Conflicts of little Avail

by Gill Mather

  “Of course. Don’t worry about it now. It was a long time ago.”

  “It was. Oi was just in me teens. Oi din’t think noo-one else knoo.”

  “No. I’m sure they don't. There’s no need to talk about it.”

  Within a couple of minutes, Emrys breathing became regular again and he shook his head as though to clear it. Roz decided to make good her leave.

  “Well, I’d better be off.” She grabbed the pile of leaflets and a large glossy brochure. “I’ll read through these and get back in touch.”

  And she walked out.

  EMRYS WATCHED her go. He left it a few minutes before going to the plate glass door, stepping onto the street and looking in both directions. Satisfied he came back in.

  Picking up the handset of the landline, he dialled the number. He’d been told always to use a landline.

  “Another one’s bin. You dint say this would happen.”

  “Noo, I didn't tell her nuthink. She seemed to knoo anyway.”

  “Noo. I’m not cumin’ in. You can't make me. You can't. You can't.”

  Chapter 5 Dirty Tricks

  STANDING THE FOLLOWING day in the back garden, Roz was throwing papers onto the fire she’d managed to start. She hurled another bundle onto the flames with unnecessary aggression. She’d got through half of them already and shivered. It was quite cold, there having been a late frost overnight. Guy had been up into the loft and brought the box down the evening before and Roz had pored over the contents that morning.

  The documents, frustratingly, had revealed nothing at all about Gordon or anything that might have been connected with him. It was all stuff left over after her mother’s death. The boyfriend, who’d been the sole beneficiary under her mother’s Will, hadn't wanted the old papers, just the money and the small flat owned by her mother at the time of her death.

  It was supposed to be cathartic to undertake such a blitz, but in practice it brought back some unpleasant memories. Her parents’ divorce, her father’s near abandonment of his family, her brother’s death. She decided to dump the remainder straight onto the heap all at once, weigh it down lightly and let the fire take care of it. She’d come back out later to see if it had all burned through.

  Going back indoors, she couldn't deny to herself that she was actually rather bored. The business about Little Avail, though unsettling, was interesting too. Investigating was what she’d done for decades, trying to unravel cases, learning to tell when someone was lying, sorting the likely from the highly speculative. It was occurring to her to offer her services voluntarily to the local constabulary when the door bell sounded.

  Oh God, not Alice Bingham again , come back to the close to pester her.

  But she was surprised to see instead through the peephole a tall man in a dark overcoat. She opened the door to Peter Dalton and said hello.

  “I’m on my way to see someone,” he said, “and thought I’d pop by to talk about Little Avail, as you were so anxious for any information when you came to the office.”

  I suppose I should have predicted that this might happen.

  “You’d better come in,” she said.

  Leading him to the sitting room, he agreed that yes he’d like a cup of coffee please. Obviously he was in no big hurry.

  Presently, Roz placed their cups and saucers on the low table with a plate of biscuits and smiled across at Peter.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “So what can you tell me?”

  Peter Dalton turned his head to face the conservatory through the french windows, beyond which was a small terrace, a lawn and a dug area intended for vegetable growing. The intentions remained yet to be executed.

  “I see you’ve been having a fire.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, more by way of acknowledgement of her monosyllabic reply Roz guessed, than as a gesture of agreement. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. If he had come to say something unpleasant he could get on with it without her help.

  His gaze turned to her mobile phone on the coffee table. She’d brought it in with her on the tray.

  “Would you mind turning that thing off please.”

  “This is rather ridiculous,” said Roz, doing so. “Satisfied?” He picked it up, examined it, grunted and replaced it.

  “Look, I won't beat about the bush. I think we understand one another. You’ve caused my name and Gordon’s to be flagged up and you’ve sought out and questioned a man about Little Avail. Moreover, a young journalist has also been and questioned the man, somewhat more forcefully in fact than you did, causing him great distress.”

  “For all I knew, Gordon might have been a criminal. And it’s a free country,” said Roz lightly.

  Peter gave a dry laugh. “Actually, it isn't in many respects. But you’ll be perfectly well aware yourself that accessing the NPC for private ends is an offence, and any police officer doing so is liable to be disciplined, even possibly prosecuted.”

  Roz had no answer to this since it was true. Still, she wasn't going to crumple under his intimidation. She remained silent.

  “Well, let me spell it out for you. We used Little Avail for a time. We took people there. At that time. And then we stopped and that was that. We simply don't want the thing to become common knowledge.”

  Roz found that she had to know more, had to know the truth.

  “Why there? There must have been umpteen military facilities far more suitable. And what exactly did you do to people there? I assume interrogations of some sort.”

  “You assume right. As to why we used Little Avail, it was convenient. It wasn't difficult to get to and it was near the coast. It had a psychological advantage. People dropped in blindfolded by helicopter during the night had no idea where they were. The place was tumbledown, ramshackle. Apparently far from any help. It was cold. It was ideal. No-one could get a car there. Gordon owned the place and so we used it.”

  “To torture and kill people.”

  “No. Not that at all. Rough them up a bit sometimes, yes. But it was mainly wearing people down psychologically.”

