by Jane Adams
Martha stood close by. She said nothing, her gaze fixed upon the fire and her hands clasped fervently at her breast. Sometimes, Hope noticed, her lips seemed to move as though she prayed, but there was no sound. Hope stayed close to Mim, out of her mother’s line of sight, fearful of the accusations and her mother’s searing hate for a woman she scarcely knew.
Then her father was calling to her. Holding out his hand and beckoning her forward. Hope did not want to go. Some part of her was terrified that he would throw her into the fire. Tear her apart like so many useless rags ready to be consumed. But Randall took her hands and closed them around one of Kitty’s treasured books. ‘Cast them into the flames,’ he told her.
‘Cast them . . . Her books? Even her books?’
‘Most especially her books. Do it, child, do it now that we may all witness that you cast this evil away from you and have the Lord’s forgiveness.’
For a moment, Hope stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. The horror that he made her a part of Kitty’s punishment overwhelming her.
‘But, when she comes back. When she sees what we have done?’
Randall shook his head, deliberately choosing to misunderstand Hope’s words. ‘She won’t be coming back, child,’ he said. ‘There is nothing to fear from her now. Cast the evil aside.’
Trembling so much that she could hardly walk, Hope moved reluctantly towards the fire. Tears blurred her eyes so much that it seemed she saw many fires burning so brightly she was almost blinded. She threw the book away from her, blinking the tears back and watching the pages burn. Then her father handed her another and a third. Latin words and Greek and complex images of plants and animals, of strange places Kitty could never have thought to see but which the books made as real to her as her own village, Hope stood and watched them burn. Watched as her father cast what remained of Kitty’s treasures onto the fire. Her glass jars of medicines. Her shawl, her letters and a small wooden box that had stood on the mantle above the kitchen fire. Even the candles and the rush tapers she used to light her house. Everything she had ever touched, Randall seemed intent on destroying.
He had lifted the final book and held it between his hands.
‘Her Bible,’ Hope whispered. ‘You cannot burn that?’
‘No. I cannot burn this.’ He tucked it under one arm and then circled Hope with the other, drawing her close to him and stroking her hair. ‘We will take it to the church, you and I. Give it back to God and let Him make it pure and whole again. And then, I think perhaps that you should take it to your chamber. And you may bring it and read a little to me each day. Some good must be forced out of this.’
Chapter Forty-five
Ray sat outside the flats waiting for Helen Jones. He had copies of one of Matthew’s journals in the glove compartment of his car and he took them out now, looking for a particular passage. It was dated 2 July, three days after Kitty had been arrested.
I went to her, and they let me have five minutes with her in her cell, but the warder stood beside the door and would let her say nothing of consequence. I have never seen her so unkempt or so distraught. I had brought her food and wine, but the warder took my pack from me and searched it, then laid it aside. I do not know if Kitty will receive any of it. It is thanks to Thomas Stone, my niece’s good husband, that I had been able to visit even for so short a time. His coin that bribed the porter and his influence that kept my visit from being reported to the courts. I promised her that I would speak for her. Be witness to her character, but my poor young friend, my heart tells me that there is little I can do. It is rare for such charges to be dropped or found for the defendant. And it grieves my heart to think that in living memory, in the King’s father’s time, nine were hanged on such flimsy evidence as Kitty finds herself charged . . .
A tap on the window brought Ray back to the present. It was Helen and her son.
‘You’ll get me a reputation,’ she said. ‘Come on up.’
He stuffed the notes back into the glove compartment and got out of the car.
‘What’s that?’ Helen asked him. ‘Another case?’
‘I suppose it is in a way.’ He smiled at the young boy who looked curiously at him.
‘Can I go and play now, Mum?’
‘Sure, but home by five.’
‘OK.’ He dashed off to join another mother and her waiting child.
‘Neighbours,’ Helen said. ‘His best friend.’
He followed her up to her flat and made the tea. It seemed to have become an accepted thing.
‘I’ve started that list,’ she said. ‘God, you wouldn’t think you knew so many people until you start to write them down. I’ve done what you said. Tried to think of anyone he’d talked about, even if it was only the once. I don’t know all their full names. Sometimes I don’t even know their names. It’s like, he’d talk about a bloke comes into work who drives a BMW or something. He was into cars.’
She paused and looked helplessly at Ray. ‘Most of it’s probably just useless,’ she said. ‘But once I’d started it was hard to stop. It was like claiming a little bit of Frank’s life back for myself. Is that stupid?’
‘No, it’s not,’ Ray told her. ‘Of course it’s not.’
He thought about what Walters had said about this woman earlier that day. Of course it was possible that Helen Jones had him fooled, but he didn’t think so. It was Walters who was wrong.
She pulled the list out of the kitchen drawer telling Ray that it was still incomplete. Already it ran to a dozen pages. Ray flicked through them. Helen was right, she had been thorough. Names and connections and fragments of conversation overheard on the phone, all with approximate dates and anything else she thought might help.
Ray knew that ninety odd per cent of this would be irrelevant, but the fraction that was left might give the answers.
