Cruel Tide

by Ruth Sutton

  Sam didn’t want to think what they might have done. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘The knife, what did you notice about that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Anthony wouldn’t let me touch it. It wasn’t a very big knife. I couldn’t see the blade. The handle seemed bent, not straight, but I couldn’t be sure about that. It might still … when you find his body?’

  He knew what she meant, but it could be days before the body surfaced. Harry had told him that bodies sometimes disappeared for years out on the sands, and all that finally came to light were bones. The knife would have gone, unless it was stuck very deep.

  ‘While you were holding Anthony and trying to get him out of the water, did he saying anything to you, any names maybe?

  Judith closed her eyes, remembering. ‘Nothing. He said he was done for and that I should go.’

  ‘And what did he say before that,’ said Sam, ‘before the Landrover passed you in Cannon Street?’

  ‘I’ve told you all that,’ she said, her voice raised. Sam realised he might be pushing her too hard, but after a moment’s pause she carried on. ‘I asked him about Harries and the flat, and he said he’d sent the tape. The only name he mentioned was “Bindoon”, or maybe it was “Ben Doon”. I don’t know who that is.’ Judith looked at him. ‘Sorry. I’m trying to forget it, but something’s…’ She looked away, towards the sunny window where the gauzy curtains moved a little in the draught.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Sam, ‘for putting you through all this again. You’ve done really well, and we’re almost finished. I’ll write up these notes properly now. You can read it over before you sign it, and then I’ll leave you alone.’

  Sam moved his chair over to the small table to write on the larger paper he’d brought with him. He felt that Judith was watching him but he didn’t look up.

  There was a tap on the door, and Maggie put her head round before bustling in. ‘Is it all done?’ she asked. ‘I’ll take the tray out of your way, constable. Why don’t you walk him back to the station, Judith? You need some fresh air, get some colour on those cheeks.’ She leaned towards Judith, who flinched away. ‘Come on now,’ Maggie persisted, turning to Sam. ‘She does need a walk, get out of that stuffy bedroom.’

  When Maggie picked up the tray and left the room, Sam smiled at Judith who rolled her eyes. ‘See what I mean?’ she said, and he nodded.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s not far. And there’s something else I want to ask you about.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Maggie came back carrying Judith’s coat and helped her into it. ‘It’s quite windy,’ she said, as if to a child, ‘so keep it buttoned up.’

  It was only when they had closed the garden gate and turned along the road towards the station that Judith undid the top buttons and put her head up towards the racing sky, shaking her head from side to side until wisps of hair escaped their moorings and danced around her face.

  ‘Some of the time I feel almost normal,’ she said, ‘but then it starts again. I can hear the water rushing, and everything feels blurred, as if I’m going to faint. All I want to do is go back to bed.’ She turned to Sam. ‘How long’s it going to last?’

  ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘Delayed shock can go on for a while. You need to look after yourself. Or let your mother look after you.’

  Judith groaned. ‘Should I go to the doctor? Would that help?’

  ‘They’d probably put you on sleeping pills or tranquillisers or something,’ said Sam. ‘Is that what you want?’

  She shook her head. ‘I just want to be able to think straight, and stop seeing things. Just blot them out.’ She paused. ‘I keep seeing his white face, floating away.’

  She stopped and Sam stopped beside her, looking at her. She shook her head.

  ‘What was it you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, the cold air’s helping. I might remember something.’

  ‘There was something we found in the Landrover. I wondered if it would make any sense to you.’ He took out his notebook and flicked back through the pages until he found the page he wanted. ‘There was something under the seats, like a badge without the pin. It must have fallen off and slipped down. It had a design on it, like this.’ He showed her the page where he had drawn the image on the badge that Morrison had taken from him.

  Judith stared at it. ‘I’ve seen that before,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I have. But where?’ She put her hands to her face, straining to remember. Something to do with Alan Thornhill,’ she said.

  ‘Thornhill? Your editor?’

