Unhappy Families

by Oliver Tidy

  Amy Coker raised her nice chin a few degrees and said, ‘And what might your belief be?’

  Boudicca spoke in a tone that neither CID officer had heard before and both were glad it wasn’t directed at either of them. To say it was cold would have been to say that lava was warm to the touch. ‘That you have fabricated evidence and manipulated the police and the local press for your own ends. In doing so you have broken laws, you have perverted the course of justice – a crime that almost always automatically involves a custodial sentence – and you have smeared my police station and my police officers. And that is something that I take great personal exception to.’

  Romney wasn’t sure about the perverting charge but he understood that sometimes it paid to be a bit... pushy.

  Marsh said, ‘At the moment it is just our belief, our feeling, based on the evidence that has come to light following further enquiries. Would you like me to tell you what that evidence is? It might help you to see things a little more clearly.’

  Ms Coker nodded and looked anxious.

  Marsh said, ‘The video cassette tapes that you claimed to have discovered in your father’s flat.’ She paused to see whether Ms Coker would start arguing the toss about that ‘claimed’. She didn’t. Her eyes were wide and fixed on Marsh’s face, like someone watching a train bearing down on them and being paralysed by the knowledge of what it was going to do when it hit. ‘We ascertained that they had your father’s fingerprints on them. But there was an inconsistency with fingerprints that we matched them with from other items recovered from his flat. To cut a long story short, Amy, the prints we took off the cassette tapes showed evidence of recent trauma. We discovered that your father burnt his fingertips while he was in the hospice. He only left the hospice when he was dead. It would have been impossible for him to have handled the cassette tapes and for those tapes to have ended up back in his flat unless someone else was involved. I’m probably not telling you anything when I say that most people would find it hard to believe that knowingly and willingly he would have done such a thing.’

  All three police officers were staring intently at Amy Coker. She said nothing but, like a woman trapped in a small space that was slowly filling with water, it was obvious that she was thinking hard.

  Marsh delivered her coup de grace. ‘While we were speaking with the hospice, we checked the visitor records for your father. The name Natassa Bam appeared once. We all know who that it is now. Of course, none of this proves what we believe, which is that you visited your father and, probably while he was unconscious with painkilling drugs, for your own reasons, obtained his prints on the tapes and then put the tapes in his flat. The hospice is going through their CCTV records. If we get video evidence of your visit then...’ Marsh let her lie hang in the air for a moment. ‘I will also add that we want to know where you got those tapes from. We had to watch those. Those images will stay with us for a long time.’

  Romney really was getting rather fond of his subordinate’s techniques. He felt that she was, as Boudicca had recently lamented, becoming a chip off the old block. It gave him added secret pleasure.

  Boudicca broke the silence: ‘So, Ms Coker, you can see, perhaps, how we have arrived at our current position. Anything you would like to say?’

  Amy Coker looked at each of them in turn. It was difficult for any of them to guess how she was going to play it. Romney, for one, was a little disappointed she hadn’t broken down and confessed in a sobbing wretched heap on the floor. It would have put the icing on his jolly good start to the day.

  ‘My father was a paedophile who abused me.’ There were hot, angry tears in her eyes.

  Boudicca said, ‘That, Ms Coker, is another matter entirely. And one we will come to when we have resolved this particular one. I will ask you again, is there anything you would like to say before I have you arrested?’

  That made three people look in Boudicca’s direction. Only the continuing scratching of the gatekeeper’s pen indicated that she had not been shocked by the threat.

  ‘Arrested?’ said Amy in a voice higher in pitch than anything Romney had heard for a long time.

  ‘I warned you, Ms Coker: wasting police time for starters.’ Boudicca waited as long as it took a tear to escape Amy Coker’s red and anxious eyes before saying in a more gentle tone. ‘There is another way that we can deal with this.’

  Amy wiped at her face and looked like she was listening.

