by Ruth Sutton
‘You can’t kill me,’ she said.
‘I’ve killed before,’ said Thornhill, taking another swig from the bottle.
‘But this is different,’ she said. She watched him. ‘What happened to you?’
He stared at her.
‘It was the war,’ he said after a long pause. ‘When we came home, everything was so dull. I wanted more. Edwards offered something, and I wanted it. I couldn’t do it, with the boys. I just watched, took the pictures. Blackmail was Irene’s idea, to get more money. It worked. So many of them on the hook. I wanted to stop, but she wouldn’t.’
‘What happened to Steven Stringer?’
‘We gave him the stuff, to keep him quiet, and he just faded away. We couldn’t wake him. Harries was crying. We told him to take the boy away and lose him.’
‘And Anthony?’
Thornhill drank more brandy. He was slumped back in the chair, the hand holding the gun resting on the arm. Judith could see his eyes trying to focus before he spoke.
‘No one knew where he came from. He just turned up, pushed Harries into suicide and then it all started to go wrong. So we got two of our lads to deal with it.’
‘He was Steven’s brother,’ said Judith.
Thornhill nodded and took another drink. ‘The lads tracked him down.’
‘The men in the Landrover?’
‘Stupid,’ he said. ‘Why did you try to help him? What’s it to you?’
‘I didn’t want him to die,’ said Judith.
Thornhill grunted, pushed himself up and lifted the gun off the arm of the chair, gripping it with both hands. He pointed the gun unsteadily at Judith. She closed her eyes.
❖ ❖ ❖
Sam and Grayson left the motorbike by the road to make less noise as they approached the house. They’d seen Thornhill’s Daimler speeding away down the hill, and they were running along the drive towards Bay View when they heard the shot and stopped. Sam shouted. ‘Go back, call it in. We need backup, and an ambulance. Go, go!’
Sam ran on, using the grass at the side of the drive to avoid making a noise on the gravel. Lights were on in the room to the left of the front door, but on the right the window was dark and curtains closed. Close to the front door he dropped to a crouch, crawled the last few feet and put his ear to the door. There was a sound, someone moaning. He strained to hear more but the moaning stopped.
The front door was impenetrable. He ducked under the lighted window and peeped in. Kitchen. Empty. Shopping bags lay by the door. Round the side of the house he could see a small window on the upper floor of the house, but no way to reach it and too small. At the back was another door, also locked, but the top third of the door was frosted glass. A quick check on windows on the other side but all were shut and dark. Wind swirled round the hillside and an owl hooted in the trees. There was no moon yet and Sam peered in to the darkness of the back garden, searching for a spade or something to break the glass. He picked up a rock from what looked like a rockery in the corner of the garden. It was heavy and he needed both hands to carry it to the back door. He leaned against the door listening, but there was nothing except the sound of the wind. He raised the rock and launched it at the glass pane. It cracked but held, and the rock dislodged from his grip, falling onto his foot. The pain gave him strength as he smashed his elbow into the glass pane, which broke and clattered inwards, leaving shards around the frame.
Pushing his arm through the hole, he found the lock inside, opened it and stepped over the broken glass into the kitchen, ducking down to lower his profile against the light. He heard a voice calling and crawled forward, stopping to take a splinter of glass from his knee. The pain in his foot hammered. Light from the kitchen door flooded into the hall and he stopped. Standing now, he inched along the wall, listening for any movement. ‘In here,’ said the voice. Sam froze.
‘Police!’ he called. ‘The house is surrounded. Put down the gun.’
Nothing. Sam peered through the hall doorway and saw a body, lying on a sofa on the far side of the large living room, under the window. It moved and he shrank back. The air smelled of blood.
‘Sam?’ Judith coughed. ‘Is that you? I think he’s dead.’
In the gloom of the living room, Sam saw Thornhill lying back in the chair, a dark stain around his head, his dead hand still holding the gun.
‘Sam,’ said Judith. ‘Help me.’
‘Thank God,’ he said, reaching the sofa where Judith lay and took her bound body in his arms.
CHAPTER 29
Sam’s best shoes were tight around the throbbing foot. The church was almost empty. At far end of the nave, near the altar steps, wooden trestles stood waiting for the coffin. He chose a pew near the back and sat for a while, thinking. He wanted to close his eyes, but couldn’t risk the dizziness that had plagued him for several days. Keeping his head down helped, and people would think he was praying and leave him undisturbed.
In his mind the same memories: the smell of furniture polish overlaid with blood, black stains in the half light, a body sprawled in death. Sam’s head told him he had done the right thing, but regret hammered on his rational mind and stole his sleep. He should have believed her, tried harder, moved more quickly, not let Morrison get in his way. Someone began playing the organ, very softly, and a figure in clerical robes flitted around the choir stalls. People were coming past him down the aisle but he didn’t look up. He wondered who might be there from the station. Morrison hadn’t turned up at the crime scene, and had not been seen since. Called away suddenly, family crisis, Sergeant Clark had said, but Sam couldn’t believe Morrison would dare show his face, not after all that had happened.
Someone slipped into the pew beside him. ‘Can you move up a bit,’ said a familiar woman’s voice, ‘or are you waiting for someone?’
