by L M Krier
‘And at some point, remind me to share with you mine when I saw those Gloucester Old Spots happily snuffling over the ground.’
‘So, two things to follow up on as a matter of priority. Finding out if our arson victim is ex-Army and if, therefore, his DNA is on file with them, for confirmation of his ID. And secondly, let’s test out Amelie’s theory of a possible link between our missing Lucy Robson and Tam Lee. If Lucy could possibly now be going under the name of Cyane Lee.’
Ted cut across as soon as he saw Jezza’s mouth open. He knew she could be scathing and he didn’t want to discourage Amelie. There was just a possibility she was on to something.
‘And before you say anything, DC Vine, we can’t overlook any idea at this stage.
‘Jo, it might be an idea for you to try talking to the Parachute Regiment’s records people. You know the military tend to like a bit of rank. Perhaps a request from a DI might be favourably received. If you get stuck, ask the Super if she can pull some strings. If our victim is a former serviceman, we need to know.
‘And with that in mind, I’m going to talk to her now about a press appeal for witnesses, in both cases. There’s just a chance that if the public get wind of a possible service veteran killed in an arson, they may be more inclined to come forward with witness sightings. It’s something else that’s worth a shot, in the absence of much else at the moment.’
The Ice Queen was in agreement with him when he went downstairs to her office after the briefing had finished.
‘I don’t like to sensationalise anyone’s death. But sometimes if people can relate on some level to a victim, it does make them more inclined to come forward with information. We’ll have to brace ourselves for the usual deluge of false alarms, and probably false confessions. But I agree. It’s well worth trying.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll talk to the Press Office and get it sorted as soon as possible.’
Her desk phone rang before Ted had got up to leave.
She listened, said, ‘Yes, he’s here,’ then handed the phone to Ted, saying as she did so, ‘It’s Sergeant Baxter, for you.’
Bill Baxter had been retired for some time now, working as a humble civilian on the reception desk. But most officers from the top down afforded him the courtesy of still using his old rank.
‘Yes, Bill.’
‘There’s a man here asking to speak to you in person, Ted. Asked for you by name. Won’t speak to anyone else. He says to tell you it’s about historical child abuse. Says his name is Mr Lloyd.’
‘I don’t know a Mr Lloyd, as far as I know. Has he said anything else useful?’
‘We’ve had this conversation before, Ted. Several times, if my memory serves me correctly. I am not your PA. I don’t know who he is,’ Baxter replied, although he could make an educated guess at the visitor’s identity, just by looking at him. ‘Either come and talk to him or tell me to send him on his way and I will.’
‘Yes, sarge, sorry sarge,’ Ted told him. Bill had known him longer than anyone else in the station and wasn’t in the least intimidated by his rank. ‘I’m on my way.’
He handed the phone back to the Super, chuckling. ‘That’s me put in my place very firmly. Apparently there’s someone to see me at the front desk, so I’d better go and see what it’s about.’
He walked through to the reception area where Bill nodded towards a tall, dark-haired man, standing looking out of the front window, his back towards them. He turned as Ted approached him.
Ted stopped dead in his tracks as he found himself face to face with Trev’s father, Sir Gethin Armstrong. The man took a step towards him, hand outstretched in greeting.
‘Please excuse the subterfuge. I wasn’t sure if you’d agree to see me. Lloyd is my middle name.’
Ted’s normal good manners had deserted him as he stood looking at that hand. He had no inclination to shake the hand of the man who had hurt his partner so badly.
Bill’s voice, from behind him, had a touch of reproach about it as he said, ‘Interview Room 1 is free, Ted, if you want to use that one.’
That was the vulnerable witness room. All soft furnishings and muted colours. Not a hard chair in sight anywhere.
Sir Gethin had dropped his hand by now, realising Ted wasn’t going to shake it. He stood, looking awkward, as he said quietly, ‘Please, Ted. I would really appreciate your time, and your help. I let my son down appallingly all those years ago. I have new information. I desperately hope it’s not too late to make amends.’