  Boudicca managed to fold her arms over her ample bosom. ‘I said a minute ago that you would do well to listen and consider very carefully. I hope you still are. After consultation with my officers, we have decided to make you an offer you would do well to accept, I think. Firstly, you will sign a full and frank retraction regarding any implied claims you made against Dover police in your newspaper article. Secondly, you will apologise to Detective Inspector Romney for insinuating that he is a lynchpin in a local paedophile ring.’ Romney recrossed his legs at the reminder and frowned. It wasn’t put on. ‘Thirdly, it will also be a condition of you leaving here without facing a charge of perverting the course of justice that you agree to a consultation with another professional in the field of psychiatry. None of these points is negotiable.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you really want me to repeat it all? The apology to DI Romney you can make here and now. The retraction has already been composed and is printed off. All it needs is for you to sign and date it. As for the consultation with another psychiatry professional, it has been arranged. With a local doctor who Dover police have had dealings with in the past. The professional in question has offered to waive her fee in this instance. I would remind you of existing ethical arrangements in the medical profession: anything and everything that would be spoken about in any consultation you might agree to participate in would be strictly confidential.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why do you want me to see another psychiatrist? I’m not mad? I’m just seeking justice.’

  Boudicca changed her approach quicker than Romney could change channels on his television. The compassion, sympathy and caring flowed out of the station chief like water from a burst pipe. ‘Amy, have you ever heard of False Memory Syndrome?’

  ***

  47

  For the second time that week, Romney treated all members of CID to proper coffee and a selection of pastries from across the road. Such was his pleasure at having been apologised to by Amy Coker. Boudicca had seen him out with assurances that the retraction would be in the next edition of the Dover Post, if the Dover Post wished to continue to count on enjoying good relations with Dover police.

  Romney had excused himself from the rest of the meeting after he’d received his unequivocal apology from Amy Coker. In the end, it hadn’t given him the satisfaction that he’d thought it might. When he reflected on what he understood she’d been made to believe about her past it made him realise that what she needed was help, sympathy and therapy, just like Marsh had said.

  It had been left to Marsh and Superintendent Vine to see the rest of the meeting through, to explain the concept of FMS and the issues surrounding it – to link Amy Coker’s Doctor Clavell with the practice of recovered memory therapy. Marsh said that they had left her to draw her own conclusions and given her the appointment time and address for Doctor Puchta scribbled on a piece of paper.

  Spicer said, ‘Peter would have enjoyed this, guv.’

  ‘The free cakes, sitting around doing nothing or the way things have turned out on this one?’

  Marsh said, ‘All three and probably in that order. He’d be relieved that Sammy Coker was not guilty.’

  ‘Not as relieved as I am,’ said Romney. His lips were coated in icing sugar. It made him look like he’d just broken out of a freezer.

  They shared a chuckle. It was a sign that they were coming to terms with the loss of Grimes. Already.

  To Marsh, Romney said, ‘You were good in there, again.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I thought Superintendent Vine put in
quite a telling performance, too.’

  ‘Oscar-winning,’ said Romney. ‘Ms Coker looked like she was going to shit herself.’

  Addressing Fower, Romney said, ‘If you want to learn about interviewing and interrogation you won’t find a better practitioner in this CID below the rank of detective inspector than DS Marsh.’

  Seeing as, other than Fower, there were only two officers below the rank of DI in CID, the compliment didn’t end up carrying the weight it could have. Still, thought Marsh, he’d tried.

  ‘How was she when she left?’ said Romney.

  ‘She reminded me of First World War shell-shock sufferers I’ve seen on old newsreel. I feel very sorry for her.’

  ‘So do I, actually,’ said Romney. ‘Not very, but a bit.’ He managed to sound it. ‘Do you think she’ll go?’

  ‘To the appointment with your Doctor Puchta?’ said Marsh. She’d added the ‘your’ to try to get a rise out of Romney.

