‘Yes.’ Adrian Clough returned the smile. ‘I developed a passion for history, particularly local history. The Ninth Legion left Eboracum to go north to Caledonia . . .’
‘Scotland?’
‘Yes, now called Scotland, to quell an uprising of the Picts and just vanished . . . but that was about one hundred AD. Four people, a complete family disappearing in this day and age, well, it is probably not to the same scale but the mystery is still as powerful. Something happened to the Ninth Legion and something clearly happened to the Parr family of Camden, London. It made quite a media splash as you might well imagine.’
‘Yes.’ Carmen Pharoah sensed the gentle scent of air freshener in the room. ‘I saw and read the newspaper cuttings which were attached to the missing person report. Quite a splash, as you say, local, regional and national newspapers all carried the story.’
‘Yes, I remember.’ Adrian Clough glanced up at the ceiling of his living room. ‘And no one heard or saw anything. You know it’s that which I find the most difficult thing of all to comprehend about the whole case. The hotel the family were staying in initially reported the family as doing a runner, absconding without paying the bill, which was quite a large bill because they had been staying at the King Henry, no less.’
‘So . . . monied,’ Carmen Pharoah commented, ‘that’s not a cheap hotel. They were very comfortably off.’
‘Yes, they were no fly-by-nights.’ Adrian Clough nodded briefly in agreement. ‘Then their car was found abandoned. It was a top of the range Mercedes Benz, which then scotched any notion that they had run off without paying the hotel bill and confirmed that something untoward had happened. I mean, parents and their two daughters with no known links or connection to York disappear in the night . . . as if abducted by aliens . . . sinister, passing sinister.’ Again Adrian Clough took a deep breath which seemed to Carmen Pharoah to cause him great discomfort.
‘Are you all right, Adrian?’ Carmen Pharoah could not restrain her concern.
‘No, I am not.’ Adrian Clough forced a smile. ‘But all that can be done has been done. It’s just pain relief now, this is my last lap. Comes to all of us and it’s come to me. Let’s just talk about the Parrs.’
‘Of course.’
‘You have to put it into context. I lived to have my three score and ten plus a year or two on top. I reproduced . . .’ He inclined his head towards his ‘rogues’ gallery’. ‘The two daughters of the Parrs were barely in their twenties when they died. I mean they had to have been killed, so sinister.’
‘Yes, sinister is just the word.’ Carmen Pharoah spoke softly. ‘This is something that you probably don’t know, sir, but we will be making it public in the press release, and at the press conference, and that is that the grave in which the Parr family was found . . . it seems certain it will be them . . . there was also a fifth body buried with them.’
‘Oh . . .’ Clough gasped, ‘that is news to me . . . that really is news, a fifth body?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, I thought that it might come as a surprise.’ Carmen Pharoah sat back in the armchair she occupied. ‘It deepens the mystery somewhat.’
‘I’ll say.’ Adrian Clough shook his head. ‘I’ll say it deepens it. A male or female?’
‘Female, of the same age group as the daughters. The forensic pathologist has a very finely developed eye. At first she thought that she was dealing with a family of five with one daughter being significantly taller than the others because of a dormant gene carried in the family line, four of the skeletons being quite short in terms of stature. I was observing the post-mortem for the police, you see.’
‘Yes.’ Adrian Clough adjusted his position in the chair. ‘Yes, I remember the hotel staff remarking that they were a short family, I remember that quite well.’
‘But the fifth body, the tallest of the skeletons, was of average height and Dr D’Acre, that is the forensic pathologist I mentioned, she at first thought it was because of a dormant gene, which can happen apparently.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Clough smiled. ‘You should see the height of one of my grandsons. He is taller than both his brothers and he has to bow his head when he stands up in this room to avoid cracking it against the ceiling. Huge boy. He’s at Newcastle University now.’
‘Good for him,’ Carmen Pharoah replied, ‘he’s on his way in life . . . but the forensic pathologist then noticed a slight difference in the shape of the skulls.’
‘You can do that?’ Clough sounded surprised. ‘They have all looked the same to me. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.’