  “What about the noises? People apparently heard screams, loud bangs, people running about in the dark.”

  “Recordings mostly. To keep local people away.”

  “And Emrys Jones? He was just a teenager then.”

  “He happened upon us. We thought it would be better to get him involved rather than just let him go. We paid him some money and swore him to secrecy. And we’ve continued to help him out ever since.”

  “His reaction suggested there might be bodies buried there. What, did you frighten people to death then?”

  “No. For God’s sake. If we were into bumping people off, don't you think the easiest way to deal with Emrys would have been to get rid of him. He’s just frightened that’s all. Had he been suitable to become an agent, he would have been given a job. But you saw what he’s like. He has all the backbone of a winceyette nightie. But we have looked after him. We’ve always found that the carrot’s better than the stick.”

  “So what now then?”

  “As you ask so directly, there are choices. You drop this ridiculous quest into things that don't concern you straight away or….we can take steps to persuade you.”

  “I think you’ll find I’ve led a largely blameless life. I doubt you could touch me with anything.”

  “I doubt in fact that we couldn't. For a start there’s your retirement last year from the police force before you could be disciplined. You’ve perhaps been following the progress of the Police & Crime Bill through Parliament. If so, you’ll know that one of its purposes is to enable police officers to be disciplined after retirement. When it becomes law, we could help things along considerably so far as you’re concerned. But even without the Act we could create difficulties.

  “Then there’s your friend who accessed the NPC and various records for you. We could definitely have him hauled over the coals.

  “Added to which, your boyfriend would find that
things could become extremely difficult for him at the university if young women students were to make allegations of undue familiarity on his part. Not to mention his children. His son’s citizenship issues have yet to be finalised I understand. And his daughter’s teaching job? No-one’s job is necessarily secure these days.”

  “That’s outrageous. It’s blackmail. And what about the young journalist? I suppose you’d find ways to wreck her career for her would you?”

  “Precisely. However she’s already been approached and agreed to co-operate. She realises what a silly girl she’s been and what embarrassment she could cause to her employers, past and future prospective in fact, if she doesn't toe the line.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well?”

  “Mr. Dalton, I don't appreciate being threatened. I’ll have to think about it.”

  “OK but don't take too long. As I indicated before, we’ve always found the carrot to be far more persuasive than the stick. It’s not much but we could make a few useful improvements to Little Avail. Make it more user-friendly shall we say.”

  Roz pursed her lips mutinously. “Such as?”

  “Give it a vehicular access.”

  “But no-one knows who owns the land around there.”

  “Not strictly true. It’s a little involved but various trusts own it. Friends of ours. My firm would sort it out. We might even rise to arranging an electricity supply. Oh. And getting the freehold transferred to you of course.”

  “I’m not sure I want any more to do with it, after what I’ve been told.”

  “I assure you Miss Benedict that there are no bodies buried in the garden. Nor anywhere in the vicinity. And if you still find you don't like it, then you could sell the place once it has a proper access and some services. Of course you’d have to sign an NDA. The journalist did. Only too happy to.

  “Look I have to go now. Please don't wait too long. Perhaps you would call me tomorrow. Just tell me yes or no. I’ll see myself out.”

  He rose and in seconds he was out of the house while Roz racked her brains as to the conflicts which would have been going on during the period they had been discussing: Northern Ireland; the Falklands; Afghanistan; the Balkans. Wasn't there a Gulf War in the 1990s as well as more recently? And….what was it called?....extraordinary rendition. Was the cottage involved in that? Or maybe that came later. Pugnacious, interfering little England, getting itself involved in all these conflicts, largely in the end to little avail. Roz sat on, hearing Peter Dalton’s car engine revving, the crunch of wheels on gravel and he was gone.

  ROZ PREPARED a special meal that evening. She had to find a way to tell Guy about the visitor today, about his demands and threats, including those directed at Guy’s career as a university lecturer. And the incredible offer of help as well.

  It was all quite unreal.

  Of course Guy had been right to begin with. She should never have taken the property. She hadn't a shred of evidence that Gordon had ever known her mother. That side of it was certainly a complete mystery still. And if….

  But the front door was opening and within seconds, Guy was in the conservatory where she was laying the small metal table with the best glassware and cutlery. He kissed her.

  “I’ll have to try my hardest not to upset you, as I did the last time you got up a special dinner for us.”

  “It’s steak. Your favourite. And a garlicky sauce I’ve never done before.” She frowned. “I don't think I’ve messed it up. It hasn’t curdled. Yet. D’you want me to do the steak now, or sit down and have a drink first?”

  “A glass of wine with you would be nice actually. I’ll just go and get changed.” He went off to hang his mackintosh and Roz heard him taking the stairs two at a time. He was back down within a couple of minutes.

  Guy sat down and filled their glasses. “Shall we just sit at the table. We can pretend we’re in France or somewhere.”

  “Great. We’ll have to sort out a summer holiday soon I suppose. Actually France would be nice.”

  “Oh, so we’re not going to spend an uncomfortable couple of weeks emptying commodes and pumping water into buckets.”

