Unsafe Convictions

by Alison Taylor

  ‘He’d like that.’ Joints aching, Linda rose, trying to banish the ghosts, at least for the time being. ‘I’ll ring Rene. She’ll want to visit.’

  ‘She won’t be home yet.’

  ‘I’m sure those coppers are human enough to pass on a message.’

  ‘You don’t have to see them tomorrow if you don’t want.’

  ‘I do want. Sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

  Chapter Seven

  Rene knocked on the office door, walked in without invitation, laid a tray in the middle of Jack’s desk, then retreated to the doorway, folded her arms, and looked down on the four souls around the room. Trying to evade the cold, which crept outwards from every corner, Ellen and Janet both huddled inside heavy sweaters.

  ‘Decent of you to let me speak to Linda,’ Rene said, to the room at large.

  ‘Not at all.’ McKenna smiled. ‘How’s her father?’

  ‘Better than a body’s any right to be, in the circumstances, and he wants to talk to you.’ ‘Why?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Why d’you think?’ Rene sighed.

  ‘Perhaps we should wait until he’s a little stronger,’ McKenna suggested.

  ‘That won’t be long, then,’ Rene said. ‘I’ll tell him later, when I visit.’ Unfolding her arms, she stuck her hands in her apron pockets, and fidgeted. ‘I know you think I’m a gossip, but sometimes, things need to be said.’

  ‘And?’ McKenna asked.

  ‘Well, there’s been a lot of toing and froing today, what with people going to the hospital, and ringing to ask about Fred, and the like. He’s always been respected, but people took a lot more interest in him after Trisha was killed, and now, with that Smith on the loose again and the newspaper rubbish and his heart attack, well, nobody’s talking about anything else, are they?’ She paused for breath. ‘Linda said there’s been a couple of reporters at the hospital, and Fred’s next-door neighbour, the one who rang Linda this morning, had a man from the Manchester Evening News leaning on her doorbell.’

  ‘I’m sure the hospital would get rid of the press if they’re bothering people.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ Rene said. ‘Linda can sort a few hacks. After all, they were crawling all over during the trial.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’ asked Jack, making inroads on the tea tray.

  ‘The town’s thick with reporters, and some folk don’t mind opening their gobs for a few five-pound notes or even just for the attention. Barry Dugdale’s next-door neighbour’s one of them, apparently.’

  ‘I see,’ McKenna said. ‘And what’s she been saying?’

  ‘She heard Barry and Sue rowing last night till well past midnight, the kids didn’t go to school this morning, then Sue drove off in her car with the kids and their toys, and a load of suitcases.’

  ‘Who told you?’ McKenna asked.

  ‘Linda heard it off somebody else, and she said if Sue’s left Barry it’s another nail in Smith’s coffin.’

  Chapter Eight

  Shivering on the doorstep, while the wind whipped around her and snapped at the hem of her jacket, Ellen looked into Dugdale’s blank face and bloodshot eyes. ‘D’you remember me? I’m Ellen Turner. I was here yesterday. Superintendent McKenna’s asked me to make an unofficial visit. He’ll decide later if a formal interview is necessary.’

  Holding the door wider, Dugdale stood aside, then followed Ellen into the front room, his feet making trudging noises on the carpets. The room was almost as cold as the doorstep, the fire unlit, the big radiator under the window fighting a losing battle with the plummeting temperature.

  ‘What is it?’ His speech sounded as if he were drugged. He stood before the dead fire, trembling from head to foot.

  ‘Shall we light the fire?’ Ellen suggested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The fire. It’s freezing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Casting around as might a stranger, he knelt down slowly, moved aside part of the decorative front plate, and pushed the ignition button.

  Crouching beside him, Ellen said: ‘You have to turn on the gas first.’ She twisted the knob, and the fire sprang to life. ‘That’s better, isn’t it? May I sit down?’

  ‘Sue usually lights the fire.’ Dugdale still trembled.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Gone to her mother’s.’

  ‘Why?’

  He collapsed into an armchair, as if someone had clouted the back of his knees, and drooped forward, hands dangling.