‘Is it all right?’ she asked him.
‘It’s great, love, really good. You missed your calling.’
She laughed. The first time she had and it pleased him to hear it.
She poured the tea while he continued to flick through. One name leapt out at him and he froze. The coincidence was just too much.
‘Helen, who’s this?’
She looked. ‘All I know about him is what’s there. He called Frank a couple of times. Frank said he might be able to put work his way when he’d got his certificate. Security stuff, you know.’
Ray nodded but his mind was working overtime.
‘Does it mean something?’
‘I’m not sure. There’s someone else I’d have to talk to, but it might. It might well do.’
They chatted for a few minutes more while he drank his tea but he was eager to be off and Helen, feeling his change in mood, did not try to delay him.
‘You’re onto something, aren’t you?’ she asked again as he was leaving.
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘I think I am. I’ll be in touch, soon as I’ve anything to tell. Meantime, finish the list for me.’
She nodded and Ray saw the eagerness in her eyes. He hoped he wouldn’t have to let her down.
Chapter Forty-six
Randall stayed only for a day at home, long enough to reassure himself that his wife had calmed and his daughter was as little disturbed as could be expected after such an experience. Reluctantly, he left her in Mim’s care, knowing that, for the time at least, Martha was incapable of caring. Though he left word that the two should not be left alone, mindful that Mim had been close to Kitty Hallam.
He was deeply affected by the whole affair. Never would he have countenanced such an accusation against Kitty Hallam, a woman he had seen as having sound morals for all that her judgement could be based too much on emotion. And, after all, women were creatures of emotion and could not be blamed for the state in which God moulded them.
No. If it had not been for the sight of Martha, fallen in such a fit and the statement of the men who had found Kitty, naked and dishevelled, her appearance fitting so clearly with Martha’
s description, if not for these things then he could not have believed it.
And then there had been the business of the Lammas dolly. That the woman had kept it might have been passed off, as he had indeed dismissed it, as a case of misguided loyalty to the villagers. Now, it seemed far more sinister and complex. It made Randall wonder what sort of teaching the Reverend Jordan, Kitty’s protector, had propounded to his flock and just how deeply the evil ran.
But worst of all, as far as Randall was concerned, was the revelation that had come unwittingly from his own child and which, in his mind, sealed Kitty’s fate beyond hope of redemption. On the night when he had burned all of the witch’s goods and then taken Hope with him to the church she had spoken of Kitty and how much the Bible had meant to her. He had encouraged her to talk, knowing that his child needed reassurance from him.
‘She read from it often?’ Randall asked, eager that Hope should confide in him.
Hope nodded. ‘She said that in time of trouble, God’s word gave her answers.’
‘She said that? Then perhaps a priest might be found to read to her in prison. It would be good for her soul should she accept such ministry. It would encourage the judge to leniency, perhaps.’
‘You think so?’ Hope asked shyly.
‘We will see what can be done. Did she have a favourite passage? Something that gave most comfort to her?’
Hope shook her head. ‘I do not think so, Father. No, Kitty said that when her heart was troubled, she would let the book open at whatever page it might, then close her eyes and run her finger along the passage until she felt it right to stop. Then she would read the words.’
She sensed her father’s sudden tension, but not understanding the reason she pressed on. ‘That night, when you found me in your study, I had remembered what she said—’
‘And you did this thing?’ Randall’s voice was tight with rage. ‘You committed this blasphemy? Lord God, child, do you not realize how close you’ve come to damning your own soul?’
Hope stared at him. ‘I meant nothing wrong. You told me that you went to the Bible to ask for help. You told me when you came down that night that you did the same thing.’
‘That I . . .’ Randall’s voice failed him. He gazed at Hope with a mix of disgust and wonderment not knowing what he could possibly say to this misguided child. She backed away from him, her eyes wide with panic. He could see her small body trembling and knew that she was terrified of him and what he might say or do to her. Knew also, just how easily she could have mistaken what he had said to her that night.
He felt tears begin in his own eyes and he dropped down onto his knees, reaching out for his child. Reluctantly, she came to him, allowed him to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly.
‘I’m afraid, Father.’
‘And so am I, Hope. So am I, my sweetheart.’
Randall was not, by nature, a demonstrative man and his use of such endearments did not come easily. He held her close, stroking her hair, not caring that her cap had come loose and fallen to the floor. He kissed her face as he had not done since she was a tiny baby. He stroked her and wept over her and prayed to God that He should spare the soul of this child who had done no conscious wrong and Randall wrestled with the teachings of his church, burned so deeply into his mind, that thought was deed and deed once committed was up to God to forgive and that man could do nothing to put it right. And, most of all, he cursed the woman who had done this to him. Done this to his child.
‘Will I go to hell?’
‘No, my sweet. No, you will not go to hell. God is my witness, I will find a means to right this thing. You will not go to hell.’
But he could tell that she did not believe him.
‘I loved her, Father,’ Hope whispered. ‘I loved her so much.’
