Unsafe Convictions

by Alison Taylor

  Janet felt her scalp crawl. ‘What a terrible thing to say!’

  ‘That’s how priests and nuns think. It’s their job,’ she argued. ‘Father Fauvel wanted me to enter the novitiate, but when I told Mother Superior, she shrieked in my face like a demon. She said I’d always be the wicked, sinful child of a wicked, sinful woman.’ Once again, her eyes bored into Janet’s. ‘But I don’t think you came for a history lesson, did you? You’re like Wendy Lewis. You want to open me up like a can of sardines and rummage around till you find what looks like my bones. D’you think there’s something more to dig up about Barry and me?’

  ‘His wife walked out when she found out about you. Did you know?’

  ‘How could I? I don’t speak to them.’

  Stubbing out her cigarette, Janet said: ‘You speak to Linda Newton, and somebody said you knew Trisha “very well”.’

  ‘Did they?’ Julie’s face was unreadable. ‘I’d talk to Trisha if we bumped into each other. Sometimes, she’d be in Muriel’s cafe down the road. Muriel doesn’t mind having the residents in, and once in a while they enjoy doing what normal people do.’ She struggled to her feet, looking like a broken doll. ‘You’ve had your smoke, so you’d better be on your way. It’s snowing hard. You don’t want to get stuck in a drift.’

  ‘That’s hardly likely. It’s only five miles, and most of it through town.’

  ‘The village is higher. It gets cut off first.’ She pulled down Janet’s coat, and held it out.

  ‘Why won’t you talk to us?’ Janet demanded.

  ‘What’s there to say?’

  Thwarted, as McKenna had foretold, Janet rose. ‘You should have a pet,’ she said, donning her coat. ‘A cat, perhaps.’

  ‘Animals die.’ Julie opened the door, and stood aside.

  Chapter Six

  Gaynor sat in front of her bedroom window, bewitched by the view. The snow played tricks with her eyes, creating light out of the dark, transforming the landscape into a white desert. Where there had been bracken-rusty moorland, cut by drystone walling into self-contained territories, there was now an expanse of vivid, icy whiteness here, a trench of deep blue shadow there, and all of it seeming to shift as she watched, like the rise and fall of a breathing body.

  One of her many scouts had called earlier with the name of the owners of Trisha’s house. At eight forty her mobile rang again, and she learned that Beryl Stanton Smith had just received a visit from two police officers in a marked car.

  The telephone barely had time to connect before Beryl answered, her voice harsh and breathy. ‘Piers? Is that you?’

  ‘It’s Gaynor. Is something wrong?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘You!’ Beryl gasped. ‘It’s all your fault!’

  ‘Don’t hang up!’ Gaynor said hurriedly. ‘Tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘Piers hasn’t come back!’ Beryl was crying. ‘I’m out of my mind with worry,’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘They won’t look for him! They say he’s not really missing, but he is!’ She gulped. ‘He could be lost on the moors, lying in a snow-drift.’

  ‘Have you called the hospital? In case he had an accident?’

  ‘The police did.’ Quiet for a moment, except for the sobbing, Beryl asked: ‘Didn’t you see him on the road after you left?’

  ‘No.’ Gaynor stared into the night, praying that Smith was already dead under its weight. ‘Could he be with friends?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know who he knows.’

  I’ll bet you don’t, Gaynor thought. ‘He might’ve gone to Sheffield to see his mother.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! He thought she was dead till you came this afternoon, shouting about being deceived.’

  ‘That’s not quite right, is it, Beryl? He knew she was alive all along.’

  ‘He didn’t! I won’t talk about him like this.’ She breathed noisily. ‘It’s your fault! You frightened him, flinging all his worst memories back in his face like that.’

  ‘I flung the truth in his face,’ Gaynor said. ‘That’s why he’s run off, and if you’ve any sense, you’ll count yourself lucky he’s gone, and be praying he doesn’t come back. And as for being frightened,’ she went on, before Beryl could interrupt, ‘believe me, I was bloody terrified! He’s psychotic.’

  ‘Oh, you wicked woman!’ Beryl raged. ‘You wicked, evil harridan! I’ll report you, you see if I don’t. I won’t let you get away with what you’ve done to Piers. I won’t!’

