‘Not just for the children, then?’
‘I could hold my own. I was never a pushover.’
‘I have no doubt,’ said Tyler.
‘These two – they picked on Alan Dale?’ asked Mills.
‘They picked on practically everybody.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tyler. ‘I didn’t quite catch their names.’
Calleer took a breath. ‘Steven Jenkins and Douglas Marley,’ she said. ‘There, now you have it.’
She appeared to ease back in her chair, as though the worst was over.
‘They didn’t single out Alan Dale?’ asked Tyler.
‘They had the temperament of wasps: they’d sting whoever was closest to hand.’
‘Were there any other trouble-makers in your class?’ asked Mills.
‘That pair were the most obvious. There was another lad, Phillip Swanson. But he was more of a crafty one. He was the type who would make bullets for the likes of Jenkins and Marley to fire.’
‘Any others?’ asked Mills, busily making notes.
‘I’m scraping the barrel a bit now, but Martin Hillman was another in the Swanson mould. Harder to weigh up though. What you might call a dark horse. He didn’t get into trouble; he was far too smart for that. But I saw the way kids like Swanson got others to do their dirty work, and I sometimes wondered about Hillman. I don’t miss much, and I didn’t back then.’
‘Dirty work?’ asked Tyler.
‘I think that a lot of teachers, especially with large classes, don’t always recognise what’s going on. They see the Jenkins’ and the Marley’s of this world and that’s it.’
It was time to start wrapping up the interview. But still Tyler had one more name to conjure with.
‘You worked with Howard Wood, I believe.’
‘He’s still there.’
‘What was he like to work with?’
‘I didn’t have a lot to do with him.’
‘What do you remember about him?’
‘He was a keen football supporter, I know that much.’
‘Nothing more than that?’ asked Tyler.
‘Like what?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘Was he a bully?’
‘I don’t know that he was. Some people, well, you just can’t warm to.’
‘Mr Wood taught Alan Dale the year after you, isn’t that right?’ said Mills.
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘Were the boys you mentioned all in Wood’s class that year?’ asked Tyler.
‘Now you are pushing it. There weren’t many changes made, generally speaking, so probably, yes. They had a streaming system. I taught a class in the middle stream. Theoretically, a child could move to a higher class should they perform well enough.’
‘And move down if they underperformed,’ said Mills, remembering the system only too well. ‘Bit like football.’
‘Like a lot of things,’ said Calleer, ignoring the football analogy, ‘it might have looked fine in principle. In practice, you start shifting children around on performance and you end up with an administrative nightmare. It could lead to other problems too.’
‘And not very PC these days, moving anybody downwards,’ said Tyler. ‘Nobody fails anymore. It isn’t allowed.’
Something occurred to Mills. ‘Wasn’t Alan Dale bright enough for the top class?’
‘That’s a very good question. Alan Dale was top class material, despite his quirkiness. Sharp, though not academic. In some respects, I think that he was quite brilliant. But you have to understand that most children, in a situation like that – I mean, where you can be ‘promoted’ – would be too fearful of reprisals. Like I said, it pays to blend in and not be seen as a trailblazer. He wasn’t the only one.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Tyler.
‘The entire system was a nonsense really. I mean to say, I keep my ear to the ground and I know for a fact that Martin Hillman is a successful businessman these days, a councillor too, though not locally. And Phillip Swanson, he’s a social worker, I’m told. Either their potential wasn’t recognised or they chose to play a game.’
‘A game?’ said Tyler.
‘Well, you know, keeping their heads down, under the radar. If you stay invisible you can get away with almost anything.’
‘I see,’ said Tyler.
‘Actually, as I recall, both of those boys picked up in their final year, knuckling down. It sometimes goes like that, in my experience. When you see that the end is in sight you sprint for the line, so to speak.’
‘How come you were aware of their ‘knuckling down’ when you were no longer their teacher?’ asked Tyler.
‘I was quite good friends with Jill – Jill Maynard. She taught those children in their final year. Sadly, Jill passed away a few years ago. She never got to her retirement, it was so sad.’
‘A lesson there for us all,’ said Tyler. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Did she have much to say about Hillman and Swanson?’
‘Nothing that I haven’t already told you. I think, like me, she saw Swanson as being rather sly and Hillman as, well, difficult to get the measure of.’
‘And do you think Alan Dale would have recognised the danger of ‘promotion’, as it were, above the need to get away from the … reprobates?’ asked Tyler.
‘I don’t think I can even begin to answer that. There are what you call ‘reprobates’ everywhere, in every class, in every stream. I know that must sound terribly cynical, but there you are. When you have forty children in your class, you remember something about most of them, but you hardly have the time to really get inside the minds of any of them.’
‘You say,’ said Tyler, ‘that there were – that there are – reprobates everywhere, in every class. I’m sure that you are right, but I want to be clear: are you suggesting that had Alan Dale moved school or class he might have survived?’
Calleer showed the palms of her hands. ‘I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who was responsible.’
‘I suppose,’ said Tyler, ‘that I am asking if you think that the danger came from any one specific place. Or person.’
