“Huh?” he said, glancing up at me.
“Never mind, it’s not important,” I said with a shake of my head. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Oh yes, I was forgetting,” he said, placing his cup and biscuit onto the small coffee table in front of him. The light from the lamp in the corner made the numbers on his epaulettes shine brightly. I could see that his police collar number was 5013. Vincent reached inside his jacket and pulled out a beige coloured file. “You said to let you know if I found any more paperwork on that girl who died at the bottom of the well.”
I looked at the file and my nerve endings started to tingle. Vincent crossed the room, sat next to me on the sofa, and opened the file.
“There isn’t a great deal to go on,” he said, taking out a piece of paper. “The file room back at the station is a real mess. I’ll carry on looking, though.”
“So what have you found?” I asked him, eyeing the piece of paper he held in his hand.
“A letter from the deceased father,” Vincent said.
“That was the old guy who died out on the road the other day,” I breathed, my stomach beginning to clench up.
“His name was Jonathan Smith,” Vincent said, looking down at the letter which he held.
To hear the old man’s name for the first time made me feel queasy. It made what I had done seem more real somehow. I could no longer just think of him as an old man – a nobody – as my father had described him. This man had a name. He had been a real person – not just a ghost who haunted my dreams.
“What’s the letter about?” I whispered.
“Okay, so it was his eighteen-year-old daughter, Molly, who fell into the well,” Vincent explained.
That was the name Michael had told me.
“Her father, Jonathan Smith, wasn’t convinced that his daughter’s death was an accident,” Vincent continued.
“Why?” I asked, looking down at the letter then at Vincent again.
“Read the letter for yourself,” he said, handing it to me. “It was written to the station sergeant at the time. His name was Skrimshire.”
“He’s now the inspector at Penzance,” I said, taking the letter from Vincent. The sheet of paper was dog-eared and old. The writing across it was a spidery-scrawl, but legible. It seemed odd to be reading something which had once been held by the man I had killed, and my heart began to quicken. I took a shallow breath and began to read.
15th February 2003
Sergeant Skrimshire,
I write concerning the tragic death of my daughter, Molly Smith, who was found at the bottom of the well on the Grayson farm two nights ago.
Unlike what has been reported by you to the local press, I do not believe my daughter’s death to have been an accident. It has been a suspicion of mine that my daughter had been in some kind of a relationship with a local man. Although my daughter never said who, I knew that she intended to end this relationship, as we were to move away from the area because of hostilities shown to us recently by members of the local community.
Unlike firmly held beliefs by some residents of Cliff View, neither me nor any other members of my small family are criminals. Despite what has been reported in the local press, my daughter was not trespassing on the Grayson land to steal or commit any other type of crime the night she died.
It is my belief that my daughter had arranged to meet this man to discuss their relationship, during which time an argument occurred which resulted in my daughter being pursued and then pushed into the well to silence her. The fact that police also saw my daughter walking along the Buckmore Road...
“Where is the rest of the letter?” I asked Vincent, holding out my hand.
“Missing,” he said, taking the piece of paper from me and placing it back into the file. “Or at least I can’t find the rest of it. But I have found some more paperwork which I thought you might find interesting.”
“How come?” I quizzed.
“Okay,” Vincent said, taking several more sheets of paper from the file. “You’ll notice that at the end of Jonathan Smith’s letter he mentioned that police had seen his daughter walking along the Buckmore Road.”
“Okay?” I said, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
“Well, there were four officers crewed up in a van that night out on patrol,” he said, looking at me. “One of them was your father. He was still a constable at the time. He was one of the officers who saw Molly Smith walking along the road that night.” Handing me some sheets of the paperwork, he added, “This was your father’s statement.”
I took the paperwork from him, which had gone an off-white colour with age. Across the top of the first piece of paper, written in thick black ink, were the words: WITNESS STATEMENT. Just below this was my father’s name and signature. Holding my father’s statement in both hands, and feeling as if I were spying on him, I read what he had written all those years ago.
Chapter Twenty
WITNESS STATEMENT
Police Constable Richard Hart. 14th February 2003.
I am currently employed as a police constable at Cliff View Police Station, Blake Road, Cliff View, Cornwall. On Thursday the 13th February 2003, I was on duty and in company with Police Constable McDonald, Police Constable Woodland, and Police Constable Lee. About 22:00 hours, myself and the above mentioned officers started our nightshift. At 22:30 hours we were crewed in police vehicle Romeo 45, which is a marked police van. We left Cliff View Police Station and went on patrol for the evening. There had been a spate of burglaries on local farms, so we had been tasked by Sergeant Skrimshire to undertake high profile patrols in the surrounding area, to act as a deterrent, and to offer the public reassurance.
