Unforgotten

by Clare Francis

  ‘Pat,’ Charlie murmured.

  ‘Yes – Pat. Saying she was sorry you weren’t happy with the police investigation. And us not knowing what she was talking about.’ She shot Charlie a glance as if for corroboration. ‘And then . . . well, Ray—’

  ‘Ray?’

  ‘Yes, he kept calling us because he couldn’t find you. He asked if you were at the police station, like he thought that’s where you must be, and of course we didn’t know where you were, or why you’d be at the police station.’

  ‘Forget Ray.’

  ‘But not telling us where you’re going, Dad. And going mad when we touched things at the house. And all the people this morning – why were they there, Dad? You said you wanted to find out what caused the fire, but . . .’ Faltering, Lou turned to Charlie for help.

  Charlie looked up and Hugh noticed how tired he looked, how marked were the shadows under his eyes. ‘Yeah, what’s it matter what caused the fire? I mean . . . nothing’s going to bring Mum back.’

  Hugh’s throat tightened. ‘I know it’s not going to bring her back. I know . . .’

  Lou said, ‘But is there something you’re not telling us, Dad? Something we should know.’

  Hugh sighed, ‘I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I didn’t want to leave you with questions that may never be answered.’

  ‘But, Dad, we’re old enough to know,’ said Lou, looking immensely young and grown up all at the same time. ‘And we’d rather know than not know.’

  Charlie’s eyes had been back on the table again, but now he was gazing obliquely at Hugh, waiting for an answer.

  ‘You’re right,’ Hugh said. He took a sip of water to ease the thickness in his throat. ‘At the beginning, it wasn’t just that I didn’t want to worry you – I thought perhaps I was imagining things, looking for something or someone to blame for Mum’s death. But then . . . well, I realised I wasn’t. Imagining things, I mean.’

  In the heightened silence the telephone began to ring but no one thought of answering it.

  ‘There were just too many things that weren’t right,’ Hugh said with new certainty. ‘Things I noticed that first morning when I went round the house with the fire brigade investigator. He said the fire started in the sofa, with a match or a cigarette or a candle. Well, that’s just not possible. Mum would never have lit a match or a candle, not when she was working at her desk. And cigarettes . . . She wasn’t expecting anyone that evening. She would have told me. And who leaves cigarettes smouldering on a sofa anyway?’

  Lou was gazing at him steadily, while Charlie was frowning at the table.

  ‘And then there was an open window,’ Hugh went on. ‘Mum would never have left a window open, not after she’d gone to bed. One of us always checked the doors and windows last thing. And it wasn’t just on the latch, the window, it was properly open. And you know, it takes air – oxygen – to feed a fire. To make it spread.’

  Lou was so still she seemed to be holding her breath.

  ‘Then the door to the hall was open. Okay, sometimes we did leave it open. Well, perhaps more often than not. But our bedroom door, that was open too, and we never left it open at night. Unless Mum was hoping to catch you when you got home, Charlie.’

  Charlie looked alarmed, as if he was being accused of something.

  ‘She didn’t say anything about wanting to speak to you when you got in, did she?’

  Charlie shook his head.

  ‘Well, that’s right. She’d have left a note on the stairs if she’d wanted to talk to you, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t have left the door open on the off-chance of hearing you come in. No. So the door was open. And her—’ But he broke off, loath to tell them about the clothes and the way they were folded, and how their mother had been naked when she was pulled from the house.

  Both children were motionless, waiting for some sort of conclusion.

  ‘There was no sign of a break-in of course,’ he said. ‘But . . . I think there must have been someone there.’

  Lou whispered tentatively, ‘Someone who started the fire on purpose?’

  ‘I think so.’ Then, more definitely, ‘Yes, that’s what I think.’

  After a short silence Charlie got up to refill the water jug.

  Lou was biting hard on her lip, close to tears. ‘But Mum wouldn’t have known anything, would she?’

  ‘No,’ Hugh said. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘And the men at the house this morning?’

  ‘Independent fire investigators. I hired them to see what they could find.’

