by Ruth Sutton
‘What about that Upgill case?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Haven’t we got some more stuff we could hang on him? Won’t make much difference to him, he’s going down anyway, and it would make our clear-up figures look better. Can’t you threaten him with something? What did PC Plod Farrell tell you about him?’
Sam looked at the file. ‘Farrell mentioned a girlfriend with a kid.’
‘That’ll do,’ said Morrison. ‘Tell him you’ll get the kid taken into care unless he coughs to more jobs. That might shift him.’
Sam didn’t react. He could see an opening.
‘Noakes is in Lancaster, sir,’ he said, ‘on remand.’
‘Well get over there and get it sorted,’ said Morrison. ‘I don’t need to hold your hand on this one, do I?’
‘No, sir,’ said Sam. His heart was thumping. A trip to Lancaster under Morrison’s instructions was better than he could have hoped for. Before he picked up a car he went over to the mortuary to find Kumar the technician. When he mentioned the samples that Dr Hayward had left, Kumar knew immediately what he was looking for. They were parcelled up and Sam slipped them into the bag he carried for his files. The size of the parcel stopped the bag from closing properly, but when he held it under his arm it wouldn’t have been noticed as he walked across to get the car.
Professor Adrian Phillips read the note that Sam gave him and took off his glasses. ‘I told you when you arrived out of the blue that I’m not happy about unannounced visits like this, constable. This is a busy place. We already have more work than we can handle.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to demonstrate the inconvenience that reading the note had presented to him.
‘David Hayward’s a good friend,’ he said, ‘but all this sounds highly irregular. I assume those are the samples he’s referring to, in your bag? Have they been properly preserved and packed?’
‘The technician at the mortuary knows what he’s doing,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t tell you why Dr Hayward asked me to bring them to you, but I can assure we both feel it’s necessary to have your objective opinion about whatever these samples might show. It’s a complicated case, that’s all I can say.’
Phillips looked steadily at him. ‘I can do what Hayward wants me to do. That’s not the issue. But you must appreciate that there’s a professional risk involved. I have a good relationship with the police here in Lancaster, and they wouldn’t look kindly on anything unofficial going on. Hayward doesn’t say why there’s been no official request from your force. Who’s in charge of this case?’
‘Sergeant Morrison, sir.’
‘And can you tell me why Sergeant Morrison is not mentioned, and why a detective constable has been given this task, apparently without authority? No offence, but it’s not the normal way to do these things.’
Sam looked away. He’d guessed this would happen.
‘All I can say, sir, is that Dr Hayward didn’t want my sergeant involved at this time. If you’d like to call them, Mrs Hayward might be able to explain.’
‘You have their number?’
Damn, thought Sam. This could take forever. It was too late to speculate about that now, and he handed over the Haywards’ telephone number, praying that Mrs Hayward would be at home and willing to talk to him.
Ten minutes late Professor Phillips returned.
‘Give me the samples,’ he said. ‘I’m satisfied that the information is needed and that this is the only way to proceed, in the circumstances.’
Sam handed over the parcel, wondering whether David Hayward had been able to speak to Phillips himself.
‘How long will it take?’ Sam asked.
‘Come back tomorrow,’ said Phillips. ‘We should be able to complete everything by then, and I’ll need to write my report. You’ll have enough trouble with the chain of evidence if anything comes of this, and my report will have to pass court scrutiny.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Sam was horrified. ‘I thought, maybe later this afternoon?’
Phillips scowled at him. ‘Don’t push your luck, constable. I’m agreeing to this only out of respect for a colleague, and against my better judgment. If I say tomorrow, it’ll be tomorrow. I can give you the bare bones over the telephone and send my full report on by post. I presume that will be sent to you, or to Dr Hayward?’
‘Dr Hayward, I think, sir,’ said Sam, happy to keep the official channels working among the medics if nowhere else. ‘I’m acting on his behalf, so it makes sense for the results to go to him.’
‘Very well. Leave the necessary details with my secretary, and tell her that you’ll be calling for the results by four o’clock tomorrow. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sam. It was the best he could do.
