Family Ties (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 1) Read online

  Family Ties

  A Mark Pemberton Case

  Nicholas Rhea

  About the Author

  Nicholas Rhea was born in Glaisdale, a Yorkshire Moors Village, in 1936. The oldest of three sons born to an insurance agent and a teacher, he won a scholarship to Whitby Grammar School but left at 16 to become a police cadet. In 1956, he joined the North Yorkshire force in Whitby.

  He began to write seriously in the late 1950s after years of casual interest, having his first short story published in the Police Review. Continuing to rise through the ranks at the region’s Police Headquarters in Northallerton, he published his first novel, Carnaby and the Hijackers, in 1976.

  Rhea is primarily known for his Constable series, inspired by his many years of police service. He retired in 1982 to concentrate on his writing, encouraged by an interest in his Constable books from Yorkshire Television. This was to become the highly popular Heartbeat series, which ran for 18 seasons and over 350 episodes.

  Rhea had four children and eight grandchildren and lived with his wife in a quiet North Yorkshire village. He died in 2017.

  Also By Nicholas Rhea

  The Mark Pemberton Series

  Family Ties

  Suspect

  Confession

  False Alibi

  Grave Secrets

  Death of a Princess

  The Sniper

  Dead Ends

  Murder Under the Midnight Sun

  The Montague Pluke Series

  Omens of Death

  Superstitious Death

  A Well-Pressed Shroud

  A Full-Churchyard

  Prize Murder

  The Carnaby Series

  Carnaby and the Hijackers

  Carnaby and the Goalbreakers

  Carnaby and the Assassins

  Carnaby and the Conspirators

  Carnaby and the Saboteurs

  Carnaby and the Eliminators

  Carnaby and the Demonstrators

  Carnaby and the Infiltrators

  Carnaby and the Kidnappers

  Carnaby and the Counterfeiters

  Carnaby and the Campaigners

  This edition published in 2019 by Agora Books

  First published in Great Britain in 1994 by Constable

  Agora Books is a division of Peters Fraser + Dunlop Ltd

  55 New Oxford Street, London WC1A 1BS

  Copyright © Nicholas Rhea, 1994

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Chapter One

  ‘I’ve got a most enjoyable task for you, Detective Superintendent.’ The Chief Constable smiled at Mark Pemberton across his spacious desk. Pemberton, his thick blond hair cut to perfection and his expensive dark suit rivalling the fastidiousness of his boss, stood to attention as he awaited some indication of Moore’s intentions. ‘It’s the ideal duty for you, I’d say. But first, tell me this, Mark. When did you last take a day off?’

  ‘I get my weekly rest days like everyone else, sir,’ was Pemberton’s immediate response.

  ‘I know you are allocated your days off, but you don’t take them, do you? I see from the duty sheets,’ and the Chief waved the relevant documents in the air, ‘that you have not taken one day off work in the last six months. You work all the time, Mark, you never relax. You know what they say about all work and no play…’

  ‘I enjoy being at work,’ Mark told Moore. ‘I enjoy the companionship, the interest, the atmosphere; I don’t claim any overtime or compensatory time off for working on my rest days.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, but everyone needs to take a break, you know. I can’t do with workaholics in my force. You set a bad example to your colleagues.’

  ‘A bad example?’ cried Mark, hurt at the accusation.

  ‘Yes, a bad example. When a senior officer like yourself works all hours God sends, it makes the subordinates think they should emulate him. And they shouldn’t be subjected to that kind of subtle blackmail! I’m all for loyalty among my staff and I do value a hard-working officer, but no days off in six months? That really is taking things too far.’

  ‘I’m at a bit of a loose end in my leisure time, sir, since my wife…’

  ‘I’m well aware that you haven’t really come to terms with June’s death; I know it takes time to adjust and I know you’re lonely, but you must take time off. You do need to relax; I’m serious about this. Work isn’t everything, Mark. Join a club, go to night classes, try rambling, landscape painting or something.’

  ‘I’ve tried, sir, I’ve tried to join things, but the demands of the job mean I can’t commit myself to anything in the long term. There’s no way I can undertake a three-month series of night classes on, say, art appreciation. When I get called out to investigate a murder or some serious crime, things can’t wait; I can’t tell the victims to hang on until I’ve learned to understand Picasso or while I learn to make parsnip wine or teach myself Spanish!’

  ‘Now you’re being facetious, but there’s no excuse.’ Charles Moore was adamant. ‘Other senior detectives manage to do it, they have a social life and enjoy their normal allocation of time off. Anyway, I’ve expressed my concern and, to be honest, you do look shattered. I am concerned about you, Mark, I really am. So, if you won’t take time off, I’ll have to make the arrangements for you. There, I’ve said my piece and in anticipation of your reaction, I have the perfect duty for you.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘It’s a very cushy number, it’s tantamount to a holiday in the countryside. Almost two weeks’ full rest — and it will be considered a duty. I’m ordering you to undertake this task, so you can’t back out. It’s my way of compelling you to take things easy, at least for a few days.’