  “Hmm. We’ll see.”

  “Anyway, what did you do today?” Guy asked.

  Putting off her main news, she said, “Oh, I burned all my mother’s old papers. Not an iota of information about Gordon amongst the lot. Not one syllable. How about you?”

  Guy took Roz’s hand. He sighed.

  “Well I might as well tell you. I had a very strange conversation today with a manager. He didn't make any outright accusations, but…” Guy shook his head. Roz could guess what was coming. “He just said I should be careful. That if any allegations of sexual harassment were to be made against me, it wouldn't matter if they weren’t true. They could damage my career irreparably. Etc, etc. The usual thing. You can imagine.

  “I tried to find out why he should suddenly say these things to me, but I couldn't get very far. It sounded as though they came from above him somewhere but….I don't know. I’ve seen it happen to others. Everything unravels. People’s lives just fall apart.”

  Roz steeled herself as Guy rested his chin disconsolately on his free hand.

  “Guy, there are things I haven't been telling you.”

  He shook his head, bit his lip and looked out into the dark garden.

  “Oh God,” he sighed. “Come on then. Out with it.”

  She told him everything. Gordon and Peter Dalton having been in the military, her suspicions, old Jim’s revelations, Len’s unwise favour. About Emrys Jones and Kate’s daughter. And not least the whole of what was said during today’s visit.

  “You were absolutely right,” she said. “I should never have taken the place. And I should certainly not have gone poking around like I did. Do you know, he even suspected me of recording the meeting today. I wish I had now.”

  “Oh well. Looks like you’re going to have to sign the NDA sweetie.”

  “Hey, hang on a second. I’m not prepared to succumb to blackmail. And bribery.”

  “Yes, well, the alternative is unthinkable.”

  “But they’re just glorified thugs. Making appalling threats to ruin people’s lives. And actually taking preliminary steps to carry them out already by the sound of it. Not to mention going around seizing people and torturing them.”

  “Roz love. I have to say this. Your lot weren’t averse at one time if you recall to beating up suspects to get confessions, manufacturing evidence, destroying evidence when it suited them. You can't judge the behaviour of previous decades by today’s standards. And at least the security services were doing it for the benefit of the state.”

  “But the threats were made just today.”

  “Granted. But these people look after national security. What they’ve threatened to do is largely to be expected. Having said that, I can't put Boris and Andrea at risk. I can't have their lives turned upside down. Surely you see that we can't let that happen.”

  “Shit,” said Roz fiercely through her teeth.

  “Quite. Humbug, and all the rest of it. Nevertheless, honestly I think we have to swallow it and take what benefits are on offer. And actually, I’d started to come round to the idea of spending romantic weekends there. And with a few mod-cons, it’d be even better. Look at the positives.”

  “But to think of what appalling things might have been done in that house. It puts me right off going there again.”

  “OK. I understand. But try to think logically. Someone might have died a dreadful death in the past in this house. Or in your house in Hertfordshire. We don't know. Chances are quite probably that every hospital bed has had someone die in it at one time or another. Every ward’s seen countless deaths. That wouldn't presumably stop you from going into hospital if you needed to. And Little Avail itself being over three hundred years old is likely to have witnessed every misfortune that life could throw at people. Or death. The covert operations are just one tiny episode in its history.”r />
  He stood up and walked round to her side of the table, putting his arms around her.

  “What we should be primarily concerned with is us, our happiness and our family. Those are the important things.”

  Roz mumbled something into the sleeve of his jumper.

  “What was that?”

  “OK. You’re right. I’ll phone him tomorrow and tell him ‘yes’.”

  “Good. Right. Dirty tricks aside, I could kill for that steak.”

  THE EXPENSIVE looking Peterborough restaurant was filling up this Friday lunchtime. Peter Dalton had already been seated at a corner table on Roz’s arrival. He had asked to meet her on ‘neutral ground’ for, he said, just a final point or two. Peterborough was chosen as being approximately equidistant from Norwich and Lincoln.

  Roz accepted a glass of wine and quickly scanned the menu.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” said Peter Dalton.

  Roz half-laughed. “I’m not exactly run off my feet these days. In fact I’ve been looking into doing voluntary work for the local police.”

  “Bored are you?”

  “Well I didn't think I was, but this business with the cottage has made me hanker after a little more action. And as you know all about me, you’ll know I was a career police detective before I retired.”

  “Oh, here come the entrées.” They allowed these to be placed before them and took up their cutlery. “So….er….did you ever find out anything about your mother and Gordon?”

  Roz’s call eventually to her father hadn't been well received and he’d told her he knew nothing about any Gordon Dearing. He’d been anxious to get away, he hadn't offered any terms of endearment nor any wish to have any further contact with her. Had she not been expecting just such a reaction, it would have been extremely upsetting.

  “Mr. Dalton. You’re being disingenuous. I’ve concluded that my mother and Gordon Dearing never had the slightest connection to one another. If they ever came within a hundred miles of each other, it would have been totally coincidental and even then, they would have passed like ships in the night. I presume this meeting is intended to enlighten me on that score.”