to challenge her. He’d have to wait until he could see those certificates from Southport. If only they’d turned back and picked them up before arriving at Vale View, he knew he’d have sorted this all out by now.

Just then, Dave Morris and Jane Tobias re-appeared, Jane taking her seat while Dave hovered in the doorway. There seemed to be a natural pause in proceedings, he noticed. He spoke quietly, and assuredly:“Jane and I have something we would like to share with you. We think it might help matters. Jane?” he prompted, nodding towards his briefcase, which was sitting on the floor next to his colleague and his own, empty chair.“That’s right,” she said, reaching down to open it, and pulling out the sheaf of copies Mabel Harris had sent them. “We’d like you to take a look at these, Harry. Danny, too.” She handed them across to Harry, who saw at once that they were copy certificates.“Where are these from?” Harry asked, as Danny uncrossed his legs and began to stand up. He’d seen the familiar design of a birth certificate on the first sheet, and was starting to feel excited.“Mabel Harris copied them at Dacre Lawrence’s flat. It seems he’d been collecting them. The truth is, Dave and I haven’t a clue how they fit in, but we thought you might be able to help us.” Jane caught a glint in Danny’s eye and knew they’d made the right decision.

Standing up next to Danny, Harry turned to Lillian. “We’re going into the kitchen to look through these, if you don’t mind.” Laurel McFry was excited, too: she guessed these were the final piece in the jigsaw that might unveil parts of the story that her grandmother had been reluctant to tell. At the same time, she knew that Lillian had told as much as she could – or wanted to. She only hoped Harry would be gentle in revealing what the certificates had to say.

Lillian nodded her assent. As he followed Danny out of the room, Harry couldn’t help feel she looked defeated.

Bill Blunt, meanwhile, checked his watch. That deadline was getting ever-nearer, but it seemed that the closer it got, the more new information was being revealed. He had to get into the kitchen – see what Harry and Danny were up to – if he had any hope at all of making sense of this tangled tale. He had an idea, and spoke to Lillian.

“Perhaps … perhaps I should make us all a fresh cup of tea?” he said, brightly.Lillian turned to him, with the nearest thing to a glower she could muster.“That won’t be necessary, Elliot,” she said. “I rather think we’ve all had enough tea for today, don’t you? In any case, I think Harry and Danny would prefer not to be interrupted in whatever they’re doing.”

The same instinct that had led her, as she’d watched Bill Blunt turn page after page in his notebook, suspect that he may not be entirely what he seemed, was slowly leading her to the realization that Dacre Lawrence must have known more about her history than she’d guessed. When she’d woken up that morning, she’d expected a day when she would be in control, that she’d learn more about what happened to Jonathan and finally put to rest the ghosts of her past. Instead, she’d been deceived. By Harry and Danny and, most probably, by this Elliot Blunt fellow, too. Even Laurel had deceived her.

Soon enough, she thought, it would all come out, and it was some small comfort to know that, at last, she’d be free of the burden of the McFry’s. She only wished Laurel didn’t have to shoulder it – but it seemed she was powerless to prevent that. Some things – history, for example – are just too strong to defeat.

Chapter 152

The bodies hadn’t been discovered until breakfast time on Tuesday morning. A subsequent hospital inquiry, quite separate from the police investigations, blamed a shortage of staff on the delay, and (some thought, unfairly) castigated two nurses on duty the previous evening for leaving the scissors in the room in the first place. After all, Galloway’s death was hardly an accident…

Galloway had suffered a massive loss of blood when his carotid artery had been punctured by the scissors. From the position of the bodies, the sticky trail of blood (mainly Galloway’s) and the broken glass and jug on the floor, it was later supposed by police investigators that Galloway had been assisting Lawrence with a drink, when there had been a struggle between the two men. As Galloway had most probably pulled back in shock, he’d grasped Lawrence’s pyjama jacket, and the two men had fallen to the floor. The doctor’s blood on the corner of the bedside cabinet suggested he had once again hit his head against it, but this time with a force much greater than the accident that had occurred (and had been documented) a few days previously. Force enough to kill him.

