by Neil White
‘Which is most likely: that a lonely widower confessed to an old lie he told to protect himself, and then shot himself out of guilt, or that Glen Ross had a fellow police officer executed a few hours after an argument about a case that has been dead and buried for over a decade?’
I rubbed my eyes. I could see how it looked, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
‘I’m sorry, Jack, I don’t mean to be cruel.’
I looked Tony in the eye. ‘So which story are you going to run?’
He looked confused.
‘There are only two, Tony,’ I continued. ‘The tribute he deserves, or Glen Ross’s story.’
Tony didn’t answer.
I was angry now. I was angry with Tony for going against me, but I was angry as well that, even ten years on, the real story behind Annie Paxman’s death was going to stay buried.
‘Jack?’
I looked at him.
‘I’m sorry, we all are. We didn’t mean for it to be like this.’
I looked at him, a man I had known a long time, and I saw the sadness. I felt myself relent. ‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Will you be all right?’
I nodded.
‘Your father was a good man, Jack.’
I smiled, breathing heavily at the prickle of tears.
‘And I’ll do him a fine tribute,’ he continued. ‘Front page. And they’ll print it, or there will be hell to pay.’
I smiled again, tears now streaming down my face. I stood up to leave, and as I did so I nodded at Tony. It was all I could manage. I spotted tears in Tony’s eyes, but he was smiling too.
I almost made it to the door when Tony asked, ‘And what are you going to do?’
I stopped and thought for a moment, and then turned and said, ‘I don’t know.’
THIRTY-TWO
I hadn’t been home for long, trying to work out how to calm the kick I felt to my stomach, when there was a knock at the door.
When I opened it, I saw Laura standing there.
‘Laura!’
She walked in and held me for a few moments. I buried my face deep into her shoulder. I could smell her hair, her clothes. I could smell London on her and all of a sudden I wanted to go back there.
‘I heard it on the news,’ was all she said.
When we pulled apart, I looked over her shoulder and saw someone watching from a distance. It was Martha, Jake’s wife. As I looked, I thought I saw her wipe her eyes. She watched me for a few seconds, and then she turned away.
‘You okay, Jack?’ I heard Laura ask.
I watched Martha get into her car and drive away. There was more than grief in her face. There was something else.
‘I don’t know,’ was all I said, and then I looked at Laura and added, ‘I’ve got to go out.’
She looked shocked as I brushed past her, climbed into my car and drove away, heading after Martha.
David Watts ignored the phone at first.
He was still on his bed, his knees up by his chest, staring out into space. The ringing didn’t register for a while and when it did he didn’t move. All the phone had done so far was bring bad news. Why should now be any different?
But some kind of reason kicked in and he wondered whether it was the American with some better news.
He lowered his knees slowly and reached across for the handset. ‘Hello?’ he whispered.
There was silence at first. He started to panic, worrying whether it was her again, the voice from his past. Then when he heard the electronic distortion, his breathing quickened.
‘You haven’t done it yet, David. I’ve heard nothing.’
She wouldn’t leave him alone. She was going to keep going until one of them broke their cover. He felt his anger come quickly, his fury at the invasion of his life beating down any fear he had left in him.
‘You bitch!’ he shouted down the phone. ‘You fucking little whore!’
‘Emma not back yet?’ She laughed, cold and harsh. ‘Looks like she got the wrong taxi at the airport.’
That stopped him dead. It was the calm way she said it, almost whispered, like she was talking about a seating plan for dinner. He thought he was about to pass out.
‘You heard it right.’
He started to panic at the harsh anger in her voice.
‘Who is going to look after you now?’ she continued. ‘You are a fucking cop-killer now. I heard it on the radio. Not even the police will help you now.’
He sat back down on the bed.
‘But I’m done with random footballers now, David. I’m coming after you. You can still stop it at any time, but I’m coming after you, and I’ll keep on coming after you until I get you. Emma’s first, then your family, and then you. And I’m a patient woman.’
The sound of a dead line flooded the bedroom. David fell back onto the bed, his mind reeling, his arm going across his stomach to comfort the cramped feeling he had there. Where was Emma? Did she have her? What could he do now? He could tell the press about Annie Paxman, say what she wanted him to say, and then just leave the country. He had enough money to go wherever he wanted, maybe eventually play for another team in some far-flung corner of the globe.
He closed his eyes, tried not to think about what might be happening to Emma. He could see her smile, her face. Anything else was too much.
He knew what would take away the pain. That’s all he needed right now. No more pain.
THIRTY-THREE
I walked into Jake’s shop.
Jake was behind the counter, just staring out of the door. He didn’t say anything to me. He just nodded at me and then turned towards a door which I knew led to a back room.
As I passed him, I felt his cold hand wrap around my forearm. When I caught his eye, he smiled, warm and tender.
Nothing more was said. Nothing else needed to be said.
I went into the back room and saw Martha. She had been crying.
‘You okay, Martha?’
She looked down and shook her head. ‘I heard about your father, and I’m sorry.’
I nodded. I didn’t know what else to do.