Adrian Phillips hesitated. ‘Have you seen Dr Hayward yourself recently?’
‘Yes, sir, when he asked me to bring the samples to you. I saw him at home. Talking was difficult for him. Was he able to speak to you himself?’
‘No, he tried, but his wife had to take over. The poor man could hardly speak.’ Phillips shook his head. ‘He was a fine doctor, one of the best in this business. What a waste.’
Phillips turned away and left the room, his white coat flapping, holding the parcel with both hands raised, like an offering to the gods of medicine.
Possibilities were still buzzing in Sam’s head when he parked the car in the visitors’ car park at Lancaster jail. Before he began the tedious process of gaining entry, he sat for a while, thinking about the man he was about to talk to. Sam wanted Noakes to open up about what might have happened at Montgomery House several years before. He needed dates and names, and something more specific than Iris Robinson’s flustered assurances that nothing untoward ever happened, or ever could happen while her blessed captain was in charge. Her loyalty to him was unbreakable, so far at least. What might induce a hardened criminal like Noakes to tell the truth and deal with the consequences, which might be worse for him than for the people who’d hurt him? The only bargaining possibilities were some leniency with the latest misdemeanours, and the man’s concern for his girlfriend and her child. Sam wondered whether Noakes was the child’s father, and whether that would make any threats to the child and its mother more potent? He hung his head. Had it come to this? He was planning to threaten a child’s future to get information about children being damaged in the past. It was absurd and he was disgusted with the whole business. He felt like a fish caught in a net: the more he struggled the tighter the mesh wrapped around him. ‘Just do the job,’ he told himself. ‘First essential is to keep Morrison off my back, and that’s what I’ve come for. Get Noakes to cop to more offences, by whatever means I have, and move on. I’ve no choice, not yet, so stop fretting and get on with it.’
❖ ❖ ❖
Lounging in the small chair, Bill Noakes looked anything but cooperative, taking without comment the cigarette that Sam offered to soften him up. Sam noticed that his left cheek was bruised and the eye swollen.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Walked into a door didn’t I?’ said Noakes.
‘Look,’ said Sam, ‘my sergeant wants to clear up as many of the Upgill jobs as we can. You give us some help with that and we’ll see about getting you transferred out.’
Noakes said nothing for a while, and the tip of his cigarette glowed in the gloom of the dingy interview room. Finally he said, ‘What jobs do you want to know about?’
Sam got the files out of his case, and slapped them down on the table one at a time, describing the bare details of each one as he did so. ‘They’ve got your signature all over them,’ he said. ‘All of them. Another seven counts on top of what we got you for. What difference will that make?’
‘So why bother?’
‘Cos it makes my sergeant look good, that’s why,’ said Sam, ‘and that means he’s nice to me and everybody’s happy.’
One by one, Noakes admitted his involvement in the extra jobs, and wrote his unwieldy signature to that effect. Job done. Noakes stubbed out
the cigarette in the tiny ashtray and held out his hand for another one. Sam put the packet down on the table between them but kept his hand over it. He hadn’t finished yet.
‘What about the other thing we discussed? I told you it could help if you gave me some more details about Monty House.’
Noakes leaned back in the fragile chair, folding his arms.
‘Told you before,’ he said. ‘No sale. How long d’you think I’d last in any nick if anything like that came out?’ He pointed to his damaged face. ‘This is nothing,’ he said. ‘Find some other idiot to cough to what goes on in that fucking place. You’ll get nowt out of me.’
He stared at Sam and snatched the cigarette packet off the table. ‘Guard!’ he shouted, getting up and standing by the door.
‘Wait,’ said Sam. He waved the guard away. ‘I’ve been to see Sharon,’ he lied. ‘And the bairn.’
Bill looked hard at him.’ What about them?’
‘They want you back, Bill. You’ll do five years, more, unless we can say you cooperated. You know what that means. Clearing up piddling little theft jobs is one thing, nailing some rich bastards for touching up kids, that’s something else. You could name some names, Bill, give us some details. We do the rest. Wouldn’t necessarily have to come out if we can find some more leads and use them. Then Sharon wouldn’t have to be on her own for so long.’