  She looked up. ‘It was on a tie, in his wardrobe,’ she said, triumphantly. ‘I saw it.’

  ‘What were doing, looking in his wardrobe?’ Sam asked.

  ‘They were out, and I was poking around,’ she said.

  Sam frowned. ‘It could mean anything,’ he said. ‘It’s the kind of badge that regiments have. Was he in the army?’

  ‘He was in Malaya, in the ’fifties. Irene told me that.’

  ‘Everyone in the regiment might have a tie like that, if it was a regimental symbol. Or a badge.’

  ‘So the men in the Landrover might have been in Malaya, too?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Sam. ‘Someone else who’d been in the Landrover might have been. It’s a pretty thin link.’

  Judith’s face suddenly brightened and she turned to Sam. ‘I’m sure there’s something funny about Thornhill,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. He doesn’t earn that much and they have this huge house, big car, pots of money.’

  ‘Could have inherited it,’ said Sam, glancing at his watch. ‘Come on, the train’ll be here soon.’

  Judith caught hold of his sleeve. ‘But what if he’s up to something?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Sam. ‘Look how helpful he’s been to you, with the story, and taking you in to his own home.’ He changed the subject. ‘Doc Hayward’s not well, by the way. He’s at home.’

  ‘You do believe me, don’t you, about what he said to me about Steven’s death?’

  Sam hesitated. Judith was angry now. ‘He told me, in the pub, that Steven didn’t drown. I’ve not made that up.’

  ‘But there was nothing about that in the PM report. The coroner said it was an accident. That’s all we have.’

  They’d reached the station and Judith turned away, her loose hair blowing across her face. There were tears in her eyes. ‘Just the wind,’ she said, brushing them away. The signal clattered, heralding the train’s arrival ‘You don’t believe me,’ she said.

  ‘I do believe you,’ he said. ‘But there’s no proof of anything.’

  Judith snorted. ‘Another kid turning up dead. Would that help?’

  Sam was angry now. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘Go home, Judith. Get well again, and we’ll talk. It’s too complicated. Just give it some time.’

  Judith turned and walked away. Frustrated and annoyed, Sam watched her retreating back before he climbed on the train and let it take him back to Barrow and reality.

  The view of sea and sky beyond the salt-smeared window didn’t lift Sam’s spirits. He longed to lift the weight of isolation from his mind, but he couldn’t discuss the case with anyone. Morrison, Harry, the people at Montgomery House, no one wanted to know that there were problems about how Steven died, or what had really happened to Harries. Grayson kept repeating, ‘Accident, suicide, accident, suicide’, but Sam’s doubts still refused to go away. And now his mind was seething with other possibilities, even more worrying than before. He wanted to share more of what he was thinking with Judith, but would that be fair? She was clearly exhausted and increasingly irrational. He needed to trust her, but he couldn’t do so, not now, not yet.

  CHAPTER 24

  On Monday morning, finding Dr Graham’s number was easy but deciding on the approach to take with him was harder. It felt as if everyone Sam wanted to talk to was connected to someone else, in patterns that he didn’t understand. He had to make it sound lik
e a routine enquiry; maybe he would start by asking about the overall health of the boys, then about Steven Stringer and whether there might have been any reason why he chose to run away. But when Dr Graham came to the phone and Sam explained what he wanted, the immediate response sounded surprised and annoyed.

  ‘It’s some time since the poor boy died, constable, and I understand there was nothing in the PM report that delayed his funeral, so what’s all this about? Has some new information come to light?’

  ‘No, sir, just a few loose ends. I’d be grateful if you could give me half an hour of your time.’

  Graham sighed audibly. ‘I suppose you have to do these things. I’m very busy today so it will need to be quick.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Dr Graham’s housekeeper showed Sam into a darkly furnished library in a large house outside Broughton. Curtains were half drawn against low winter sun. Dr Graham was short and suited, grey hair carefully combed over his head. His small eyes looked Sam quickly up and down. He didn’t seem as bad-tempered as Sam had expected.