About 23:05 hours the same day, we were on patrol on the Buckmore Road, Cliff View, Cornwall. Constable Lee was driving. The road was dark as there is no street lighting along that particular stretch of road, and it was raining, so visibility was poor. I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Constable Lee, and Constables MacDonald and Woodland were both seated in the back. Suddenly Constable Lee swerved the vehicle away from the curb and braked sharply.
“I nearly hit that girl,” I heard Constable Lee shout.
“What girl?” I said.
“There was a girl walking alongside the road. Didn’t you see her?” Constable Lee asked me.
Once the vehicle had stopped, all four of us climbed out. It was then I saw a young girl standing beside the road in the dark. I walked towards her. I now know this female to be called Molly Smith. I would describe Molly as being about eighteen years old, and about five foot and four inches in height. She was of slim build, with long black hair and wearing a thin black dress. I noticed her feet were bare, which struck me as being odd, as the night was cold and it was raining. I recognised this girl to be part of a small family who had recently moved to the town of Cliff View. As I approached Smith, I could see that she was in a distressed state. She was crying and shaking uncontrollably.
“Are you okay?” I heard Constable McDonald ask her.
The girl made no reply, but just stood beside the road, with her hands covering her face while crying.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” I heard Constable Lee ask Smith.
“He hates me,” I heard Smith reply through her sobs.
“Who hates you?” I asked Smith. I was confused as I couldn’t see anyone else nearby and didn’t know who she was referring to.
“Come with us and we will give you a lift home,” PC Woodland said.
“No. I need to go and tell him I love him,” Smith said.
I then saw Smith turn and run into the wooded area beside the road. At this time I lost sight of her. Constable Lee ran back to the police van and returned a short time later with two large dragon lights. He gave one of them to me and kept the other.
The four of us then made our way into the thick crop of trees beside the road in search of Smith. Even with the powerful dragon lights, it was da
rk inside the woods and we became easily disorientated. The ground was wet and slippery and made our progress slow as we made our way up the hill which leads to the Grayson farm. We must have been searching for Smith for at least ten minutes or more, when I heard a scream from the distance.
Together, me and my colleagues headed in the direction of the scream until we reached the crest of the hill where we found a well. I saw Constable Lee run to the side of the well and aim his dragon light down into it.
“The girl has fallen into the well,” Constable Lee said.
Myself, Constable Woodland, and Constable MacDonald joined Constable Lee at the side of the well. I pointed my dragon light into it. At the bottom of the well, I could see Smith. She was lying on her back in a pool of water.
“Hey!” I shouted into the well, but Smith didn’t move or stir.
“I think she might be dead,” I heard Constable Lee say as he climbed up and onto the edge of the well.
“Get down from there,” Constable MacDonald said to Constable Lee.
“I’m going to go down. She could still be alive. Call for help,” Constable Lee said.
It was still raining at this time, and the edge of the well looked wet and slippery. I reached for my radio to call for help, when I heard Constable Lee shout. I looked up to see that he was no longer balanced on the edge of the well. I raced towards the well with Constables MacDonald and Woodland to discover that Constable Lee had fallen down into the well.
I heard Constable MacDonald shout into the well over and over again. He sounded panicked, as we all were. At this time, I contacted the control room by way of my personal radio and asked for immediate assistance. I felt powerless to help Constable Lee, who was now lying unconscious at the bottom of the well with Smith. Constable Woodland started to scream and kick the side of the well. Even though I had already contacted the control room, I heard Constable McDonald repeatedly shouting into the radio for help.
About 23:50 hours the same day, we were joined at the well by other members of the emergency services. I was taken to a nearby police vehicle and treated for shock. It was during this time I learnt that both Molly Smith and Constable Lee had died by falling into the well.
Police Constable Richard Hart.
Chapter Twenty-One
I handed my father’s ten year old statement back to Vincent, who sat silently beside me on the sofa. It had felt strange reading my father’s words – words that he had written so long ago. Again it felt as if I were spying on him somehow – as if I had found his private diary and sneaked a peek inside. I had never known he had witnessed the death of a friend and colleague, and in a way, it explained why he, Mac, and Woody had such a close bond.
“So Jonathan Smith was right in his suspicions that his daughter was involved with a local man,” I said, looking at Vincent.
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Did they ever find out who he was?” I asked.
“Nope,” Vincent said, slipping my father’s statement back into the file and pulling out another.
“How come?”
“Because your father changed his statement,” Vincent said, looking at me. “All three of them did.”
“What do you mean my father changed his statement?” I breathed, eyeing the sheets of paper Vincent was now holding.
“I found this,” he said, passing a new statement to me. “At first glance it reads almost identically to the other, but there is a difference.”
“Like what?” I asked, looking down at what appeared to be an exact copy of the first statement I had read.
“Read the paragraph about how your father and the others first came across the girl, Molly Smith,” Vincent said, his voice barely a whisper.