In fact, a lot of attention was paid to the blood deposits on the corner of the bedside cabinet. As a rule, it wouldn’t have been important, but the fine detail of the contract with a cleaning firm meant the police could determine exactly when the furniture in the room should have been last cleaned. A pathologist was later able to confirm, with reasonable accuracy, that he coagulated blood had been deposited within the last 12 hours or so. The triumph of science.

None of this detail was available to Dave Morris when he took the call from Mabel Harris since, in truth, the Practice Manager at the Chapter Road Health Centre only had the sketchiest of details to go on herself. The police, when they had questioned her, had given little away – she knew only that Dacre Lawrence and Cyril Galloway had died at the hospital.

“I didn’t mention anything about the certificates to the police, Mr Morris,” she’d told Dave, once she finally resolved to ring him. “I just felt it would muddy things a little.”

Dave had guessed that Mabel’s reticence to discuss her copying of Dacre Lawrence’s collection of birth, marriage and death certificates probably had more to do with her own desire not to seem to be implicated in what showed every sign of being a potentially messy enquiry. That much was natural. As he ended the call and made his way back into the lounge to give everyone else the news, he knew he’d have to discuss this new development with Jane. He felt sure she’d know how best to approach the police with their findings. He’d caught himself thinking, nonetheless, that the strange (and surely not co-incidental?) deaths of a Yorkshire GP and his business associate, and the information Jane and he would be able to take to the police, was all grist to Gilbert’s mill. His boss, Tom Gauntless, would see at once the value of the resources they’d invested in the project: without it, how would the police ever establish a motive for these deaths? The media would have a field day in speculating about a case like this – at least they’d have some answers for them.

As they processed the news, every individual in the room had reason to pause. Colin McAllistair’s initial thought was a relief that the only other person who could corroborate his role in selling Jonathan Harcourt’s medals – Cyril Galloway - was now unable to do so. Until he remembered, with a jolt, that he had confessed all to Harry, in his phone call to him last week. Bill Blunt, for his sins – although momentarily shocked to learn that a man he’d met just days before in a pub in Birkenhead, was dead - was desperately trying to work out the new angle this fresh news brought to the story he had to have ready for his editor in just a few hours time. He was beginning to doubt his ability to marshal the facts in any meaningful manner – there were just too many dimensions to these ‘missing millions’. That headline was changing, yet again…

Sensing her colleague’s half-masked air of triumph, Jane Tobias was already thinking through how they’d have to go to the police with the information they’d amassed – it was only their professional duty, she reasoned: and this before she even knew how they’d died. Maybe it had been the manner of Dave’s announcement of the deaths, but something had instinctively made her think ‘murder’, until she pulled herself back and reminded herself that, for all she knew, there might be an innocent explanation: a car crash, perhaps? Just as quickly, her mind jumped back to the idea that the two men had killed each other. She knew that Dave must be thinking, now, that the monies for the Gilbert project would be assured for some time to come…

Laurel McFry felt a sense of reprieve from the feeling of dread that the unknown, shadowy figure of Cyril Galloway had come to represent: a dead man could pose no threat to either her or her grandmother. At the same time, she wondered about Dacre Lawrence. He’d warned her about Galloway, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness to know he had died before she’d had a chance to meet him. He was her (what?) half-uncle, after all. She might have wanted to thank him for his change of heart – whatever had prompted it – and for deciding to sever his ties with his former colleague. If she’d known exactly what else he’d severed last night, she might have been feeling less charitable towards the good doctor…

Lillian seemed to be the least affected. To her, dying was a simple fact of life to which she had long ago become accustomed: a simple thing that happened, and which you dealt with. Friends and neighbours had predeceased her so often, and with such a steady regularity, that death no longer had the power to shock her. Just like the 29 bus, there’d be another generation along any minute. At least the tragic news had taken the spotlight off her, before Harry McFry could continue his interrogation…

Meanwhile, Harry and Danny looked at each other. What did this mean? They both guessed that the demise of the two co-conspirators was suspicious, and each of them itched to ask how it had happened. The task of asking the question fell to Harry, who turned to Dave Morris.