‘And to me.’ Carmen Pharoah grinned in reply. ‘But it was explained to me that, apparently, there are minor differences from skull to skull which get accentuated by the layers of muscle and skin and which make human faces appear different from one another.’
‘I see, that is interesting.’ Adrian Clough raised his eyebrows. ‘So skulls are not all the same after all. You still learn things even at my time of life.’
‘Yes, sir, seems so.’ Carmen Pharoah continued to speak in a soft, reverential tone. ‘Anyway, the forensic pathologist was able to discern a difference in the skull of the tallest skeleton, which indicated to her, prior to tests being carried out, that we were looking at a family of four plus a fifth victim who is . . . or was . . . of the same age group as the daughters. Tests will confirm it, of course, but the missing person report of a family of four and the press coverage at the time seems to confirm that the fifth victim was not related. She was probably an unconnected victim who was murdered at the same time and whose wretched body was dropped into the same grave which had been dug for the Parr family.’
‘How convenient,’ Adrian Clough growled.
‘Yes,’ Carmen Pharoah agreed, ‘convenient. Her skeleton probably has a wholly different tale to tell, could be linked in some way . . . but, equally, it may be wholly unconnected.’
‘Only time will tell,’ Adrian Clough wheezed.
‘Yes.’ Carmen Pharoah began to feel uneasy about visiting a man who was in such clear discomfort. ‘So far we have yet to identify a likely victim from the missing person reports of about thirty years ago, but the mis per report on the Parr family leapt out at me.’
‘As it would do.’ Adrian Clough smiled. ‘As it would do.’
‘Yes, as it would do . . . hence my phone call,’ Carmen Pharoah explained. ‘I felt it necessary to follow it up with the interested police officer at the time.’
‘Yes, seems a sensible thing to do.’ Clough once again took a difficult breath.
‘I am sorry, Mr Clough, is this a good time?’ Carmen Pharoah enquired. ‘I can return later.’
Adrian Clough grinned. ‘No, it’s not a good time but it’s the only time you’ll get; you had better gather ye rosebuds while ye may. I was given six weeks, seven weeks ago.’
‘I am sorry . . .’
‘Thank you . . . but you won’t escape, so ask away.’
‘Thank you.’ Carmen Pharoah held eye contact with Adrian Clough. ‘It is very generous of you to give your time . . . very courageous.’
‘One last useful thing,’ Adrian Clough replied. ‘It will make me feel better about myself this evening.’
‘If you are sure . . .’ Carmen Pharoah pressed.
‘Sure.’
‘So tell me what you found out about the Parrs?’ Carmen Pharoah asked. ‘It sounds like an old name . . . it rings a bell.’
‘One of Henry Tudor’s wives perhaps, Catherine Parr? The sixth and final one, I think. She was the last one.’
‘Of course, English history lessons.’ Carmen Pharoah beamed. ‘And yes, you are correct, she was the last one. She survived him and lived to tell the tale.’
‘English history?’ Clough enquired. ‘We just had history.’
‘I grew up in St Kitts,’ Carmen Pharoah explained, ‘so at school English history was taught as a separate subject to West Indian history.’
‘I see.’ Clough paused. ‘That’s int
eresting. So the Parrs, well, what can I say? I must search my memory for anything that might not have been reported in the file. I contacted the police in London, the Parrs’ home being in London, in north London . . . Camden, I think.’
‘That’s quite posh,’ Carmen Pharoah commented.
‘Really? Mind you, their car and staying at the King Henry Hotel, I shouldn’t be surprised that Camden was and still is posh, but I don’t know London. I have rarely been there.’
‘It is posh, you can rest assured,’ Carmen Pharoah said. ‘Me and my husband used to live in Leytonstone . . . down the East End . . . it is very unfashionable.’
‘So what brought you north?’ Clough asked.
Carmen Pharoah sank back in her chair and after a pause said, ‘A car . . .’
Adrian Clough scowled at her reply.
‘I am sorry,’ she explained, ‘I am not being facetious. I actually travelled north by train, following my husband being knocked down and killed in a road traffic accident. So in a sense it really was in fact a car which made me come north, which made me feel I had to get away from London.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Clough wheezed. ‘I understand your reply now. I am very sorry; you are too young to have to cope with a loss like that.’
