by Ann Cleeves
‘Why don’t you tell me what really happened? Why Rosa doesn’t go to the Woodyard any more.’
‘You met her,’ the woman said. ‘That’s how she’s always been. Affectionate. Loving. She’ll hold the hand of a stranger. When she was a girl she’d climb onto the knee of anyone who smiled at her. We tried to teach her that wasn’t a good thing to do, that she should sit with her legs together if she was wearing a skirt, that not everyone wanted to be cuddled, but she didn’t understand. How could she? She was innocent.’
Matthew didn’t speak.
‘When the day centre moved to the Woodyard we thought she’d be safe. The same staff went with them. We liked Jonathan. He wasn’t so hands-on but he was still in charge.’ Another period of silence. ‘There was a visitor. Someone who came and took advantage of her. Took advantage of her because she was so trusting.’
‘Did Rosa tell you what happened?’
‘Not at first. I could tell that something had happened when she came in that afternoon. She said she was feeling poorly, that she needed to stay at home the next day. We thought the move had unsettled her. That it was nothing serious.’
In the distance one of the home’s residents started shouting. ‘Help! Mummy! Please help me!’
‘Do you need to go to her?’ Matthew asked.
Janet Holsworthy shook her head. ‘That’s Eunice. She shouts every night just before she goes to sleep. She’ll settle now.’
There was one more scream, low and plaintive, and the home was quiet again.
‘When did you realize that Rosa had been abused?’
‘I thought a bath might calm her. I saw that her underwear was torn. There were bruises.’
‘She’d been raped?’
Janet shrugged. ‘She couldn’t say in any detail what had happened. She wouldn’t know the words. But she’d been assaulted.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the police? To a doctor?’ But Matthew knew the answer. This was delicate, personal. They wouldn’t want to tell the story to a stranger. ‘You could have told Jonathan. You knew him.’ Matthew tried to keep the emotion out of his voice.
‘Jonathan wasn’t there. He’d been away for three weeks on honeymoon. I went to the big boss. Something had to be done.’
‘The big boss?’
‘The head of the trustees. Christopher Preece.’ She paused. ‘I phoned him first. He asked me to his house, he said it would be best to talk there.’
Matthew pictured her standing outside the house by the park, nervous, but expecting sympathy, that something would be done.
‘When I got there, it wasn’t just him,’ Janet said. ‘He said it was such a serious allegation that he had to consult his colleagues. There were three of them. Three men.’
‘Who else was there?’ Matthew could only imagine how intimidating that must have been.
‘One was another trustee. Dennis Salter. I hadn’t met him before. And there was someone else who they said was their legal advisor.’
Colin Marston. Though what someone who’d overseen contracts in the car industry might have to do with a criminal case of sexual assault, Matthew couldn’t imagine. He’d be there solely to intimidate.
‘It must have been frightening for you. Facing those men.’
‘It was the word allegation. As if I was making it all up. Mr Preece said he couldn’t understand how it had happened there at the Woodyard with all the staff around. I told him it had happened in a counselling session. They’d started that when the centre first moved to the Woodyard. One-to-one chats in the small meeting rooms, the users talking about the place, their ideas and hopes for the future.’ She looked up at Matthew. ‘He asked if I had proof. If I’d been to a doctor or the police. As if I wasn’t telling the truth. I told him I couldn’t have put Rosa through that. Not yet. That’s why I was talking to him, so he could help us through the process. Rosa wouldn’t understand without support. She’d get in a state and she wouldn’t be able to explain. Imagine her having to go to court!’ Another pause. ‘But I told him I’d kept the torn knickers. They were stained. I didn’t tell him about the skirt, though, and the fact that the skirt was stained too. I kept that. My secret.’ She looked up. ‘I was thinking about the American president and that scandal with the young girl. It was a skirt that proved she was telling the truth. I didn’t trust them, you see. There’d be DNA, wouldn’t there, on both of them?’
‘There would.’