‘What? She got someone else already?’
Sam shook his head. He hated lying but it was getting easier. ‘Not yet, but you know how it is. Kids need a father.’
Noakes pushed back the chair that clattered backwards onto the floor. He lunged across the table and grabbed at Sam’s tie, pulling him forward. The guard blew a whistle and in a moment three men were pulling Bill away. They pushed him hard against the wall. As they handcuffed him, Noakes turned his head and spat at Sam.
‘You’re all bastards, all of you. Leave my kid alone, or I’ll wait till I get out and I’ll do you, I swear. Fuck that place, and fuck you.’
They led Noakes away, still struggling and swearing, and Sam sank into the chair, pulling his tie straight and feeling his neck for the imprint of the strong fingers. He was breathing hard. At least he’d tried. Even a lost man like Bill Noakes had stood up for himself, and part of Sam was glad of that. What a mess, to respect a criminal more than his own sergeant.
CHAPTER 26
Cool water was underneath her, seeping through her clothes. Something was making Anthony’s body roll backwards and forwards. She could hear him groaning, and the handle of the knife sticking out of his chest hit his coat buttons, gently, tap, tap, tap. Someone said her name, far away, at the edge of hearing. She opened her eyes and the fading light of a winter afternoon slipped past the edge of the curtains onto her face. The tapping stopped. More light as the bedroom door opened slowly. She sat up.
‘Jude?’ said Vince. ‘You OK? I could hear a funny noise, like someone groaning.’
‘It was Anthony,’ she said.
Vince looked around, sightless and confused. ‘What? Have you got someone with you?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said. She lay back. The back of her nightie was sodden and sitting up had let cold air into the bed. She shivered. Vince felt his way over to the foot of the bed and sat down.
‘What day is it?’
‘Tuesday.’
‘And what’s the time?’ she asked. She had no idea how long she’d been lying there.
‘Past lunchtime. Mum went out a while ago. Frank said Granny Violet wasn’t feeling good and she went out, to see her, I suppose. She had an argument with Frank about it. I could hear her shouting at him.’
Judith turned over, away from the light. The noises in her head had stopped and a dull cloud had descended again. Her mouth tasted sour.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he said. ‘I can manage a cup of tea without making too much of a mess. And Mum’s left some sandwiches for you. ’
Judith didn’t answer. She was thinking about Donna, Anthony’s sister. She’d lost two brothers, and no one could tell her why. She might not even know about Anthony. As far as Judith knew there’d been no sighting of his body, and only her word that he was dead. But then again, perhaps she wanted to believe he was already gone when she released her hold and watched him float away, pale face turned towards the sky. He could have died later, alone, drowned in the scum of the incoming tide, and that thought was even harder to bear.
‘Jude,’ said Vince. ‘I’m still here. Do you want a drink? It’s a one-time offer and unlikely to be repeated.’
Judith reached out and took his hand. ‘I’m thinking about the man on the sands. He has a sister in Morecambe and she may not know about him. They haven’t found him, and maybe they don’t want to tell anyone until they’re sure.’ She shifted in the bed. ‘Don’t make me a drink, Vince. I think I need to go out.’
‘Out where?’
‘I need to speak to Donna, the sister. She deserves to know what I know. Imagine if it was you and no one told me where you were or what happened. I don’t think the police care about things like that, unless you’re someone important.’
‘You’re not going to Morecambe are you?’
‘Wish I could but I don’t think I’m well enough. All I want to do is sleep, but I keep dreaming about him. Maybe talking to Donna would help. I like her. She has a hard life. I’ve got her number at the café where she works. I’ll go to the phone box.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Vince. ‘There’s a perfectly good phone downstairs. If you don’t want Mum to know what you’re doing, I won’t tell, you know that.’ He reached for her hand and she gave it to him. He squeezed it hard. ‘I think you’re amazing, you know that, don’t you? Or else you’re crazy, not sure which. You could have such an easy life, letting Mum and Dad fuss, working down the road, nine to five, safe as houses, but you’re out there, digging up stories, taking on the world. I envy you that. I’d love to get away, but I can’t, not like this.’ He sniffed and looked towards the light that seeped past Judith’s drawn curtains. ‘I’ll bring you that tea.’