  ‘Oh, Dad . . .’ Lou reached for some kitchen paper to dry a sudden tear.

  ‘That’s what I mean, sweetheart. There may never be any real answers.’

  Charlie put the water jug on the table and sat down.

  ‘But who could’ve done such a thing?’ Lou cried.

  Hugh gestured mystification. ‘There was the break-in of course. And—’

  ‘Break-in?’ Lou interrupted, looking startled.

  ‘It was nothing much. Just a broken window and a bit of cash.’

  ‘But when was this? Why didn’t you tell me?’ She threw a glare at Charlie as if to accuse him of being in on the plot.

  ‘It was about three weeks ago. We didn’t want to worry you, not when you were so far away.’

  She shook her head despairingly.

  ‘Then, a couple of days before the fire, I got home and saw a hoodie lurking in the garden – ’

  Lou clapped her hands over her face as if she could hardly bear to hear any more.

  ‘ – but he ran off when he saw me. Probably just a local kid fooling about.’ The statement sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

  Lou lowered her hands. ‘The police are looking for him?’

  ‘No. That’s one of the things I complained about.’

  ‘But why on earth not?’

  ‘They’ve accepted the fire brigade report, that the fire was accidental.’

  ‘But what about everything you told them? The doors, the windows . . . someone being there?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing, you see. They think Mum had a visitor, someone she knew, someone who smoked.’

  Lou said plaintively, ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘There were two wine glasses on the draining board. To their minds that’s as conclusive as it gets.’

  Charlie reached for the water jug and pulled it closer to his glass. ‘What about fingerprints, stuff like that?’ he said.

  ‘Exactly. But they don’t want to be bothered with any of that till they have evidence of foul play.’

  Lou said, ‘What’s going to happen, Dad?’ She was a child again, seeking reassurance.

  ‘We see what the independent fire investigators come up with.’ What would happen if they found nothing hung uncertainly in the air between them. ‘And we keep up the pressure on the police.’

  There was a silence which Charlie broke hesitantly. ‘The, um . . . addresses on Mum’s computer? Found them okay.’

  ‘Well done,’ Hugh murmured.

  ‘I could look for more stuff . . . if, you know . . . it was any use . . .’

  ‘Sure.’ Fearing this had sounded half-hearted, Hugh added an encouraging smile. ‘Anything to do with Denzel Lewis and the campaign would be really good. His family want to know.’

  ‘Denzel Lewis. Yeah, sure.’

  No one could think of anything more to say. They cleared the plates in silence, then Lou came to Hugh for a hug. Laying her head against his chest she said in a voice still muffled by tears, ‘Thanks for telling us, Dad. It’s better to know.’

  He leant his cheek against her raven hair. ‘I’m sorry, my darling. I’m so sorry.’

  For an hour they watched a TV game show together, then Charlie disappeared to work on his computer, Lou to have a bath, while Hugh fell asleep in front of a police drama, to be woken by his mobile phone. Digging it out of his pocket, he stared at the name on the display for a long time before deciding to answer. />
  ‘Hi, Tom.’

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Tough day?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  Hugh thought, Oh, just told my children their mother was probably the victim of arson. Just ensured they’d never get to have another moment’s peace. ‘It was just stuff, you know. Formalities.’

  ‘Feeling stressed?’

  There was no answer to that. ‘You know . . .’

  ‘You have to work on your breathing. Take it real slow. Count the breath in and out.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I mean it. When you get your breathing right, then you can get through the shit better.’

  ‘I’ll work on it.’

  ‘Had a drink?’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘That’s good. Very good,’ came the relentless voice. ‘Support system up and running?’

  ‘I’ve got the kids. That’s all I need.’

  ‘One lucky guy.’

  ‘And you, Tom? How’re you doing?’

  ‘Hey. Forget about me. This is about getting you through the night.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Hugh said with a sinking heart.

  ‘Don’t forget, Hugh – she felt no pain.’

