tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51240505875340216462024-03-13T23:54:38.532+00:00The Case of the Missing FamilyA Harry McFry InvestigationBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-24913060110994365002008-04-23T05:28:00.001+00:002009-09-26T13:21:18.032+00:00An Apology, An Explanation, A Warning and A Thank You!Esteemed ReadersI'd like to begin by apologising to those of you who stuck with Harry McFry through the ups and downs of his investigation during 2007. Anyone who ploughed their way through the 150,000 words that were posted last year might have had every expectation that the story would, by now, have reached its conclusion. So what went wrong? Well, from a technical point of view writing a Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-61905574374297203342007-11-21T15:00:00.000+00:002019-07-07T11:39:24.336+00:00That's a long time for anyone to be in the kitchen...Well, it seems like Harry has been in Lillian's kitchen for an age. Apologies to readers who have been waiting for Chapter 155. There's an apologetic explanation here. I'm crossing my fingers that there'll be some space in a few days in which I can draw the story to its close.
Thanks for your patience.
THJnrBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-7470526340585280422007-10-20T08:33:00.000+00:002007-10-20T08:48:43.518+00:00Chapter 154In just a few minutes, Harry and Danny had established that Dacre Lawrence had assembled a collection of certificates that were almost a perfect mirror of the ones they’d ordered from their contact in Southport. With the kitchen door firmly closed, they were comfortable to leave the rest of them to get on with things in the lounge. They knew they had the key to this mystery in their hands. Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-15030903200253334912007-10-10T07:41:00.002+00:002007-10-12T08:17:34.936+00:00Chapter 153While 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 ofBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-68720624154717875742007-10-10T07:41:00.001+00:002007-10-12T08:21:37.002+00:00Chapter 152The 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, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 />Galloway’s death was Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-83102282923136504182007-10-10T07:41:00.000+00:002007-10-10T07:45:17.786+00:00Chapter 151It 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 Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-18303359777046936102007-10-09T14:43:00.000+00:002007-10-11T08:15:13.122+00:00Chapter 150While 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 <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 />Telford. She hadn’t expected Harry’s question about who she thought Colleen’s Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-62694397175222121952007-09-29T09:00:00.000+00:002007-10-09T15:00:59.185+00:00Chapter 149 It wouldn’t be easy getting Laurel on her own, and Harry wondered, even, if it was fair to pull her away from the proceedings when she had only just ‘met’ her grandmother. It was while he helped Bill prepare the tea that he realised he had no choice.They worked quietly, both of them straining to catch up on where Lillian was up to in her tale, but Harry saw how quickly his friend seemed to Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-62112176030464770452007-09-28T08:00:00.000+00:002007-09-28T08:10:57.647+00:00Chapter 148Back in the kitchen, Harry found that Bill Blunt had begun the washing up. He’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and was cleaning the cups as quietly as he could, with half an ear to Lillian McFry as she continued her account in the lounge. He looked up as Harry entered the room, staring at the potted plant he was carrying. “Galloway?” he asked, simply. His voice was a half whisperBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-4532842639974376262007-09-25T11:20:00.000+00:002007-09-25T11:32:18.124+00:00Chapter 147Whatever else people said about Harry McFry, no-one ever called him malicious. As Lillian told the story of her time in the north of Spain, Harry had glanced around her assembled guests. He’d seen Colin McAllistair squirming whenever Jonathan Harcourt’s name was mentioned, and remembered the phone call he’d received from the academic. He hadn’t been totally sure, when McAllistair admitted his Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-68226817017705384142007-09-21T10:04:00.000+00:002007-10-09T14:59:19.005+00:00Chapter 146With the biscuits out of the way, it was time to move on. But Lillian, it was clear, wasn’t volunteering to begin. She seemed to be thinking something over, and the quiet in the room was nothing foreign to her. All eyes were on Harry McFry – even Dave and Jane had realised he knew more about this case than anyone else in the room. It was only a matter of seconds – though it seemed longer – beforeBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-40649128272817955522007-09-20T19:02:00.000+00:002007-09-24T12:00:57.264+00:00Chapter 145There’s little doubt that Harry McFry would have preferred a cigarette before they called on Lillian. After the journey down, in fact, a double whisky might have served him well, had there been a pub to hand. Together, they might have just loosened him up a little. But any thoughts towards smoking were banished by the looks he got from Laurel and Danny as he’d started to flick open his pack. <?Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-17786436395860981472007-09-16T16:13:00.000+00:002007-09-16T16:15:48.223+00:00Chapter 144 Dave Morris and his colleague made their way past Bill Blunt, who closed the door behind them - pausing only to check whether Cyril Galloway might not be making his way up the path. As he pushed the door shut, he thought he saw a curtain twitch in the bungalow opposite. It was that kind of area, he realised: the comings and goings at neighbours’ doors would be the source of hours of Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-7763739654199138692007-09-15T11:57:00.001+00:002007-09-15T11:57:57.809+00:00Chapter 143It wasn’t Galloway at the door. Instead, when Bill Blunt eased it open, he found a young couple, smartly dressed and looking for all the world like they might have got the wrong house. “Is… I mean, would Mrs McFry be at home, please?” It was Dave Morris and Jane Tobias, who had arrived at their appointment a little earlier than they’d expected, and who, after some discussion in the car Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-77592154310326193752007-09-14T07:29:00.000+00:002007-09-14T07:39:13.095+00:00Chapter 142With each of them settled with their cups of tea, Lillian, Colin and Bill moved onto the business in hand. A tiny red light on the corner of the camera was the only clue that it was busy recording the proceedings. Colin was sitting opposite Lillian, leaning forward in the armchair, while Bill was perched on a chair he’d pulled away from the wall, his reporter’s notepad resting on his lap, his penBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-37292300363057772402007-09-12T07:02:00.000+00:002007-09-12T07:05:15.038+00:00Chapter 141While Bill was busy in the kitchen, Colin set his camera onto the tripod and positioned it in front of the window, where it was half-hidden by the foliage of the huge aspidistra that sat on a table there. He switched it on, and framed the armchair where he imagined Lillian must sit. Then, he panned the camera across the room, lingering on the faded photographs on the sideboard, before returning Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-42972123769562361182007-09-09T10:55:00.000+00:002007-09-09T10:58:05.884+00:00Chapter 140Everything was ready in Vale View when Bill Blunt’s car drew up outside Lillian’s bungalow. In her kitchen, she’d filled the kettle and arranged the teapot, the cups, the saucers and the sugar bowl on a little table against the wall, next to a tray where she had created a mound of biscuits on a dinner plate. She was sitting in her favourite armchair, when she heard the car door slam. This mustBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-65049825060505249232007-09-07T09:36:00.000+00:002007-09-07T09:37:47.455+00:00Chapter 139Harry closed the office door, pausing as he did so in the hope that the fax would ring. He was acutely conscious of the gaps that still existed in their knowledge – the low scores on the flip chart sheets next to some of the main players’ names. But it didn’t. Linda had let him down. He been sure she’d come through, had expected to have the certificates in his hand before Lauren arrived. HeBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-72254064345717487062007-09-06T07:35:00.000+00:002007-09-07T09:42:38.340+00:00Chapter 138Colin McAllistair arrived at reception looking flustered, but a little tidier, at least, than he’d appeared to Bill Blunt just twenty minutes earlier. He found Bill sitting in one of the two small seats wedged against the wall in the tiny foyer, leafing through a tabloid newspaper. He’d showered and shaved, and taken a couple of couple of aspirin and four or five glasses of water. His headache Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-83540492709475081162007-09-01T19:44:00.000+00:002007-09-01T19:46:06.030+00:00Chapter 137Harry knew they wouldn’t have time to properly explain their findings to Laurel. He was still worried about Bill Blunt, and what exactly he might be up to in Telford that day. But he could give her a flavour of them and, hopefully, enlist her help for the next stage in the proceedings. He’d give her the basics – enough to make her realize why she needed to meet Lillian if they were to ever Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-248763739038893302007-08-31T12:35:00.000+00:002007-08-31T12:43:28.699+00:00Chapter 136Laurel McFry arrived at Harry’s office just as the Town Hall clock was chiming ten. Danny opened the door as he heard her heels clipping across the floor in the hallway, Harry having nodded his assent to show her in. The room was at least (relatively) smoke free, Danny thought.She unbuttoned a stylish red overcoat and handed it to Danny, who shook it gently before hanging it on the hook near Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-64363464868703956442007-08-29T19:25:00.000+00:002007-08-29T19:31:10.879+00:00Chapter 135After almost four decades of widowhood, Lillian McFry was a woman of confirmed habits. She usually woke early – too early to justify getting up – so she’d lie in her bed, with her eyes still closed for the next hour or so, listening to the news on the radio. Sometimes, she would let her mind perform gentle mathematical exercises, to the accompaniment of the soothing tones of the newsreaders. Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-15270759652587457352007-08-19T10:54:00.000+00:002007-08-19T11:56:47.465+00:00Chapter 134Tuesday morning, and still less than a week since Harry McFry had first learned about Laurel McFry’s missing family. As he turned the key in the door to his office, Harry could be forgiven for suppressing a smile. His initial assessment of Laurel – an amateur family historian who hadn’t looked hard enough for those missing census images had changed over the last seven days, and he now saw herBill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-71894071155607940052007-08-16T14:51:00.000+00:002007-08-16T14:54:00.516+00:00Chapter 133It was after 10pm by the time Harry and Danny had wrapped up their work. They had completed a dozen or so sheets of flip chart paper, which had been torn off and blu-tacked around the walls, so that the office looked like one huge family tree. In the process, they’d pulled apart a few speculations, and the scoring system had allowed them to identify the gaps they still had to fill out – Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5124050587534021646.post-77863018051122984592007-08-16T14:48:00.000+00:002007-08-16T14:51:45.348+00:00Chapter 132Once Colin McAllistair had got over the surprise of meeting a journalist who was working on a piece on the Spanish Civil War, he had a little time to think about the co-incidence while Bill Blunt was at the bar. A middle-aged couple had entered the pub while Colin and Bill had introduced themselves to each other, and the male partner was ordering their drinks ahead of Bill. When he’d been Bill Blunthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15395505727397010185noreply@blogger.com1