by Ruth Sutton
She left. Curious, she peeped into Cunningham’s cubbyhole in the newsroom. He was there, and she knocked on the wall outside as she normally did. He turned, saw her and looked away.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘I’m doing a piece about the kid’s funeral, a bit more than the normal, just to follow up the previous stuff.’
‘And?’
‘Is that OK? I’ll get it to you in good time.’
‘Good,’ said Cunningham without turning round. ‘Fine.’
Back at her desk, Judith sat down for a while to digest these encounters. Something must have been said to him, too. Then she remembered the conversation with Irene that had seemed to fall on deaf ears. She’d told Irene what was going on and she must have told her husband to sort it out. Shouldn’t have to be that way, but what the hell, Judith said to herself. Sisterhood – was that what they called it? She felt as if someone had taken a weight off her back.
Finding the list she’d written on the train she pinned it to the board propped up at her desk and began to see a way ahead, for the first time in days. The necessary conversation with Mikey would wait till the next digging day on Wednesday, but she would need to decide exactly what she wanted to know and why, in case there was little time or opportunity to talk. Then she tried the mortuary one more time and was so surprised when someone picked up the phone that she stumbled over the question.
‘Hayward’s not here,’ said a man’s voice, ‘and we found his PM report on Steven Stringer on his desk earlier this morning, when that detective, the new one, called in. He took it with him.’
‘You mean the doc didn’t actually send it in himself last week. He told me he had.’
‘Between you and me, love,’ said the man, ‘most of last week the doc didn’t know what day it was. He should have got help but you know what they’re like, doctors. Don’t trust each other, most of them. You didn’t hear any of that from me.’ The phone went dead. Judith thought about what to do next. Item one on her list was ticked off, even though she was no further forward with knowing what the PM actually revealed. If she had to get that from the police, she needed something to trade. She picked up the phone to speak to someone at the Morecambe Social Services.
‘Are you from the police?’ said the woman she spoke to.
‘No, press. Furness News.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge any information about children in our care, now or in the past, Miss Pharaoh. When the police ask, that’s different.’
Judith couldn’t believe he’d got there ahead of her again.
‘Has someone from the police here asked you about this?’
‘Yes, a few days ago a detective called. Funny name.’
‘I know who it is, thanks,’ said Judith. Damn the man.
Her next call was to the station café in Morecambe. A man answered the phone. ‘Is that Fred?’ she asked, checking his name from her notes. ‘It’s Judith Pharaoh, from the Furness News.’
‘You’re the woman who came to see Donna.’
‘That’s right. Is she there?’
‘She hasn’t come in this morning. Sometimes late on a Monday, and when she gets here she looks rough. That feller of hers…’
Judith hesitated. She wanted to know more, but she couldn’t get involved. It was none of her business. ‘When she does come in, could you tell her I called, and ask her to ring me back and reverse the charges?’ She gave Fred the number and rang off. Another blank. One more try, to make some progress. The phone at Montgomery House rang for quite a while and the voice that responded finally sounded familiar.
‘Mrs Clough?’ Judith asked.
‘She’s not in today, it’s Mrs Robinson here.’
‘And this is Judith Pharaoh. Maybe you can help me. I’d like to speak to Mr Harries if possible.’
‘Mr Harries? No. I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not at all. I’m sorry.’
Judith waited a moment. ‘That’s a pity,’ she said. ‘When should I call again to speak to him?’
‘You’d be wasting your time. Captain Edwards has told all of us, and the boys too, not to speak to the press. Goodbye, Miss Pharaoh.’
Judith sat for a while looking glumly at the blank page in her notebook. She didn’t see Alan Thornhill until he was standing next to her. When he spoke her heart sank.
‘Can you brief me on the story about the boy?’ he said, ‘Seems to have gone cold. What’s going on? We need to keep it running or move on. Come and tell me what’s happening.’
Judith did her best to make it look as if the story was shaping up, but Thornhill was too experienced to be fooled. ‘So there’s nothing more,’ he said, ‘except bits of stuff that don’t add up to much.’
