In Guilty Night

by Alison Taylor

  ‘Oh, bloody charming!’

  ‘It’s not a fundamental truth because Goethe thought of it.’

  Jack sighed. ‘But folk like him influence others, don’t they?’

  ‘I’m very pleased to see you, Chief Inspector. May I offer you coffee? Tea?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’ McKenna faced the director of social services across a wide desk fashioned from smooth blond timbers. Vertical blinds, half-closed, shielded the windows of an airy spacious office.

  ‘I want to put this Blodwel business and these unfortunate allegations in proper perspective for you.’ The director smiled blandly. ‘Allegations such as you heard are an occupational hazard for staff in children’s homes. They’re sitting targets when children want revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’

  ‘Staff represent society, and impose its expectations on the deviant child who’s rejected the authority of society, and who in turn, has been rejected by that society until its authority is accepted.’

  ‘Natural enemies.’

  ‘Exactly!’ The director smiled again, more warmly. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer refreshment?’

  McKenna shook his head. ‘How often do children in your care allege brutality and abuse?’

  ‘We’ve no statistics, but, as I said, it’s a well-recognized phenomenon. I can recommend some literature if you’re interested.’

  ‘Do you investigate allegations? Darren Pritchard’s, for instance?’

  ‘I decide on what course of action should be followed.’

  ‘You’re obliged to follow government regulations,’ McKenna said. ‘And request a police investigation. No other body has the necessary expertise in criminal matters.’

  ‘That’s correct, but I must first decided if a criminal offence is involved.’

  ‘You aren’t equipped to make that decision.’

  ‘Forgive my bluntness, Chief Inspector, but I must point out that our frames of reference are considerably broader than your own. Police have a wholly simplistic view of offending.’ The director smiled once more. ‘What you, from the outside, see in black and white terms as a crime, takes on a rainbow of new colours when viewed in its proper context.’

  ‘Your frames of reference could mislead you to see the colour of the crime in terms of the status of the perpetrator,’ McKenna said. ‘And they fail to account for events. It’s entirely possible you’re making accommodations with wickedness.’

  ‘Let’s stop hiding behind the jargon, shall we? I accommodate the wicked in our little society,’ the director said. ‘Whether these children are born bad, or just go bad, you and I know they’ll graduate from children’s homes to prisons, and only ever make their stamp on the world by violence and dishonesty.’ He paused. ‘And quite frankly, I’m sick to death of subscribing to the victim culture. People must learn to be responsible for their actions, and the consequences.’

  ‘Why is Mandy Jones in care?’

  ‘Her mother went to prison for attacking a bunch of police officers. The child was in danger of following her example, because she had no other role model.’

  ‘So Mandy has no criminal record?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then bearing in mind she’s deprived rather than depraved, why should we disbelieve what she tells us?’

  ‘Because she learnt nothing but lying and cheating from her mother, and all she’ll have learned since is more lying and cheating.’ Frowning at his visitor, the director added, ‘Don’t bother saying her new role models are insufficiently influential. A lifetime of neglect and damage can’t be undone overnight. It pervades every aspect of a child’s functioning like poison. That’s why Blodwel’s observation and assessment processes examine the whole child. We can then identify the resources necessary to proper development.’

  ‘So Blodwel’s a modern version of Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon prison?’ McKenna asked. ‘Didn’t he believe people knowingly under constant surveillance will eventually relinquish wrongdoing, because light’s stronger than steel?’

  ‘I believe so.’ The director nodded. ‘External controls applied by staff are eventually internalized.’

  ‘But do your staff understand the implications of all the theories they apply? Mr Hogg told us about the difficulties of finding the right people for the work.’ McKenna smiled briefly. ‘There are moral and social implications in separating one group of people from the rest. Devising special systems for these children acknowledges their power, and breeds fear and mistrust on both sides. Is it any wonder some of the staff can only cope by making underdogs of their charges?’

  The director leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘In my view, which you may call jaundiced, the so-called disadvantaged of society are like fleas looking for a dog to infest, and in taking on the needs of all these people, society makes itself as weak and prone to excitability as a flea-ridden dog.’ He paused again. ‘And I’m surprised to find someone in your position still able to subscribe to such sentimental views about people.’

  ‘I subscribe to the view that most of us respond to expectations others have of us. I also believe no one is immune to the depredations of others. You should bear that in mind.’

  ‘David Fellows is having his cremation tomorrow,’ Dewi offered. ‘His germs’ll be incinerated, so Mr Tuttle can stop worrying. He keeps looking in the mirror in the bogs for black spots on his neck, and he’s coughing and sneezing all over the place.’

  Eifion Roberts chuckled. ‘Go away, little boy, and hush your mischief.’ As Dewi shut the door, he put his mug of tea on McKenna’s desk, glancing through the window. ‘It’s blowing up a storm, isn’t it? Did you know high winds make folk irresponsible and homicidal?’

