The Riot

by Laura Wilson

  ‘I appreciate what you’re telling me, Mrs Halliwell,’ he said gently, ‘but it doesn’t necessarily mean that what Irene told you isn’t true.’

  Afterwards, Stratton told himself he must have imagined it, but at that moment it seemed to him that her bullet stare softened for an instant, before she said, as passionately as before, ‘Of course it bloody does! Frank’s a good man.’ Swiping her handbag off the table in a single, sudden movement, as if she thought he might snatch it away, she clutched it to her chest. ‘And whatever she’s said about Tommy, that’s a lie as well.’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything about Tommy, Mrs Halliwell.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. If she hasn’t said anything, why is he here?’

  ‘He’s here because we have several witnesses who’ve identified him as part of a gang who attacked a coloured man called Clyde Johnson on Wednesday evening. As I’m sure you’re aware, Johnson died later in hospital.’ Seeing that she was about to protest, Stratton held up his hand. ‘Your son refused to come in for questioning and made himself scarce until we caught up with him last night. During the night of the attack on Johnson, he was driving a green Bedford van. This van was also seen’ – here Stratton was aware of raising his voice to cover a weak point – ‘during a petrol bomb attack at a party in Colville Road on Saturday … And,’ he continued, now safe in certainty, ‘it was later discovered in the yard at the White Defence League place. We’ve identified it as belonging to your husband, Frank Halliwell, who we shall be bringing in for questioning shortly, and that, Mrs Halliwell, is why your son is here. What I’d like to know is why you should think Irene might have, as you put it, shopped her brother.’

  Flustered, Mrs Halliwell said, ‘Well, I didn’t, I just thought … I mean, I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? You were pretty sure about it a minute ago. What’s made you change your mind?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, rallying, ‘it was a darkie, wasn’t it? I thought it might be one of her friends or something.’

  ‘Really?’ Stratton injected as much disbelief into the word as he could. ‘Notting Hill and Notting Dale are big places, Mrs Halliwell, and they’re full of coloured people. What made you think she might know this particular man? Something your son told you?’

  ‘No! He never – I don’t know anything about it.’

  ‘And yet you seemed so certain. What was it you said just now? Oh, yes: “She’s the one who caused all this.” ’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘You didn’t mean it like that,’ echoed Stratton. ‘How exactly did you mean it, Mrs Halliwell?’

  ‘I was worried about Tommy, that’s all.’

  ‘I see.’ Stratton sat quite still for a moment and then, without warning, brought down both hands on the tabletop with a crash which caused Mrs Halliwell to jump in her chair so that her handbag bounced in her lap. Standing up and leaning towards her so that she shrank away from him, he continued, ‘That’s not what happened, and you know it. And in view of that – and in view of the fact that I’m still considering whether to charge you with obstruction and assault, I strongly suggest that you give PC Jellicoe here a true and accurate statement detailing exactly what you know about your son’s whereabouts on both Wednesday and Saturday evenings. Do I make myself clear?’

  Stratton had been as sure as he could be that she’d buckle but, to his surprise, she eyeballed him right back and said, ‘You’re never going to charge me for them things. My Tommy’s done nothing wrong and you can’t make me say he did.’

  Dropping back into his chair again, with a weariness that was entirely unfeigned, he said, ‘I’d credited you with a little bit more intelligence than that, Mrs Halliwell. Now, it’s a shame that your daughter ran away to live with a black man and you can’t hold your head up in front of the neighbours, but think how much worse it would be if your husband was in prison for raping his stepdaughter.’

  Mrs Halliwell gasped. ‘You can’t! You’d never be able to prove it. It’s her word against his, and she’s nothing more than a … a …’

  ‘A child who ran away from home because she was being assaulted in the most vile and disgusting way by a man she should have been able to trust. A child who was betrayed by a mother who was prepared to sacrifice her own daughter in return for an easy life. Prison isn’t easy for anyone, but for that sort of person, well … Of course it’s just possible that he might get off, but mud sticks, especially that sort of mud. Your Frank may be a good provider now, but who do you think would employ him after that? And you’d have a lot more to worry about than a few clicking tongues and a bit of gossip.’

  Looking into her eyes, Stratton could see behind them a nightmare explosion of bricks through the windows, dog shit through the letterbox and filthy words gouged into the front door, and this time he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d got her.

  ‘All right,’ she whispered, utterly cowed. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll make a statement.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  ‘Any of that tea left?’ asked Stratton. ‘I could do with a cup.’

  Fenella gave him an encouraging smile but Irene, seated next to her, did not look up from the untouched plate of toast and jam in front of her. Miss Jenner rose and picked up the battered aluminium pot. ‘I should think it’ll be stewed by now. Why don’t I fetch us all some more?’

  ‘And some breakfast. Anything, so long as it’s not one of PC Jellicoe’s rock buns. I’ve still got a few teeth left, and I’d like to hang on to them for as long as I can.’ Fenella laughed on cue, but Irene’s eyes remained lowered, her face half hidden by her long hair. ‘Back in a moment,’ he said, and followed Miss Jenner into the passage, shutting the door after them.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked, sotto voce.