He turned and smiled. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Better. Still having trouble sleeping.’
‘Me too,’ he said.
‘Mum says I should talk to a priest,’ said Judith. ‘How’s your foot?’
‘These shoes don’t help. Will you?’
‘What? Talk to a priest? Not a chance,’ she said. ‘Faith like hers must be a comfort, but not for me.’
‘How was Scotland?’
Judith lowered her head to whisper, aware of other people pushing into the pew in front of them. ‘Not as ghastly as I thought it might be. Mum was too shocked to fuss much, and Dad was fine. He’s just parking the car down the road. Lots of cars and people outside. I thought you might be in here already.’
‘We need to talk,’ he said.
‘I know, but not here. Are you going to the do afterwards at the hotel?’
‘I wasn’t, but I will if we can find somewhere quiet there.’
‘OK,’ she said.
John Pharaoh sat down beside his daughter and leaned across to shake Sam’s hand.
‘Good to meet you again, Mr Pharaoh,’ said Sam. ‘I wasn’t sure Judith would be able to come.’
‘Her mother wasn’t either,’ John whispered. ‘But she wanted to pay her respects, didn’t you, Judith, so I brought her down in the car. What about you, Sam? How are you doing?’
Sam shrugged. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘We can’t really talk here.’
‘You talk to Judith later, maybe, and she’ll tell us the bits she can. I know it must be tricky.’
‘It is,’ said Sam.
The big doors at the back of the church opened with a creak that echoed in the vaulted space, and the mourners stood as the coffin progressed down the aisle, carried by six bearers of various ages. Sam guessed they must be relatives. Behind the coffin was Ann Hayward, supported by a younger woman who looked like her. They were both pale, but their heads were high and they were past tears. Judith wiped her eyes and Sam put an arm round her shoulders for a few moments until she moved slightly and he took it away.
They sang the old hymns and listened to people talking about the father, brother, friend and collea
gue that Hayward had been to all of them. Sam could see that Chief Inspector Cardine was among the crowd, but he took no part in the service. The church was full, and some stood at the back, adding to the volume of men’s voices that made Sam’s heart swell and caught the hymn in his throat. They followed the coffin out into the cold morning and round to the churchyard where the grave yawned beside a mound of red Furness earth. Standing at the back of the group, they missed most of the vicar’s words as they were snatched away by the wind. When the coffin was lowered Sam and Judith queued with others to pay their respects to the family. Mrs Hayward gripped Sam’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and pulled Sam towards her to speak quietly to him. ‘He waited for someone he could trust.’
The hotel was just round the corner on Abbey Road. On the way in among the file of people in dark clothes, John Pharoah met an old work colleague. ‘You and Sam want to talk,’ he said to Judith. ‘I’ll be fine here. Come and look for me when you want to leave.’
Judith and Sam juggled cups of tea and a plate of sandwiches between them and sneaked out of the crowded room, down the hall to a small room at the back. There were no chairs but they stood by the mantelpiece, leaning awkwardly to catch the crumbs.
‘Are you all right standing up like this?’ Sam asked.
‘I’m fine for a while, really,’ she said. ‘Tell me what’s been happening?’
He thought back over the previous two weeks, sifting out the things that mattered from the mass of conversations and discoveries of the previous days.
‘You remembered so much about what happened that night,’ he said. ‘Even as shocked as you were, all that detail was really useful. Irene’s car was found at Manchester airport. We think she took a flight to Madrid, although the description from the airport staff didn’t sound like her, and she might have moved on from there. Basically, we have no idea where she is. And we found some things in the desk in Thornhill’s office that confirmed what you told us, about the blackmail scheme, but only fragments. We think she must have taken most of the files with her, to destroy or to use later. You said she had a heavy bag with her and the files would have weighed a lot. She may need them. Whatever money she had won’t last forever.’
‘What about Monty House? Is it still going?
‘It’s strange. No, more than strange, it’s awful,’ said Sam, ‘as if nothing had really happened. Captain Edwards has been interviewed, obviously, after what we heard from you, but apparently he’s claiming that everyone who visits the house is OK, and he knew nothing about what the Thornhills or others were up to. They haven’t let me anywhere near him.’
‘But how can he say that?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Everyone thinks Harries was the one bad apple, and no one else in the barrel can be blamed, including Edwards who says he was duped by Harries himself when he was appointed. False references, all that. It was Harries who abused Steven, an isolated incident, and then he killed himself and that removed the problem.’
Judith shook her head. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Irene’s blackmail scheme couldn’t work if that was true.’
‘But the only real evidence of blackmail that we have is your statement about conversations heard while you were trespassing and hiding behind a sofa. Both the others are gone.’
‘My evidence isn’t enough, and the ones who are left are still regarded as good people who’s only fault is their trust in the goodness of others? Is that how it goes?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Sam. ‘One of the good people is Iris Robinson, I’m pretty certain about that, and she still won’t hear a word against the captain.’
‘Didn’t you say you had some evidence from the man who’s in jail, who was in Monty House himself?’