Ted hesitated a moment longer, weighing him up. If his years as a copper had taught him one thing, it was to know when someone was sincere or not. Armstrong seemed to be. Ted wasn’t at all happy with the situation. Especially not with seeing him without Trev’s knowledge.
Reluctantly, he turned, saying, ‘I can give you a few minutes,’ and led the way to the interview room.
‘Take a seat. And I have to say, I’m not at all comfortable discussing anything with you without talking to Trev about it. He’s away ...’
‘I do know. He’s taken Siobhan Eirian to Paris with him. That’s why I chose this week. I knew he would do everything in his power to stop you from talking to me.
‘What I did was unforgivable. A father’s duty is to protect his children. Always. Above all else. And to believe them. I failed to do both. But as I said, new information has recently come to my attention. About the person Trevor Patrick was having a relationship with. The one he thought he was in love with.
‘I’ve now found out the person I thought of as a valued friend and colleague was nothing but a filthy, perverted paedophile. And with your help, I would like to see him brought to justice for it.
‘I know my son will never forgive me, and I don’t blame him. I don’t deserve it. But if I can at least do this, I might one day be able to start forgiving myself.’
Chapter Twenty-five
‘Tam Lee?’ Rob O’Connell called up the ladder to the figure near the top of the tree. ‘DS O’Connell, DC Tibbs, Stockport Police. Can we have a word, please?’
The ladder was clearly the starting point for the ascent. The person they had been told was Tam Lee was much higher up, working at the top of the tree’s canopy, wearing a safety harness and hard hat and holding a chainsaw, which was not yet running. She shouted back down to them.
‘Just a bit busy at the moment, officer. And if I were you, I’d shift your arses sharpish because I need to start dropping these branches. Jimmy, can you clear the area, please.’
‘I did warn you,’ the man at the foot of the ladder told them with a shrug. ‘You’ll have to shift now. She means it about dropping branches.’
‘And I mean it about wanting to speak to her. Now,’ Rob told him, then bellowed back, to cover the sound of the chainsaw she’d just started up, ‘Now, please, Ms Lee. You’ve been giving us the run-around for too long. We either talk now or I’ll arrest you for obstruction. Up to you.’
‘She won’t hear you, with the saw running, and her ear defenders on.’
Rob was no fool and he wasn’t prepared to be played like one.
‘You must have a way of contacting her,’ he told the man she’d called Jimmy. ‘It’s a safety requirement, working in a public area like this. In case you need to stop work urgently. What is it? Walkie-talkie? Mobile phone earpiece? Whatever it is, get her down here. Don’t make me send DC Tibbs up there to get her.’
Virgil was good at looking menacing. He was by nature mild-mannered, easy-going. A bit of a practical joker. A doting father to his little daughter. But all the time he spent on body-building gave him an ominous air to those who didn’t know him.
Jimmy seemed to take the threat seriously. Rob had been right. They did have radio contact.
‘You better come down, Tam. They’re not going to go away until you do.’
There was a pause. Then the chainsaw stopped. After some fiddling about, the woman started her descent, swift and agile, chainsaw held firmly in one gloved hand. She put it caref
ully down on the floor, pulled off helmet and ear defenders, and looked at Rob and Virgil. A glare of open hostility.
‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you, Ms Lee. We have left several messages,’ Rob began, after he and Virgil had presented their ID, which she barely looked at.
Rob put her height at about five five, age somewhere near forty. Stockily built. He’d lay odds that she was more than capable of handling herself.
‘Have you found the equipment that was nicked?’ she asked him.
‘Not yet but ...’
‘Then the discussion is pointless. So why don’t the two of you just piss off and let me get on with my work.’
Virgil silently took a step forward, putting himself between her and the ladder.
She eyed him up and down and said, with open scorn, ‘The tough guy, eh? Just remember who’s nearest to the chainsaw. Look, what is it you want?’
‘Just a few moments of your time, please, to answer some questions. Perhaps you might like to answer them in private.’ Rob looked pointedly at the man with her who was hovering in the background.