‘If I had my suspicions, I would tell you.’
Her face had clouded over and Mills wondered if she was about to cry. ‘You know, it breaks my heart,’ she said, ‘to think of that boy doing his best and not having his talents recognised. And it’s every bit as depressing imagining him underperforming so that nobody noticed him. God, the tragedy keeps getting deeper.’
‘Would he have known that he was destined for Howard Wood’s class?’ asked Mills. ‘I mean, if he remained in the middle stream?’
‘There were two classes in that stream. So he would have realised that there was at least a fifty percent chance.’
‘At least?’ said Tyler.
‘People always imagine that the odds are in favour of the worst-case scenario. Howard Wood was a bit of what you might call a man’s man.’
‘You think he was a bully himself?’
‘You’ve asked me that already.’
‘And now I’m giving you the opportunity to reconsider the question.’
‘Howard Wood was Stoke City mad. If you were a football fan and showed a spark of meanness, you were probably okay with Howard Wood.’
‘Would you say that putting Alan Dale in his class sealed his fate?’
‘It’s always easy to be wise after the event.’
‘Is that a “yes”?’
She sighed, heavily. ‘How can anybody know that for sure?’ she said. ‘I’ve often thought about little Alan, about what might have happened to him. I hoped that he somehow escaped. That he found a different, happier life somewhere else. But I didn’t think the chances were high. I imagined that he probably took his own life, and if he did, then I think that there are a lot of us to share in the blame for that.’
Calleer’s head appeared to hang in shame. Then she looked up at the two detectives.
‘Do I think he was killed? One way or another, yes, I do. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, a little boy was made so unhappy that his life had to end at fifteen years of age.
‘I don’t know whether somebody actually took his life, that’s your job to find out. But even if they did, and you find them, I don’t think it relinquishes our responsibility. We still let Alan Dale down, all of us, each and every one of us, and we have to live with that for what remains of our lives.’
For a few moments nobody moved or said anything.
Breaking the silence, Maggie Calleer asked if the officers had any more questions.
It was time to go.
13
On the drive back they passed close to where Danny Mills lived with his family, on the outskirts of Cheadle. As Tyler had expressed an interest Mills turned off the main road, entering a short lane before pulling up outside a small semi-detached house.
‘That’s home these days,’ said Mills, with an expression and a tone that appeared ambiguous. Tyler was trying to weigh up the curious mix.
‘Does it have a serviceable kettle?’ he asked.
The house was empty, and when Tyler expressed surprise that the clan were not present to greet the weary policemen, Mills launched into an explanation of how his wife would still be on the school run.
Tyler observed that schools had clearly extended their hours over the years.
‘She’s likely taken them into town. I think they might have been promised a trip to the cinema, thinking about it. With me being on this investigation, it’s a case of see you when I see you.’
Tyler held up a hand to assure Mills that he didn’t have to explain his family arrangements. And anyway, all this talk was getting in the way of the sacred art of tea-making.
Mills suddenly brightened. ‘We could go for a pint after we knock off.’
Tyler appeared to lick his lips for a moment, and at the same time his demeanour tightened. ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,’ he said.
‘Another time, then,’ said Mills. ‘No worries. I’ll make a brew.’
The senior detective looked around the lounge, at the abundant photographs of family featuring two apparently perfect children, while the sergeant went through to the kitchen. He faintly heard Mills tapping in numbers on a handset, followed by an audible impatience and the termination of the call.
He wondered whether his sergeant’s wife – she looked quite beautiful on the photographs – might be in trouble later for not having her phone switched on, or for failing to hear it. In his experience, it was always the little things.
As he listened to Mills knocking around in the kitchen, putting together the drinks, he remembered the minefield of little things from a previous lifetime.
‘How long do you think Berkins will give us?’ asked Mills, handing Tyler his drink. ‘We could end up interviewing half of Staffordshire and still not be sure that a crime was committed.’
‘I’m fully expecting to,’ said Tyler. ‘If what Miss Calleer says is true, half of Staffordshire is in some way responsible.’
He took a sip, savoured it on his tongue, and nodded his approval. ‘But you’re quite right. Priorities move on, and quickly. A full-tilt summer crime wave and I can well imagine a misadventure outcome. There’s nothing quite like fear to remind the public about priorities – not to mention the city fathers.’
‘Sir?’
‘Oh, come on now. The press have put an angle on this, and an emotive one at that. A city that cares enough about its citizens to turn over every last stone to find justice for a fifteen-year-old boy who didn’t come home thirty years ago …
‘Do I need to go on?’
Maybe he did. Mills didn’t look at all convinced.
‘Okay, it’s prime cut now, and so Berkins is giving us the time. The new visitors’ centre may end up with a plaque dedicated to Alan Dale, and a good result would be a godsend to the department. But it’s a fickle world. All that public emotion won’t count for a thing if Jack the Ripper comes to town.’
‘That’s hardly likely.’