  ‘I’m not sure how to react, sir.’

  ‘You sit there, and you listen to me, that’s how you react,’ and Moore pointed to a chair in front of his desk.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ and Detective Superintendent Mark Pemberton obediently sat on the polished chair before his Chief Constable. The handsome Chief flashed the dazzling smile for which he was renowned, pressed the intercom button on his desk and said to his secretary, ‘Two coffees, please, Anne, black without sugar.’

  Moore said nothing further until the coffee arrived; it came within a minute and Anne said, ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘For the moment, thanks,’ Moore nodded, and she left.

  Mark sipped from the hot, strong coffee and waited, knowing better than to take the initiative. Moore would begin when he was ready, and, for the moment, he was scanning through a thick file marked ‘Secret’.

  Then he flashed his smile and asked, ‘You’ve heard of Thirklewood Hall?’

  ‘Former seat of the Earls of Thirklewood? Presently a girls’ school, but soon to end its life as a school before being refurbished and restored as the home of the present Earl who lives nearby. In two years or so, it will be opened to the public as our newest stately home. The school is moving to larger premises on the coast, on the outskirts of Rainesbury. It was all in the local paper.’

  ‘Exactly. So you are going to spend a few days at Thirklewood Hall with all expenses paid, food and accommodation included. It’s all courtesy of the force. How’s that suit you?’

  ‘But it�
��s still a girls’ school, isn’t it?’ Mark began to frown, suspecting some devious plot by his Chief Constable.

  ‘The pupils will evacuate the premises this week and the furnishings will be removed by the weekend. It’s end of term, the end of the school’s life at Thirklewood Hall in fact. The building will be empty throughout the summer months; then in the autumn, probably September, the contractors will move in to begin the task of restoring the house to its former glory.’

  ‘So the place will be deserted during the summer?’ said Mark.

  ‘Quite. There will be a couple of months or so before that work begins so, in the meantime, we’re going to use the premises. Unfortunately, the accommodation is a bit spartan, there are long dormitories and communal loos, but there are some private rooms which were used by teachers and members of the other staff who lived in. You can make use of one of those.’

  ‘Me? I’m to live in, sir?’

  ‘Of course, this is a holiday, like I said. Well, sort of a holiday. Your food will be provided, there are recreational and sports facilities, a library, space for walks in the surrounding parkland. I’m sure there will soon be a bar and a television lounge. Just like a hotel in many ways.’

  ‘So what’s the catch, sir?’ Mark smiled, sensing the teasing mood of his Chief.

  ‘Whatever makes you think there’s a catch, Mark?’ laughed Moore.

  ‘I’ve known you long enough to realise that you wouldn’t send me to a place like that unless there was a catch!’

  ‘Caleb Hodgson Hartley, he’s the catch,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘He’s the new Vice-President of the United States. He’s not very well known yet, especially among the general public of this country.’

  ‘I can’t say the name means much to me,’ admitted Pemberton.

  ‘Well, he intends to change that, he wants the English to sit up and take notice of him, so he’s coming here for the same reason that lots of Americans do — to look up his family roots and to visit the graves of his ancestors. He reckons he’s got Yorkshire blood in his veins.’

  ‘It will be a private visit, will it?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Very much so. That’s why we’re using this Hall and not a hotel. Thirklewood Hall is ideal, it’s extremely private and it is more secure than any other similar place. No other premises overlook it, and it’s large enough to accommodate Hartley and his bunch of Vice-Presidential minders.’

  ‘So what’s my job, sir, if he’s accompanied by dozens of his own minders?’

  ‘They, along with the Diplomatic Protection Group of Scotland Yard, are responsible for his safety at all times when he’s outside the house. As the police force responsible for the area in which he will be residing, we are responsible at all times when he’s inside the house. That’s quite normal. In this case, you are responsible.’

  ‘Me, sir, alone?’

  ‘No, you’ll need to select a complement of officers. Make your own choice, men and women. Take enough to guarantee his security at all times when he’s residing in the Hall.’

  ‘Some holiday, sir!’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. Your task is to supervise his internal security — quite a doddle of a job, really. You will liaise with the Diplomatic Protection Group of Scotland Yard and our own Special Branch; they are in touch with the White House and the US Embassy in London.’

  ‘So if he’s bringing all his own cavalry, the visit must be official? I thought it was private?’ queried Pemberton.

  ‘This part of his visit is private, Mark. He’s got official commitments in the UK both before and after his stay at Thirklewood Hall, but when you’re deputy to the most powerful man in the world, you have no private life and you need official protection at all times. When he’s at Thirklewood Hall, there will be no public engagements, he’ll not be attending government meetings or talking to the press and the public will not be told of his presence or whereabouts at that time. To that extent, it’s a private visit.’

  ‘Fair enough, but who are his Vice-Presidential minders?’

  ‘The Vice-President’s party will include a mixed bag of officers from the US Treasury, the Marines, the FBI, the CIA, and others on the White House staff, about seventy in total. That is in keeping both with his status and with an overall assessment of the risk to his life. He is not a top-grade risk otherwise he’d have had more minders and we’d upgrade our own staffing.’