“How did they die?” he asked.

“I don’t have the full details, but it seems Galloway was visiting Dr Lawrence in hospital at the time.” Dave caught Jane’s eye, and nodded swiftly towards the kitchen. She knew they needed to talk. As she stood up, she looked at Lillian.

“My colleague and I need to discuss what this means for our investigation. Is there somewhere private we can go?” she asked.

Lillian was serene and composed. “Well, I would normally suggest the drawing room, but I’m having it decorated. You’ll have to use the kitchen.”

Bill Blunt suppressed a smile. He’d already played the part of butler, maid and doorman, so the idea that Lillian’s tiny bungalow might have had its own drawing room, and perhaps a library and billiard room to boot, was the kind of fanciful notion that tickled him.

“Thank you,” Dave said. Pointedly ignoring Lillian’s sarcasm, he retraced his steps to where he’d taken the call from Mabel, closely followed by Jane.

“Well!” Bill said. “This is a turn-up for the books! What do you make of this, Mr McFry?” He only just stopped himself from calling him ‘Harry’.

It seemed to Harry that all eyes were on him, and that an explanation was expected from him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to give one, just now. He’d caught the exchange between Dave Morris and Jane Tobias, and started to suspect that the visitors from Cardiff had their own agenda here. He wondered whether Morris knew how the two men had died, and had chosen not to reveal it.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I would have liked to have spoken to Dacre Lawrence – if only to find out what he knew about the McFry family. Or at least, what he had worked out.” Danny Longhurst, meanwhile, was watching Lillian, now. She seemed just a little too relaxed, for his liking.

*

In the kitchen, Dave was leaning against the wall, while Jane rested herself comfortably against the sink. Before he could say anything, she smiled.

“It’s an ill-wind, Dave!” she said, in a half-whisper.

He caught her drift. “I know. It won’t do us any harm – although I must admit I’d have liked to have had the chance to interview Lawrence. Especially now we know about this bond – although it’s going to complicate matters. We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do to the North Yorkshire police. What do you think?” He was relying on Jane’s background in the police service to guide them.

“They’ll be alright. If they suspect foul play, they’ll ratchet it up a gear. But at least we can show them a link between the deceased. And the bond is the obvious motive. They might’ve had difficulty with making that link. If it was murder, I imagine they’ll be grateful for our help!”

Dave Morris shuddered at the very mention of the word, but he knew murder might be what they were dealing with. The police may not have told Mabel Harris this – but they didn’t need to. He didn’t know it, but he shared Harry McFry’s suspicion of co-incidences.

Jane turned and picked up a glass from the drainer, filling it from the tap. “Want a drink?” she asked, proffering it to him. He watched the tiny, grey bubbles settle, until the water was clear.

“No, you’re OK.” He paused a second. “I was wondering what to do about those certificates Mabel Harris sent through to us….” His question trailed off, as though he already knew the answer.

“Me too,” Jane replied. She took a sip of the water. “Seems like we’ve got the people we need right out there. Professional genealogists. I vote we let them take a look. It won’t do any harm.”

Dave had been thinking the same, and was pleased to see that Jane – not for the first time – was tuned into his wavelength.

He nodded. “I agree. It’s fascinating how they’ve picked up this case. With a couple more days, they could have been onto Lawrence before we were.”

Jane had started gingerly opening the cupboards in the corner of the kitchen. “Yes. It’s an interesting approach: a sort of forensic genealogy.” As she closed one door, she opened another. “A totally different way of tackling things. You won’t believe what you just missed while you were taking that call….”