  Beryl ranted venomously, like her husband and, almost stunned by the ferocity she had unleashed, Gaynor cut the connection and left Beryl screaming at thin air. With juddering fingers she punched out another number, and when she learned that McKenna was out, she felt sick with fear.

  ‘Is it urgent?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘It’s about Smith. He’s gone missing.’

  ‘We know.’

  ‘I went to see him this afternoon, to say I was hacked off about being led up the garden path about his mother, among other things, and he went berserk!’ She paused. ‘If Beryl hadn’t been there, he’d have gone for me. Anyway, that’s why he’s gone.’

  ‘Did he threaten you?’

  ‘Verbally, yes.’

  ‘And are you afraid he’ll come to the hotel?’

  ‘What?’ Gaynor almost vomited her terror. ‘Oh, God! I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Then why did you call?’

  ‘Because there’s a bloody psychopath on the loose! Suppose he goes after his mother?’

  ‘I’ll see that she’s not at risk,’ Ellen assured her. ‘Thank you for calling.’

  ‘Just a minute!’ Gaynor all but shouted. ‘I know who owns the house where Trisha lived.’ She read out the names from her notebook.

  ‘Superintendent McKenna already knows,’ Ellen told her, ‘but I’ll tell him you passed on your information. Was there anything else?’ Her chilly politeness was cutting.

  ‘And I saw something rather strange earlier,’ Gaynor rushed on. ‘It might mean nothing, but it was rather disturbing.’ She related the drama of the man and the woman on the deserted, snowy street. ‘I’ve no idea who either of them is, but I can give you a description of the woman and the car.’

  Chapter Seven

  Only a few of the residents were still awake at the Willows, watching television upstairs, when Fauvel arrived. His car wheels cut deep tracks in the still falling snow, which had already obliterated Janet’s trail.

  Julie’s colleague ran to open the front door. ‘Father Brett! We didn’t expect to see you so late.’ She smiled, then blushed. ‘Not that you’re not most welcome any time, of course.’

  ‘I’ve been sick visiting at the hospital.’ Fauvel handed her his cloak, and scuffed his feet on the doormat. ‘I see somebody’s been hard at work outside.’

  ‘Jools did it earlier, with some of the residents.’ She glanced outside. ‘Thank goodness she put down the salt! The snow won’t stick quite so much, will it?’

  ‘You’ll still need another work party in the morning, I’m afraid.’ Fauvel offered the charming smile which many thought lit up the world around him. ‘Snow’s snow, and there’s plenty more on the way.’

  ‘Come into the sitting-room,’ she urged, her hand on his arm. ‘I’ll make a hot drink.’

  ‘Is Julie on duty?’

  ‘No, but she’s still around. Then again, she nearly always is. I’m sure she lives for her work.’ She switched on the electric fire in the sitting-room, then went to the kitchen, where Julie, rubber gloves on her hands, was washing the supper dishes.

  ‘Leave those for now, Jools. Father Brett’s just arrived. Talk to him while I make a drink.’

  Julie’s whole body stiffened. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘Nothing special, I imagine. Mind you, he did ask if you’re on duty. Still, he always wants to see you, doesn’t he?’ She nudged her arm. ‘Lucky you, eh?’

  Slowly, Julie peeled off the gloves, and placed them on the
counter. When she reached the sitting-room, she found him standing by the uncurtained window, hands behind his back. Light flickered across the top of the viaduct as a train made its way to Dentfield station. She watched her reflection advance towards him, and his reflected eyes meeting hers.

  ‘What a little work-horse you are!’ His voice was soft. ‘Shovelling snow, scattering salt, on duty night and day. You must be exhausted.’ He bared his teeth. ‘All the more reason to accept a lift when it’s offered, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not when you’re offering. I had a lift, anyway, from that woman who scared you off.’

  ‘No one “scared me off”.’ He frowned. ‘You shouldn’t take lifts from strangers.’

  ‘I’ve told you, it was a woman.’

  ‘And you think that makes you safe?’ He turned towards her, black cassock swirling, the crucifix glinting in its folds. ‘That’s how Myra Hindley duped her victims.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not a child.’ She stared at him. ‘Why are you here? What d’you want?’