  ‘Detective Constable Tognarelli,’ he said, reading Sam’s warrant card with exaggerated care. ‘That’s quite an unusual name for these parts. A Scottish connection by any chance?’

  ‘My father, sir,’ said Sam. ‘Raised in Glasgow.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Raised in Bolton,’ said Sam. ‘People tell me my voice is a bit of a mixture.’

  Graham smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. ‘So many local accents and dialects in this part of the world, I’d have thought you came from further up the coast, or Carlisle way. Now what can I do for you? I can only give you a few minutes, I’m afraid.’

  Sam was all affability. ‘Purely routine, sir. My sergeant just asked me to tie up a few loose ends of two cases that happen to involve Montgomery House.’

  ‘Would that be Sergeant Morrison?’ said Dr Graham. ‘Captain Edwards mentioned that he had taken a personal interest. It’s been a difficult few weeks for Edwards.’ He looked at Sam. ‘We all go back a long way together,’ he said. ‘That’s how the idea for Montgomery House started, you know, when we served together in Malaya, in the early ’fifties.’

  ‘Sergeant Morrison too?’ asked Sam, trying to work out how old that would make him. ‘No, not Morrison, but his boss, and your boss too.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Cardine? He was in Malaya?’

  ‘Indeed he was. Small world, isn’t it?’

  Getting smaller by the minute, thought Sam. He wondered how many others were in this select band.

  Dr Graham was more pleasant now that he’d clarified Sam’s lowly position on the local totem pole. ‘So, constable, what can I help you with?’

  ‘First of all, sir, about the boy who was found drowned,’ said Sam, looking at his notebook. ‘Was there anything about him that you know of that might have caused him to run away?’

  ‘Do you mean his health, or being bullied perhaps?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Sam. ‘Mrs Robinson says how well cared for the boys are at Montgomery House, but there might be something that would explain his behaviour.’

  ‘As I recall the lad, he’d had a rough start and it showed. Mrs Robinson was looking after him, better than at any time earlier in his life, but he was still underweight for his age.’

  ‘Could he have been picked on, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, quite possibly. Boys will be boys, as they say. But any serious bullying would have been spotted and stopped I’m sure. Only twenty boys, constable. Not hard to know what’s going on. I can assure you that nothing untoward had been brought to our attention as trustees.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Sam, turning his page and still not looking up.

  ‘The experience in Malaya touched us all, constable,’ said Dr Graham. He poured himself a coffee from the pot that the housekeeper had left, but he didn’t offer any to Sam. ‘We had to move the villagers into camps, to keep them away from the rebels, cut their supply lines, you know.’

  Sam said nothing, wondering what had set off this train of thought.

  ‘Things were pretty bad,’ Graham went on. ‘Food was short. We were outside the cage, they were inside it. We had enough food, they didn’t. Some of the children were prepared to do anything for food. Maybe their parents put them up to it. Either way, it was pretty bad. I came back wanting to do something for children like that, who had nothing, abandoned by their families. Do you understand? That’s where Montgomery House came from, from that ideal. We give our time for nothing, you know. All of us.’

  Sam listened politely, wondering what lay underneath what the doctor was saying.

  ‘That’s very interesting, thank you,’ said Sam. ‘Just one other matter, before I go, regarding Mr Harries.’

  Graham sipped his coffee. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That was a very unfortunate business,’

  ‘Can you tell me how Mr Harries came to be appointed as padre to the school?’

  The older man hestitated. ‘Is this relevant to anything, constable?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, as I recall,’ said Graham, ‘we were about to advertise for a teacher who would also serve as chaplain – “padre” the captain called it – and Edwards said he’d found someone who seemed ideal for the position, so we could save ourselves the trouble of interviews and all that. Of course the board’s appointments committee had a look at all the relevant information before we confirmed the decision.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sam. ‘And was there any indication of previous difficulties, from when Mr Harries had been a parish priest in Cumberland?’