“Oh?” Dave said. “No – don’t tell me: Lillian got as far as the 1950’s.” Deadpan wasn’t Dave Morris’ forte, and Jane winced at the lameness of the joke. She seemed to be considering her reply, for a moment.

“You know, Dave, you could learn a lot from the study of people. Body language – all that stuff. Bet you didn’t think Harry’s assistant was Lillian’s granddaughter, for example?” Jane moved to the next cupboard.

“What?” Dave asked, unable to hide his incredulity. “You mean that Ana woman? How did you work that one out?” He wondered, briefly, whether Jane was losing the plot, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.

She told him what he’d missed while he’d been in the kitchen earlier. It didn’t take him long to catch up.

“So - this Harry McFry character… he’s known about this relationship for a some time?”

“I guess so. That’s why he brought her down here, posing as his assistant. There’s been a lot of deception going on out there,” Jane said. “Not everyone is who they seem.” Dave waited for her to continue, as he knew she would.

“For example…we’ve got Harry and Danny: the genealogists. Harry seems to know what he’s talking about, and Danny’s in tow. But what do you make of Colin McAllistair?”

“The historian? He hasn’t said much. What’s his angle on things?”

“Exactly! I want to know why he’s involved. You saw how he reacted to the news of the deaths. And what about his assistant?” Don’t you smell a rat?”

Dave started to think anew about the people in the lounge. How had they come to be involved in all this – what had brought them all together, in the same room, at the same time?

“I’m quite happy with the family historian angle, Dave,” Jane continued. “As I said, they approach things differently. But a journalist – they’d tackle things differently again.”

Morris looked perplexed. “What do you mean, a journalist?”

She looked at him with mock disdain. “Don’t tell me you haven’t worked out that Elliot Blunt is press? The notepad. The shorthand. He’s got it stamped all over his forehead!” She continued her hunt through the cupboards, as Dave realized he’d underestimated his colleague’s powers of observation.

“Well, now you mention it, I suppose he could be … but, Jane! What are you doing?” Digging through an old woman’s kitchen cupboards without her knowledge wasn’t something he would have expected Jane to do.

She gave him a wry smile. “I’m hungry, Dave!” she exclaimed. “I’m looking for the Battenberg.”

Chapter 151

It was difficult to tell who was more surprised by the news of the value of Lillian’s bond. Lillian herself had no idea that the McFry inheritance had matured in quite such a spectacular fashion. Colin McAllistair saw, now, quite why Galloway had been so insistent on finding the medals which, though valuable in themselves, were worth just a fraction of the bond’s value. He was starting to think that his documentary might take a different course, the focus shifting to the undiscovered role of an English manufacturing dynasty in bankrolling the republican cause at the end of the Civil War. Bill Blunt, meanwhile, was mentally drafting the new headline that would accompany his story: ‘The Missing McFry Millions’ had a certain ring about it.

Laurel McFry had been watching Harry as he told them about the bond. Although she’d finally acknowledged the truth of all that Harry had told her, and knew her financial security was assured, it still felt just a little unreal. Every mention of the bond, though, was like a re-confirmation that everything would be alright. She looked at Lillian, and saw her surprise at the huge value of the bond. Had she meant to gift her such a sum of money, she wondered? Her grandmother looked tired, and she suddenly felt protective of her, wanting to jump up and tell everyone to leave, that they knew enough. It was a strange emotion for her, this desire to protect, and she realised, there and then, that she’d never felt it before - at least not so intensely. She knew, finally, that Lillian was ‘family’.

For Dave Morris, temporarily distracted by the phone ringing in his inside pocket, he now thought he saw a motive for why a North Yorkshire GP might so obviously risk his career and reputation. Jane Tobias’ thoughts were echoing her colleague’s.

Everyone turned as Dave pulled out his phone. “I’ll take this in the kitchen, if you don’t mind,” he said, standing up and making his way out of the room as he answered the call with a quiet “Hello?”