  ‘What I ever want,’ he said quietly. ‘To be with you.’

  She flinched when he stroked her cheek, and when he twined his fingers in her hair, she wrenched herself away.

  He looked at the strands of golden-brown hair in his hands. ‘I’ve hurt you!’ he whispered, tears glittering in his eyes.

  ‘No, you haven’t!’

  He closed in on her, his body hard against hers, backing her into the panelled wall, and as she prayed for the miracle of a witness stark against the snow, he once more wrapped her hair about his fingers, pulling with a savage intensity.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Freaky!’ Jack commented. ‘Fancy Holbrook trying to help us. She must be hoping to redeem herself.’

  ‘She’s scared witless,’ Ellen said. ‘And so she should be. Serve her right if she finds Smith hovering outside her bedroom window like a vampire.’

  ‘He’s more likely to be outside his mother’s front door, with a pickaxe.’ McKenna’s voice was sharp. ‘Sheffield police do understand that Bunty could be in real danger?’

  Ellen nodded. ‘I told them to put a guard on Ida as well. Better safe than sorry.’

  ‘That’s about it for tonight, then.’ Jack yawned. ‘And with luck, Smith won’t resurface until the snow thaws.’

  ‘The world won’t be quite so conveniently rid of him,’ McKenna said. ‘He’ll be holed up somewhere safe and snug.’

  ‘While Beryl goes mad with worry,’ added Janet. ‘That’s no doubt his intention. How did you fare with Julie?’

  ‘As you said, sir, she’s at least ten steps ahead.’

  ‘And I could’ve stayed indoors, for all the good trudging up to Dugdale’s place did,’ Jack said. ‘I had to leave the car at the bottom of the hill, then hike through knee-deep snow for about a quarter of a mile. After the first few yards, all I wanted to do was fall over and go to sleep.’ He yawned again, and his jaw cracked. ‘And metaphorically speaking, it was like an icebox inside the house. The atmosphere between Dugdale and his wife was cold enough to crack.’

  ‘How was Wendy Lewis, sir?’ Janet asked.

  ‘Intent on sending me on a guilt-trip, once Fauvel left,’ McKenna replied. ‘When I arrived, he was engaged in hand-holding, hair-stroking, and promising to make sure her bungalow doesn’t collapse under the snow, or get flooded out by burst pipes.’ Lighting a cigarette, he added: ‘Lewis reckons my putting a guard outside the ward is tantamount to placing her under arrest, particularly in the eyes of press and public, who don’t understand the nuances. She says she’s being pilloried for telling the truth, and she intends to consult the Federation with a view to taking legal action against me.’

  ‘She hasn’t told the truth,’ Jack said irritably. ‘She’s given us an opinion, of sorts, which is different from other opinions she’s had.’

  ‘And that’s the best we’ll get from her. She won’t even consider the possibility that Fauvel could he lying. In her eyes, he can do no wrong, and by the time he’s done with looking after her bungalow, I expect she’ll willingly self-immolate for him.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Ellen shuddered. ‘I’m already having nightmares about Trisha and Julie.’

  ‘According to Julie, it only hurts where the burns don’t go deep enough to destroy the nerves, and she should know,’ Janet commented. ‘She seems to know an awful lot about pain.’

  ‘Ryman said much the same,’ McKenna said, ‘although not with any compassion.’

  ‘Fauvel’s short on that as well,’ Janet added. ‘He told Julie her flesh was burned to cleanse her soul.’ Idly, she picked up Ellen’s report on Gaynor’s telephone call and, coming to the description of the woman under attack in the snowy street, caught her breath. ‘Julie’s got a coat just like the one this woman was wearing. She had it on tonight.’

  ‘Really?’ Looking over her shoulder, McKenna said: ‘It might be worth asking her where she was this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Jack told him. ‘There must be dozens of coats like that in Haughton alone.’

  ‘Straws are all we have,’ McKenna replied. ‘Bring Holbrook in tomorrow to make a full statement. And I’m going to see Ryman again.’ He glanced outside. ‘That’s if we’re not roof-deep in snow by morning.’