‘And I’ve heard what Glen Ross said,’ she continued, ‘and I know that is wrong.’
‘I know that too,’ I said, ‘but other people won’t.’
Martha looked up and wiped her eyes. ‘Not if we can help it, Jack Garrett.’
I looked at Martha. I saw a steel in her eyes I had never seen before.
‘What is it?’
I sensed Jake behind me. I looked round, and I saw him nod, smile, show some strength.
‘Tell him, love,’ Jake urged.
I looked back at Martha. She definitely knew something.
‘Tell me.’
Martha looked me right in the eye and said simply, ‘I can prove Glen Ross is lying.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, quiet and nervous.
Martha took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts, and then continued. ‘I can prove it. Glen Ross thinks I just put files away, but I know what is in those files.’ She looked me in the eye. ‘And I knew what was in those files ten years ago.’
I stood up and looked at Martha. So she knew about Annie Paxman as well. It seemed like everyone knew. Tony, Martha, and I guessed Jake too. But no one had done anything. A young girl had been killed and they had all stood aside to let the killer walk out of town just so he could chase fame.
‘What have you got?’ I asked.
Martha watched me for a few seconds, and then reached into a drawer. She pulled out a brown envelope.
‘That’s from the file,’ said Martha.
It was a buff envelope, simple and unassuming. I asked the question to which I already knew the answer. ‘Which file?’
‘The Annie Paxman file.’
‘Why have you got it?’
‘Because I was asked to get rid of some things from it a few years back, just to make it thinner. I kept it instead.’
‘Who asked?’
‘Glen
Ross.’
‘Why did you do it, Martha?’
She began to cry again.
I let her compose herself, and then asked again, ‘Why?’
Martha shook her head. ‘Just because it was the right thing to do.’ She looked at me. ‘I want you to have it. If there is anything in there you can use to clear your father’s name, you take it.’ Her chest heaved as she sobbed. ‘I don’t know about that poor girl, but he’s not taking your father’s good name away.’
I looked down at the file and then back up at Martha. I saw the plea in her eyes, and I felt it grow in my own.
But I couldn’t work out one thing: how had it stayed buried for so long?
Martha must have spotted the question in my eyes, because I saw her shrug.
‘I just didn’t say anything,’ said Martha. She looked at the floor in apology.
‘Why not?’
She looked up again, her eyes more focused this time. ‘Because we thought we were doing the right thing. We had the killer, but if your father’s account got out, the killer would go free. It would create reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors.’
‘You could have said something, Martha, you could have changed something.’
‘But what could I have done? I didn’t know whether your father actually saw what he thought he saw, but Ross knew that what your father was saying would get Colin Wood his acquittal.’
‘So he suppressed evidence.’
Martha looked at me and smiled, but it was filled with sadness.
‘No, Jack, he suppressed a mistake, to make sure we got the killer.’
‘You should have spoken out. What Ross did was wrong.’
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t, because I would have lost my job, and so would others. Glen Ross, your father, James Radley. The defence would have used what we had to get the killer off. It would have felt like just about everyone in the town hated me.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I felt trapped, and I know everyone else did.’
‘Except David Watts.’
Martha nodded. There was nothing else to say.
‘What’s changed, Martha?’
‘Glen Ross. He’s told a lie, and I don’t know why.’ She pointed to the envelope. ‘What he said this morning, about your father seeing Colin Wood, wasn’t true. Your father could make mistakes, and maybe he made a mistake about David Watts, but I have never heard him tell a lie. Glen Ross told a lie. He told a lie then, and he told a lie this morning.’
She looked down at the envelope. ‘If you can use it, don’t worry about me. Just do the right thing by your father.’
I looked at the envelope in my hand. ‘If I can, I will. This story will be written, Martha, but some people might get hurt by what I write.’
She nodded. She knew that meant her, and everyone else who knew.
‘You do what you need to do, Jack.’
Then something occurred to me, a line of enquiry.
‘Does Colin Wood have any relatives left in town?’
‘His mum lives in that new estate just off the Accrington Road.’
‘And what about his lawyer?’
Martha went quiet as she thought back, and then it came to her. ‘Duncan McAllister. He’s still got a small practice down by the canal.’
I nodded, and then had to ask the question that was tearing me apart. ‘And did you see my father last night?’
Martha nodded.
‘How did he seem?’
Martha shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Jack. I saw him go into Glen Ross’s office. He went in looking angry, but there was another man in there. American, tall, moody-looking.’
‘Did he say who he was?’
‘Not to me. He said he was there to see DI Ross, and that’s just what he did. Your father came in, and then left shortly after.’
‘When did the American leave?’
‘Just after your father.’
‘And how did Glen Ross seem last night?’
Martha exhaled. ‘Distracted, but he has been the last couple of days, ever since David Watts starting calling him.’
That figured.
I thanked her and turned to leave. Martha hugged me.
I went outside into the triangle. As I walked, I looked towards the police station. I could see a figure watching me. I lifted my hand, clearly showing the file.
The figure moved out of sight.