  He either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore it because of his excellent mood. He nodded his answer. He’d spoken to Doctor Puchta and received her agreement that he could cancel his scheduled appointment for later that afternoon so she could accommodate Amy Coker. Doctor Puchta had said she’d look forward to it.

  Marsh said, ‘Let’s hope so, for her sake. Superintendent Vine made it a condition and I wouldn’t advise Ms Coker to disappoint her, not the mood she was in up there.’

  ‘No,’ said Romney, smiling. ‘Quite intimidating, wasn’t she?’

  When they’d finished their break, Romney told Joy he’d like a word with her in his office. The look he gave her said it was just a private word, nothing to worry about.

  *

  ‘Can you shut the door, please?’

  Joy did and occupied the empty chair.

  Romney said, ‘When I left here yesterday afternoon I went to visit a Mr Mitchell out at Temple Ewell.’

  ‘Temple Ewell? The ghost girl?’

  ‘Yes and no. Yes to Temple Ewell. No to it being a ghost. Remember Peter and James saw him earlier this week?’ Marsh nodded. ‘The old boy’s an ex-copper so he knows what’s what. He’s all right, actually. Was very sorry to learn of Peter’s death. I gathered they rather hit it off. Anyway, this old boy has solved the mystery of the “apparition”.’ Romney described the speech marks in the air.

  Marsh raised her eyebrows as high as Romney had ever seen them go.

  ‘I know,’ said Romney. ‘And he came to CID. Good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Depends on the details.’

  Romney said, ‘Doesn’t it always.’

  ‘So if it’s solved, does that mean there is a human influence?’

  ‘How could you ever have doubted it?’

  ‘Have arrests been made? Because I haven’t heard anything.’

  Romney shook his head. ‘No one knows but the old boy and me. I’ve asked him to keep it that way.’

  Marsh’s suspicions went on high alert. ‘I don’t understand. If you know that an individual has been causing traffic collisions, life-threatening collisions, and you know who they are... do you know who they are?’ Romney nodded, enjoying his superior knowledge. ‘Then why aren’t we out arresting people?’

  ‘Because the culprit’s away; won’t be back till tomorrow. No one’s in any danger from his antics.’

  ‘Antics? Isn’t what he’s been doing a little more serious than that? Psychotic behaviour, perhaps? Thousands of pounds worth of damage to vehicles and property, not to mention the emotional turmoil he’s put his victims through.’

  ‘I’ll remind you the incident reports state that they were all driving well in excess of the speed limit at the time of their individual mishaps. They don’t get any sympathy from me.’

  ‘With respect, sir, shouldn’t we be more concerned with apprehending law-breakers and protecting the citizens of Dover and district? Leaving judgement up to others?’

  Romney smiled again. ‘Are you sure you’re not after my job? Or Superintendent Vine’s. Little sound bites like that.’

  The smile was not returned. Marsh waited for an explanation.

  Romney said, ‘It’s the father of the girl who died in the hit and run.’

  Marsh’s anger at the perpetrator subsided. She said, ‘Oh. How do you know it’s him? I mean, how’s he doing it?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘So what makes you suspect him?’

  ‘Because my source reckons it’s him.’

  ‘I see. He reckons. Is this an ex-copper’s intuition or does he have good, solid physical evidence to support this idea? Maybe some proof?’

  Romney shook his head and said, ‘Nothing concrete. Just his suspicions.’

  ‘Why didn’t he mention them to Peter when he spoke to him?’

  ‘Apparently, it didn’t all fall into place for him until later. Something he hadn’t noticed before but that suddenly made sense to him, or rather it made no sense to him.’

  Tiring of his evasiveness, Marsh said. ‘Are you planning on letting me in on things or am I just going to keep chipping away in the dark?’

  Romney became a little more businesslike, ‘Before I do, you need to know that I’m not going to do anything about it, officially.’

  Marsh said, ‘You’re not going to arrest him?’