‘He won’t make a formal statement, not yet at least. And anyway, if it’s his word against Edwards I know which way a jury would jump.’
‘I think I need to sit down,’ said Judith, feeling energy and courage and faith in justice draining out of her.
The woman in the hotel reception protested for a moment when Sam appeared and picked up a chair from beside her, but he smiled and explained, and carried the chair back to Judith. ‘Do you want me to find your dad?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right. Don’t leave me. Tell me more.’
Sam felt suddenly tired too and sat on the floor beside her, his legs stretched out. His foot hurt, and he wondered what anyone who saw them there would think.
‘Not sure what else there is to tell you. Sorry it’s so dismal.’
‘What about Anthony?’
Sam looked at his shiny shoes. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Of course, you don’t know about that.’
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘A body washed up, not far from where we found Harries actually. It was a mess, but we knew who it was. He’d been stabbed, but the knife had gone. I went to fetch Donna, and she identified him. Poor girl. Two brothers, both dead in the tide. She wasn’t close to Anthony, not with all the years he’d spent away, but it was still a shock. I think she realised that the blokes who asked her about him probably killed him. She was terribly upset that she might have led them to him.’
‘Is she still with that awful boyfriend?’
Sam smiled. ‘No, that’s one good thing that came out of it. Do you remember Fred, her boss at the café?’
Judith smiled too. ‘He was always fond of her.’
‘He took her in, and saw off the boyfriend.’
Judith clapped her hands. ‘Thank God for Fred.’
‘I think I need some air,’ said Sam. ‘There’s a garden round the back where we could sit. Or do you want to find your dad? He’s probably anxious to get you home.’
‘He’ll be yacking away to his old mate,’ said Judith. ‘I’m in no rush to get back home. Show me the garden. With any luck there’ll be a proper seat.’
The rain had stopped and sun shone brightly onto the little patch of green saved from the encroachment of the car park. A wooden bench stood beside a bare flowerbed dotted with heavily pruned roses that pointed at the sky.
‘Must be lovely out here in summer,’ said Judith. ‘Just enough space for two of us on the bench.’ They sat in silence for a moment, feeling the sun on their faces.
‘Why do men do that with children?’ she asked, opening her eyes but not looking at him. ‘I can understand that some men might love other men rather than women, but why these boys?’
‘It’s not love,’ said Sam. ‘I think it’s about power. They do it because they can. The children have no power and they can use them, make them do things they don’t want to do. It’s cruelty, like beating a dog.’
They sat quietly for a while before Judith asked ‘What will happen to those boys, the ones who’ve been abused?’
‘They must be pretty messed up by it all, but some of them were pretty messed up to start with. And no one believes them, so after a while they just don’t bother complaining. If they can’t make Iris believe them, what chance do they have?’
‘You believe it all happened, don’t you?’ Judith asked.
‘I believe what you heard, and I wish I’d believed you earlier when you began to think Thornhill was involved, but I was just thinking about the practicalities, getting a search warrant or grounds for an arrest, and there wasn’t enough evidence.’
‘What made you know where to find me?’ she asked.
‘When Vince told me you wanted to help Irene, I knew where you’d gone. He thought you’d gone a bit loopy, you know.’
‘I did,’ she said. ‘Probably delayed shock or something, I don’t know. I was convinced that Thornhill was evil and that I had to rescue Irene. It took me a while to believe what I was hearing when they started talking about it. And then she was so vicious. She told Alan to shoot me, just to shut me up. And I thought he was going to do it.’
She put both hands to her face. Sam sat awkwardly beside her, wanting to comfort her, but afraid to do so.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We can’t
torture ourselves any more with this.’
‘Wait,’ said Judith. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Just what I’ve done since it happened. Finish the paperwork, gather the evidence, do what we can to find Irene and get her back. Without Morrison around, it’s actually easier to get on with the job.’
‘Where is he?’
‘No one’s saying. All sorts of rumours. Clarky says he’s on a training course somewhere, but then he winks and you know that’s what we’re supposed to think. I don’t care where he is actually as long as he’s not here.’ He looked across at her. ‘And what about you? Are you going back to the News?’
‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Skelly’s stepped up into the editor’s office and they got George Falcon back straight away. According to Hattie, he was desperate to get back to work and away from his wife. I can understand that. Work can be such a relief sometimes. Cunningham’s still there, and Andrew. They’re probably glad to see the back of me.’
‘Do you think you’ve recovered properly?’
‘Not sure how I would know, or how long it should take. The doctor said it could be a long time before the nightmares fade, and I still get some ringing in my ears from that gunshot. It was terribly loud.’
‘A Webley revolver,’ said Sam, ‘brought back from Malaya probably.’
‘I was lucky,’ she said. ‘I know that.’
‘Irene might have done you a favour, from what you said. Thornhill was so devastated by her leaving him to carry the can that he took the easy way out, on an impulse.’
‘And he was very drunk by then,’ said Judith. ‘Nearly a whole bottle of brandy.’ She put her hand over her eyes. ‘I can still see it,’ she said. ‘The gun barrel shaking in his hand, pointing at me. I was sure he was going to kill me.’
This time Sam did put his arm round her, pulled her up and led her back inside.