  ‘Why has she gone, Mr Dugdale?’

  ‘I’m supposed to say her mother’s ill.’

  ‘But she isn’t?’

  ‘Sue’s left me.’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘And she’s taken the children.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I had to tell her about Julie.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand.’

  ‘I had to. I’d told Superintendent McKenna.’

  Wondering if she had missed some crucial disclosure the previous day, Ellen said: ‘You said you and Julie went together years ago.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t your wife know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see. Did she know about Linda?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did that bother her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, what’s the problem with Julie?’

  He gazed unseeingly at the fire. ‘I’m not sure. It all got terribly muddled up. I think it’s because we slept together.’ Pausing, working his mouth, he went on: ‘Or, perhaps Sue thinks we’re still sleeping together.’ He stopped speaking yet again, then said: ‘Or maybe, because I didn’t tell her about Julie, but told her about Linda, she thinks there’s something sinister there.’

  ‘Has she any grounds to suspect you’re being unfaithful?’

  ‘No, and I’m not. I haven’t been, ever.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her about Julie?’ He looked at her, face gaunt. ‘Because I was ashamed.’

  ‘Of what? Going with a girl who had a bad reputation?’

  ‘Of helping to give her that reputation, and I’m not the only man in town with the same cause to be ashamed of himself.’

  ‘You were very young, and behaved rather thoughtlessly, but at least, you accept that, where most wouldn’t.’

  His features twisted into a haggard smile. ‘Julie was my first love, you know. She could break your heart with just a look.’

  ‘Does your wife know that?’

  ‘God, no! She reckons Julie’s a dirty trollop.’

  ‘Did she say that when you were rowing?’

  ‘Yes, and I told her to be quiet. People think they can say what they like about Julie, and it’s not right.’

  ‘That’s probably why your wife’s angry. Women hear with their instincts, not their ears.’

  ‘How did you know we’d been rowing?’

  ‘Bush telegraph.’

  ‘As in Rene Minshull and Linda?’

  Ellen nodded. ‘You need to know there’s been a sudden upsurge of media interest in the Smith case, partly because of Gaynor Holbrook, and partly because Linda’s dad had a mild heart attack this morning.’

  He covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh, God! I didn’t know. How is he?’

  ‘Recovering.’

  ‘That’s a blessing. They’ve already had more than enough tragedy.’ He frowned. ‘Who’s Gaynor Holbrook?’

  ‘She’s writing about Smith for one of the popular national papers. You’ve not seen her articles?’ When he shook his head, Ellen said: ‘Well, yesterday, she did a résumé of the murder, trial and appeal, and suggested Superintendent McKenna’s strings will be pulled by vested interest, and today she interviewed Smith. It’s Beryl’s turn tomorrow.’ She watched him. ‘If you read the articles, under no circumstances must you react to anything in them.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  Without responding, Ellen said: ‘I’m surprised Hinchcliffe hasn’t brought them to your attention. By the way, ha
ve you told him your wife’s left?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Yes, and be prepared for a lot of gossip and speculation. The media bandwagon’s rolling, and they’re waving cheque-books, so you might see some lurid headlines associating your wife’s departure with our investigation.’

  ‘They can write what they like as long as they leave Julie alone.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Two weeks before I got engaged, to say I was planning to get married.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday? You rather played down the relationship.’

  ‘I don’t want Hinchcliffe knowing. He prattles like an old woman, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could chuck him.’

  ‘Isn’t that rather unfortunate?’

  ‘He’s a necessary evil. He’ll probably do what he’s paid to do well enough, but the less he knows about my personal affairs, the better.’

  ‘Unfortunately, in a situation like yours, you can’t pick and choose what to disclose,’ Ellen concluded. ‘You’d better warn your wife about the media, in case they find out where she’s gone.’ She smiled. ‘She might decide staying away isn’t worth the potential scandal.’

  ‘You think?’ His eyes were almost dead. ‘She’s far more likely to decide to stay away for good.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘What did you say?’