  ‘Very shaky. She’s only just stopped crying.’

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘It was all a bit confusing. We didn’t realise Mrs Halliwell was her mother, and she thought we’d got her in so that she could take her back home. It was hard to get any sense out of her because she was absolutely terrified, she was begging us not to make her go with the mother … I was trying to explain why Mrs Halliwell was here – the business with the brother – but that seemed to make it worse. Your Mrs Jones was very good with her, really calmed her down.’

  Stratton put his ear to the door for a moment before re-entering the room, and heard Fenella talking in resolutely normal tones about what she liked to eat for breakfast. ‘I was just explaining to Irene,’ she said when he opened the door, ‘that I can always make her some bacon and eggs if that’s what she prefers. I must say, it’ll be jolly nice to have someone to cook for again.’

  Irene, who’d ducked her head the moment he came into the room, raised it cautiously. ‘Am I really going to stay with you?’

  ‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ said Fenella.

  ‘I think,’ said Stratton, taking a seat, ‘that it’s a good idea, don’t you? Of course,’ he added, ‘we do have a few things to sort out first.’ The trace of a smile on Irene’s face disappeared immediately. ‘It shouldn’t take very long,’ he added quickly. ‘And before we have our chat, I’d just like to make it absolutely clear that no one is going to hurt you, Irene: not your mother, your brother or your stepfather. I’ve made quite sure of that.’

  Irene frowned. ‘But what about when you’re not here?’ she asked.

  ‘I know it’s a big thing,’ said Stratton, ‘asking you to trust me, but it is going to be all right.’

  ‘But,’ said Irene, ‘even if Tommy does get put in prison, he’ll come out again, won’t he?’

  ‘If he does,’ said Stratton, ‘it won’t be for many years. Tommy and his friends killed Ding-Dong, Irene. If they’re allowed to get away with it, there’s every chance they’ll decide that they’re above the law and go out and kill somebody else.’

  ‘What about my mum?’ Irene’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She hates me.’

  ‘Th
at was the impression she gave me when I spoke to her,’ said Stratton, ‘and I think I know why.’

  ‘It’s because of Clinton,’ said Irene. ‘She wouldn’t have minded so much if it hadn’t been a coloured man.’

  ‘It’s partly that,’ said Stratton, ‘but it’s mainly because of why you ran away. You told your mother what Frank Halliwell had done to you, didn’t you? When you told me, you said it was as if she knew what you were going to say before you said it. That’s right, isn’t it?’ Irene nodded. ‘That’s because she did know.’

  ‘She said that to you?’ Irene, her eyes as big as saucers, looked about ten years old.

  ‘Not in so many words. She didn’t have to. She knew what was going on, and she knows that I know she knew.’

  ‘But what …’ Irene looked panic-stricken. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. Mum’d be lost without Frank.’

  ‘Mum,’ said Stratton, marvelling at Irene’s instant concern for her parent’s welfare, ‘isn’t going to lose Frank. Not if they both do as they’re told – and that includes leaving you alone. One of the reasons your mother has turned against you so much, Irene, is because, by choosing not to listen to you – not to believe you – she did a terrible thing to you, and she knows it … Do you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Not sure.’ The girl looked at Fenella for confirmation.

  ‘Inspector Stratton’s right, Irene. Very often, when somebody does something like that to another person, they feel guilty about it. What they’ve done is so bad that they can’t forgive themselves so they sort of transfer the horrible feeling inside them onto the person they’ve wronged instead. They tell themselves lies about that person to justify their own action, because then they don’t have to feel guilty any more.’

  This was such an accurate summation of what Stratton had been trying to say, delivered with such heartfelt sincerity, that he suddenly remembered the husband with the roving eye and wondered if she was speaking from experience. How many times, sitting in interview rooms like this one, had he heard men justifying their adultery by laying the blame on their wives? Rapidly shelving this thought, and avoiding Fenella’s eye, he said, ‘The other reason why your mum was angry was that she thought Tommy’d been brought in because of something you’d told us.’

  ‘But I didn’t,’ said Irene, looking frightened again. ‘I was …’ Confused, she stared wildly round the room, then imploringly at Stratton.

  ‘You were frightened,’ said Stratton gently, ‘because you recognised your brother in Golborne Road. That’s why you said “Tommy”, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘Yes,’ said Stratton, ‘you can. Stop and think for a minute, Irene. Why would your mother be so certain that you’d told us about Tommy being in Golborne Road? She could only know you were there because Tommy told her about it afterwards. And that makes her a witness, Irene. That means she has to stand up in court and tell everybody what your brother told her about beating up Ding-Dong. She’s making a statement about it now, and your stepfather’s going to make a statement too, about how Tommy borrowed his van – because you recognised that too, didn’t you? And if I’m not mistaken, I think you might have recognised some of the other boys as well. Tommy’s friends, the ones who live on the White City Estate. The ones you grew up with.’

  ‘Yes.’ The single word was barely audible. ‘Yes, I did.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  ‘… and then we started walking back towards the railway bridge, and there were a group of men there, outside one of the shops, just sort of hanging about on the pavement. They weren’t shouting or nothing. Well, perhaps a bit of pushing and shoving, but it didn’t look, you know … And then we got close, and …’ Irene faltered, and after a moment Miss Jenner finished writing and looked up expectantly.