‘I am coping.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled.
‘Courageously so.’ Adrian Clough returned the smile. ‘So, the Parrs. I remember that they once had a double-barrelled name, Parr-Keble . . . Keble with a single “e”, but in fact it was pronounced “Keeble” as if it had a double “e”.’
‘Sounds posh, as I said.’
‘I think that they were once quite wealthy, suffered a slide but not yet quite – what’s the term? – “distressed gentlefolk”, those born into money who then fall on hard times and expect handouts to keep them in a manner to which they are accustomed. Well try being born into poverty, I say,’ Clough said angrily.
‘I believe the term is “downward social mobility”, but, as you say, it’s hard to find sympathy for them.’ Carmen Pharoah nodded in agreement. ‘Distressed and gentle as they may be.’
‘But the impression I had, Ms Pharoah, was that they were clearly still monied.’
‘Carmen.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled warmly. ‘You can call me Carmen.’
‘It is just the impression I had, Carmen. I should really offer you tea. I feel like a cup. Would you care to join me? I am told I make a passable cup of tea.’
‘Please.’ Carmen Pharoah made to stand. ‘I will make it.’
Adrian Clough extended his hand palm outwards. ‘No . . . no, I want to, today has been an unexpected pleasure.’ He levered himself up from his chair. ‘Last chance to do some police work . . . last chance to make tea for an unexpected guest. The only people who visit me are my family and the district nurse who gives me this day my daily morphine. No, you stay seated, Carmen, let me do something knowing I am doing it for the last time.’ Adrian Clough walked unsteadily out of the room, leaving a slight but pungent odour in his wake.
Later, and over what indeed proved to be a very passable pot of tea, Adrian Clough, once again seated in his armchair, continued. ‘Yes, no recollection of the Parrs being financially embarrassed, no recollection at all.’
‘Well, they lived in Camden and they don’t sound like they rented . . .’ Carmen Pharoah stirred her tea which, to her surprise, was served in daintily decorated cups and saucers rather than the half-pint mug she had expected a retired police officer to have favoured. ‘And the Mercedes Benz you describe . . . not cheap. So, do you know . . . did you find out why the Parr family came to York? It would seem very relevant to the inquiry.’
‘As you say, Carmen, very relevant; we thought the same and asked just that question but the hotel manager and staff were unable to help. The Parrs never mentioned to the hotel staff what their reason was for visiting York, not even in passing. When we searched their rooms at the King Henry we found only age and gender appropriate clothing, sufficient for the week they had booked the room for, plus a little jewellery, but no documents of any kind . . . no business cards, nothing that could throw any light as to their reason for coming to York.’
‘Where did you put their possessions?’ Carmen Pharoah sipped her tea.
‘It all went into police storage, as you’d expect, and it remained there until it was claimed by the next of kin.’
‘Mr Verity, Mrs Parr’s brother?’ Carmen Pharoah consulted her notebook.
‘If that was the name.’ Adrian Clough also sipped his tea. ‘I can’t recall his name at all. I recall him presenting at Mickie Bar looking very solemn. I didn’t get any sort of bad feeling about him, which is the sort of thing I would remember. He was quite short, like the Parrs, and he kept muttering about it all being a “fool’s errand”.’
‘A fool’s errand?’
‘I am sure that it was what he said.’ Adrian Clough looked down at the carpet. ‘Yes, he did say that, “all a big fool’s errand”.’
‘Did you ask him what he meant by that?’ Carmen Pharoah closed her notebook. ‘It sounds like he knew the reason for the drive north.’
‘No . . . no, I didn’t . . . confess I didn’t.’ Adrian Clough looked uncomfortable. ‘I remember he was bustling about, anxious to get out of the door and back down south with the Parr family’s belongings bundled into three cellophane evidence bags. I dare say I should have asked him to explain, but I just seemed to respond to his eagerness to get home to London and so I didn’t hinder him any. That attitude of mine probably explains why I was slow to rise and why I never made it beyond Detective Sergeant.’