  Gaynor’s voice was hard enough to split stone when she was in one of her moods, the newsroom clerk thought, which was more often than not. Rubbing at a smear of ball-point ink on the telephone, he said: ‘This woman wants to speak to you. She’s called Mrs Something Sheridan, and she said it’s urgent.’

  ‘What the fuck does she want?’

  ‘I don’t know, Gaynor. She didn’t say. She just left a number.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where what?’

  ‘Jesus! Where was she fucking calling from?’

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Give me the number.’

  Obediently, he complied, then waited, while, at the other end of the line, she rustled papers.

  ‘That’s a Sheffield number,’ she told him. ‘Why should somebody in Sheffield want to speak to me?’

  Rather than: ‘How the fuck should I know?’ he said: ‘I’ve no idea, Gaynor. Where are you now?’

  ‘Freezing off my butt in the back of fucking beyond!’

  ‘Well, wherever you are, you’d better call her,’ he said mildly. ‘It sounded urgent.’

  Chapter Ten

  Completing her report on Dugdale, Ellen said: ‘There’s always such a mess when people’s feelings and motives get exposed.’

  ‘Only because they’re a mess to begin with,’ Jack commented.

  ‘Be fair. We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.’

  ‘The nest was thoroughly agitated long before we arrived,’ McKenna said, ‘and we keep prodding until the last hornet comes sizzling out. I’ve brought forward Father Barclay’s interview to this evening, around eight, and once we’ve heard what he has to say, we go after Fauvel.’ To Jack, he added: ‘I’d be grateful if you and Janet will examine statements for discrepancies, or anything that was overlooked first time around. I know much of what Smith told Holbrook isn’t in the trial transcript, and that could be because he’s making it up as he goes along, but we’ll ask Linda Newton to clarify the issues relating to her sister which might impinge on Dugdale’s conduct.’

  ‘His statements are models of consistency,’ Jack said, ‘apart from the news about his relationships with Linda and Broadbent, but Lewis is a different matter. She seems to change her tune by the hour.’

  ‘I must ask Barclay if he knows her.’ McKenna scribbled in his notebook. ‘Did you contact the National Insurance Register about Bunty Smith?’

  Jack nodded. ‘I also put queries on Hilda Smith and Bunty Smith through our computer, but nothing showed up, so the psychologist was probably right about her going to hospital, and not prison.’

  *

  Rene’s dinner of roast lamb and vegetables, and apple tart with hot custard, all of which Janet, watched hawkishly by Ellen, consumed steadily, was almost over when Superintendent Ryman telephoned McKenna.

  ‘Something happened today I feel you should know about,’ Ryman began, his voice steely. ‘A rather unpleasant incident, I may add. Mr and Mrs Stanton Smith drove into Haughton this afternoon, and in the chemist’s, where Mr Stanton Smith tried to purchase some toiletries, the other customers very ostentatiously turned their backs on him. Some even went so far’, he added, ‘as to hold their coats over their faces, as if he had the plague!’

  ‘Mr Stanton Smith has no one but himself to blame,’ McKenna replied. ‘If he wanted to keep a low profile, he should have refrained from spilling his guts all over the national press. People will react as they see fit, and apart from that, the father of the late Trisha Smith had a heart attack this morning, provoked by what the family claim are Smith’s wicked lies. He’s heaping insult on injury.’

  ‘You’ve only got their word for that.’

  ‘Apparently, there’s independent evidence available to disprove what was published. However, I understand the family’s dealing with that in their own way.’

  ‘Are they? How?’

  ‘By the usual means, I imagine.’

  ‘A libel action? Have they got that kind of money?’

  ‘I’m grateful for your information, Mr Ryman, but I won’t discuss the issue further.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but it didn’t end with the cold-shouldering,’ Ryman added hurriedly. ‘When they got back to the car, they found the tyres slashed.’

  ‘That’s for your local officers to deal with, although it might not be wise to construe the tyre-slashing as a personal attack.’

  ‘What else could it be? Beryl Stanton Smith drives a cream Mercedes, with a personalised number-plate.’