‘A few minutes. That’s all you’re getting. Then I’m going back up there. I’ve been pissed about enough already by you lot. Jimmy, go sit in the wagon and have your brew and a biscuit. And don’t drop bloody crumbs all over the seats again.’
‘Before you go, can I ask your name?’
‘Jimmy Crick,’ the man told him, as Virgil noted it in his pocket book. Crick, J. was the second name listed on the company registration which they’d found online. He estimated him at late thirties. Around six foot. Slightly built but with a suggestion of wiry strength about him.
‘And don’t make him mad by calling him Jiminy Cricket. He’s sick to death of that by now. About as sick as I am of people assuming I must be a bloke. Tam is short for Tamara, if you must know. Which I never, ever use. Right, what d’you want? Clock’s ticking.’
‘Do you know a Lucy Robson?’
‘No,’ she replied brusquely, with not so much as a flicker. ‘Next question?’
‘Do you know what Betula nigra is? Have you ever worked on any?’
‘What kind of a bloody stupid question is that? Of course I bloody know. I’m a tree surgeon and a landscape architect. Do you know what the Police and Criminal Evidence Act code is? That’s sounding unlikely.’
‘Could you just answer the questions for us, please, Ms Lee?’ Virgil rumbled in his deep voice.
She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Yes, I know what Betula nigra is. Yes, I have worked on some in the past, but not recently, and not round here. Anything else, or can I get on with the work I’m contracted to do? Because it’s costing me money, standing here talking to you.’
‘We won’t keep you much longer, Ms Lee,’ Rob assured her. He checked his notes in his book, asking her to confirm her address, then going on, ‘The equipment which you reported stolen – a chainsaw, a shredder and some tree loppers – was taken from your vehicle while you were doing contract work. Is that correct?’
‘You know all this already. I gave all the details to the Dibble when I first reported it. And two of yours were round at my house on Monday, asking the wife some questions about it.’
Again, Rob made a show of looking at his notes. ‘Your wife. That would be Cyane Lee? Does your wife work, Ms Lee?’
‘She’s a telephone sex worker,’ the woman told him with such a straight face Rob couldn’t work out if she was being serious or not. ‘Now is that it with the idiot questions? Can I get back to the job I’m being paid to do?’
‘Thank you, Ms Lee, you’ve been very helpful,’ Rob told her as the two of them turned to go. Then Virgil stopped and looked back at her.
‘Just one more thing ...’
‘Oh god, spare me the Columbo routine.’
‘How long have you and Cyane been married? And was it a church wedding, or civil?’
‘Civil partnership,’ she told him, picking up the chainsaw. ‘Couple of years ago. Now, can I get on? Or do you want me to tell you all the details of our wedding night? Lots of Cy’s callers seem to get off on it, so you might enjoy it, too.’
‘Nice one, Virgil,’ Rob told him as they walked back across the park to where they’d left their service vehicle. ‘Because for any kind of lawful marriage, they’d have had to produce birth certificates. If we can track those down, we can find the name Cyane Lee was given at birth. And I’ll bet you anything it wasn’t Cyane.’
‘I don’t know how much Trevor has already told you,’ Sir Gethin began.
‘We have no secrets,’ Ted told him shortly.
‘But as a police officer, you must know that any testimony can be ambiguous.’
‘He told you he was gay. You both told him he was disgusting, to get out, and never darken the doors again,’ Ted retorted. ‘I’m finding it hard to see any ambiguity in that.’
‘Terrible things were said that night. There was so much misunderstanding. I can only speak for myself when I say that what I tried to convey was my disgust at the things I was being told about someone I had thought of as a friend and valued colleague. Someone I’d brought into my home.
‘I should have believed my son. I simply found it all too difficult. Beyond my comprehension. I appreciate that it sounds like a pathetic excuse. But that’s how it was.’
He paused and looked around the room, his eyes lighting on a water dispenser in a corner.