“I had no idea the bond was worth so much,” Lillian said, after Dave had left the room. “How did you discover this, Harry?”
Harry told them of his trip to Madrid, and his meeting with the ministry official. “The bond’s there now, Lillian. They want you to sign it, to redeem it. They were quite surprised that you were still alive.”
“But aren’t you forgetting something?” Lillian asked. Before Harry could reply, she continued: “That bond is meant for someone else. According to Mr Longhurst here, she already has the medals. I expected she would have the bond, too.”

Danny felt he’d been suddenly put on the spot. He looked at Harry, trying to get a clue as to whether he should say something, but then he saw that Laurel was staring at him. She seemed to be on edge.

She could bear the deceit no longer. How could she know when or where – or even whether - Harry had expected her to reveal herself? She realised, then, that she didn’t. But she couldn’t be expected to sit and watch the emotions of her own grandmother being toyed with in this way, either.

“Danny Longhurst has fulfilled his duty to you, Lillian,” she said, as calmly as she could. Harry turned from Danny to Laurel: she was going to do it, he realised.
Laurel had reached down for her clutch bag, and snapped it open. “He did exactly what you asked him to do,” she said, pulling the medals out. “He gave me these.”
All eyes turned to the medals, which Laurel held in her outstretched palm.
Lillian seemed bewildered. “I don’t understand…”
Harry resisted the urge to jump in to explain. This was between Laurel and Lillian. Laurel had chosen her moment – rightly or wrongly – and who was he to interfere with that decision? Danny, too, could see that Laurel hadn’t been able to resist, any longer, the urge to reveal herself.

Bill, Colin and Jane were lost again. How come Harry’s assistant had the medals? Jane wondered why they’d switched back to the medals, all of a sudden. Only Lillian seemed to have worked it out but, as she replied, there was a hesitancy to her voice – a slowness and a deliberateness that suggested she might not be certain, and wanted to test out her thoughts.

“Then… you had better come here, young lady,” she said, “and let me take a closer look at you.” In her heart, though, she already knew that this ‘Ana’ must really be Colleen’s daughter.
Laurel stood up and leant across towards Lillian, still holding the medals, her free hand moving quickly across her eyes, as she tried her hardest to mask the tears that she later realised had been inevitable.
“So – you are really Laurel!” Lillian said. As her granddaughter sunk to her knees and placed the medals on her lap, she took hold of her hand.

The realisation that Harry’s ‘assistant’ was the heir to the McFry fortune was not lost on Bill Blunt. He could see it now, and was scribbling furiously away in shorthand, even as he gazed at the moving tableaux before him – the re-uniting of a grandmother and her granddaughter.

Colin McAllistair couldn’t help himself from checking to see that his video was still running, that it was capturing the drama of the moment. It wouldn’t matter that it was low-quality, he was sure he’d be able to use the record of such a magical moment in his documentary – no producer he knew that was worth his salt would turn it down.

For Harry and Danny, it was a moment tinged with mixed feelings. Of course, they couldn’t help but share Laurel’s emotion at finally revealing herself to Lillian, but they both of them sensed there was still more to be revealed, and were independently wondering how the rest of the story would be unfurled.

“Yes,” Laurel said. “I’m Philip and Colleen’s daughter. I never knew about you. I never knew a thing about you until Harry told me.” She was shaking, still.
“Then we have got a lot of catching up to do, don’t you think?” Lillian asked, smiling now, as she gripped hard on Laurel’s hand. “If, that is … you can forgive me, for what I’ve done?” Lillian’s smile had vanished as quickly as it appeared. Her question was tentative again – fearful, even.
Laurel shook her head. “There’s nothing to forgive. I think we both know that. I just wish my father had told me about you.”
“And why would he have told you? I was the bit of the McFry family history no-one liked to think about, I am sure. Philip didn’t even invite me to Colleen’s funeral. I am sure that was Thomas’ doing.” Lillian tried to dress the bitterness of the memory in a matter-of-factness.
“But you were there – weren’t you? I can’t be wrong: I remember you were there – at the back.”
“Yes. I was there. I stood away from everyone while they buried my daughter, and wondered how I’d ever let myself lose her. And you.”

