She smiled for the first time, softening the steel. Alec returned it, warming to this stern old lady. ‘And when the wind fetched my fence down last winter, he fixed it for me.’ She sighed. ‘Though by then, of course, the family was gone and he was about to lose his home. I knew the money I gave him would be used to buy more drink but—’ she shrugged—‘I felt sorry for the man, knowing all he’d been through, and it isn’t my place to judge the way folk deal with their grief.’
‘Were they a close family?’ Alec asked her.
To his surprise, she shook his head. ‘No, Inspector, I don’t believe they were. I think both parents loved their children and neither could bear to think of the children having to make choices between them. And I believe that they were still good friends...but the spark had gone, if you know what I mean. It was as though they all lived together because it was the convenient thing to do. They shared the house and the children, but other than that, I believe that their lives were quite separate.’
‘What made you think that?’
‘Because even when they had the chance to be together, they didn’t take it. There were no shortages of babysitters for the little ones. I kept an eye on them from time to time—as I told you, they were easy children. And her mother and sister used to have them often enough. Even then, she would go her way, with her friends and he would go his.’ She shrugged. ‘It seemed like a lonely sort of life to me, but, I suppose, at least they stayed together for the children.’
Alec could not help but wonder how the children felt about this. The boy would probably have been too young to notice, but Lucy would certainly have been at that age when she might compare her own family to that of others.
‘And you saw no signs of neglect,’ Alec asked her.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I saw no sign of neglect, neither did I have reason to suspect abuse. Not that we can know what goes on behind closed doors, of course. But the children always seemed healthy and happy, well fed and well clothed, not like some who came to play with them.’
Alec had the sudden feeling that she was about to drop a bombshell—or at least, she thought she was.
‘Like who, Mrs Mole? Like which children that came to play?’
‘Like little Sarah Clarke,’ she told him.
Phyllis Mole had clearly had this on her mind for quite some time. ‘I called the police,’ she said. ‘Reported the bruises on her arms, but they said all they could do was to pass the information on. They wanted to know if I was related or if I knew the family doctor. I told them, no, that I didn’t even know the child well, and that I supposed that her doctor must be someone at the group practice on Sandown Road.’ She shrugged. ‘I half expected someone to come around and talk to me, but no one did.’
No, Alec thought, the information would have been passed on, but unless there were corroborating reports, most likely it would simply have vanished into the system.
‘Exactly when was this?’
‘More than two years ago now. I never saw the child again to speak to. A week or so later, Sharon and the children were killed in that terrible crash and Gary fell to pieces. I went to the funeral and I half expected to see Sarah and her family there, but they didn’t come.’
‘But you’ve thought about her. Often,’ Alec guessed.
The old lady pursed her lips and nodded slowly. ‘It never ceased to amaze me how easy some folk find it to hurt the innocent,’ she said. ‘And how little conscience they seem to have about it. When I saw the news, I recognized her, of course. She was a plump little thing when I first knew her and in that news picture she’s shed some of the baby fat. But I knew, even before they said the name, that it was her and when they said it was murder...I remembered the bruises and I called the police again.’
‘You called again? After Sarah was killed?’
‘That’s what I’ve just said, Inspector. Someone, a young girl who sounded as though she should still be in school, she took my details and said thank you very much and that was it.’
Alec nodded. He knew just how many calls would have been generated and how easy it would be for a single piece of information to he buried. And a piece like this in particular, with no corroboration...Alec was all too familiar with how many times this happened. That a child was killed or disappeared and the calls would flood in, accusatory, vindictive and usually groundless, describing abuse and neglect that had to be investigated and which caused massive hurt. Usually, this was kept from the parents while investigators quietly looked into what, nine times out of ten, turned out to be unfounded lies.
Was Phyllis Mole just another vindictive busybody? Alec didn’t think so.
‘Mrs Mole, did you ever get a feeling for...’
‘Who was doing it?’ She shook her head. ‘At first I thought it might have been the father, but I don’t know.’
