The Sins of the Father Read online

  After walking down two flights of stairs, Emma asked a clerk behind the counter if she could see the records for the case of the State of New York v. Bradshaw. The clerk handed her a form to fill in, which included the question, Are you a student? to which she answered yes. A few minutes later Emma was handed three large box files.

  ‘We close in a couple hours,’ she was warned. ‘When the bell goes, you must return the records to this desk immediately.’

  Once Emma had read a few pages of documents, she couldn’t understand why the State hadn’t proceeded with Tom Bradshaw’s trial for murder, when they seemed to have such a strong case against him. The brothers had been sharing a hotel room; the whiskey decanter had Tom’s bloody fingerprints all over it, and there was no suggestion anyone else had entered the room before Adam’s body had been found lying in a pool of blood. But, worse, why had Tom fled the scene of the crime, and why had the state attorney settled for a guilty plea on the lesser charge of desertion? Even more puzzling was how Harry had ever become involved in the first place. Might the letter on Maisie’s mantelpiece contain the answers to all these questions, or was it simply that Jelks knew something he didn’t want her to find out?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a clanging bell, demanding that she return the files to the desk. Some questions had been answered, but far more remained unanswered. Emma made a note of two names she hoped could supply most of those answers, but would they also claim a conflict of interest?

  She emerged from the courthouse just after five, clutching several more sheets of paper covered in her neat long-hand. She grabbed something called a Hershey Bar and a Coke from a street vendor, before she hailed another cab and asked the driver to take her to the 24th precinct police station. She ate and drank on the move, something her mother would never have approved of.

  On arrival at the police station, Emma asked to speak to either Detective Kolowski or Detective Ryan.

  ‘They’re both on nights this week,’ she was told by the desk sergeant, ‘so won’t be back on duty until ten.’

  Emma thanked him and decided to return to the hotel and have supper before going back to the 24th precinct at ten.

  After a Caesar salad and her first knickerbocker glory, Emma returned to her room on the fourth floor. She lay down on the bed and thought about what she needed to ask Kolowski or Ryan, assuming either of them agreed to see her. Did Lieutenant Bradshaw have an American accent . . . ?

  Emma fell into a deep sleep, to be jolted back to consciousness by the unfamiliar sound of a police siren blaring from the street below. Now she understood why the rooms on the upper floors were more expensive. She checked her watch. It was 1.15.

  ‘Damn,’ she cursed as she leapt off the bed, ran to the bathroom, soaked a flannel under the cold tap and covered her face. She quickly left the room and took the lift to the ground floor. When she stepped out of the hotel, she was surprised to find the street was just as busy, and the pavement every bit as crowded, as it had been at midday.

  She hailed another cab and asked the driver to take her back to the 24th precinct. The New York cabbies were beginning to understand her, or was she beginning to understand them?

  She climbed the steps to the police station a few minutes before two. Another desk sergeant asked her to take a seat, and promised to let Kolowski or Ryan know she was waiting in reception.

  Emma settled down for a long wait, but to her surprise, a couple of minutes later she heard the desk sergeant say, ‘Hey, Karl, there’s some lady sitting over there who says she wants to see you.’ He gestured in Emma’s direction.

  Detective Kolowski, a coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, walked across and gave Emma a half smile. She wondered how quickly that smile would disappear when he discovered why she wanted to see him.

  ‘How can I help you, ma’am?’ he asked.

  ‘My name is Emma Barrington,’ she said, exaggerating her English accent, ‘and I need to seek your advice on a private matter.’

  ‘Then let’s go to my office, Miss Barrington,’ Kolowski said, and began to walk down a corridor until he came to a door which he kicked open with the heel of his shoe. ‘Have a seat,’ he said pointing to the only other chair in the room. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked as Emma sat down.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘A wise decision, ma’am,’ he said as he placed his mug on the table, lit his cigarette and sat down. ‘So, how can I help?’

  ‘I understand that you were one of the detectives who arrested my fiancé.’

  ‘What’s his name?

  ‘Thomas Bradshaw.’

  She was right. The look, the voice, the demeanour, everything about him changed. ‘Yes, I was. And I can tell you, ma’am, it was an open and shut case until Sefton Jelks became involved.’

  ‘But the case never came to trial,’ Emma reminded him.

  ‘Only because Bradshaw had Jelks as his lawyer. If that guy had defended Pontius Pilate, he would have convinced the jury that he was simply assisting a young carpenter who wanted to buy some nails for a cross he was working on.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that Jelks—’

  ‘No,’ said Kolowski sarcastically before Emma could finish her sentence. ‘I always thought it was a coincidence that the DA was coming up for re-election that year, and some of Jelks’s clients were among his biggest campaign contributors. Anyway,’ he continued after exhaling a long cloud of smoke, ‘Bradshaw ended up getting six years for desertion, when the precinct’s sweepstakes had him down for eighteen months – two years tops.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Emma.

  ‘That the judge accepted Bradshaw was guilty –’ Kolowski paused and blew out another cloud of smoke before adding – ‘of murder.’

  ‘I agree with you and the judge,’ said Emma. ‘Tom Bradshaw probably was guilty of murder.’ Kolowski looked surprised. ‘But did the man you arrested ever tell you that you’d made a mistake, and that he wasn’t Tom Bradshaw, but Harry Clifton?’

  The detective gave Emma a closer look, and thought for a moment. ‘He did say something like that early on, but Jelks must have told him that it wouldn’t fly, because he never mentioned it again.’

  ‘Would you be interested, Mr Kolowski, if I was able to prove that it would fly?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ said Kolowski firmly. ‘That case was closed a long time ago. Your fiancé is doin’ six years for a crime he pleaded guilty to, and I’ve got too much work on my desk – ’ he placed a hand on a stack of files – ‘to be reopening old wounds. Now, unless you got anything else I can help you with . . .’

  ‘Will they allow me to visit Tom at Lavenham?’

  ‘I can’t see why not,’ said Kolowski. ‘Write to the warden. He’ll send you a visiting order. After you’ve filled it in and sent it back, they’ll give you a date. It shouldn’t take more than six to eight weeks.’

  ‘But I haven’t got six weeks,’ protested Emma. ‘I need to return to England in a couple of weeks’ time. Isn’t there anything I can do to speed up the process?’

  ‘That’s only possible on compassionate grounds,’ said the detective, ‘and that’s limited to wives and parents.’

  ‘What about the mother of the prisoner’s child?’ countered Emma.

  ‘In New York, ma’am, that gives you the same rights as a wife, as long as you can prove it.’

  Emma produced two photos from her handbag, one of Sebastian and one of Harry standing on the deck of the Kansas Star.

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Kolowski handing back the picture of Harry without commenting. ‘If you promise to leave me in peace I’ll speak to the warden and see if anything can be done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Emma.

  ‘How do I reach you?’

  ‘I’m staying at the Mayflower Hotel.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Kolowski, making a note. ‘But I don’t want you to be in any doubt, ma’am, that Tom Bradshaw killed his brother. I’m sure of it