Hiding the Past by Nathan Dylan Goodwin Page A

showed up at my house brandishing a weapon.  So, I handed the file
over.  After that I never saw him again.’
    ‘Why would
someone be so desperate to remove an admissions register?’ Morton said
rhetorically.  ‘Seems a bit extreme.’
    Max met
Morton’s hard stare.  ‘I’ve asked myself the same questions over the years,
but I still have no idea.’
    Morton
considered the scenario carefully.  As an historian, if he had been put in
Max’s position the first thing that he would have done would be to pick over
every word of that admissions register with a fine-tooth comb to discover its
hidden secret.  ‘You must have taken a look inside,’ he said finally.
    ‘Yes, I
did.  I took it home and read it cover to cover.  Then I re-read it
and re-read it again.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Nothing. 
Just the names of children being admitted to a children’s home.  I didn’t
get it.  In a funny way, that kind of made it easier to hand over. 
It wasn’t like I was giving away the Domesday Book.’
    ‘I don't
suppose you recall seeing the name Coldrick in there?’
    Max shook his
head.  ‘As I said, nothing stood out. I couldn't now tell you a single
word that was written in there.’
    Morton didn’t
trust Max but he felt that he was being honest with him.  ‘Who did this
William Dunk work for?’
    ‘I don’t know,
he never said and I never asked.’
    ‘How could I
find him?’ Morton demanded.
    ‘He’s probably
six feet under by now, I shouldn’t wonder.  He was at least in his
seventies back then.’
    ‘In his
seventies?  And he threatened you ?’ Morton said, slightly incredulous
that a beefy man like Max could be intimidated by a pensioner.  He had
visions of this Dunk character propped up outside Max’s house on his Zimmer
frame.
    ‘When I say
that he came to the house, I meant that he was inside my house. With a
crowbar held over my wife’s head.’  
    That revelation
slightly dampened the damning fires of Morton’s moral condemnation. 
Still, he couldn’t quite let Max off the hook; he could have reported it to the
police or something.  ‘Oh,’ Morton said.
    ‘Exactly.’ Max
paused.  ‘Look, Morton, I know it goes against everything that I’ve ever
worked for and I do feel guilty about it, but I’d like to meet the man who
offered a polite ‘no’ to William Dunk and his crowbar.  The question is,
what are you going to do now that you know I took it?’
    ‘Hadn’t thought
about it,’ Morton said, dismissively.  
    ‘Can I ask what your desperation is to locate this one register?’ Max asked.  
    Morton took a
leisurely sip of his drink before answering.  He didn’t want to divulge a
thing to Max.  ‘Just a case that I’m working on, that’s all.’
    Max
smiled.  ‘You think I’m still working for them, don’t you?’ he said. 
When Morton wasn’t forthcoming with an answer he added, ‘I’m not, you know.’
      ‘Whatever
you say, Max,’ Morton said glibly.  He downed the last of his coffee,
burning the roof of his mouth, and marched indignantly back to his car.
     
    Morton left Lewes with a fresh piece of
jigsaw to add to his case notes: William Dunk.  If Max was correct, and
Dunk was now dead, then the implication was that a lot of people had been
working for decades to cover up the past – a task which was continuing to this
day.  He had no doubt at all that the removal of the admissions register
was because of James Coldrick.  As he zipped through along the High Street
in Rye towards his house, he contemplated his next step.  To connect this
new piece of jigsaw to the bigger picture, Morton needed to know more about
William Dunk.  
    As he turned
into Church Square, he noticed an aged war veteran, standing proudly by the church
entrance wearing a blue beret and a full selection of medals, collecting money
for charity.  His mind flashed to the future – would Jeremy survive an
army career in these unstable times and be standing outside