‘Don’t reproach yourself, Adrian, hindsight is twenty-twenty vision.’ Carmen Pharoah paused and then said, ‘So it would seem that the Parrs had a purpose in visiting York and they were not on a family holiday.’
‘Yes . . . but a week is a long time to conclude business. They might have been intending to do a little tourism. York being York even a week is insufficient time to see all that there is to see, that is if ancient history is your area of interest. And the time of year . . . you can visit York any time of the year but September, when they visited, is a good month to do sightseeing, still warm and dry. So they may have chosen to extend a business trip with a small holiday.’
‘Yes . . . their car, the Mercedes,’ Carmen Pharoah asked, ‘it was found in Leeman Street car park, I understand?’
‘Yes,’ Clough replied confidently, ‘yes, it was a day or two later. The car park attendant alerted the police. When the vehicle hadn’t moved for two days he inspected it and found the driver’s door window was half wound down and the ignition keys still in place. It was quite suspicious, he thought, and so he called the police . . . quite rightly.’
‘Really!’ Carmen Pharoah gasped. ‘I mean, was the car really left like that?’
‘Yes, really.’ Adrian Clough raised his eyebrows. ‘Really, really left like that.’
‘Suggesting what?’ Carmen Pharoah asked. ‘What is in your mind, Adrian?’
‘Well, in my mind . . .’ Adrian Clough seemed pleased his opinion was sought. ‘Suggesting the possibility that leaving the window open would destroy any fingerprints that might have been left by a felon or felons that had not been wiped. It’s an old dodge, as you will likely know, exposure to the atmosphere, the moving air, will cause latents to degrade much more rapidly than those in enclosed spaces.’
‘Yes.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled. ‘An old dodge, as you say.’
‘But quite frankly,’ Adrian Clough continued, ‘I think the more likely explanation was that the Mercedes Benz was left like that so as to be an open invitation to car thieves, in the hope that joyriders might come across it and take it for a spin and then set fire to it, that would really cover the tracks of any felon.’
‘Yes.’ Carmen Pharoah nodded in agreement. ‘It certainly would, especially if it was torched, as you say.’
‘If not joyriders then car thieves, it was an open invitation to one or the other. You could have s
old that car in the Arab market or the Russian market with no questions asked, that would get it well out of the reach of the British police.’
‘Certainly would.’ Carmen Pharoah put her empty teacup down on the hearth tiles. ‘That was a lovely cup of tea, just what I needed. I can understand that reasoning.’
‘And Leeman Road car park was a good place to leave a car if you wanted it stolen,’ Adrian Clough added. ‘A gang or separate groups of car thieves were active in central York at the time.’
‘Thus implying local knowledge?’ Carmen Pharoah suggested.
‘Possibly,’ Adrian Clough agreed, ‘but only possibly. May just be coincidental, but in the event we were lucky because we acquired it before it could be stolen. We phoned the address of the owners and a maid answered.’
‘A maid?’
‘Yes . . . so further indicating that the Parrs were monied. She told us the family had gone to York for a few days. It was just about then that the hotel phoned us to say a family had done a moonlight, giving the name of the family. So we linked that to the abandoned Mercedes and then Mrs Parr’s brother phoned.’
‘Mr Verity?’
‘Yes, so we opened the missing person report and appealed to the media. A missing family . . . quite a splash it made, as I said, but we heard not a whisper. We heard not a dicky bird, until now.’ Adrian Clough sighed. ‘I’m glad I lived to see this development.’
‘And now with an extra body thrown into the mix,’ Carmen Pharoah added.
‘Yes.’ Clough raised his eyebrows. ‘As you say, Carmen, with an extra body thrown into the mix.’
Taking her leave of Mr Clough with no small measure of thanks, Carmen Pharoah walked away from his house feeling a most profound sense of humility, combined with a great sense of privilege that she had met the gentleman, and she felt pleasure in having made a small contribution to his life as it was drawing to its close.
‘Thirty years.’ The man grinned. ‘Seriously? In excess of a quarter of a century?’
‘It’s a bit of a long shot,’ Hennessey replied, sharing the man’s humour, ‘but I’ve shot longer shots in my time, and, yes, I am afraid that we are serious, very serious.’
The Altered Case Page 7