Which meant Maddie paid Henry-the-child-molester’s story little heed.
However, she got along with him well. He was a former school teacher who had been convicted of sexual violation of a twelve-year-old girl, to wit, forcing her into oral sex. Enough to make anyone nauseous. He must have hit a judge with a particularly sensitive stomach or an enhanced antipathy for that sort of behaviour as he’d been given a whopping nine years. Henry’s time in prison had not been happy.
In spite of the bullying to which he was subjected, Henry had survived his imprisonment without a blemish on his record. He’d spent much of his time teaching literacy skills in the prison library to those in need. He’d enjoyed some popularity there, most likely due to his undoubted pedagogical skills plus legendary patience. He’d served half of his sentence before coming before the parole board. But he had been approved and later assigned to a senior Probation Officer in the person of Madeleine Brooks.
“My goodness,” Maddie said that afternoon as Henry walked in, looking different from his usual casual self.
He grinned. “My new rags. Necessary because I treated Fiona to lunch at a fancy restaurant today.” He was wearing a suit and tie. And the outfit sat well on him. “Courtesy of a charity shop in Kingston.” He sat in the parolee’s chair in front of Maddie’s desk.
“Still banned from the wedding itself?”
“Not Fiona’s idea. It’s just a way my ex can get at me once again. Bloody woman,” he said. “Sorry, but what mother bans a father from his daughter’s wedding? I should have been walking down the aisle with her to give her away.” Henry’s wife had been horribly mortified, angered and made bitter by his conviction.
“As if giving away a daughter means anything,” Maddie interjected.
He smiled again. “There is that. Fiona had a barny with her mother about it all. I’m sorry about that, but the woman should know Fiona and I get along well again in spite of her significant efforts to keep us apart.” When Henry had been sentenced to prison for years to come, his wife paid the considerable fees charged by the barrister from their savings and then proceeded to spend the rest on clothes, holidays and restaurants. With a vengeance. Her part of their savings, she said. His went on legal fees. Fair’s fair. When the money ran out, she divorced him.
“It’s not unusual after a sex crime conviction.”
“I almost think she was the one who set me up.”
“Come on, Henry. You know better than that.”
“Yes, okay. Let’s change the subject. Fiona is looking radiant. Isn’t that what you say about a happy bride?”
“Absolutely. And you are looking suitably spiffy.”
“This suit, tie and shirt cost me far less than the lunch,” he said. “I’ve grown to love charity shops.”
“Me too,” Maddie said.
“Now I have something decent to wear when I’m going out.”
Maddie had been encouraging Henry to join organisations, to attend meetings, to exercise in the open air, all for both his mental and physical well-being after his incarceration. “Have you joined anything yet?”
“No. But I intend taking your advice, Mrs Brooks. It will be easier now I have something decent to wear. I think I’ll go to church this Sunday. And I’ll definitely join a book club at the library. It will soon be a group of little old ladies and me. Also, I’ve met the Chair of the local Genealogy Society who is encouraging me to join their organisation. And I do intend taking myself out for walks, although that doesn’t involve dressing up. Started today with a good walk into Kingston.”
“Excellent, Henry.” She was truly pleased he was progressing so well at integrating himself back into society. She glanced at the topics she’d jotted down to cover with him. “Now how’s the volunteer job going?”
Henry was a trained and experienced teacher. But he was now banned from teaching school-aged children, of course. Their plan was for him eventually to get a job teaching in adult education, probably English to immigrants or foreign potential students who needed better English comprehension skills before applying to university. He was starting off by volunteering at the African Peoples Society in London where he was teaching reading skills to illiterate political refugees. Adults only.
“Got another bright one assigned to me. From Somalia and tall as a basketball centre. He’d been to school when he was a child but he cannot read beyond a 7-year-old level. I started him on a simple science book about insects, of all things, and he’d mastered it within a few days. Off to a flying start.” He grinned. “To coin a phrase.”
“Are you keeping the journal?” She’d asked him to tally what he’d achieved each day.
“Mostly. I forget some days, but I do catch up before the memories fade. It’s actually fun to read through.”
“Some time in the future it’ll prove useful when you need to remember what you’ve been doing. Like when you need details when applying for jobs. Talking of jobs, any more potentials come up?”
“Not yet. But these are early days.”
Maddie laughed. “That’s my line.” She sobered. “And how are you in yourself, Henry?”
He looked down at his hands. “Getting by, Mrs Brooks. It’s funny living by myself. But the little flat’s working out just fine.” He’d been lucky enough to buy a minuscule bachelor’s flat so he didn’t have to rent or share, paid for by his half of the amount of money raised by selling the family home. He’d felt it was money well spent as the new place was his and his alone.
“Contacted any of your former friends?”
“Don’t go on about that, please, Mrs Brooks. If I’d been convicted of robbing a bank, or even of killing somebody, I could do so. Not with the offence I supposedly committed.”
“Okay. How about making any new friends?”
“Do my students count?”
“Of course. And any colleagues at African Peoples, neighbours, whoever.”