‘I’m working on it,’ she said. ‘Things are pretty slow.’
‘You know Skelly’s motto,’ he said. ‘Get out there and ferret about. Don’t wait for things to come to you.’ He straightened the items on his very tidy desk. ‘You need to give us the goods on this one. George is fretting at home, no matter what his wife says. If he comes back, and with sales they way they are, I’ll have to reconsider. I did warn you.’
‘Give me a few more days.’ Judith was trying not to plead with him, but she could hear it in her voice. ‘I’ve a few more leads. I’ll have something a day or two.’
‘You’d better,’ said Thornhill. ‘We’re trying hard to give you a chance on this one, all of us. Don’t let us down.’
If Irene had told her husband to give Judith a chance, this was it. The only lead left was the talk with Mikey on Wednesday, and even that looked shaky after what Mrs Robinson had said. There was only one other door open to her, for the time being at least. On the way home, after a ghastly day with parish council reports, Judith went to Roose to track down the policeman who definitely knew more than she did.
CHAPTER 9
Sam Tognarelli sat in the empty CID room and leafed through his notes, before going back to the folder which had Steven Clifford Stringer’s name written on the front. He’d read the PM report twice and it seemed straightforward. So why was Hayward so odd about it? Was there something he’d had doubts about? Sam wanted to talk to him again, just in case. The ward sister on men’s medical at North Lonsdale was polite but no use at all. ‘Dr Hayward is responding to treatment, but he’s not well enough to see anyone but immediate family. I told that to Sergeant Morrison this morning. The doctor’s waiting, DC Patelli, so I have to go.’
Sam slammed down the phone. It felt like ploughing through wet concrete. The only outcome from an hour on the phone was a name for the dead boy’s elder brother that he’d got finally from Morecambe Social Services. Anthony Gerald Lennon, born 13th April,1948. Taken into care in Lancaster aged eight. No further information. Records had nothing on that name, although the man who must have been his father, George Albert Lennon, had a record as long as your arm for violent offending. He’d ended up in Strangeways in Manchester for attempted murder and was probably still there. Steven had been better off in care, Sam was sure of that, but then the family genes got the better of him. He didn’t stand a chance. Sam looked back at his notes. Anthony Lennon was his only lead. It was a pretty thin connection, but it might be worth a trip to Lancaster. The car pool gave him the first good news of the day.
‘You’re in luck. Just had a car come back from the repair shop. Booked out tomorrow but you can have it today.’
At the main police station in Lancaster Sam introduced himself, explained what he needed and found the CID room. Then and only then did he call Barrow and tell his boss where he was, and why.
‘What the hell are you doing there?’ shouted Morrison. ‘The kid ran away and drowned on the sands because he was an idiot and didn’t know how dangerous it is.’
‘But the brother tried to see him,’ Sam said. ‘He might know what happened.’
‘So what?’ roared Morrison. ‘You work for me or not? They may have given you a long lead in Garstang or wherever you were, to roam about like bloody
Sherlock Holmes, but we keep things simple here, lad. Plenty else here for you to be getting on with, not swanning around wasting time and petrol on open and shut stuff like this. So get your arse back here sharpish, and report to me, like you should have done this morning.’
Someone in the Lancaster CID room looked across at Sam. ‘Get your ear chewed off?’
Sam shrugged. ‘That’s what happens when you’re new in. Barrow force was on its own till this year, and now it’s part of Lancashire and that seems to be all my fault.’ The man laughed. ‘One more call?’ asked Sam.
When he called the local social services number, having a name and date of birth helped, but the home where young Anthony Lennon had been placed no longer existed. Sam checked his watch. He could spend another hour here and blame the traffic if he was late back. ‘Can I come and see you myself,’ he asked, ‘now I’ve come all this way?’