‘I don’t think they were expecting that I’d have proof.’
‘What happened, Janet? Why didn’t you pursue it?’
She stared up at him and he saw she was crying. ‘Because they bought me off. They gave me money to keep quiet. It was a dreadful time. My husband had just lost his job and there was no cash coming in. We were waiting for the welfare people to sort out his payments. I get attendance allowance for Rosa, but that’s nothing, a pittance. We were weeks behind on the rent. And Preece offered me money.’
She shook her head as if she was trying to shake out the memory. ‘I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he was so persuasive. It was as if it wasn’t about the money at all. Not really. He said the Woodyard was such a great project and any bad publicity would mean the funding would stop and all those service users would be left without care. He promised to keep the perpetrator away and make sure that he got help. He’d never be allowed to do anything like that again.’ A little gasp. ‘And then he wrote the cheque. Buy something nice for Rosa, he said. Take her away for a break, a weekend. It wasn’t huge but it was enough to pay back the rent that we owed. It was enough to keep us going.’ Another pause. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you about Rosa when you came looking for Chrissie Southcombe. I was still ashamed at taking their money. They told me when I took it that it was a kind of contract. I was promising to keep quiet. To keep the secret.’
‘Was Preece the only person to sign the cheque?’ Matthew asked. ‘Or did Mr Salter sign it too?’ If it was a joint signature, it would have come from the Woodyard account, not from Preece’s personal bank, and there’d be a record of that. A record that Walden might have come across. None of the office doors in the building were ever locked and Jonathan would never have picked up any discrepancy in the accounts.
‘They both signed it.’
Matthew nodded, but still he showed no emotion. ‘Has anyone else come along to ask you about Rosa’s story? A man called Simon Walden?’
‘Is he the man that was killed out at Crow Point?’ She seemed shocked.
‘That’s right. He was a volunteer at the Woodyard. I think he was taking an interest in what happened to Rosa.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met him.’
Matthew felt a stab of disappointment. His theory, his hope of bringing the investigation to a close, was based on Simon having discovered what had happened to Rosa.
Janet continued: ‘The only person from the Woodyard we’ve seen recently is Lucy Braddick. You know, Rosa’s friend.’ She looked at him again, her eyes so tired that they looked bruised. ‘Did you say she was missing?’
He nodded. ‘That’s why I’m here, bothering you. We need to find her.’
‘It was a couple of weeks ago. The two of them text from time to time, scraps of nonsense. Then Maurice phoned and said Lucy was missing Rosa. Could he bring her round after the Woodyard? They came to tea. It was lovely to catch up and the girls got on as well as they always had. They disappeared upstairs and we didn’t see them until it was time for me to go to work.’
Matthew thought for a moment. ‘Could Lucy have taken the skirt with her? Because I think Rosa must have told her what happened. Perhaps just after the abuse took place. Perhaps Lucy saw that Rosa was upset.’ And if Lucy had confided in Walden, he might have asked her to help him find evidence. This could have been his great campaign, the secret that they shared.
‘I don’t know! The skirt was in a plastic bag in my wardrobe.’ Janet was thinking. ‘I haven’t checked if it’s there. Not recently.’ A pause. �
��The girls were in my room, though, that day. I heard their footsteps through the ceiling and I shouted up to them not to be cheeky monkeys. I thought they were trying on my clothes. Rosa likes to do that. To dress up in my things, my high-heeled shoes. She comes down with her face plastered with make-up.’ She looked at Matthew. ‘Shall I phone my husband and ask him to check?’
‘If it’s not too difficult for him.’
‘He’ll be upstairs now anyway, getting ready for bed.’
Matthew sat quite still and tried not to listen to the conversation, tried not to allow emotion to cloud his judgement. He only looked at the woman when she clicked off her mobile.
‘The skirt’s gone,’ she said. ‘He’s looked everywhere.’
‘Did Lucy have a bag with her when she came to visit?’