  Romney shook his head once. ‘Not planning on it. Not unless he won’t listen to reason, and assures me that he’ll stop.’ Marsh was about to speak but Romney held up his hand to her. ‘All I need is someone I can rely on to come out there with me when I speak to him. Strength in numbers. If you’d rather it wasn’t you for whatever reason then I’ll ask you to forget all about this conversation and I’ll find someone else.’

  The compliment was not lost on Marsh, but having stuck her head in the disciplinary noose for him not so long ago she wasn’t particularly keen to do it again. The law of averages aspect bothered her.

  Romney read something of her reluctance in her facial expression and said, ‘I’ve got no proof. I could arrest him on suspicion, of course, and try to get a confession out of him, but because I don’t know how he does it, if he doesn’t want to cooperate with that, he’ll walk free. There’s a chance that that course of action would make him stop what he’s doing. Let’s also not forget that the evidence of any crime being committed is, shall we say... ephemeral at best? There is no solid evidence, just the claims of frightened motorists. The only way I could get proof it’s him is if I catch him in the act. And logistically that just isn’t worth considering because A: even with him ignorant of police suspicions, I have no idea when he might be tempted to ‘show’ his daughter again, and B: if he becomes aware that we suspect him because I arrested him for it, that would make him much more careful about continuing his practise. I think I can get the same best result we could hope for – him stopping what he’s doing – just as effectively, if not more so, simply by having a sympathetic word with him.’

  ‘A sympathetic word?’ said Marsh, unable to stop herself repeating what, for her, was anathema where her boss was concerned.

  ‘You want to think about things?’ said Romney. ‘Let me know?’

  Marsh huffed and shook her head. ‘I’m either your DS or I’m not, sir. I’ll come.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad. And if it all goes tits up I’ll try to make sure you’re kept out of any fallout.’

  Marsh didn’t find that as encouraging and reassuring as Romney had intended it to be. She said, ‘When do you anticipate talking to him?’

  ‘According to the old boy, he’ll be back on Sunday. He’s currently away on business.’

  ‘What is his business?’

  Romney was back to smiling, knowing that he was about to drop the penny in Marsh’s slot. ‘He’s a lighting engineer. Laser shows are his speciality.’

  ***

  48

  Joy chose her time carefully, saying that she might be a little late back from lunch because she had some personal business to see to in the town. Romney’s grunt
indicated how interested he was in extending that conversation.

  The feelings of loss and lost opportunities that arose from Peter Grimes’ death had given Joy cause to reflect on a few things in her life and one of those was what she felt was her outstanding business with Mrs Christie. She’d thought about her a lot in the intervening days.

  Her last visit and the way the old woman had dealt with her had left Joy with feelings of sadness and regret that shuffled around the edge of her consciousness – a dark shadow with its hood up that refused to come into the light or go away. Marsh had decided to pay another visit to Mrs Christie in the hope that she had forgiven her for her meddling.

  Mrs Christie answered the door as though she had been expecting someone else. She stared blankly at Joy, who was forced to wonder whether the old woman remembered her.

  Joy said, ‘Hello, Helen. It’s Joy. From Dover police.’

  ‘I can see that. What do you want?’

  ‘To check that you’re all right and to apologise.’

  Mrs Christie’s shoulders dropped a fraction. She opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

  They were sitting at the large refectory table again. Mrs Christie’s tea-making procedure, mostly with her back to her guest, had not encouraged Joy to talk about why she was there. Marsh felt that she could have made and drunk two in the time it took the old woman to get the tray to the table.

  Mrs Christie had lowered herself into a chair with an audible sigh. She immediately began fiddling with the crockery.

  Joy said, ‘I really am very sorry that I spoke to your son against your wishes. It was wrong of me. I want to apologise to you for that.’

  Mrs Christie was pouring from the teapot with a shaky hand. ‘I was cross with you. You know that. But I still shouldn’t have spoken to you the way that I did. I know that your intentions were good. You have already shown yourself to be a kind and thoughtful person.’