It took Judith longer than she expected to find the phone number of the station café in Morecambe where Donna worked. Her mind seemed sluggish, and she couldn’t work out when it was that she’d first gone to Morecambe to track down the boy they’d found on the shore. In the end she just scanned the pages of her notebook, looking for numbers rather than words, and there it was, written sideways down the page. She thought of Sam’s meticulous notes and regretted her carelessness.
‘Station café,’ said Fred’s voice. Judith was glad that she’d made a note of his name.
‘Is that you, Fred?’ she said. ‘This is Judith Pharaoh, do you remember me, from the Furness News?’
‘The lass with all the hair,’ said Fred. ‘You brought that copper to see Donna.’
‘Is she still with you?’ Judith asked. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Aye, as right as she’ll ever be now that useless man is back and bossing her around. I’ve begged her to get away from him. She could have more hours here and have enough to get by, but she won’t leave him.’
‘Is she there now, Fred? I need to talk to her.’
‘Not more bad news, is it? She’s on her break. Hang on, I’ll see if she’s back.’
There was a long pause, then Donna’s quiet voice. ‘Judith? What is it – ’ave they found Anthony?’
Judith wished she hadn’t made this call. She’d been right in guessing that no one had said anything to Donna about what had happened, and Judith didn’t want to tell her.
‘It’s about Anthony, Donna. I met him, in Barrow, last week –’ she paused, searching for the words.
‘Is ’e all right?’ Donna interrupted her.
Judith forced herself to say it. ‘Donna, someone drove him out to the sands near Barrow and dumped him there. I followed them and tried to drag him to shore, but the tide came in and I couldn’t….’
‘Where is ’e, then?’ Donna cried.
‘We don’t know…’
‘He’ll be OK – ’e’s tough our Anthony, ’e’s had to be.’
Judith hesitated. ‘He could have got out, further down the shore.’ She knew it wasn’t true, but that was what came out of her mouth. Why did she think she could tell her this way, over the phone?
‘Who did that to ’im?’ Donna went on, as if it was a prank that Judith was talking about, not a murder.
Tell her the truth, the voice screamed in Judith’s head, but she didn’t.
‘We don’t know,’ said Judith. At least that was true.
‘Maybe ’is mates would know,’ said Donna.
‘What mates?’
‘The ones who came looking for him,’ Donna said. ‘Must’ve been a week or so after you and that copper came, these two blokes turned up. They asked if I was Anthony’s sister, said they were old mates and wanted to know if I knew where ’e was. One of them looked a bit older, but the young one said ’e’d been in care with Anthony. Seemed nice enough blokes. Paid for my lunch.’
‘Did you see if they had a car?’
‘Not a car, a jeep thing.’
‘Was it red?’ Judith asked.
‘That’s it,’ said Donna. ‘I said I thought ’e was in Barrow, from what you’d said. One of ’em said they might put a piece in the Furness News looking for him and they both laughed. They said they knew the boss and ’e owed them a favour. I didn’t know what they were on about. Isn’t that where you work?’
‘Yes,’ said Judith.’ She felt weak suddenly, sat down on the stairs and put her head down, keeping the phone to her ear. ‘Did you get their names?’
‘Tom and Gerry, they said. I thought they were taking the piss, but they said they was really called Tom and Gerry. Mebbe they were. Anyways, they were friendly enough. Our Anthony could be with them, couldn’t ’e? E’s not been ’ere, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Judith couldn’t say any more. She felt dizzy and it was too hard.
‘If I hear anything, I’ll let you know Donna,’ she said finally. ‘Write this number down. You call me if you hear any more, or if those mates of his come back, OK?’