‘And you are certain that this was not just accidental bruising?’
She smiled at him. ‘I know, Inspector. I’ve had children of my own and sometimes they could have doubled for Dalmatian dogs, they were so spotty with cuts and scrapes and bruises. Especially if they’d been out on the beach and, Inspector, sometimes I think we must have spent our entire summers on the beach.’ She smiled at the memory of it and Alec found himself smiling back at her again.
‘No,’ Phyllis Mole was adamant. ‘Sharon was worried too. She pointed the marks out to me and asked me what I thought, said that Sarah had made up some cock and bull story about having to keep her cardigan on in case she got cold. The child forgot, slipped her cardy off and carried on playing, then got into a right state when she remembered what her mother had told her.
‘The bruises were black, Inspector, and all around her upper arms. She had little sleeves on her dress that almost covered them but not quite, and when she moved and the sleeves rode up, you could see clearly. Someone had grabbed hold of her and dug their fingers in hard and left the mark of every one on that little girl’s arm.’
Fourteen
Alec was thoughtful as he drove away. He had knocked on a few more doors but no one had been home. When he drove away, Phyllis Mole was standing in the front room bay window looking out at him and he wondered what she was thinking...and how much credence he should give to her words.
It was mid afternoon by the time he got back to the office and tracked down DCI Travers. Dick Travers listened as Alec reported what Phyllis Mole had said.
‘We ran the usual checks,’ Travers said. ‘Nothing came through from social services or the health centre. Her doctor, if I recall, said he’d rarely seen the child. His records showed that he’d been called out when both the kids went down with chicken pox and Sarah had a high temperature...or maybe it was a locum went out. I think they use an on-call service, you’d have to check.’
He paused, frowned at Alec. ‘Did Phyllis Mole leave her name or was she Mrs Anonymous?’
‘She didn’t say,’ Alec was annoyed with himself for not asking. ‘I get the impression though, that she’d have been upfront and the first time she called, she said she expected a visit, so she must have identified herself.’
Travers nodded. ‘So, if Sharon Williams suspected enough to point it out to the old lady, then why didn’t she act on it?’
Alec shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to get involved?’ he suggested. ‘That’s the usual reason.’
‘Then why draw attention to the bruises in the first place?’
Alec shrugged again. ‘Sharp eyes has Phyllis Mole,’ he said. ‘And maybe Sharon knew that she’d do something. Save her the potential trouble.’
‘Well, one thing’s sure. We can’t ask her. But we can have another word with our friend, Gary. Find out why he lied about knowing Sarah Clarke and her family.’
‘Today?’ Alec asked.
‘No, leave it, Alec. I’d rather give our Mr Williams another night on the Radleigh. Think things over,’ he smiled. ‘We’ve got two surveillance units keeping obs on the flat, but they’ve instructions to be low profile. Unless anythin
g serious starts, they’ll stay put and observe.’
Alec raised an eyebrow. ‘Serious?’ he asked.
His boss shrugged. ‘Word from above is not to antagonize the natives,’ he said. ‘So we wait and we watch.’
Alec took time to set things in motion as regards tracking down Phyllis’ calls then headed off to talk to Naomi. He arrived just as Harry, Naomi and Patrick pulled up in Harry’s car.
Napoleon was exhausted and flopped down on the living-room floor, refusing to respond to any of Alec’s cajoling. ‘What have you done to him?’ Alec demanded.
‘Three hours of walking and frisbees and playing ball,’ Patrick told him. He didn’t look in much better shape than the dog.
‘So, where have you been?’
‘Newspaper archive,’ Naomi told him from the kitchen. ‘We’ve been digging. I wanted to review the case and since I didn’t have the case notes...’
‘Oh? What were you looking for?’
‘I don’t know really. Just so many things I didn’t remember clearly, like who else was on the team. That sort of thing.’ She came through to the living room, her hands resting lightly on the door frame and her head turning as she got her bearings by listening to where everyone was. ‘I know...I know. Not a lot of point. Now they’ve found Helen’s body it’s only a matter of time before they release the name of who did it, I guess. But, you know how it is. It was nibbling away at my brain and would carry on nibbling if I didn’t do something. Where have you been?’