  Hugh wasn’t sure why it seemed so important to do it just then, but immediately he had rung off he went into his makeshift office in the dining room and, taking Lizzie’s charred handbag out of its cardboard box, opening it very carefully, looked through the contents.

  EIGHT

  Hugh sat in a corner of the open-sided lounge where he could watch the flow of people strolling through from the foyer. Most were making for the lifts at the back of the hotel but now and again someone came into the lounge itself: a willowy woman with a briefcase, two men talking with forced jollity, a Japanese tourist drifting aimlessly. Hugh had two opposing visions of what Montgomery would look like, one a grey-haired version of DI Steadman, lean and incisive, the other a fleshy pasty-faced figure gone to seed after too much deskwork. Both guesses were wide of the mark. The man who headed unerringly across the room to meet Hugh was well-built rather than overweight, with keen eyes, coarse pink skin, a broad nose, and ginger-grey hair combed over a bald crown from a low side-parting. The guesswork had anyway been unnecessary as Hugh realised he had seen him before.

  Montgomery shook his hand. ‘Extremely sorry to hear about Mrs Gwynne. My condolences to you and your family.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Unbuttoning his jacket Montgomery sank into the adjacent chair and crossed his legs as if to set a relaxed tone. ‘Campaigning groups aren’t always the easiest of people. Tend to get a touch confrontational. But Mrs Gwynne was always most pleasant and professional to deal with. We didn’t see eye to eye on the merits of the Free Denzel Lewis campaign of course but it was never personal. She was a most delightful lady.’

  ‘You met regularly?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Montgomery said, as if such a thing had never been on the cards. ‘No, it must’ve been three times in the last two years. Ah . . .’ Spotting a waiter he lifted a hand and kept it up until the waiter took notice. ‘Would you like a coffee, Mr Gwynne?’

  When they had ordered, Montgomery remarked, ‘Don’t often get decent coffee in my line of work.’

  Was this why the chief inspector had suggested meeting in a four-star hotel, Hugh wondered: for the quality of the coffee? Or was it out of sensitivity to Hugh’s widowed status, a place away from the clamour and interruptions of the police station? Or was it a desire to keep their meeting away from curious eyes, an extension of the secrecy he’d tried to impose on Ellis?

  Montgomery said, ‘DI Steadman and his team completed their investigations, have they?’

  Hugh took a moment to frame his answer. ‘They think they have.’

  If this reply raised any questions in Montgomery’s mind he made no comment. ‘And the fire brigade have made their report as to the cause?’

  Hugh was tired, he had slept even worse than usual, it was all he could do not to snap, You bloody know they have, you talked to Ellis. Instead he selected a level tone to say, ‘I believe so, yes.’

  ‘And it was a tragic accident?’ The conjunction of ‘tragic’ and ‘accident’ was delivered matter-of-factly, like ‘serious incident’ or ‘immediate response’.

  ‘That’s what they’re saying.’

  Montgomery creased up his eyes in a show of sympathy.

  Hugh wasn’t sure what he took most exception to, the facile compassion, the ridiculous strands of hair pasted over Montgomery’s shiny pate, or the way he pretended ignorance of the fire report.

  With the air of having completed the preliminaries, Montgomery ventured, ‘So . . . what can I do for you, Mr Gwynne? I wasn’t quite clear when you called.’

  Nor was I, thought Hugh, but I’m much, much clearer now. Proceed with caution.

  ‘I’ve come on behalf of the Lewis family,’ he said.

  ‘Oh? In a legal capacity?’

  ‘No. Just helping out.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It was about the meeting you had with my wife last . . . Tuesday, was it?’

  ‘Yes. Tuesday morning.’

  ‘The Lewises wanted to know what the outcome was.’

  Montgomery’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘They know why she came to see me?’

  ‘Something to do with witness protection, I believe.’

  ‘Yes . . . Yes, that’s right. Mrs Gwynne wanted to know how the scheme worked, whether it would be available in the event of a new witness coming forward. I wasn’t able to offer much hope.’ A semblance of regret passed over Montgomery’s pink face. ‘Once there’s been a successful conviction, well . . . it takes a lot to reopen a closed case.’