  ‘What happened next?’ prompted Stratton.

  ‘Well, it’s like you said, I did recognise some of them. Gordon Baxter, and Ronnie…’

  ‘That’s Ronnie Mills, is it?’

  ‘Yes. And then I saw Ding-Dong—’

  ‘And you recognised him straight away, did you?’

  ‘Yes, because of his clothes. He was wearing this suit. Stripey. Gloria used to say it looked like a deckchair.’

  ‘Yes, she told me that.’ Stratton flipped back through his notebook to find his record of the conversation. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, then I realised what was going on. They weren’t just talking, they was all standing round Ding-Dong and he’s been shoved right against the window of this shop, then suddenly he’s right down on the ground, sort of slumped, and some of them were bending over him.’

  ‘Were they holding weapons?’

  ‘Yes. Ronnie had a stick or a piece of iron or something, and some of the others had things too.’

  ‘And when did they see you?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. We sort of stopped, and then one of them stepped back, away from Ding-Dong, and I saw Tommy was there. I didn’t mean to say anything, but it just came out, and then they all looked.’

  ‘What was Tommy doing?’

  ‘Leaning over Ding-Dong like the others.’

  ‘Did he have a weapon?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ Irene shook her head. ‘I was terrified. I thought they were going to kill us. We just legged it.’

  ‘Did you hear them say anything?’

  ‘One of them said, “That’s a nigger’s whore.” ’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘I don’t know. We both started running at once, so then they was all behind us.’

  ‘And he definitely said those words – about one of you, not both of you?’

  ‘No. That’s what he said. It was horrible. I can still hear the words.’

  ‘Was it Tommy who said it, Irene?’

  ‘Honestly,’ Irene looked uncomfortable, ‘I don’t know. It might have been Tommy, but I didn’t see.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t know, Irene,’ said Stratton. ‘You’re doing very well. I’m just trying to get a clear picture of what happened. The suit you said Ding-Dong was wearing – did he wear it often?’

  Irene, relieved at the apparent insignificance of the subject, said, ‘Quite a lot. That was, you know, his best clothes, so if he went to one of the clubs, or something like that, then he did.’

  ‘And did you go about with him much? You told me, didn’t you, that Etheridge said to pretend you were Ding-Dong’s girl so that Gloria wouldn’t be upset.’

  Irene looked worried again. ‘Yes, but it was only in fun, and I didn’t know about what you and Roy said about Clinton and Gloria. I mean, I knew some of it, but—’

  ‘But you didn’t know that Etheridge was living off Gloria,’ Stratton finished. ‘I know that, Irene, and I’m not suggesting for a moment that you’ve done anything wrong. But I am wondering, if Tommy – or one of his friends – had seen you about with Ding-Dong once or twice, and he was wearing this very distinctive suit, if they might have come to the wrong conclusion about the two of you, and if that was why they attacked him.’

  Irene stared at him. ‘No … they couldn’t.’

  ‘Couldn’t they? We’ve spoken to a few of them and they can’t make up their minds about whose idea it was to get out of the van at that precise moment. It’s entirely possible that they were simply driving round looking for trouble – and of course one man on his own presents an easy target – but it’s also possible that Tommy, or one of the others in the front with him, recognised Ding-Dong’s suit, and that’s why they stopped.’

  ‘But …’ Irene looked bewildered. ‘How would they know he was going to be there?’

  ‘I don’t suppose they did, any more than they knew that you and Gloria were going to be there. It was chance, that’s all.’

  ‘Chance …’ repeated Irene. ‘But if we hadn’t … I mean, if he was coming to meet us …’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Stratton. ‘Or Gloria’s. Or Etheridge’s, come to that. And what I’
ve just said is only a possibility, nothing more.’

  ‘No,’ said Irene suddenly, sitting bolt upright. ‘It’s not.’

  The silence in the room seemed to quiver in the air, and Stratton could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Mentally stabilising himself with a caution that the job wasn’t finished by a long chalk, he said, ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘When I told you,’ said Irene, ‘about us running away and them chasing us and one of them tried to grab me and I tripped over, I missed a bit because I didn’t want to say nothing about Tommy, see?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Stratton. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘I was lying on the pavement, on my front, and I thought they were going to bash me or kick me or something, so I put my arms up round my head, but they didn’t do nothing, just stood there. I don’t know how long for – probably not even a minute, but it felt like a long time because I was so scared – so then I’m just peering round, through my hair, and I can see all these legs and shoes … Then I hear someone say “Leave it” and I look up a bit more and it’s Tommy and I know he wasn’t there before because I never saw his shoes or trousers, and I’d have recognised them because he had those Italian type leather shoes, the nice ones – I remember when he got them. It was just before I run away and he’d saved up special. So then I put my head up just a bit so I could see his face, and that’s when I saw.’

  ‘What did you see, Irene?’

  ‘I saw …’ Irene swallowed. ‘He was holding a knife.’