‘May I please get myself some water? I knew this was never going to be easy. I fear it may well be even harder than I imagined.’
Ted sprang to his feet, glad to have something to do. He was getting angry already and they’d only just begun. He’d phoned Jo to tell him he was talking to a potential witness about another case and was only to be disturbed in case of emergency.
He drew off two cups of water, put them on the low coffee table between them and sat back down. He watched Armstrong take a sip of the drink. Waited for him to continue.
‘Trevor Patrick was always precocious. He was fluent in two languages before most small children were fully articulate in one. He could have had any career he wanted. With his language skills, Intelligence, and Six in particular, would have welcomed him with open arms.
‘I had a close friend who worked in that area. We were at the same school, but he was older than I. Harvey Warboys. A frequent visitor to our house. Impeccable pedigree. Eton, Cambridge. The right type. There were rumours about him, though. It seemed to be an open secret that he was a bit of an old queen. At school he’d been known as Whoreboys, but you know what public schools are like for nicknames.’
‘I don’t. I went to the local comprehensive.’ Ted was only just succeeding in staying polite.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be offensive. Nicknames are common in the circle in which my family and I move. Thankfully, I understand that my daughter has at least dropped her vulgar school nickname recently.
‘Back to the story of my son. And my shame in how I reacted.
‘Growing up, Trevor showed all the normal healthy interest in girls.’
He saw Ted’s face darken and went on hurriedly, ‘I’m sorry, Ted, I don’t mean to be offensive. I know from my daughter how strong a relationship you have with my son, and I didn’t mean to imply that it was in any way abnormal. It’s just how we were back then. How we thought, in the circles in which I moved. It may well have been the turn of the century, but some of us were still out of our depth with such things.
‘Trevor saw girls, regularly. One I remember in particular. Henrietta, she was called. I could see they were getting very close. Too close. I did the responsible father thing. I sat down with Trevor. Told him I expected him to be a gentleman, obey the law, and wait until they were both sixteen. But I also told him what he should do if he couldn’t stick to that.
‘I was anxious about how it would work out. Worried that he might impregnate a friend’s daughter. Then one evening, he came into the library, where my wife and I were reading, and announced
that he was gay. His relationship with Henrietta was simply him experimenting, he said. To be sure of who he was. That he’d been having a torrid relationship with Warboys and that’s what he wanted.’
He paused for more water.
‘We were both shocked rigid. Aoife, my wife – Lady Armstrong – particularly so. She’d been brought up an extremely strict Catholic. She’d wanted Trevor to follow her. She had plans for him as a choirboy. Except, of course, he’s spectacularly tone deaf, without even realising it. So she’d tried him out for an altar boy.
‘Then this bombshell. Completely out of the blue, as far as I was concerned.
‘I did the fatherly thing, of course. I went straight round to see Warboys. To have it out with him. He denied everything. Laughed it off. Admitted he did see other men, but said he was always discreet about where and who. Assured me that he was in no way interested in under-age boys, and certainly not in my son. He had no explanation as to why Trevor would concoct such a story.
‘I went back to confront Trevor. I did what no father should ever do. I took someone else’s word over that of my own son. The things which were said that night were dreadful. Inexcusable. I packed him off to live with my sister, Gwenllian, up here in Manchester. I supported them both financially, but I asked her not to tell him that. You know the rest.’
‘So now you’re saying you believe Trev, after all these years? What’s changed?’
‘I finally did what I should have done immediately. I spoke to other people in the same circles. It was difficult. It’s not the sort of subject easily broached over drinks at a social event. And not something people speak freely about. But it’s not as if I don’t have the contacts.’
Ted remembered Trev once telling him that his father could get hold of almost any information he wanted or needed. That had included their home telephone number. Armstong’s contacts included the Spooks of the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6.
‘I discovered other, identical tales. Distraught young boys, convinced they were madly in love with Warboys. Trevor was fifteen; always mature for his age. But it was still a crime. Some of those boys were as young as thirteen. One was twelve.