With my hands gripping the edges of the paper, and my mouth turning dry, I scanned the statement until I found the part where my father and the other constables had been in the van on the road. To my horror, it had been changed. My father’s account now read like this:
I was sitting in the passenger seat next to Constable Lee and Constables MacDonald and Woodland were both seated in the back. Suddenly Constable Lee swerved the vehicle away from the curb and braked sharply.
“I nearly hit that girl,” I heard Constable Lee shout.
“What girl?” I said.
“There was a girl walking alongside the road. Didn’t you see her?” Constable Lee asked me.
Once the vehicle had stopped, all four of us climbed out. It was then I saw a young girl standing beside the road in the dark. I walked towards her. I now know this female to be called Molly Smith. I would describe Molly as being about eighteen years old, and about five foot and four inches in height. She was of slim build, with long black hair and wearing a thin black dress. I noticed her feet were bare, which struck me as being odd, as the night was cold and it was raining. I recognised this girl to be part of a small family who had recently moved to the town of Cliff View, who had been suspected of committing burglaries in the area. As I approached Smith, I said, “What are you doing all the way out here in the dark?”
“Fuck off, copper!” I heard Smith shout.
I then saw Smith turn and run into the wooded area beside the road. At this time, I lost sight of her. Constable Lee ran back to the police van and returned a short time later with two large dragon lights. He gave one of them to me and kept the other. The four of us then made our way into the thick crop of trees beside the road in search of Smith...
The rest of the statement read exactly the same as the first. With my hands trembling, I handed the statement back to Vincent. I didn’t want to touch it. I didn’t want to be a part of his lies.
“Why?” I gasped, although I knew the answer already.
“I guess it was easier to say it happened like that,” Vincent said. “The old guy – Jonathan Smith – suspected that his daughter had gone to meet someone that night, a man who she had been having a secret relationship with. We know from your father’s first statement that really was what happened. I guess once the old guy started kicking up a fuss, it was easier to change the statement...”
“So as not to point the finger at any of the good townsfolk of Cliff View,” I whispered. “After all, the Smith family was seen as just a bunch of thieves, drifters – witches.”
“And I guess the local police didn’t want to go asking all sorts of questions and unearth some secret relationship between one of the Smiths and a law-abiding member of the community,” Vincent said. “I guess it could have been any man Molly Smith was meeting that night. They could’ve been married – they could’ve been a cop. How would that have looked in the eyes of the local community?”
I felt numb all over and sick to the pit of my stomach. Now I could understand how easily my father, Mac, and Woody had got their stories straight – how they had twisted the truth about the accident I had been involved in. They had done it before to protect someone from the local community, like they had lied to protect me. They had made Molly Smith look as if she were out that night committing thefts, just like they had made out that Jonathan Smith was reckless enough to cause that accident out on the road. But I was a part of that lie. I had gone along with it to protect myself. So was I any better than my father, Mac, or Woody? I guessed not. However wrong my father’s actions had been, I could understand him risking so much to protect me – I was his daughter. Who could have meant so much to him that he would have lied all those years ago? Who had he been so desperate to protect, and why?
“Whatever happened in the past is done now,” Vincent said. “We know your father changed his statement and I’m not saying that is right. Whatever way you look at it, Molly Smith’s death was an accident. What good would come out of digging up the past just to find out who it was she met up with that night?”
Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at Vincent. “I don’t believe her death was an accident,” I said.
“What do you mean?” he asked right back.
“Molly Smith was pushed into that well,” I whispered
.
“How can you be so sure?” he frowned at me.
“Because she told me,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As soon as the words were out, I wished at once I could take them back again. Vincent looked at me. There was a long, uncomfortable silence and I wished that The Black Eyed Peas were roaring from the speakers again. Maybe the music would have drowned out what I’d just said.
Finally Vincent said, “What do you mean she told you? Molly Smith is dead.”
I got up and went to the window and folded my arms across my chest. “I dream about her,” I said, my back to Vincent. “They’re more nightmares, really.”
“What happens in these nightmares?” Vincent asked, sounding as if he was genuinely interested.
“I’m down in that well with Molly,” I said, unable to turn and face him.
“How long have you been dreaming about her?” he asked, and I could hear him getting up from the sofa.
“Ever since I wiped out her family on that road,” I whispered. “At first I thought I was dreaming about the old man because of a guilty conscience. Then you mentioned the death of a young girl in a well and I thought I’d dreamt of her because of what you had said.”
“Why don’t you think that anymore?” he asked, and I could see his reflection in the windowpane as he stopped just behind me. Part of me wanted to turn to him and be held in his arms. I felt scared all of a sudden. But I couldn’t turn around and face him.
“I found out where that well was,” I started. “So I went there today, and it’s the well from my dreams. How could I dream about a well I’d never seen before? Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that I kill Jonathan Smith and his family, only to end up dreaming about his daughter who died in a well ten years before? What are the odds of that happening?”
“There could be any number of reasons why,” Vincent said softly, that joking manner of his now gone.
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