  ‘They’re like that whatever the weather,’ McKenna said. ‘And don’t confuse our prevailing westerlies with the Mistral or Sirocco.’

  ‘They’re all wind. Hot air, like what you heard off Hogg’s boss, I imagine.’

  ‘He likes you to share his points of view.’

  ‘What psychology calls a fuehrer personality, like Herr Grofaz at Blodwel.’ Roberts grinned. ‘Grofaz is an undercover name for Hitler, an acronym of “grosser Feldherr aller Zeiten”, which means “the greatest strategist of all time”. I came across it in a blood and guts war book when I was a kid, and it’s always stuck in my mind.’

  ‘Hogg’s strategy depends on oppression of the disruptive elements, and his boss implies there’s no other option.’

  ‘Human nature being what it is, he might be right. Benevolent rule and effective rule are mutually exclusive states.’

  Dewi pushed open the door. ‘Apologies, sir, but I’ve just taken a call from Holyhead. Mandy’s legged it from the foster home, and they want us to look out for her.’

  ‘Lucky for her Wales isn’t an Islamic state.’

  ‘Why’s that, Dr Roberts?’

  ‘Don’t you read the papers, Dewi? At a certain point, Islam believes in separating a body from its anti-social tendencies. Mandy would’ve had her feet lopped off by now.’

  Seated at the kitchen-table, McKenna ate fish and chips bought on the way home, reading mail accumulated in the past few days. The cat sat by his feet, waiting for the fish cooling on a plate, rubbing her head against his leg from time to time, reminding him of her presence.

  ‘Do you know, little one, if you wrecked Bangor, no one could do anything about it?’ She mewled. ‘And when King Hywel Dda ruled Wales, a good mouser like you was worth tuppence. See how priorities change?’ She purred, and nudged his leg. He picked up her plate, and she reared against him as he bent to the floor.

  The front doorbell pealed while he was still elbow deep in washing-up water. He went upstairs, weariness dragging at his legs like the cat’s claws, to find Jack’s twin daughters outside, clad in the padded silk jackets which had briefly graced Denise’s figure last winter until their novelty frayed.

  ‘Have you run away again?’

  ‘Mummy said we could come out.’

 
‘She told us to get out of sight.’

  ‘And what did Daddy say?’ McKenna askd, shutting the door behind them.

  ‘He didn’t say anything. Mummy did all the talking.’

  ‘She was shouting.’

  ‘I’m surprised your parents don’t do a runner,’ McKenna said, moving the cat from the chesterfield. ‘If you belonged to me, I’d be long gone.’

  ‘Can we have a drink, please? We’ve walked all the way here.’

  ‘You know where the kitchen is. I’ll have tea. You can finish the dishes while the kettle boils.’

  The cat followed the girls to the kitchen. He heard them petting her, cooing over her, cadences of sound like the tide rippling over sand and shingle. They moved quietly, almost as stealthy as the cat, two girls functioning as one, and he wondered if they thought the same thoughts and dreamed the same dreams, and the thought he might die childless came like a blow to the heart.

  ‘We didn’t sugar your tea because you’re sweet enough!’ They sat on the floor at his feet, shielding his legs from the heat of the fire. He looked down at the two faces gravely regarding his, and prayed for God to offer these girls a gentle life, whether or not they took the gift.

  ‘What can I do for you? I must go out again soon.’

  ‘Daddy’s gone out again, to get away from Mummy, he said. He’s looking for Gary, ’cos he’s worried about him.’

  ‘We all are,’ McKenna said. ‘This is no weather to live rough. Mandy Minx legged it from her new foster home in Holyhead. Absconding seems to be in with your age group, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Mandy’ll probably be with Tracey.’

  ‘And where does Tracey hang out?’

  ‘She lives in a council house. Dewi Prys knows where.’

  ‘Tracey left home a while back.’ McKenna reached for his cigarettes. ‘Her mam neither knows nor cares where she’s gone.’

  ‘She works nights at Morfa chippy, but nobody’s supposed to know because she’s fiddling the dole.’

  McKenna drew on the cigarette. ‘Anything else you could’ve told me before?’

  ‘We just might know where Gary could be.’

  ‘We tried to tell Daddy, but he won’t listen. He won’t talk about Gary. He goes up the wall if you mention his name.’

  ‘That’s because one of you is carrying a torch for the lad.’

  ‘We’re old enough for boyfriends. Why does Daddy think we’ll do something stupid?’

  ‘Your parents are scared of all the bad things lurking round the corners of this life.’ McKenna sipped the scalding tea. ‘In your father’s eyes, no young man will ever be good enough for either of you, and if you accept that now, you’ll be able to walk the tightrope between not upsetting him too much, and having the independence you’ve a right to expect. He’ll learn, given time, but don’t grab that independence before you can cope with it.’

  ‘You’re OK for someone your age, aren’t you?’ The smiles were as heart-stoppingly sweet as Carol’s.