  ‘She must have realised that, surely?’

  ‘She did, yes. But she wanted to know if there was any way round it.’

  ‘And was there? Is there?’

  ‘I told her it would take strong evidence.’

  ‘How strong?’

  Montgomery had a think about that. ‘A sworn statement, a reliable witness prepared to stand up in court and swear to dates and times. Something along those lines.’

  Feeling a duty to argue Lizzie’s corner, Hugh said, ‘That’s Catch-22, surely? You’re not prepared to offer protection until you get the statement, but no witness in their right mind is going to be daft enough to make a statement without a guarantee of protection.’

  Montgomery conceded with a dip of his head. ‘Put like that . . .’

  ‘Very good of you though.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘To give time to people who’re out to prove you got it wrong.’

  ‘If I’ve learnt anything in my thirty years in the force, Mr Gwynne, it’s never to close the door on people.’

  ‘Even when they’re trying to undo all your good work.’

  Montgomery gave a humourless smile. ‘Even then.’ The coffee arrived and he sat forward to select a sachet of sweetener.

  ‘My wife certainly believed in the campaign.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you don’t think there’s anything in it?’

  ‘My team put Denzel Lewis away on solid evidence, Mr Gwynne.’

  It would have been surprising if he’d said anything else, yet there was no hint of conceit or triumph in his manner. The glib sympathy had given way to an open accommodating manner. He seemed without malice or vanity. Yet he couldn’t have reached the rank of chief inspector without a sliver of steel in his spine, the same steel that was making him conceal his knowledge of the fire report.

  ‘Solid evidence isn’t necessarily infallible evidence,’ Hugh pointed out.

  ‘I would never suggest that it was. But it’s sufficient for the justice system. And as you’re aware, Mr Gwynne, that’s all we do at the end of the day, feed the facts into the justice system.’

  ‘Remind me, what was
the evidence exactly?’ Hugh asked, not because he wanted to hear it again but because he wanted time to think.

  Montgomery gave him an appraising look, as if unsure of the spirit in which this request had been made.

  ‘I’ve always heard it from the other side,’ Hugh explained.

  ‘Of course.’ Montgomery made a business of stirring his coffee while he assembled his facts. ‘Well, for some months before the killing Lewis and his gang had been intimidating Jason Jackson for no other reason than Jason was a good, hard-working, clean-living kid who was an easy target. On the night of the murder Jason was walking home from basketball practice at the local sports centre. At approximately nine thirty he was stabbed three times and dragged into a dark alley. None of the wounds was immediately fatal, but left without medical attention he bled to death, probably within the space of an hour. When apprehended Lewis was unable to provide an alibi and his Nike jacket was found to have bloodstains on the right cuff which DNA tests showed to be a one-in-fifty-million match for that of Jason Jackson. Then of course Lewis had two previous convictions for violence, one of them for ABH with a knife.’

  ‘The family say the jacket was planted.’

  ‘That’s what they maintained, yes.’

  ‘But it wasn’t likely?’

  ‘My team didn’t think so. Nor did the jury.’

  ‘And wasn’t Denzel Lewis meant to have been getting his act together? To have got a job and be going straight?’

  ‘That’s what his defence said, yes.’

  ‘But there was no doubt as to his guilt?’

  ‘The verdict was unanimous.’

  ‘So you got it right, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘We sincerely believed so.’ Montgomery sipped his espresso and replaced the cup carefully on the saucer. ‘But if any evidence were to come to light that was to suggest otherwise then we’d be anxious to hear about it, Mr Gwynne. Most anxious.’

  ‘But not so anxious that you’re prepared to offer witness protection?’

  ‘Not in the first instance, no. But we’d be prepared to provide a halfway house, something reasonably secure.’

  This was beginning to sound like a negotiation, though quite what Montgomery was hoping to achieve Hugh wasn’t sure. ‘Well . . . I’ll let the Lewises know. In case anyone comes forward.’