Harry didn’t want to interfere, but at the same time, he thought he could help the two of them understand their estrangement a little better.
“Do you think Thomas forbade Philip from telling Laurel about you?” His question was addressed to Lillian, but it was her granddaughter that turned to him, while Lillian had begun smoothing her hand over Laurel’s, her head bowed as she contemplated her reply.

Before she could commence, though, Dave Morris returned to the lounge. He looked more than perplexed – stunned, almost. Unaware that Lillian was about to answer Harry, he looked around the room.

“That was Mabel Harris, from the Health Centre,” he said, as heads turned to him. “It seems that Dr Lawrence and Cyril Galloway are both … dead.”

Chapter 150

While Harry and Laurel had been cooking up a way to neutralise Bill Blunt, Lillian was continuing the account of her life. Before her guests had arrived, she’d been clear in her mind what she’d say – and what she wouldn’t say – about Jonathan, the McFry brothers and her subsequent life in Telford. She hadn’t expected Harry’s question about who she thought Colleen’s father was, and it had un-nerved her more than a little. She also realised, with some anxiety, that she couldn’t recall precisely how much she’d told Harry and Danny when they’d visited her last week. She wished, now, she’d made some notes. It was one thing to decide to tell your story; quite another to be forced to reveal those parts of it you didn’t think anyone needed to know. What if she accidentally gave something away?

She’d been surprised at all these ‘plus ones’ who’d turned up, too. Elliot Blunt seemed harmless enough, but why on earth Harry and Danny had needed to bring along an assistant, she couldn’t work out. And those visitors from Cardiff looked like they hadn’t a clue why they were being forced to listen to her life story. Meanwhile, she was conscious that her real prey, Cyril Galloway, hadn’t materialised. She’d felt confident of her safety so long as her guests were there, but what if he arrived after they’d gone?

All of these thoughts were conspiring to make Lillian feel uneasy, and sat awkwardly in the corner of her mind as she moved on with her account.

*

With Bill Blunt effectively neutralised, even if he didn’t know it, Harry felt more relaxed returning to the lounge with Laurel. Lillian turned to them as they entered, but didn’t interrupt her flow. They slipped to their seats with the practised ease of habitual latecomers to a film, Harry noticing that Dave Morris was looking even less comfortable with himself than before they’d left – if that were possible. He might have been wondering whether his trip to Telford had been a waste of time, and seemed to be struggling to make sense of the plot. Here was one member of the audience Harry wouldn’t be asking to bring him up to speed with Lillian’s story, then.

Bill had glanced up as Harry and Laurel returned from the kitchen. There was something about Harry’s beautiful assistant that was … well, rather familiar… but he just couldn’t put his finger on it right now. He’d guessed they’d been up to something out in the garden, as he knew even Harry didn’t need a smoke every ten minutes.

“So, you see, I didn’t really have any choice,” Lillian was saying. “We never did marry, in the end.” She looked tired, Harry saw. Not for the first time, he reflected on what an undertaking this was for her. Maybe she’d raked over the embers of the McFry family plenty of times on the evenings she’d sat alone in this very room, but doing it in front of an audience – even one she’d assembled herself – was a different matter.

Lillian had been relating how she’d come to live with Thomas McFry, and had explained, Harry guessed, his peculiar proposal, and its caveat. Harry wished, for a moment, that Laurel had been there to hear the account, but knew he could fill her in later. Just for now, though, he felt Lillian could probably do with a break. He turned to Dave Morris.

“If you don’t mind, Lillian,” he said, “I’d like to ask Mr Morris a few questions.”

Lillian shook her head. “That’s alright, Harry,” she replied, “I think my voice could do with a rest. And David certainly looks like he could do with a rest from listening to me!”