Tyler groaned, a little too heavily. ‘What I mean is, thirty-year-old crimes don’t have the public looking under their beds. That’s all I’m saying. Anyway, I’ll authorise some shift workers to track down those classmates. If we can get locations on the scallywags Calleer gave us, we’ll visit those as soon as. Be interesting to see what they turned into.’
‘And Howard Wood?’
‘I want to see if he turns up at school next week. I have my doubts. But we’ll visit either way. Look, we’ve got a busy weekend ahead of us, why don’t you take the rest of today – I can find my way back to Hanley, just about.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mills, ‘but my car’s at the station and the buses out here – the drivers don’t tend to make special arrangements for officers on serious enquiries.’
‘You’re not in danger of becoming a workaholic?’
‘And not an alcoholic at this rate, either.’
‘Indeed,’ said Tyler, clearing his throat unnecessarily.
‘Anyway, if the family have gone out …’
Tyler caught the sadness, or was it anger, and asked Mills if he wanted to talk about it.
The speech was already fully formed in the mind of Danny Mills. The one about leaving his roots behind, and despite his wife’s argument about not living on your work patch, at the end of the day he was still in Staffordshire – only not the part of it that he loved.
And how was having less money going to make them feel happier and why couldn’t people get on and enjoy what they had instead of feeling the pressure to try and become what they are not. Being away from friends, family, football, pubs where everybody knows your name, if not your rank. Having a son and a daughter bullied at school because daddy’s a policeman, something that never happened in the city, not once.
Having a wife who he loved with every bone in his body, but who couldn’t for the life of her see what the deal was about moving just a few miles – oh, he had the speech alright. The problem was, he was sick to death of hearing himself reciting it.
When Tyler asked again if there was anything that Mills wanted to talk about, Mills looked blank and replied, ‘Not that I’m aware of, sir.’
They made the journey back to Hanley in silence, Tyler not even making his customary remarks about the abundant greenery of the city as it welcomed them back.
At the station, faxes awaited them from Miss Hayburn. Her administrative staff had worked overtime to furnish the investigating officers with a comprehensive list of all the children in Alan Dale’s year, highlighting those who had been in Howard Wood’s class. Looking through the list, Tyler put a mark next to the names of those singled out by Calleer. It would be down to his team to research the whereabouts of the grown-up children.
After organising the task and briefing the team on priorities from the list, he noticed Mills on the phone. And he quickly recognised the easy manner and the secret coded humour passing between two people still enough in love to care for such games. Kissing and making up. Tyler remembered those games, though they hadn’t lasted anywhere near long enough.
He was remembering a lot of things, lately, and the memories were digging away again at that empty pit inside that he was longing to fill with the forbidden sauce.
Forbidden to him, at least. It was time to get back on track; useless memories could only take him back to a time from which he’d spent too long escaping, and too long yearning to return to. He needed to run some of it off.
Mills, sensing the presence of the senior officer, wound up the call with a staged formality that wouldn’t, reflected Tyler, have fooled the cleaning lady. Matter of fact, there had been many a police station cleaning lady, in his experience, who could have given the average detective a good run for their money when it came to instinct and insight.
‘So, was it the cinema?’
‘Missed them by a few minutes, sir. They’d only popped into town.’
‘Surprised we didn’t pass them.’
‘We did.’
Tyler felt the weight of those two words fall like a slap in the face. Why should Mills point out his family to the man sitting next to him in the car – the man who merely happened to be a senior colleague? Why should Mills share anything of his private life?
‘Why don’t you go home,’ said Tyler, a sense of remorse overwhelming him. ‘There’s nothing more to be done here tonight.’
‘I could pitch in on that list, sir.’
Tyler raised a smile, and flicked through his notebook to something that he had written down after visiting Calleer. ‘It’s too easy to have regrets,’ he said.
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘Something someone said. Listen to this: I know you’ve heard it once already.’
He read from his notebook:
‘I tried too hard to give people the benefit of the doubt, I did then and I do now. What someone was thirty years ago – some change, grow out of it, or even into it. But some don’t change at all. And who’s to know? Easy to be wise afterwards, it always is and it always will be. Yes, I’m hard on myself sometimes when I look back – and why shouldn’t I be? I hated injustice then and I hate it now, but the question always remains: did I do enough? Things don’t get better or worse, the world just goes round in circles and nothing really changes at all.’
Tyler looked up. ‘Quite a speech, wouldn’t you say.’
‘Miss Calleer.’
‘And coming right before telling us that some things do change for the better. And citing the excellent job being done, as we speak, at River Trent High by the excellent Miss Hayburn.’
‘I can still help out on that list.’
‘I’m losing patience with you. Lists. Good God, man, you’re a detective sergeant, and you have a family. Goodnight … Danny Mills.’
The sound of his name uttered by the DCI made him want to laugh. Instead of laughing, Mills did as he was told and went home.
Tyler’s living accommodation lay on the outskirts of Hanley. It was hardly a palace, though he had slept on worse beds in his time. The flat was a runner’s dream, though. Every time he entered it, he found himself donning his running gear and heading out again to pound the pavements until he no longer had the energy or the desire to find a pub or an off-licence or a face that he could sink a fist into.
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