❖ ❖ ❖
‘It was a Barnardo’s home,’ said Mrs Anderson, checking the dusty file on her desk. Her nails were painted an incongruous pink, which spoke to Sam of a life away from the drab surroundings of Lancaster Social Services. She spoke without looking at him. ‘And they changed things a few years ago. Sold off most of the homes and put the money into finding the children placements with families.’ She paused as if remembering something. ‘Actually, some of the children went to families overseas, for a “fresh start”, they called it. Just what they needed, some of them. Getting away from their families was the only way out. It was all voluntary, of course. The boys were asked if they would like to go, and the family were consulted, naturally.’
‘Where overseas?’
‘Canada mainly, some to Australia. New Zealand even, I’m not sure. The old Empire, you know.’
‘Where would I find information about where Anthony was placed?’
‘That would be with Barnardo’s, not us. Sorry. Now if there’s nothing else? We are very busy,’ she added.
‘As if we’re not,’ Sam said to himself. He was tired of being fobbed off.
Before setting off back to Barrow he spent a few minutes updating his notes. Was it possible that the man he’d seen at the funeral was Anthony Lennon? A photo would have helped but no one seemed to have one. Maybe Anthony Lennon had contacted his brother Steven at the home and encouraged the lad to leave. But there was no evidence that Steven had actually met someone that night. Sam scribbled a few more questions in his tiny neat writing. Sounded as if Morrison would be checking on him and he needed everything straight.
He needn’t have bothered about checking in. Sergeant Morrison wasn’t there when he got back.
‘Monday, isn’t it,’ said the secretary. ‘Usually goes to see Thornhill at the News on a Monday, doesn’t he?’
‘What for?’
‘God knows. Making sure they’re sharing what they know, I suppose. That’s the way it works here.’
Sam remembered the note on Morrison’s desk from ‘AT’. He hadn’t realised the two men were so close, and made a mental note to remember that in future. Then he turned his attention to the mound of messages, and to the almost illegible list of tedious jobs Morrison had left to re-assert control over his constable’s time.
❖ ❖ ❖
It was half-past six when Sam finally got back to Roose, grateful yet again that he would find a warm house, food and a sympathetic ear when he got inside. But the first person he saw behind Tommy in the hall when the child opened the door was not Elspeth. The smile froze on his face.
‘Elspeth’s in the kitchen,’ said Judith. ‘She put supper back a bit hoping you’d be home.’
‘I’m starving,’ said Tommy, running back to his mother and the smell of bacon.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Sam. He’d told Elspeth he didn’t want informal contact with reporters, and here she was again.
‘I just dropped in on my way home,’ she said. ‘Elspeth invited me for supper.’
‘Tell her I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said, going up to the bathroom.
Judith could see he was annoyed. Maybe this wouldn’t be a good time for a chat about Stevie’s fate, but she had to get some more information for Thornhill, and soon.
‘He’ll be down in a minute,’ she said to Elspeth in the kitchen. ‘Didn’t look very pleased to see me.’
‘Tired, I expect,’ said Elspeth. ‘And he’s a bit prissy about contact with the press. Thinks the police need to keep their distance.’
‘Great,’ said Judith. ‘Should I go?’
‘You will not,’ said Elspeth. ‘I’ve invited you for supper and here you’ll stay. He’ll have to get over it. You’re my friend, and this is my house.’ She got cutlery out of a drawer and gave it to Judith. ‘And anyway, from what he tells me, you two need to pool your information, not fight over it.’
‘I’m getting nowhere,’ Judith admitted, ‘and the editor’s breathing down my neck. I could be going back to St Bees with my tail between my legs unless I can come up with something.’
Elspeth smiled. ‘Let’s see,’ she said.
They sat around the small table in the kitchen to eat supper. Thank heaven for Tommy, Judith thought as the boy distracted them with tales from school and a joke he’d learned that day.
‘What’s yellow and dangerous?’ he asked them. They shook their heads. ‘Shark-infested custard,’ he cried, and Sam laughed.
‘OK,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve got another of those. What’s purple and conquered the world?’ Tommy tried and failed to find an answer. ‘Alexander the Grape,’ said Sam. Tommy was puzzled and looked at his mother. ‘Honestly Sam, he’s only six. Come on Tommy, time for bed. ‘What’s Alexander the Grape?’ they heard Tommy ask as he climbed the stairs.