Dave Morris roused himself. He’d been desperately trying to work out how Dacre Lawrence fitted into Lillian’s story – what had prompted him to travel across the Pennines to meet her, and why he’d accessed all those records. Then, there was the matter of the census details he’d paid Stephen Garbutt to alter.

“No, no … Lillian. I was just thinking of something else to do with Dr Lawrence, that’s all. Your story is … fascinating.” Dave managed to make his reply sound convincing enough, he thought. He turned to face Harry. “What can I do for you?” He still wasn’t entirely certain what Harry McFry’s interest in this whole saga was, exactly.

“Did you get any idea, when you were in Yorkshire, about why Dacre Lawrence was accessing the McFry medical records?”

Dave turned to Jane. She gave a swift nod, her eyebrows raised, as if to say ‘Go ahead – we’ve got nothing to lose by sharing this.’

“Not really,” he said. “Except that we discovered he had employed someone to alter some online historical data.”

“Census records?” Harry asked.

Dave seemed surprised – as did Jane. “Yes – how do you know?” Danny was watching Harry carefully, wondering how much he was about to reveal. He guessed it was ‘cards on the table’ time, and he wasn’t wrong.

“Danny and I were first engaged to find out who had been manipulating census records relating to a number of McFry families scattered across the country. That’s how come we got involved with this case. When we learned about Lawrence’s interest in Lillian’s medals, we naturally suspected he might be behind the alteration’s the census data.”

“You’re professional genealogists?” Dave asked. Part of him was thinking about those certificates he’d received from Mabel Harris. Maybe Harry and Danny could make sense of them?

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Harry replied. “But we take family history one step further – people commission us when there’s a problem that’s a little more out of the ordinary.”

“Well, you’re right about the census data. He paid someone with IT expertise to do it. Apparently, it was a relatively simple matter. But why did he do it, that’s what I don’t understand?”

“Galloway is the answer to that one. We know he was more than a little interested in Stuart McFry’s bond…” Harry said. He glanced at Danny, pleased to know that their initial suspicions had been confirmed.

Suddenly, Colin McAllistair chipped in: “You’re right, Harry! He was more interested in the bond than the medals. He kept asking me whether I’d seen the paper that accompanied the medals. I didn’t realise the significance at the time.”

Jane Tobias stirred and pricked her ears as he uttered those words. It was clear that Colin McAllistair had more than merely an ‘academic’ interest in Lillian’s story.

“Well, he had a good right to be. The Spanish Government decided, a few years ago, that they’d honour the bonds issued by the Republican Government in Exile, and they’ve since been redeeming those bonds as and when they’ve been presented. What were, for many years, worthless bits of paper – apart from their historical significance – were suddenly very valuable.” Harry waited, while the significance of what he was saying dawned on everyone. Including Lillian, who was listening to him, even though she was staring ahead at the wall above the fireplace.

She was laughing. “Ha! Poor Thomas! If only he’d lived to learn all this!”

“I don’t get your drift…” Harry said. Lillian turned to face him.

“Stuart McFry invested his inheritance in that bond. Thomas didn’t know that, until later. Can you imagine how he felt when he discovered all that money – money that would, in the natural course of events, have come to him when Stuart died – was now just a worthless bit of paper?”

“But, if it was so worthless, how come Galloway and Lawrence wanted it so much?” It was Jane Tobias, again. Harry had noticed how Jane Tobias seemed to always know the right question to ask, at the right time. He was warming to this stranger.

“I’m sure when we meet Mr Galloway, we’ll discover that he probably read about the Spanish government’s search for the missing bond. After all, it’s worth in the region of £20 million. It must have made the financial pages of the press, if nothing else.”

Only Danny and Laurel’s jaws didn’t drop when Harry left this sentence hanging in the silence, which was broken first by the snapping of Bill Blunt’s pencil (perhaps because he was underlining such a significant sum of money just a little too vigorously), and then by the shrill ring of a mobile phone.