‘I know you did. I know. And do you still?’ he asked, fearful of the answer.
Hope shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I just don’t know.’
And that, he thought, as he turned his horse once more away from home, that was the most fearful thing of all. That the witch still had influence on his daughter’s mind and there was nothing he could do to make it not so.
Chapter Forty-seven
Ray had found a payphone and called George, not wanting to trust his mobile to such an important question. It was late in the day but George Mahoney promised to do what he could and try to get back to him later. Ray thought that would be it for the weekend so was astonished to find Mahoney on his doorstep at nine o’clock that same evening.
‘George!’
‘Hello, Ray, hope you don’t mind me dropping by.’ He glanced around the living room, his look approving. ‘This is nice. I much prefer older places.’ He smiled at the woman seated on the shabby old sofa. ‘You must be Sarah. I’m George Mahoney.’
He shook her hand and Sarah got up. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she said. ‘I can see to that and keep out of the way if you’ve business to discuss.’
‘I’d love some coffee if you’ve got it. It’s been a long day, but unless Ray objects, please stay. I’m sure Ray’s brought you up to date.’
‘More or less.’
George settled himself in one of the armchairs and looked approvingly at the glowing fire, stretching out his feet towards the blaze. ‘It’s getting cold outside,’ he commented. ‘I think we might even get a frost.’
‘This early in the year?’
‘It feels chilly enough. Right, the information you asked for.’
Sarah stood in the doorway waiting for the kettle to boil. Ray leaned forward to take the photocopies George had passed to him.
‘An investigation,’ he said. ‘Into Walters?’
George nodded. ‘It was dropped after the drugs bust,’ he said. ‘Walters and co were riding high on success and by then no one seemed to care how they’d come by it.’
‘And he offered Frank work,’ Ray mused. ‘An informant. I’ll bet Frank was his informant. He worked at the nightclub and we know that was a key in the distribution network. A lot of information must have passed through there, some of it relating to the sources.’
‘It sounds plausible,’ George agreed.
‘The money,’ Ray went on. ‘Some lottery win.’
‘Do you think Helen knew he was lying to her?’ Sarah asked.
‘I don’t know. But if she did, she couldn’t have guessed the source.’
He fell silent, thinking things through and Sarah went to make the coffee. When she returned Ray was asking George how he had come by the information so quickly.
‘Once you’d set things in motion two weeks ago I pushed for anything I could get before the doors closed on me. I’ve not made myself popular.’
‘Will it mean trouble for you?’
‘No. One of the advantages of my position. I can quote national security at people and get away with most things. Unfortunately, in this case it’s my lot that want this hushed up. And I suppose, from their point of view, you can see why. Biggest drugs bust in years coming, fortuitously enough, when confidence in the police force is at a low ebb. The last thing anyone wants is another corruption charge laid at their door. This was amongst the information I’d already gathered. When you mentioned the name, I thought I recalled seeing it in one of the files, so I put a little pressure on a few people and this is what I came up with.’ He paused. ‘There’s more,’ he said. ‘Frank Jones was under surveillance on the night he died.’
‘What! You mean someone saw it happen?’
‘Unfortunately, no. Where Frank Jones went into the water was a blind spot. One team lost sight, by the time the second got there it was too late. But he was observed meeting someone and there’s a possibility a second was waiting for them further upstream, towards the Weir Head. Anyway, they think they can ID the man he met.’
‘Walters,’ Ray guessed.
George nodded. ‘Problem is, neither observer is 100 per cent and no one wants to push Walters until they have more proof. Th
e Pierce case is shaky enough as it is and there are worries, higher up, that any more evidence of police corruption will just about finish it off.’
‘I’m going to see him again,’ Ray said. ‘Confront the bastard.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it, officially.’
‘I trusted him,’ Ray protested. ‘Years I worked with him and I find out he’s as corrupt as hell.’
‘I’m missing something here,’ Sarah said. ‘If Walters was using Frank Jones as an informer, well, I can see that might be morally reprehensible in some ways but isn’t that how the police function?’
‘You haven’t seen the report,’ George explained. ‘Walters used Frank to get the information he wanted then used it to pressure this end of the drugs cartel.’
‘He was on the take,’ Ray said. ‘My bloody superintendent. And I’ll bet Halshaw was in it with him.’
* * *
When George left about an hour later Ray found he couldn’t settle. He guessed that it would be all but impossible to track Walters down on a weekend. The superintendent had never been an overtime man. He was anxious about what to tell Helen. She had said she wanted to know the truth about Frank, but truth, he knew, was a funny thing. Sometimes people liked the idea far more than the reality.
He nagged at the problem for the next couple of hours until Sarah grew quite tired of it. She took his hand.
‘Come to bed, Ray, and for goodness sake put this out of your mind for tonight. It’s bad enough having Kitty share our bed without inviting Frank Jones too.’
Ray winced at the reference to Kitty. They had not slept in her room since that night. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
She pulled on his hand, urging him to his feet. ‘Come and show me how sorry,’ she said.