He paused. “I get along well with my students. Ditto my colleagues. No invitations for a drink after work, though. And I eat my lunches alone.”
“Changing where you eat is within your capabilities.”
He shrugged.
“Your homework for this coming week, Mr Macgregor, is to sit at least once with someone else while eating your lunch.”
“They mostly buy their lunches.”
“Are you grumbling?” she asked.
He shot her a glance and grinned. “Sorry. And okay, I’ll figure something out. Or die trying.”
“Don’t go that far,” Maddie said, standing up to indicate their meeting was at an end. “Same time, a fortnight from now? And we’ll concentrate on whether you’ve become an emerging social butterfly or not.”
He smiled. “It will be a pleasure,” he said, bowing formally and tipping an imaginary hat.
Maddie opened the door to her office to usher him out only to find two policemen sitting in the waiting room. They rose, their eyes on Henry.
“Henry Macgregor, I’m here to bring you in for questioning,” the larger of the detectives said.
“What?” he asked. “Why?”
“Come with us.” He escorted Henry towards the door of the building.
The other policeman nodded at Maddie.
“What’s going on?” she asked him before he could turn away.
“A child was killed this morning,” he said, “not far from Macgregor’s flat. The inspector wants to question him. Of course.”
Maddie nodded. Of course. Any nearby sex offenders on the infamous list would be questioned. She turned to the others. “See you in a fortnight, Henry,” she called.
He didn’t answer.
From the Probation Service doorway, Maddie watched Henry being put into the back seat of the police car. His eyes were downcast, not looking at Maddie. She watched the car until it turned the corner. Time to ring her contact there, DI Ethan de Roque.
Not available.
She should have expected that. He was probably interviewing, not just He
nry, but every child sex offender on the local list. She’d try him later, when she’d become so screamingly frustrated by the report re-writing, she’d need something to distract her attention.
But Henry’s plight wasn’t so easily dismissed from her mind. She found it difficult to settle down to the paperwork. The particular report she was attempting to re-write was wordy in the extreme. At least no exclamation marks this time. But she was finding it difficult to understand what the Service Officer was on about. She read and re-read the amateurish report on her screen. And had an idea.
She walked over to the appropriate desk. “I’m having trouble again, Agatha. I need your help.”
The young woman nodded. Wary. “Tell me,” she said.
“The Conway report has to be shorter. Considerably. The first thing I want you to do is to cut the introduction to 150 words.”
She pulled up the report onto her screen. “I have no idea how long it is,” she said.
“Almost 400 words. This is what you do. Make an outline of the bare bones that must be included and email it to me. Say, in half an hour? At least before you leave.”
It was already almost four. If this worked, she’d do the same with the three other Service Officers. And read them at home.
Agatha wasn’t best pleased, but not complaining aloud. “So, this is what you want in the future? An intro of 150 words?”
“One fifty, max, thanks, Agatha. I had to learn how to write reports the hard way. We’ll get there together without you losing face in the courts as happened to me.”
Agatha gave her a worried smile.
Her colleagues had much the same reaction. Good, that left Maddie clear to ring her tame DI again.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Madeleine. It’s almost routine,” de Roque said. “The questioning is precautionary given Macgregor’s proximity to where the child was found.”
“So he’s not under arrest?”
“I’ll need you to recall him for a month. He’s here at the moment, but I’d prefer he’s transferred out to prison soon.”
“He denied everything?”
“Of course,” de Roque said, “as expected with his history. Clever shite, though. And I don’t trust clever shites.”
“I saw him today,” Maddie said. “No red flags at the time. I’ll come and see him in about an hour.”
“No prob. He’s downstairs. You can see him whenever you get here.”
By four-forty-five, she had emails from each of the four Service Officers containing their outlines and a summons to Romania’s office.
“What are you thinking?” she began when Maddie closed the door. “I gave you a simple task because our Service Officers are over-worked. You can crank out reports at ten times the speed.”
“And so will they, once I’ve trained them.”
“This is not a training institution.”
“All work places are training institutions for new employees.”
“I’m warning you,” Romania spluttered, “one more complaint from a Service Officer and you’re in deep doo-doo.”
Maddie stared at her, wheeled around and left the office.
Doo-doo, indeed.
Chapter Four
Maddie asked for Henry to be brought up to an interview room, kindly made available on the orders of DI de Roque. It was late in the day. The visit would be short.
She hardly recognised the defeated looking man ushered into the room and unceremoniously dumped onto a chair at the small metal table.
“Henry, it’s not as bad as it feels. DI de Roque has to interview every sex offender, with a priority of every paedophilic offender on the list. You know that. You will have to go to prison until this is cleared up. Don’t worry, I’m on your case and I don’t want you in prison for one unneeded day, all right?”
He nodded, his eyes still downcast.
“But the body of the child who died was found in the Thames not far from your block of flats.”
“My flat’s not that near the river,” he murmured. “There’s a road, quite a big embankment, the towpath and a strip of bushes and trees on the riverbank. I love the view, but it’s more than a few minutes’ walk to the water.”
