Cruel Tide

by Ruth Sutton

‘Not accusing,’ Sam began, but she waved a hand to cut him off.

  ‘As good as,’ she said. ‘I’m not worried about blame, not for me. But it’s Montgomery House, and the captain. That’s what upsets me most, that you or anyone could think that anything … anything like that might happen. That place is his life, constable. I’ve seen how much it means to him, and how hard he works for those boys. He provides for some of them out of his own pocket, did you know that? Trips away, walking on the fells, driving lessons, all out of the goodness of his heart. And what does he get in return? Slurs and accusations from dirty-minded people who can’t bear to see goodness at work.’ She blew her nose. Sam said nothing.

  ‘I’m sorry, constable,’ she said after a pause. ‘I know you’re only doing your job.’

  ‘Have other people made accusations like this?’ he asked. ‘When I last saw you,’ he looked at his notes, ’it was on Remembrance Day, you said “the boys say things sometimes, things they make up in anger, like boys do.” Do you remember that, Mrs Robinson? What kind of things have the boys said to you?’

  She screwed up the handkerchief in her lap, and looked away. The room was silent for a few moments. A clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Finally, she spoke.

  ‘Once or twice,’ she said, ‘over the years, a boy might say that someone had, you know, got too close. Not anyone who worked here, someone who came to the house.’

  ‘You said various people visit, are these all friends of the captain?’

  ‘Maybe not friends, but people he knows. Some of them he was overseas with.’ She paused. ‘My father was in the war. I could never get him to talk about it but when he met his old mates, they would chatter away. The rest of us can’t really understand, can we?’

  ‘Anyone else?’ asked Sam.

  ‘We do get some important people,’ she said. ‘There’s a chap from the TV, he’s been a few times. The boys love to see famous people. Well, we all do, don’t we, and he does such a lot for us, raising money and so on. Oh, and I think the captain introduced me to one of our local councillors, but that was a while ago now. I don’t meet all the visitors, sometimes I’m off duty or here with my father. Captain Edwards likes to invite people who can raise money for us. It all helps, he says. And Mr Thornhill from the Furness News, he makes sure the pictures get in the paper, so everybody’s happy.’

  ‘What did you mean about visitors getting too close? Is that what the boys said?’

  She looked away. ‘No, not exactly.’

  Sam waited. The clock ticked.

  ‘There was one boy,’ she said quietly. ‘It was quite a long time ago. He showed me, and he said that someone had hurt him. He was quite upset, begged me not to tell anyone. But I was worried and I asked the captain about it. He told me that the boy was lying, playing people off against each other like he had done all his life.’ She looked up at Sam. ‘I trust the captain. If he tells me that there’s nothing to worry about, I believe him. I have to believe him.’

  ‘Can you remember the boy’s name?’ said Sam.

  She looked down at her hands and the twisted handkerchief.

  He was called Bill,’ she said. ‘But the boys called him Nocky.’

  ‘Do you know where he is now?’ Sam asked.

  She looked up. ‘No. Do you?’

  ‘He’s back in Lancaster prison where he’s been on and off for most of his adult life.’

  She put her hand to her mouth. ‘He was so angry,’ she said.

  ‘He still is,’ said Sam. He hesitated. ‘Iris, please, I want you to do something for me. I want you to keep this conversation to yourself. You have done nothing wrong, and nothing you have said to me can harm the captain, not as it stands. But I may need to take a more formal statement from you, at some point, and to talk to the boys again. Do you understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Have you heard if visitors are due to come to Montgomery House?’

  She shook her head. ‘The last few weeks have been so difficult. The captain has been very low. There was something planned for next weekend I think, but he may have cancelled it.’ She looked at Sam. ‘Whatever may have happened in the past, constable, I swear to you that I didn’t know, and nor did Captain Edwards. Those boys are his life. He’s an honourable man. You must believe me.’

