Fogarty: A City of London Thriller Read Online Free
Author: J Jackson Bentley
than any woman he had known. How else would she have put up with his father for almost twenty years? Tessa left the men alone and promised to bring in some tea and cake in due course.
The Member of Parliament for Masterton signalled for his son to sit as he stared at the TV screen suspended on the wall above his bookcase. The LCD TV looked oddly out of place in this antiquarian room, which might otherwise have passed as a set for a Victorian melodrama.
When Patrick Fogarty turned to look at Ben there was a strange expression of concern on his face, more concern than was warranted by a riot eleven thousand miles away. Ben gave the older man a run down on the day’s events at Hasperton, Day and Childs , and joined his father in silence at the end of his pronouncement.
“We both knew this would happen, son. As it turns out, it is opportune.” Patrick Fogarty paused and pointed up at the TV. “You see this, the riots going on in Tottenham?” Ben nodded. “I want to show you something that was on just before you came in.”
The MP rewound the live TV news programme until a woman announcer appeared on the screen. The broadcast was from TVNZ One, a rolling news channel. The woman spoke:
“The Metropolitan Police have issued these CCTV stills of the rioters and are particularly interested in this man, who is believed to have put a policewoman into a coma.”
Patrick Fogarty paused the video feed on the still picture of a middle-aged man whose scarf had slipped down as he kicked a policewoman lying defenceless on the ground. His hard face seemed to be looking directly at the camera.
“I don’t understand, Dad,” Ben said, frowning in puzzlement. “What has this guy got to do with anything?”
Patrick reached into his desk and withdrew a manila folder filled with papers. The front flap was entitled Vastrick Security Consultants UK. Ben was familiar with the company, as the firm had used the Australian branch of Vastrick on a number of occasions.
“Ben, I offered you this file when you were twenty one and you turned it down. Since then, Vastrick have kept it up to date for me and I think you need to read it.”
Ben’s mouth was set in a firm straight line, suggesting he was no more interested in the file now that he had been ten years ago.
“Dad, I have vague recollections of my mother and my early years, but as far as I’m concerned my life started when I came to you. You are t he only parent I have ever known and loved. You are the only parent I need. I don’t need to hear about the sordid past. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”
As if he was not listening to a word his son said, the MP flicked through the file, extracting a sheet of A4 paper printed with a picture of a man between forty and fifty years old. He handed it to Ben, who took a cursory glance and then looked up at the frozen picture on the TV screen.
“It’s him!” Ben blurted out , a perplexed expression creasing his brow.
“Ben, meet Dennis Baines Grierson, also known as Psycho. He’s your biological father.”
Chapter 3
Trafalgar House Flats, Broadwater Farm Estate, Tottenham, London. 13 th May 1981, 4pm; Thirty Years Ago.
A young Mikey Bateman stood guard at the door of the Fogartys’ flat and tried to ignore their poor daughter’s screaming, but without success. People had gathered on the deck to see what the noise was all about, but they knew better than to ask one of Psycho’s gang of thugs, and so they satisfied themselves by guessing and spreading rumours.
The facts were simple enough and most of the neighbours knew the truth, had they been brave enough to voice it in public, which they correctly assumed would be unwise, if not fatal.
***
May Finnegan was a first generation Irish woman who had married Roy Fogarty, whose own Irish roots were only a generation behind hers. The nuptials were held in Liverpool in 1961, just a few months after she had arrived in England. The young couple moved to London when May
The Member of Parliament for Masterton signalled for his son to sit as he stared at the TV screen suspended on the wall above his bookcase. The LCD TV looked oddly out of place in this antiquarian room, which might otherwise have passed as a set for a Victorian melodrama.
When Patrick Fogarty turned to look at Ben there was a strange expression of concern on his face, more concern than was warranted by a riot eleven thousand miles away. Ben gave the older man a run down on the day’s events at Hasperton, Day and Childs , and joined his father in silence at the end of his pronouncement.
“We both knew this would happen, son. As it turns out, it is opportune.” Patrick Fogarty paused and pointed up at the TV. “You see this, the riots going on in Tottenham?” Ben nodded. “I want to show you something that was on just before you came in.”
The MP rewound the live TV news programme until a woman announcer appeared on the screen. The broadcast was from TVNZ One, a rolling news channel. The woman spoke:
“The Metropolitan Police have issued these CCTV stills of the rioters and are particularly interested in this man, who is believed to have put a policewoman into a coma.”
Patrick Fogarty paused the video feed on the still picture of a middle-aged man whose scarf had slipped down as he kicked a policewoman lying defenceless on the ground. His hard face seemed to be looking directly at the camera.
“I don’t understand, Dad,” Ben said, frowning in puzzlement. “What has this guy got to do with anything?”
Patrick reached into his desk and withdrew a manila folder filled with papers. The front flap was entitled Vastrick Security Consultants UK. Ben was familiar with the company, as the firm had used the Australian branch of Vastrick on a number of occasions.
“Ben, I offered you this file when you were twenty one and you turned it down. Since then, Vastrick have kept it up to date for me and I think you need to read it.”
Ben’s mouth was set in a firm straight line, suggesting he was no more interested in the file now that he had been ten years ago.
“Dad, I have vague recollections of my mother and my early years, but as far as I’m concerned my life started when I came to you. You are t he only parent I have ever known and loved. You are the only parent I need. I don’t need to hear about the sordid past. I’m perfectly happy as I am.”
As if he was not listening to a word his son said, the MP flicked through the file, extracting a sheet of A4 paper printed with a picture of a man between forty and fifty years old. He handed it to Ben, who took a cursory glance and then looked up at the frozen picture on the TV screen.
“It’s him!” Ben blurted out , a perplexed expression creasing his brow.
“Ben, meet Dennis Baines Grierson, also known as Psycho. He’s your biological father.”
Chapter 3
Trafalgar House Flats, Broadwater Farm Estate, Tottenham, London. 13 th May 1981, 4pm; Thirty Years Ago.
A young Mikey Bateman stood guard at the door of the Fogartys’ flat and tried to ignore their poor daughter’s screaming, but without success. People had gathered on the deck to see what the noise was all about, but they knew better than to ask one of Psycho’s gang of thugs, and so they satisfied themselves by guessing and spreading rumours.
The facts were simple enough and most of the neighbours knew the truth, had they been brave enough to voice it in public, which they correctly assumed would be unwise, if not fatal.
***
May Finnegan was a first generation Irish woman who had married Roy Fogarty, whose own Irish roots were only a generation behind hers. The nuptials were held in Liverpool in 1961, just a few months after she had arrived in England. The young couple moved to London when May
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