mother didn’t die in childbirth Sarquazi; your father murdered her. Your mother and your uncle died at Cavendish Hall and they are buried at Cavendish Hall.’
Yusuf Sarquazi was devastated by this news. ‘All my life I have dreamed that my mother would find me; that I would hear the sound of her voice, feel the touch of her hand. The truth, it is here in my head but my heart … my heart cannot accept it.’
Sarah put her hand on top of his. ‘Yusuf, Richard lost his mother when he was not yet nine years old. Until he was twenty-five he believed that she died from influenza but the truth was that Charles Develin, your father and his, murdered her because she was having an affair with another man. I think that, just like you, the truth was devastating for him.
‘I don’t know whether your prayers include remembrances of those who have gone before us but I would like to think that you could spare a thought for a half-brother you never knew who also suffered a life of loneliness, neglect and longing for something that could never be – a mother’s comfort and love. I know what I’m talking about Yusuf. I lost mine when I was sixteen and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her.’
4
Richard Develin was in South America in late July, 1955 when the news reached him that his father and his wife Margarette were both dead. It took weeks to find him deep in the jungle on the River Negro which for a time borders Colombia and Venezuela. Develin was seeking a rare species of ant with venom which was not only powerful but medicinal. Already the Develin Research and Development Institute he established in Iquitos, Peru had isolated chemical compounds contained in the venom which were proving beneficial in treating various cancerous growths.
Richard Develin was told that his father had died in a hunting accident and that a week earlier Margarette had accidentally and drunkenly fallen down the central staircase at Cavendish Hall, breaking her neck in the process. The cause of death in both cases was of course, a lie.
Richard Develin’s marriage to Margarette Courtney was a disaster from the very beginning. With all the grace and charm of an alley cat Margarette made life a living hell for Richard so he was unashamedly relieved to know that he was rid of her, permanently. By the time he arrived back at Cavendish Hall Margarette had been mouldering for weeks in the Courtney family crypt near Dublin.
Just as well because Richard Develin would have disinterred her as he was about to disinter his father.
August 17th, 1955
Cavendish Hall, Southern Ireland
Develin stared past Liam McPherson to where Carl Emery stood, listening and watching silently. Develin’s normally pale complexion was flushed with anger. ‘I will have him, Carl. I promised that bastard that he would not rest beside my mother and I damn well meant it. Get the necessary tools together and meet me at the mausoleum.’
The exhumation of Charles Develin took longer than expected, since Develin had insisted that everything remained intact so that the opening could be resealed, the bronze plaque left seemingly undisturbed. Finally the coffin was pulled free of the vault and set on the floor. Develin stood and stared at it as Liam hurriedly repaired the damage.
The coffin was loaded onto the back of the flatbed lorry and taken to where they all knew the Moroccan girl and her brother had been buried years before. Richard Develin had disturbed the girl’s grave just a few weeks earlier to retrieve a gold bracelet given to her by Charles Develin. On that occasion Carl was so horrified by what Richard was planning to do that he refused point-blank to assist in any way.
Liam looked at Develin. ‘It will take some time to dig … ah, the coffin will…’
‘Four feet should do, Liam,’ Develin replied as he prepared to light a cigarette, cupping his hands to protect the flame from the wind. ‘When you get there, let me know.’
Liam looked across at Carl but Carl quickly turned away, concentrating instead on preparing to dig the grave in line but some twenty feet away from the others.
In forty minutes the job was done. ‘It’s ready,’ Carl announced, breathing hard as he handed the spade to Liam.
Develin turned and made his way across to where the coffin rested a few feet from the lip of the newly dug grave. In his hand was a hammer and with it he casually broke the seals around the lid before opening the coffin fully. ‘Carl, I need your help,’ he said, his voice totally devoid of emotion.
Between the two of them they managed to tip the coffin onto its side. Charles Develin’s body rolled into the hole, landing at the bottom face upwards. Develin stared down at his father for a moment before looking across the grave to Liam. ‘What did he use?’
Liam’s face betrayed the depth of his pain. ‘We wanted to spare you this Richard.’
‘For how long?’ Develin shouted. ‘Goddamn it, Liam, what did he use?’
‘His Luger,’ Liam muttered.
‘Christ almighty!’ Develin hissed, his fists drawn tight with rage. ‘Coward,’ he shouted down at the shattered remains of his father. ‘Murdering, adulterous, fucking monster how dare you do this to me!’ He backed away, visibly shaken. ‘Who else knows?’
Liam hesitated. ‘Scott Bryan, Father O’Shea, Ian McIver. It was a closed coffin.’
‘Yes, well it fucking well would be, wouldn’t it?’ Develin muttered through clenched teeth.
He grabbed the spade from Liam and began to fill in the hole, starting at the head, covering the face with load after load of earth. Carl stood back appalled.
Charles Develin committed suicide the evening before he was due to be extradited to Amsterdam to stand trial for war crimes. In a very real sense he did his son and the Develin family name a favour. And there were perhaps other reasons why Charles Develin was eager to embrace the afterlife. Margarette’s fall down the stairs was not accidental; she had been pushed by Charles Develin. Why? - Because she was having an affair with one of the grooms while at the same time sleeping with him. It just isn’t done because somewhere in between the two men she had become pregnant.
*****
Late June, 1955
Richard Develin rounded on his father. ‘As far as Margarette is concerned, the child she is carrying is not mine. That being the case, I will refuse to acknowledge it when the time comes so be prepared.’ He paused. ‘You might however satisfy me in one thing. Tell me as honestly as you know how, is Margarette’s child yours?’
His father looked away, his shame obvious.
‘As I thought. Then you, sir can acknowledge your own goddamn bastard. However, I think it’s only fair to point out that one of the grooms - Neville I think his name is - has also been enjoying my wife’s dubious affections for some time.
‘Now, if you would be so kind as to get out of my office, I have work to do.’
*****