  ‘What sort of difficulties?’

  Sam looked up. He wanted to see the expression on Graham’s face. ‘There had been rumours of some sexual misconduct, with boys in the parish.’

  Dr Graham’s face paled and he put down his cup. Sam heard the china rattle. ‘Rumours?’

  ‘No evidence was brought, and no official enquiry, but Mr Harries moved on to another parish, and then into the army as a padre.’

  The doctor blinked and sat up a little straighter. ‘Did Captain Edwards know about this? He certainly never mentioned any such thing to us.’

  Sam did not respond and Dr Graham continued. ‘I can assure you, constable, that any such information, even if unproven, would have been considered seriously by the Board. These boys are so vulnerable, you know…’

  ‘Indeed so, sir,’ said Sam. ‘So we can conclude that this information was not known to you at the time of Mr Harries’s appointment?’

  ‘Certainly not to me, or to the Board to my knowledge. Have you asked Captain Edwards the same question?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. I needed to know how the appointment was made, and you’ve been clear about that.’

  Dr Graham sat back in his chair. ‘You are not suggesting, are you, constable, that there is any connection between these two “loose ends”, as you call them?’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’ Sam adopted his most neutral expression. ‘It would be very useful to have a full list of the Board members for Montgomery House, if you have one?’

  Graham looked irritated. ‘I’m sorry, constable. I don’t have time to dig all that out now, and I’m not sure it’s my job to do so. You can find out anything you need from the usual channels. The place is a charity, after all. There are records of these things.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sam. No point in pushing that question any further. ‘Thank you for your time, sir.’

  ‘Give my regards to Sergeant Morrison,’ said Dr Graham, as he showed Sam to the door. He’s making sure I know he’s connected, thought Sam. It was like a club where all the members knew each other, all of them confident and comfortable. Maybe they think I’ll want to join them, he said to himself. Actually, what he wanted to do was knock their complacent heads together. But they could ruin him, and he would need to tread very carefully indeed.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  It wasn’t far down the Furness peninsular to Attercliff. He’d
already ascertained that Monday was Iris Robinson’s day off, which was very convenient as he really wanted to talk to her away from Montgomery House. At her suggestion they were meeting at a small house in the village, where she lived with her ageing father when she wasn’t on duty.

  Out of uniform, she looked quite different, more vulnerable. ‘Come in, constable,’ she said, smiling. ‘My father’s having his after lunch nap. Have you eaten, by the way? I made a few sandwiches, just in case.’

  Sam could smell tomatoes and saw them peeping from between fresh bread, making his mouth water. For a few minutes all thought of Montgomery House gave way to the pleasure of eating, first the sandwich and then a piece of chocolate cake that Iris produced from a large tin.

  ‘Don’t get the chance to bake very often,’ she said, ‘but father still loves cake.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Sam. He reached for his notebook. ‘Now I don’t want to push you on this issue, Mrs Robinson, but we do need to check for any possible impropriety that the boys at Montgomery House might have been exposed to.’

  Iris rose a little out of her chair. ‘Oh, really!’ she said. ‘This is too much. I told you last time we spoke that it was cruel gossip, and it still is.’ She sat down and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. ‘I didn’t tell Captain Edwards last time about what you’d said, but this time…’

  Sam waited until she’d calmed down a little. ‘I know how difficult this must be for you, Mrs Robinson,’ he said quietly. ‘You give those boys all your attention and care and it must be very painful to imagine that others might not do so. But there will be times, when you’re here with your father for example, that things at Montgomery House might not be quite as they should be. And you couldn’t be expected to know, could you? No one could blame you in any way.’

  ‘But that’s not the point, is it?’ she said, turning towards him, her eyes still filled with tears. ‘You’re accusing people I know of terrible things, a betrayal of all the trust those boys have in us, all of us.’