  ‘I want to believe you, Mrs Robinson, truly I do,’ said Sam. ‘But if any of your boys have been harmed, it’s my duty to investigate.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Thank you for your time and the delicious lunch.’

  ‘And you’ll let me know what you find out?’

  ‘You’ll be informed about the official enquiry, if and when it happens. At present all I’m doing is following up a complaint. Please remember what I asked, that you keep this to yourself.’

  She shook his hand at the door, still visibly upset. Sam wondered how long it would be before Captain Edwards heard all about his visit.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When he got back to the police station, WPC Tunnycliffe motioned to him. ‘Morrison’s looking for you,’ she whispered. ‘He looks really mad. What have you done?’

  The door to the CID room opened and Sergeant Morrison pointed at Sam.

  ‘You!’ he said. ‘In here, now!’

  Sam followed him into the room.

  ‘Get out, Grayson,’ said Morrison and Grayson was out of the door in seconds, closing it behind him.

  Sam stood straight, not looking at his superior officer. He could see what was about to happen.

  ‘How many times, constable?’ Morrison said, leaning into Sam’s face. ‘How many times do I need to tell you to back off anything to do with Montgomery House and get on with your job? You are clear who’s in charge here, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sir, yes, sir,’ said Sam, still looking straight ahead, past Morrison’s looming head.

  ‘So tell me, constable, why one of the trustees of Montgomery House, a highly respected local man, has been visited by my constable, and interrogated about who does what, when it’s none of that constable’s damn business?’

  Sam said nothing.

  ‘Let’s get this really clear, shall we?’ Morrison went on. ‘That business with Harries is closed. Coroner said suicide, we say suicide, his poor grieving mother says suicide, and the man is in the ground. There is no evidence, none, that he ever laid a finger on any of the boys. If he had, the captain and the Robinson woman would have dealt with it. Right?’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said Sam. He was breathing as slowly as he could.

  ‘And Harries isn’t the only one with a death wish,’ Morrison went on, turning away to walk up the room and back again. ‘If you don’t get back to doing what I tell you, you’re killing your job here as quick as that sad nonce broke his own neck. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Sam.

  ‘I never want that pompous git Cardine to speak to me again like he spoke to me this morning. “Keep your men under control, sergeant,” he says. If you’d been in that room, constable, I’d have whipped you like a dog. And I still could, once you’ve got kicked out, and no one would care.’

  Morrison picked up his jacket. ‘I’ve given you a long list of matters that demand your attention. It’s on your ridiculously tidy desk. You will address yourself to that list, and nothing other than that list, and report to me tomorrow morning. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam.

  Morrison stamped out of the room, and Sam sank onto his chair. His hands were shaking as he picked up the list and saw the familiar litany of petty crime. Kath Tunnycliffe pushed open the door. ‘He’s gone. Are you OK?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Please, Kath. Plenty of sugar.’

  It was the end of the road. All he had were fragments, insubstantial bits of a picture that could only be guessed at. He was guessing that the Monty House boys had been abused, but others might see a picture of benevolent concern undermined by malicious children who w
ere well-versed in playing off adults against each other. And now the invisible web of connections had succeeded in tying him up, a hapless fly that had stumbled into it.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Constable Tognarelli?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘It’s Ann Hayward. My husband is asking for you. He’s very agitated. Can you come?’

  Sam didn’t hesitate, not for a moment. On his way out he said, ‘Kath, if Clark or Morrison ask, I’m off to the probation office, right? Back in an hour.’

  Kath raised her eyebrows, but he was gone.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dr Hayward tried unsuccessfully to push himself up on his pillows. He looked grey: cheeks hollowed below tight bone while folds of skin sagged around his neck, as if his face had dropped from its bearings. The air in the darkened bedroom was stale and smelled of age and sickness. Sam tried not to react and focussed on the old man’s eyes, watery and bright. Behind him, Ann Hayward said,‘He wants to talk to you, constable, but be patient when he gets breathless. There’s an oxygen mask just by the pillow. And you,’ she continued, pointing at her husband, ‘don’t be stubborn about the oxygen. If you need it, use it. The young man’s in no hurry. I’ll be downstairs if you want anything.’