‘Yes,’ Janet said. ‘A shoulder bag. Maurice said she should leave it with him when she went upstairs, but she took it with her.’
And she hid the skirt in it and carried it to the Woodyard to give to Walden. And even when Chrissie went missing and Walden died, she kept her promise. She kept her secret.
‘Thank you,’ Matthew said. ‘Thank you.’
She put her mug on her plate and looked at her watch. ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘My break was over five minutes ago.’
‘Who was it, Janet? Who abused your daughter?’
There was a moment. He thought she still might refuse to tell him. ‘It was the clergyman.’ She stood up. ‘The young curate. Of all the people you’d think you should trust, it would be a man of God.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
MATTHEW WAS SURPRISED, WHEN HE RETURNED to the police station, to find that only forty minutes had passed. It still felt as if time was stretching, allowing him the chance to recover Lucy. Giving him hope that he’d find her well and alive.
Ross was in the police station, waiting for him. ‘We’ve only got Preece so far. Jen’s with him. She hasn’t started on him yet, she was holding him in the interview room until you got back. No sign of Salter or Marston or their vehicles. We haven’t been out to Marston’s place yet, though.’
‘Leave that for now.’ Matthew didn’t want Marston scared off until he’d worked out the details of the case in his own mind; he certainly didn’t want to send a patrol car out, siren blaring. ‘Let’s see what Preece has to say for himself. He might know where Lucy is. Even if he wasn’t involved in the abduction, he was a part of the original conspiracy.’ He described his conversation with Janet Holsworthy.
‘Why would they do that? Cover up the sexual assault on a vulnerable woman?’ Ross looked sick.
‘Because their reputations are dependent on the success of the Woodyard. Because they’re powerful, entitled men and they could. And then the cover-up became more toxic than the original assault. They were all involved and they all had a lot to lose, but Preece is Caroline’s father and Caroline is Craven’s girlfriend. Perhaps he was protecting her reputation too.’
‘Should we get Craven in?’
‘Yes. Let’s lean on him about Lucy Braddick. The rest can wait until morning.’
* * *
Christopher Preece looked unflustered, but he’d done tricky business deals in the past and he’d be used to presenting a cool face to the world. Jen sat opposite him, waiting. If she’d been hoping to ratchet up the tension with her silent presence, it seemed that she’d failed.
‘We know about Rosa Holsworthy.’ Matthew had just come into the room and was still standing.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘We know that you paid off her parents to stop them pressing criminal charges against one of your volunteers.’
‘Ah,’ Preece said. He gave his slow, politician’s smile. ‘I’m afraid that’s not quite how I remember it.’
‘How do you remember it?’
‘The woman’s parents were reluctant to put their daughter through the anxiety of a trial. There’d be the issue of consent. As I understand it, Rosa had the reputation within the day centre of being a little…’ he paused ‘… promiscuous.’
‘She’s a woman with a learning disability and she was assaulted by an adult whom she trusted, whom her parents trusted, in what they considered to be a place of safety.’ Matthew felt himself grow angry. The tension that had been building all day was turning to fury.
Preece looked up at him and affected surprise. ‘I’d have thought you’d be as unwilling as we were to have any complaint made public. That you’d be grateful for the position we took. Your husband also holds a position of authority within the establishment.’
‘Although he was away at the time and was never consulted.’ Matthew forced himself to stay calm. Preece was playing games. Trying to wind him up. ‘Lucy Braddick, another of the day centre users, went missing this afternoon. Do you have any idea where she might be? We’re extremely concerned.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, Inspector.’ The man leaned back in his chair. His arms were folded.
Matthew took a seat next to Jen Rafferty. ‘Your daughter supports your work at the Woodyard. Did you tell Caroline about the assault on Rosa? Or did she already know? Did she ask you to make the scandal involving her boyfriend go away?’
‘No! Of course not.’ He seemed a little rattled now. ‘It was a management decision. Nothing to do with her.’
‘Do you think she would have approved of the way the matter was handled?’ Matthew thought he could play dirty too.