  Chapter Nine

  Estelle Ryman was proud of her home, her husband, and Shelley, her undergraduate daughter and, until this week, believed that the hard work and the necessary deceptions put into creating the family would always, like a charm, ward off misfortune. Like Susan Dugdale, she had married a young police officer in whose high hopes she could believe. For her the hopes were realised, whereas Susan’s were now only fit for the scrap heap.

  When her husband was promoted, they had bought a smart detached house with an enormous garden on the outskirts of Ravensdale. Now, she wandered around the sitting-room, moving ornaments, primping cushions, tweaking the folds in the deep-green velvet curtains as she passed the window. He was sitting in one of the chintz-covered chairs which so nicely toned with the carpet and curtains, gazing vacantly at the hearth, his head resting on his right arm, his face so pale he looked like his own ghost. He had hardly moved since the last telephone call, and anger suddenly flared in her, bringing another of those terrifying flushes which heated her whole body to boiling point and threatened to blow off the top of her head. Since that damned McKenna came with his shadowy band of interfering foreigners, the telephone had rung incessantly and, every time, her husband rushed to answer. He hardly dared to fall asleep in bed in case another summons came, but there was never any relief when he finished speaking, or, as was more usual, simply listening, to whoever called. He was like a man possessed by demons, but she flatly refused even to think that Dugdale suppressed Smith’s alibi evidence on her husband’s instructions. The consequences of that possibility were, as yet, only a meaningless scribble on every wall which loomed before her.

  ‘You could have gone to the Lodge meeting after all,’ she said, twitching the curtains together after peeking outside. ‘The snow isn’t too bad.’ Her laugh tinkled bravely. ‘This must be the first one you’ve ever missed. Wild horses wouldn’t usually keep you away, never mind a few inches of snow.’

  There was no response.

  ‘Are you ready for supper?’ She clutched at normality, while another hot flush suffused her body. ‘What would you like? I got fresh salad earlier, there’s some ham, and there’s cheese, of course, if you think it won’t keep you awake, or I could hard-boil a couple of eggs.’

  ‘Anything,’ Ryman muttered. ‘You decide.’

  Terrible questions seethed with the overheated blood inside her head. ‘Are you all right? Only, you’ve seemed awfully out of sorts all week. Are you sickening for something, d’you think? There’s a lot of flu about.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ His tone was dismissive.

  ‘I’ll do supper, then.’

  The kitchen was her absolute pride and joy. She dec
ided to make egg mayonnaise, and was reaching for the saucepan she used only to boil eggs when the scribble on the walls began ominously and irrevocably to resolve itself. If he lost his job because of some stupidity, she would lose not only her wonderful kitchen, but her entire home.

  Chapter Ten

  When Julie’s colleague bumped open the sitting-room door with a tray of hot drinks and biscuits, Fauvel was beside the fire. For some unaccountable reason, Julie was on the window seat. Her face was very pale, and she was trembling.

  The other woman wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning dust that always came off the fire, set the tray on a side table, and handed out mugs of hot chocolate. Fauvel’s hands were warm as he took his, but Julie’s were icy cold.

  She was about to tell Julie to move when Debbie plodded into the room. ‘Saw the car,’ she mumbled, glaring at Fauvel. ‘Heard you.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Julie’s colleague said. ‘Father Brett’s just having a hot drink. You get to bed.’

  ‘No.’ The girl lumbered forward, and said to Fauvel: ‘Heard you. Heard Julie.’

  Fauvel put his drink very carefully on the edge of the hearth. Debbie’s shadow almost enveloped him. ‘We were just chatting,’ he said.

  ‘Liar!’ Debbie’s fist shot out and caught him hard on the shoulder. He fell backwards, staring up at her, ashen-faced with shock.

  ‘Debbie!’ Julie’s colleague launched herself at the girl, pinioning her arms behind her. ‘Help me!’ she yelled at the immobile Julie. ‘Help me!’

  Debbie shook her off as easily as a dog might shake water off its coat, then giggled.

  ‘You wicked girl!’ Julie’s colleague shouted, trying to push Debbie to the door. ‘You’ve hurt Father Brett!’

  Still giggling, Debbie said: ‘Made him happy.’ She shambled over to Julie, lifted her from the seat, and all but dragged her from the room.