  Sam looked around for a chair and pulled one up as close to the head of the bed as he could manage. Hayward was already straining for breath.

  ‘Talk as quietly as you like,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll hear you. Take your time.’

  Hayward’s voice was low and hoarse. He started to cough, and put a tissue to his mouth to catch whatever had come up. ‘That PM, on the wee boy.’

  ‘Steven Stringer,’ said Sam.

  ‘Aye. He didn’t drown.’

  ‘No water in his lungs,’ said Sam.

  Hayward nodded. ‘Couldn’t say it….’, he pulled at the air, ‘in the report.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Morrison made me change it. Ask Ann. She knows.’

  Sam started to make notes.

  The old man reached out to him. ‘Wait. Not finished,’ he gasped. ‘I took samples. From the lad. As insurance. At the mortuary. Labelled “unknown”. Morrison doesn’t know.’

  Sam took a moment to understand what he was hearing. ‘You took samples from Steven’s body during the post-mortem, and they’re in the mortuary labelled as “unknown”.. They were insurance if you needed to defy Morrison?’

  Hayward nodded, then stretched for the oxygen mask and put it over his mouth and nose, breathing hungrily.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ said Sam. ‘Have you checked the samples?’

  Hayward shook his head. Above the mask his bright eyes followed Sam’s face.

  ‘But what do you think?’

  Hayward frowned. He pulled the mask away from his mouth. ‘Drugs, maybe booze.’

  Sam was writing in his notebook. ‘And it was definitely Sergeant Morrison who made you change the PM report?’

  ‘Yes, Morrison.’

  ‘Any other marks on the body?’

  Hayward looked away. ‘Bruise. Neck.’ He pushed the mask back onto his face and breathed.

  Sam thought for a moment then pointed with his little pencil to the back of his own neck. Hayward watched and nodded, just once. Sam closed his eyes, then he spoke again. ‘If I need to get those samples checked, who can I go to?’

  The old man took off the mask. ‘Ask Ann,’ he said. He moved his hands to mimic writing something down.

  ‘You’ve given your wife the name of someone I could go to?’

  Hayward nodded and replaced the mask, pulling air into his ravaged lungs.

  ‘Not long,’ he said. He waved Sam away. ‘Go.’

  Sam reached for the papery hand and shook it. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Doctor Hayward let his head fall back onto the pillow, drew on the oxygen and closed his eyes.

  Sam crept out of the room and down the stairs. Ann Hayward called out to him ‘In here,’ and he walked into the kitchen. She was standing at the sink with her back to him.

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘That there are some samples at the mortuary from a boy who died a few weeks ago. He said you know where I should take them. He told me about Morrison. That was all he could manage.’

  Ann turned towards him, and Sam could see that she’d been crying. ‘He hasn’t got long,’ she said. ‘They sent him home when they knew there was nothing more they could do. His lungs are finished and his heart won’t take the strain. It all happened so suddenly. We’ve been together for forty years. I can’t imagine life without him.’

  She wiped her face on the edge of her apron and sat down at the small kitchen table. ‘I suppose you want to know the rest of it?’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Sam.

  She told Sam the story from the beginning, from the time her husband started drinking. Morrison had found out, knew there’d been mistakes and threatened to report him.

  ‘We should have told him where to go there and then,’ said Ann. ‘But he wanted a favour with a report, to leave something out that would have affected a friend, he said. It was nothing very serious, but he threatened to report the drinking and David did what he wanted. Foolish. I knew as soon as he told me that it would go on, and it did. He had enough to get David struck off. I pleaded with him to face Morrison down, but he just kept drinking. He got sicker and sicker and wouldn’t get help. Forgetting things, blacking out.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘And that bastard, he just kept on, and anything he wanted he got. Cases swept under the rug, blood samples ignored, nothing too drastic, but it was all wrong.’