‘Our man from the Radleigh,’ Alec said. ‘I was visiting his old neighbourhood.’
‘Oh? And where’s that then?’ She came through the door, reaching out her hand towards him. He took it and pulled her into his embrace. Over her head he could see Harry in the kitchen. He looked their way and scowled, then turned back to the coffee he was making.
‘Palmer Road, just back from the main promenade.’
‘Palmer Road. I think I knew someone who lived there.’
‘You did,’ Harry said, coming though from the kitchen with a tray in his hands. ‘Joe’s brother lived there. I remember because our aunt Ida lives round the corner on Amy Street and Mum and I met Joe one time when we were visiting.’
Naomi shook her head. ‘I was thinking of someone from school,’ she said. ‘Ingham Grammar took kids from Philby as well as here. I’ve this vague memory of going to a Christmas party there. Something like that.’ She paused, frowning in her attempt to recapture the memory. I’ve a feeling Helen must have gone, too. I think your dad drove us. I didn’t know Joe’s brother lived there. I thought Ron Jackson lived here, in Ingham.’
‘Not Ron. Another brother. I forget his name.’ He pointedly handed a mug of coffee to Alec, forcing Alec to leave go of Naomi. ‘How are you doing with your suspect? Has he gone back to that estate?’
Alec nodded. ‘For the moment anyway. Nothing we could hold him on. We offered him safe accommodation, but he’s refused it.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘If I were him, I’d be over the hills and far away by now.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to tell him not to leave town or something?’ Patrick asked.
Alec laughed. ‘Only in the movies. Fact is, we can’t charge him and we can’t tell him where to live.’
‘Do you think he’s guilty?’ Patrick pressed.
‘I think I’ve already told you far too much.’
‘Nothing we couldn’t have worked out from the news,’ Naomi commented. ‘Or not much more, anyway. Harry read the front pages to me earlier. Have you seen them?’
‘I’ve seen them. More pressure for outing of known offenders. It’s inevitable I guess, regardless of the fact that Gary Williams has never been charged with anything, let alone child abuse.’
‘Well, why shouldn’t people want to know?’ Patrick asked. ‘About people like that living close by.’
‘Well, in this case because we’ve no real reason to think that Gary Williams is someone like that. He may well be an unpleasant, but otherwise innocent, party and as such we’ve got a duty of protection. Even if he were guilty as hell, we’d still have that same duty to protect; you can’t let the mob rule, Patrick, however strong the provocation and much as it feels right sometimes—although I didn’t say that,’ he added, smiling at the teenager. ‘And the other problem is that exposure drives people underground. They disappear and often the authorities have no idea of where they are or what they’re doing.’ He sighed. One thing everyone on the investigation wished was that they’d had bloody CCTV on Philby beachfront. Even if it hadn’t picked up Sarah, it might have thrown up other leads. Told them who was in the area. He recalled vividly, when another little girl had disappeared from a seaside town in Scotland, the cameras had picked up more than twenty known paedophiles on that same promenade that day. Had he and Naomi been alone, he might have expressed that view out loud. With Patrick present, and Harry Jones, it seemed neither appropriate nor wise.
‘You still think he’s guilty though, don’t you?’
Patrick was persistent if nothing else, Alec thought.
‘Maybe,’ he conceded. ‘But guilty of what? Being an asshole doesn’t automatically make him a killer.’
They sat down around the circular table, the copies of news reports spread across its surface. Napoleon snored softly, his legs twitching as he chased something through his dreams. The windows were wide open and the distant sounds of beach life drifted in as the wind changed and swept in with the tide: arcade music and children shouting amongst the fairground rides further along the promenade.
‘Joe led the investigation,’ Naomi commented, ‘but I never realized until today just how many more folk that I knew also worked on it.’