There was a moment of silence. ‘Possibly not, Inspector. But Caroline is young and idealistic. She probably doesn’t understand that if news of what happened became public knowledge, especially if there was a court case concerning Craven, all public and most private funding for St Cuthbert’s mental health centre would dry up. He’s a curate at the church that sponsors her work. She’d be without a job. And her friend Gaby would find herself unemployed too, because the incident happened at the Woodyard Centre and that’s dependent on charitable donations too.’
Matthew leaned forward across the table. His voice was clipped and precise. ‘You do realize that if you’d dealt with Mrs Holsworthy’s complaint appropriately at the time, Simon Walden would still be alive? Two women would have been saved the trauma of abduction? Events have run out of control, Mr Preece. They’re still running out of control and I hold you responsible. Please think about that.’ A pause. ‘Now, is there anything more you can tell me?’
He thought he might have got through to the man. There was a moment of silence. Then Preece spoke again.
‘I’m very sorry, Inspector. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’
Matthew left the room. He needed to clear his head, to get fresh air, space to think. He stood outside for a moment. On the wooded mound of Castle Hill, against the background noise of Saturday night partying, someone was playing the guitar. The sound, plaintive, floated across the concrete towards him.
* * *
Back in the open-plan office there was still no news of the Salters or the Marstons. Ross looked up from his desk. ‘They’ve got Craven, though. They’re bringing him in now.’ His phone rang. Ross picked it up.
‘It’s probably Maurice,’ Matthew said. ‘He’s desperate. He was phoning all afternoon when I was here.’
Ross spoke briefly, a few words of thanks, then replaced the receiver. Matthew could tell from the man’s face and from the overheard conversation that Maurice hadn’t been the caller, that this was important.
‘There’s been a 999 call,’ Ross said. ‘The woman who rang gave her name as Lucy. No other name and she rang off before the emergency handler could take more details. She didn’t even have a chance to say what service she wanted. But the guy in the call centre had seen all the publicity about the missing woman. He thought we should know.’
Matthew was thinking that when all this was over he’d track that man down and send him a bottle of very good Scotch.
‘He must have a record of the phone number.’
‘Yes. It was a landline and he’s alre
ady found the name and address.’
‘Come on, Ross! Is it someone known to us?’ For the second time that day Matthew wanted to strangle the man for holding back information.
‘Colin Marston,’ Ross said. ‘Toll keeper’s cottage.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
THEY PULLED JEN OUT OF THE interview room, and left Preece alone with a uniformed officer. Matthew thought they’d need a woman with them. On the drive to the coast, he was swamped with guilt, and couldn’t escape thoughts of the mistakes he’d made earlier in the day. He should have sent a team out to the toll keeper’s cottage earlier. He’d been misled, obsessed with the Salters. The cottage was close to where Walden had died and it should have been an obvious place to look.
He was overwhelmed with admiration for Lucy too. Somehow, she’d managed to get to a phone and to call 999. He thought she must have been interrupted; he hoped she’d cut the call herself, that her captors hadn’t realized what she was doing. If they had, it would be unlikely that she’d still be in the cottage.
Ross was driving. He was in an unmarked car, no lights, no siren, but taking them down the narrow roads like a maniac. In other circumstances Matthew would have told him not to be so ridiculous, but now, in his head, he was urging him on to more speed. At the toll gate they slowed down.
‘Go through,’ Matthew said. He slipped Ross some coins. ‘Park near my house. They won’t be so suspicious then. We haven’t given Preece any opportunity to make a phone call so they might not realize we’re after them. Jonathan and I have visitors all the time. We can walk back.’
The curtains in the cottage were drawn. The Marstons’ car was still there. It was possible that the couple were still in the building. That Lucy was there too. At Spindrift, all the lights were on and Jonathan’s vehicle was in the drive. Matthew thought how good it would be to be in the house, just the two of them, in the long room by the fire, this nightmare over.