  ‘A mini-army, in other words!’

  ‘By our standards, yes. You’ll have fewer officers to work with, of course, but you will need to draw up some form of duty rota so that the interior of the house is protected twenty-four hours a day during his stay. And you must appoint a deputy for yourself because I insist you take some time off during this commitment. Now, study the file and let me know your requirements with the names of your selected officers, and I shall see that your requests are met — provided they’re reasonable!’

  ‘When do I start, sir?’

  ‘Now,’ said Moore, handing Mark the file.

  Chapter Two

  The file was marked ‘Operation Roots’ and it included a verbose description of Thirklewood Hall. It was couched in architectural terms, some of which could only have been understood by experts. Reading it in his office, Mark guessed it had been taken directly from Nikolaus Pevsner’s series, The Buildings of England, but his attention was drawn to the fact that the huge house had seven doors on the ground floor, many large and vulnerable ground-floor windows, several fire escapes leading from the upper storeys and lots of adjoining outbuildings, all of which would require close supervision.

  Built in the seventeenth century, it had endured many alterations, extensions and modernisations, but in its present form the house could accommodate 120 students and 24 staff. There were four self-contained suites, one of which had been used by the headmistress both as living quarters and as her office. After some rapid but discreet improvements, this would be utilised by the Vice-President. Before the Hall’s 1947 conversion into a school, that suite had been part of the private apartments of an earlier Lord Thirklewood. Even then, the house had been open to the public and throughout its long history, its larger rooms had been used for public functions such as dances, parties, exhibitions and wedding receptions.

  During the war, the house had been commandeered and used for billeting troops, whereupon His Lordship had moved into a more compact and up-to-date house within the grounds. Reluctant to return to the draughty old house after the war, Lord Thirklewood had leased the beautiful premises to a girls’ school. And now that short period of its long history was coming to an end. The lease had expired.

  The file included additional details such as the Hall’s sewage system, method of water supply, location of the drains and power points, and a plan of the interior. A map of the grounds was also provided. It showed the surfaced road which led from Thirklewood village to the big house and revealed a bridleway access at the rear of the parkland. There was also a footpath which followed the bed of a small stream close to the house. The footpath was open to the public, but at no point did it provide a view of Thirklewood Hall; nonetheless, a short diversion from that path at several points would gain a splendid aspect of the house. Mark noted several points which needed scrutiny from the security aspect although these factors, being external, were the responsibility of Scotland Yard and the Americans. They would have to consider possible sniper positions or points of ambush.

  The file contained a brief biography of Caleb Hodgson Hartley. Born in 1933 at Utica in the State of New York, he was the eldest son of Caleb James Hartley and his wife Jennie, née Ellis.

  His father had made money in property speculation, land dealing and building, while his mother had been a nurse; the young Caleb Hodgson Hartley had done well at school and had studied law at university, following which he had begun a career as an attorney. Republican politics had attracted him before he reached the age of thirty, and his skills at oratory plus his ability to understand the complexities of government
finances quickly earned him a State governorship.

  For all his qualities and the respect he had earned from other politicians, his appointment as Vice-President had come by default — it had been discovered that the man first appointed had falsified some income tax returns, so that man had been compelled to resign after a few months in office. Much to the surprise of the country, the electorate and even himself, Caleb Hodgson Hartley had found himself Vice-President of the United States of America. He was married to Linda, née Irving, and had three children, a son aged twenty-nine and two daughters aged twenty-seven and twenty-five. There were no grandchildren.

  A confidential addendum said that some of his earlier pronouncements had not been favourable to the British; he had criticised the British government over its attitude to Northern Ireland, its action in the Falklands and its commitment to a military presence in the Middle East. On several occasions, he had shown overt political antagonism towards Britain and its government.

  He had, however, also been outspoken about the Libyan leadership and had condemned the taking of the Beirut hostages in 1986. Over his years as a politician, he had earned a reputation for being very outspoken on many issues and his remarks, regarded by some as being either thoughtless or spur-of-the-moment, had antagonised fanatical followers of Islam who regarded America as the Great Satan. Thus Hartley was considered ‘at risk’ from several Middle East factions, especially Iran. One of his actions had been to devalue the life of the American hostages by saying that the US government could not be held to ransom if what was taken by others was of no value. This had caused an uproar back home and he had made matters worse by saying he would be prepared to make a deal with the hostage takers, but on very lowly terms. That speech had antagonised the American people — many felt he had no sympathy for the plight of the hostages — whilst Iran had regarded it as an insult to their country because Britain had always had a policy of ‘no deals with terrorists’, thus making their stakes much higher. One Iranian spokesman had interpreted Hartley’s comments as a statement that Iran dealt only in rubbish and was not therefore worthy of serious attention. The shooting down of an Iranian airliner by the Americans in 1988 was seen by the ayatollahs as a direct follow-on of Hartley’s range of insults to the Middle East, particularly as he had personally refused to condemn that action.