THIRTY-FOUR
Laura was looking at the pictures on the wall when I walked back into the house. She turned to face me and I saw that she looked worried.
‘You okay, Jack?’
I thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Maybe, yeah, better.’
Then I thought about how far Laura had come.
‘Are you here for work?’ I made it sound like an accusation, something dirty.
I noticed the look in her eyes: rejection, anger, I couldn’t tell. And then I saw her soften. She reached out her hand and touched my face, running a finger down my cheek. It took me by surprise. I felt a tickle down my back and my stomach jumped.
‘I came here because I heard about your father,’ she said. ‘I just thought you might need someone.’
My eyes filled with tears and I bit my lip. ‘Thanks,’ was all I could manage. I took a deep breath to compose myself and came up all businesslike.
I held up the buff file I had brought back from Jake’s store.
‘I need to read this.’
‘What is it?’
‘The answer, I hope.’
Laura walked up to me. ‘Am I allowed to see it?’
‘When I’ve seen it.’
Laura sighed. ‘C’mon, Jack, trust me. What’s going on?’
‘Are you still off the Dumas case?’
‘So this is to do with the football shootings?’ she responded.
‘So you are here for work?’
She smiled and shook her head slowly. ‘I came here for you, Jack,’ she said softly, ‘but I’m still a cop.’ She looked at the file. ‘What’s it all about, Jack?’
So I told her.
I watched as her face changed, from surprise to anger to excitement, as I told her all about Annie Paxman, about David Watts running from the scene, about how he was never arrested, and about how Glen Ross had told the good people of Lancashire that my father had shot himself out of guilt. When I told her that someone was calling David Watts and pretending to be Annie Paxman, telling him to confess to the killings, I saw that she looked intrigued. I was angry by the time I had talked it all out. Laura just looked shocked.
But I hadn’t told her about the neck-chain. Even to Laura, I couldn’t tell the whole story.
‘Your face tells me that David Watts didn’t call it in.’
Laura shook her head, and then pointed at the file. ‘So you think that might contain something to prove his innocence? Or his guilt?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But I’m going to look for it, and keep looking for it until I find it.’
I opened the envelope, deep and filled with paper. I scattered the contents on the floor. There were photographs of the scene, and plenty of Annie Paxman, naked and bruised, prostrate on the ground. I winced at those, found myself staring at them. She was dark and slim and young and beautiful. Her black hair kinked up at the back, spread over the aviary floor by the struggle, and then over her shoulders like scars. Sharp cheekbones were fleshed out by young pert cheeks, but they looked damaged and bruised.
I searched through the file and found the statements made by my father and Glen Ross. By the time I’d read them, I was burning with rage.
My father’s first statement told the story he had told me the day before. But there was a second statement, dated the same day, or so it said. My father no longer described how he saw David Watts running across the fields, his long stride as familiar to my father as maybe mine had been. His second statement told the same story as Glen Ross’s, that someone had been running away, but it was someone larger, older, slower.
&nbs
p; I felt a burst of sadness looking at the handwriting. It wasn’t just that it was my father’s handwriting, sloping, light, sweeping across the page like a loose thread. It was the handwriting in the second statement that saddened me. It was smaller, reluctant, as if I could see his helplessness as he changed his story, made the facts fit the end, not the other way round, the way it was supposed to be.
I thought of Martha and thanked her silently. She had played her part, kept the originals, filed them away so they couldn’t be destroyed, just in case.
I searched around the pile, pushing aside scraps of paper, until my fingers came across something hard. There were two audio tapes. One marked ‘RGAP1 – call 1’. The other was marked ‘RGAP1 – call 2’.
I looked at Laura, who had been watching me all the while, and then ran upstairs to my room and rummaged around. When I returned, I held a Walkman in my hand.
‘When my dad told me that he hadn’t touched my room, he wasn’t joking. Still there, in my bedside cabinet.’ A lump filled my throat as I thought about how he’d kept everything just how it always had been.
I placed the first tape inside the machine and held it gingerly in the palm of my hand. I pressed play and the machine whirred in my hand, like the flutters of a butterfly wing.
The first thing I heard was static, and then electronic bleeps. I watched Laura’s face as we listened.
And then I heard my father’s voice.
A tear ran down my face when I heard it. He sounded younger, less gravelly, more of the man I wasn’t far from becoming.
‘I can see a girl. We’re just going to investigate, but I think she’s deceased. Get an ambulance here quick though.’
‘What’s your exact location?’
‘Victoria Park, Turners Fold. I can see a naked girl on the floor of the aviary in Victoria Park. Otherwise, scene is quiet.’
‘Got that. Scenes of crime are on their way. I’ll contact MCU.’
I looked at Laura. ‘MCU?’
‘Major Crimes Unit,’ she said.
The tape went quiet for a while. Laura looked puzzled, and I knew what she was thinking, that if this was London the radio would be crackling with officers giving their locations, promising to get down there. This was Turners Fold. On a night shift there were maybe six police officers on duty, with a couple in the station and the other four out in two cars. If the transmissions went quiet, it was because there was no one around to interrupt.