Judith took her chance. ‘You forget what they don’t know yet,’ she said. Sam sat quietly, picking at the remains of the food on his plate. She tried again. ‘Elspeth says you’re not happy about me being here.’
He looked up. ‘Of course you can be here,’ he said. ‘It’s Elspeth’s house. It’s just that, with your job and everything…’
‘You think police and the press should keep away from each other?’
‘Not officially, of course, but there’s all sorts going on here, you know as well as I do. Drinking together, back scratching. They’re probably all in the Masons as well.’
‘You think so?’ said Judith. ‘You hear about it, but how do you know?’
‘I just assume unless I know otherwise. It’s part of life round here.’
‘Thornhill? Skelly?’
‘Probably,’ he said.
‘But not me?’
‘Hardly. You’re the wrong sex and not their type at all. Can’t see you at the Lodge dinners or what ever they invite the wives to.’ He smiled at the thought of Judith in a dress and gloves, maybe a little hat?
Elspeth had come back to the kitchen to pour some milk for Tommy. She glanced at her brother and winked at Judith as she passed. ‘I told Tommy you’re too tired to read to him tonight, Sam,’ she said. ‘There’s a beer in the fridge if you want it.’
As he got up to find the beer, Judith began quite nonchalantly, ‘Well I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting very far. Thornhill wanted a report today and it was pitiful. Not sure how long I can convince him to keep me on.’
‘They’re going to sack you?’ said Elspeth. ‘What for?’
‘Surplus to requirements again, I guess. Seems to be the story of my life. The only possible link to a proper story is an old friend of the family who used to work with children in trouble. I want to find out a bit more about how these kids get into care and what happens to them.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m supposed to be talking to one of the lads again tomorrow at Monty House, but he might not be able to risk it.’
Elspeth took Tommy’s milk upstairs.
Sam had been listening. ‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘Mrs Robinson told me today that Edwards had told them all not to talk to the press, and the boys too. It’s that carr
ot and stick thing again. If Mikey thinks he might lose something by talking to me, he won’t do it.’
‘Well he won’t talk to me, that’s for sure. Don’t suppose any of them will.’ Sam’s annoyance about the frustrations of the day and now this intrusion into his evening spilled over. ‘What did Doc Hayward really say to you about Steven Stringer’s post-mortem?’ he asked suddenly.
Judith was taken aback, by the question and the tone.
‘He said the boy didn’t drown,’ she said.
‘Are you sure? He told me he was confused and ill that week.’
‘You’ve seen him?’
‘I went to the hospital. They let me talk to him, I said it was police business.’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ she said. ‘And what did he say?’
‘What I said, that he was probably drunk when he spoke to you and must have got it wrong.’
Judith stared at him. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Why would he do that?’
Sam shrugged. ‘That’s what he told me. He could hardly talk, coughing really badly and he looked awful.’
‘I’ll bet having to talk to you didn’t make him feel any better,’ she said.
‘Can’t be helped,’ he said. ‘What with that and Morrison pushing me around, I won’t be able to do much more about Steven’s death now. I want to follow up about the older brother, but Morrison says I’m wasting my time.’
‘Do you still think that was the bloke we saw at the funeral?’
‘It could have been. Apparently he went to a Barnardo’s home, and they sent boys overseas to find a fresh start, after the war. That might be where he’s been all this time.’
At the mention of Barnardo’s, Judith sat up straight. She wanted to keep Sam talking and this was a chance. ‘The family friend I mentioned, he worked for Barnardo’s. He might know about all that. Is it worth finding out?’
‘Anthony’s our only lead right now,’ said Sam. ‘If he did visit Steven, he might know why the boy ran away.’
‘Do you want to talk to this friend of mine?’ asked Judith. ‘I think he lives up Maryport way, or he used to. My gran used to go up there to see him, in the fifties, when she lived in Seascale. He was a Catholic priest before that.’