‘People tend to stick here,’ Alec confirmed. ‘Oh, you get the promotions out, but being regional HQ, it gives us a fair whack at internal mobility promotion and we can still stay local.’
‘It’s also a good place to get sidelined,’ Naomi commented wryly.
‘Maybe. Who were you thinking about anyway?’
‘Well, for a start, there was Sergeant Miller. He was a young PC back then.’ She turned to Harry. ‘He’s based at Philby now. Then our own DCI Travers. He’d just moved into CID as a DC. And old DS Lyman. He retired a few years ago but I worked with him in my first year. Nice man, but he never mentioned Helen or anything. There were probably others, but those two were mentioned specifically in the newspapers. I don’t know, it seems strange, the way our paths cross time and time again with some people.’
‘Didn’t Joe tell people about you? Remind them, when you became a police woman?’ Patrick asked.
‘No. Thankfully, he didn’t. It’s probably not good to appear to have that much baggage. Joe and I talked occasionally about how we’d met and that sort of thing, but even Joe was a bit reticent by then. He saw it as a major failure.’
He also saw the Helen Jones case as what stopped him making DCI, Alec thought, but he said nothing.
‘I’m surprised, you saying that. I got the impression that you were very open about all this,’ Harry said. ‘I mean to say, when Alec came to tell us about finding Helen’s body, you came along, I thought, with official approval.’
Naomi nodded. ‘Now, yes,’ she said, ‘but when I first came back here as a very green PC, I didn’t want any of it to come out. I was naïve enough to think I might be treated differently. Singled out in some way. I was wrong. Later, I told friends about Helen. People talk; naturally they talk about what brought them in to the force and Helen was a big part of my reason. Joe Jackson was another. Then, after the accident...the papers did this big thing on the victims of the crash and someone got hold of the story about me and Helen’.
‘I remember that,’ Harry said quietly. It had been painful, both because of Mari’s grief for Naomi and the way in which it had reopened their wounds over Helen.
There was a brief silence, everyone nursing their own thoughts until Harry said, ‘Nomi, you should tell Alec about the bracelet.’
‘Bra
celet?’ Alec asked.
‘It hardly seems worth it.’
‘Tell me anyway.’ He reached out and covered her hand with his own. His right. There was a small callous at the root of the index finger. He had acquired it somewhere and kept it alive by picking it raw. Sometimes, when he touched her, it scraped her skin and, perversely, she had grown to like that. She felt she was touching the rawness of Alec himself. Whittled and picked clean, exposed.
Briefly, she told him about the children and finding the bangle on the step the night before.
‘You’re certain it isn’t yours?’ he asked her.
She groped in her bag for the chiming bangle that had been left behind and now lay it on the table. ‘No, it isn’t mine.’ She went through to her bedroom and fetched her own from the bedside drawer and lay it beside its twin. ‘See, this is mine. Green enamel. The other is purple, like Helen’s.’
Alec turned them over in his hand. ‘Bit too late to bag it, I suppose,’ he commented.
‘It was a bit too late last night. By the time Napoleon had finished with it and I’d fumbled it around in the dust, I don’t think there’d have been a lot there.’
‘No, I suppose not. Can I keep this anyway?’
‘I guess so.’ She felt oddly reluctant to let it go.
‘Nomi, you should have called someone last night,’ Alec said. He sounded concerned. Irritated, even.
‘And told them what? That some kid dropped her bracelet on my doorstep?’
‘There’s more to it than that. Surely, you must have realized last night, there was more to it than that?’ Alec insisted.
‘No,’ Naomi shook her head. ‘Alec, I didn’t realize. In truth, I didn’t even think. I was too surprised, I guess. I went to the door and called out, but no one answered and I didn’t hear anyone either.’
Alec thought for a moment, she could hear him turning the bangle between his hands, making the tiny bells chime softly. ‘Can you remember what the kids were saying?’ he asked her. ‘You mentioned that one of them said something before banging on the door.’
Mourning the Little Dead Page 9