  *

  McKenna had taken Rene to the hospital, and Janet and Ellen were washing up, when Colin Bowden arrived unexpectedly. Following Jack into the office, he pulled a chair close to the gas fire and, elbows on knees, stared at its white-hot heart.

  ‘Shall I switch on the tape-recorder?’ Jack asked.

  Colin shrugged. ‘It’s up to you, sir, but this isn’t about the investigation. It isn’t your problem, either, but I don’t know who else to talk to.’

  ‘Ms Singh? The Federation?’

  ‘I can’t trust her. She’s got some agenda of her own, and I don’t think she’s advising me properly, so I asked the Federation for another solicitor.’

  ‘As is your right.’

  ‘Is it? Anyway, she’d beaten me to it, and told them she’d want out if I continue resisting her advice.’ Rubbing his hands to warm them, Colin added: ‘I don’t know what they said to her, but they virtually told me beggars can’t be choosers, and I either toe her line or suffer the consequences. Bearing in mind what you said about breaking ranks, sir, I said I’d prefer the consequences.’

  Jack sighed. ‘That strikes me as being more of a knee-jerk reaction than a considered decision. Have you thought this through? You’re obviously somewhat headstrong, and you might not appreciate her frames of reference. She’s obliged to protect you from getting shafted, and she has to presume that we pose a very real threat to your future, and even, perhaps, to your freedom.’

  ‘She’s muddying the waters, sir, and putting the wrong construction on things. I know I didn’t collude with Inspector Dugdale to suppress evidence, and I know I didn’t help stitch up Smith, but she won’t accept that. She’s convinced I’m holding out on her.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s just convinced that something happened, whether you know it or not, and trying to protect you from others’ mischief.’

  ‘There was no mischief.’

  ‘You’re isolating yourself,’ Jack said. ‘Putting yourself right out on a limb. In a worst-case scenario,’ he pointed out quietly, ‘whether or not you did anything wrong, you face going down
. You were too close to Dugdale for dirt not to rub off, so I suggest you think again before cutting your only lifeline.’

  *

  As he finished relating the gist of Colin’s visit, Jack said: ‘It’s like that song Queen and Freddie Mercury used to belt out at the top of their voices.’

  ‘I know.’ McKenna nodded. ‘ “Another one bites the dust”, as in solicitors going down like ninepins. Joking apart, it’s time we made our own representations to the Federation, so you can drop them a line while I’m out. Express our general concerns, advise them to get their solicitors back in line, and include Pawsley’s admission about Hinchcliffe’s gross indiscretion. That might alert them to the possibility of solicitor collusion.’

  *

  The bodywork of McKenna’s car was cloudy with frost, the pavement sparkling with millions of microscopic crystals, and the trees in the churchyard, their branches whitened, looked like ghosts, and quivered just as mournfully in the wind.

  ‘Rene’s convinced we’ll be under ten feet of snow before long,’ he said, managing a wheelspin at the turn of the hill. ‘D’you think she’s exaggerating?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Ellen replied. ‘My grandparents’ house in Yorkshire was buried roof deep at times. We should get snow chains for the cars, you know.’

  ‘I tried, but everywhere’s sold out in anticipation.’

  Part Six

  Tuesday, 2nd February

  Evening

  Chapter One

  Father Barclay stood at the parlour window of the small presbytery outside Buxton, looking through his spectral reflection to the steep lane down which his visitors must drive. So weary he could barely stand, and almost beside himself with the bone-deep pain which dogged him day and night, he once more pondered the early arrival of his own death. The wilful, strong-minded young man who was so convinced of his calling that nothing could stand in its way was now a forgotten stranger, and he could not even remember the energy, let alone the fiery spirit, which compelled him to holy orders. Now, that spirit was humbled and turned in upon itself, he thought, as he watched McKenna’s car, headlights swinging wildly, bump over the humps and ruts of the lane. He began to move restlessly around the room, equilibrium and faith once more threatened by experience, by the close, cold brush of death’s wings, and by his responsibility for releasing a sadist upon the world.