  ‘How long?’ Sam asked.

  ‘When did it start you mean? Two years or so. I begged David to stop. Then when they told him at the hospital how long he had left, he just broke down. This morning he told me to find you, and he gave me this.’ She took an envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to Sam. The writing was only just legible. ‘Prof. Adrian Phillips, Lancaster Med School.’

  ‘There’s a note inside,’ she said. ‘He and Adrian were students together, and they still see each other, but not for a while, since this business started. I think David was too ashamed to face him. He wants you to get those samples from the mortuary and take them to Adrian personally. Show him the note and do what he tells you. And don’t let anyone else know. ‘

  ‘When did you see Morrison last?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Just after David got out of hospital, he rang. I told him David was too ill to talk, but he kept ringing. I don’t pick up the phone now.’

  ‘What does he want, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe something about the boy who died. Then we heard about Judith Pharaoh and that business out on the sands. David was very upset by that, he likes Judith. He told me to record what Morrison said if he rang again.’

  Sam stared. ‘Record? How? With a machine?’

  ‘No, just write down what he said, verbatim, and date it. He said it might have to stand up in court.’

  ‘What did Morrison say, exactly, that you have a record of?’

  She frowned. ‘He said that he had enough on David to ruin him and if he ever wanted another favour, he’d better get it.’

  ‘Where are those notes now?’

  ‘At the bottom of the sugar jar. It was David’s idea. I told him it felt like MI5.’

  ‘Leave them there for now,’ said Sam. ‘Have you told anyone else about this?’

  She shook her head. ‘No one.’

  ‘Why me?’ he asked.

  ‘He told me you play it by the book.’ She smiled. ‘He said you were a prig, but he had to trust someone. He wanted to tell Judith but he was frightened what might happen to her. You can stand up for yourself. That’s what he said.’

  Sam sat back, his pencil poised over his notebook. His mind was racing. ‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I know what I have to do.’

  ‘What about Morrison?’ she said.

  ‘Leave that with me, too,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll think of something. First thing is to pick up
those samples and get them checked. Who do I need to see at the mortuary?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she remembered, ‘he told me that. He can’t be sure of the other doctor, but the technician knows what you’re looking for and he’s expecting someone to pick them up. His name’s Kumar. He’s from Pakistan.’

  ‘Does Kumar know anything else?’

  ‘No, and David says he wouldn’t ask. He says because he’s brown everyone just ignores him.’

  ‘Including Morrison?’

  ‘Especially Morrison.’

  ‘How long will it take to get those samples checked?’

  ‘He said if Adrian does what it says it could be quick.’

  ‘How quick?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. How are you going to get to Lancaster?’

  Sam was thinking. ‘That’ll be tricky,’ he said. ‘Morrison’s got me on a short lead, but I’ll think of something. I may need to call you. Can you pick up the phone if it rings? If it’s Morrison just put it down again.’

  Elspeth and Tommy weren’t in the house when Sam let himself in later. He made tea and found a biscuit in the tin. Apart from the sandwich and cake at Mrs Robinson’s he’d eaten nothing all day and he felt shaky. ‘Running on empty’ Elspeth called it, and said how bad it was for him. He couldn’t wait for supper at home, and when the two of them returned he was halfway through fish, chips and mushy peas. He looked so guilty that they all laughed.

  Sam found that reading to Tommy at night was the best way to relax. ‘Better than any amount of beer or pills for calming me down,’ he said to Elspeth when he came downstairs.

  ‘Anything special that’s winding you up?’ she asked. Sam longed to tell her, but he knew he couldn’t. He shrugged. ‘Just the normal stuff, and Morrison on my back again.’

  ‘The man’s a menace,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘That he is,’ said Sam.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The next day started quietly enough and his Tuesday morning meeting with Morrison went better than expected. Sam was deferential, and the work he’d done the previous evening in updating all the various case files was impressive, even to someone who was determined to find fault.