“The paths, some of them cross the grassland not far from you, don’t they? And you’d know the area now.”
“I walk there lots, yes. As do masses of people, especially those of us in tiny flats.”
She frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that. I used to walk to Horscliffe a lot when I was a teacher there. About a twenty minute walk from my old house. A little less from the flat, I’d guess. But I used to walk along the towpath for part of the way. A little longer route, but more attractive. So, yes, I know the area. It’s not close to the school. Besides, you know how I had to jump through all the hoops when I wanted to buy the flat. It passed all the proximity rules.”
She nodded. She’d supervised the process. “Kids play there?”
“Lots of them do. Kids on bikes and skateboards. Most with families, though. Where was the child actually found?”
“No idea. But if she walked to school that way….”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, Mrs Brooks, my daughter’s wedding is tomorrow. Is there any way my being here can be kept out of the papers?”
She felt for him. “I don’t think DI de Roque is all that concerned about you. But, to be honest, there’s no way we can know what any others think. Leaks happen. You’re vulnerable, for sure. We’ll just have to keep fingers and toes crossed.”
He didn’t smile. Or sit straighter. He sighed. “Just one more day. Then they go off to Spain for their honeymoon.”
“Your daughter won’t hear anything from me,” Maddie said, “but she’s a witness about that time frame.”
“Is that when the child was killed? When we were at the restaurant?” He looked up.
“At least you can prove you were in the public eye during that lunch,” she said. “To answer your question, nobody has told me when she died. But that’s the sort of detail that gets into the papers. I’ll watch the news tonight; buy the papers in the morning. Let you know.”
A knock on the door before it was pushed open. The guard to take Henry back to his cell.
Maddie rose to her feet. “I’ll see you here about eight tomorrow morning if I can arrange it now.”
“Thank you,” he muttered, flicking his eyes briefly to Maddie’s.
She caught an anguished look. Was it guilt that his sordid crime had been discovered? Or concern about spoiling his daughter’s big day? Or was she noticing him feeling utterly defeated because this was a repeat of last time?
Maddie walked to her car parked behind the Probation Service building, her steps slow and almost painful.
When had her boundless enthusiasm for her job disappeared? Obvious. When Romania had taken over. No, not quite. To be brutally honest, it was when she’d heard she’d not been appointed. That meant this lethargy was not due to Romania’s presence even though it was exacerbated by the woman’s behaviour to her; it was merely due to her own discontent. End of an era of doing a good job that was highly appreciated.
Wayne was watching some game on television when she arrived home.
“Hello light-of-my-life,” he called without taking his eyes off the screen. “What’s for supper?”
“Catfood à la king,” she said, half to herself as she dumped groceries onto the kitchen table.
“Sounds good,” he said, still immersed in the game.
She climbed upstairs to her home office and sank into the chair in front of the computer. She’d have a quick look at the Service Officers’ outlines before cooking. Pork chops, boiled spuds and broccoli. Easy and quick.
Agatha had got it. She’d produced a small outline of 63 words and had tried out how she could smooth the first point into a proper sentence. She ended her email by asking if that was what Maddie was after.
Maddie replied with an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’ a
nd a request to treat the other points the same way. She suggested that Agatha search through her outline to discover whether any point could be best combined with any other point, thus organising the report intro efficiently. She hit ‘send’.
The second and third Service Officers had made reasonable fists of her instructions but the fourth had not understood what Maddie was getting at. She’d turned each sentence of her verbose report into a point, all 127 of them. Was she taking the mickey? Maddie sighed and told the young woman to see her at … she glanced at her online calendar … nine-thirty the next morning. She copied and pasted Agatha’s email, changed it to read as an instruction with an example, and sent a copy to both of the other Service Officers. Much better than having four deadly dull bits of prose to amend and re-write knowing full well the authors would carry on forever producing shoddy work. She gave half a second’s thought to Romania’s annoyance. Tough.
With a slightly lighter tread, Maddie went downstairs to start dinner. Wayne was sitting at the table biting into a large sandwich.
“Dinner will be in half an hour,” she said trying to keep the irritation from her voice.
“Didn’t have lunch,” he said between bites.
“Couldn’t you wait?”
“Didn’t know it was so soon, did I? You weren’t making anything.”
She bit back a retort. Obviously, at almost six, dinner was due shortly. But not all dinner preparations take a long time.
“No Jade?” she asked.
“At Freya’s place. Studying for English. The exam is coming up. She’s been invited to stay for a meal. Salmon on the barbie.”
“Lucky for some,” Maddie said. Freya Dymock and Jade had been friends for a number of years. Both were going through a Goth phase, which had engendered a few phone calls back and forth between the parents. Sharon Dymock was something in women’s fashion and her husband Donald, a teacher. Nice people. They lived in a large home on Ham Common, north of the main part of Kingston, the size of the property presumably due to the fashion business. Sharon was Australian and somehow had convinced Donald to take over barbecuing and it seemed he loved his barbies, no matter the weather or time of year. “So, you and me for dinner. But now, presumably, not you.”
Death in Cold Waters Page 2