  ‘That’s because you’re not my children,’ McKenna said. ‘Now tell me about Gary.’

  ‘You want me to employ what Mr Tuttle calls my “common touch”, and talk to tarty Tracey at the chippy,’ Dewi said.

  ‘Tell her we’re very worried about Mandy.’ McKenna moved the telephone receiver to his good hand. ‘She might persuade the child to turn herself in, only don’t make any rash promises about rescuing her from Hogg’s clutches. And don’t take what Jack Tuttle says too much to heart. He’s under a lot of strain.’

  Dewi laughed. ‘Water off a duck’s back, sir. I’ll start fretting the day he stops being sarky with me. He’d be under a lot less strain if he wasn’t psyching himself up over this promotion.’

  ‘I might not want Owen Griffiths’ job even if it’s offered, so there won’t be any promotions to be had.’

  ‘I said he’d be better off looking elsewhere, like Wrexham or Deeside. That’s more his home territory, anyway.’

  ‘And you wonder why he’s nasty with you?’

  Dewi laughed again, then said, ‘Will you look for Gary tonight? Mountain Rescue could do a better job.’

  ‘The twins don’t know he’s up a mountain. They only know he was very good at navigating the wilds of Cumbria via the moon and stars, and that was on a supervised orienteering course. The Snowdon and Glyder ranges are rather different.’

  ‘Same moon and stars,’ Dewi pointed out. ‘And plenty of empty holiday cottages and shepherd’s huts to sleep in. I dunno where we’d start looking, though. Why don’t you ask Janet’s advice, sir? She reckons to know everything else.’

  ‘I’ve looked at places like that, sir.’

  Bedecked with knick-knacks, crammed with buxom chairs and dark velvet sofas squatting on carved legs and claw feet which dug into the thick plush carpet, the manse drawing-room was stiflingly hot. A log fire blazed in the hearth, brighter than the lights of the chandelier. McKenna wondered if Pastor Evans owned the manse and its opulent fittings, or if the chapel simply thought the incumbent worthy of the best of livings.

  Janet’s voice was tarnished by a little whine as she droned on in her own defence. ‘I got details of holiday lets from all the agents, and checked as many as I could round Bethesda, Gerlan and Mynydd Llandegai, then I did Rhiwlas, Bethel, Deiniolen, Llanberis, Cwm y Glo and Llanrug. I even went as far as Waunfawr and Rhyd Ddu.’

  ‘I don’t need a guided tour, Janet. I’m sure you were most thorough.’

  ‘A lot of the properties aren’t empty. The owners move to relatives or a caravan for the summer, and go back when the season finishes. There aren’t many second homes since the firebombing started.’

  ‘What about farm outbuildings and shepherds’ huts?’

  ‘The farmers check their own barns, and I thought it would be rather stupid to go into the mountains in this weather.’

  ‘That McKenna’s here again,’ Mari announced to her mistress. ‘Shall I say you’re busy?’

  ‘Does he know Mr Elis is out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  Mari shrugged, standing mutely by the door. Rhiannon was struck by her expression: a mingling of disdain and weariness, and some other, more elusive, emotion.

  ‘Ask him to come back in the morning, Mari. Tell him I’m tired.’

  ‘What time shall he call?’

  ‘Ask him to ring Mr Elis after nine.’

  ‘What if he argues about seeing you tonight?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Rhiannon jumped from her seat and pushed past the waiting girl, to find McKenna by the front door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

  ‘I don’t expect my husband back until late, Chief Inspector.’

  McKenna smiled. ‘Ask him to call me in the morning, will you?’

  ‘Did you want anything in particular?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘I think you already know all we can tell you.’

  ‘Loose ends, Mrs Elis.’ McKenna smiled again. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow.’

  12

  ‘You don’t go within spitting distance of Hogg, his wife, or Blodwel,’ Owen Griffiths said. ‘That’s an order. The director’s made a formal complaint about Jack’s visit to South Wales, accusing us of serious interference in a delicate casework situation. He also said it’s difficult to work constructively with us given some of the views you expressed yesterday, presumably on behalf of the force.’

  ‘I suggested his frames of reference could be misleading,’ McKenna said.

  ‘That’s an understatement, isn’t it? We’re being well and truly misled, sent off in every direction bar the right one. This complaint’s another diversionary tactic.’ Griffiths paused. ‘And don’t bother telling me I’m inconsistent. I needed time to decide if I was looking at a mountain you’d built out of a molehill, or a cover-up thicker than a fog off the Irish Sea.’

  ‘Everybody likes to cover up their mistakes,’ McKenna pointed out. ‘Social workers, doctors, police, lawyers, any profession where mistak
es can cost money and reputations. At crunch time, the director’s thinking isn’t determined by professional ethics, but by what the council’s insurers want and expect.’

  ‘Darren Pritchard’s personal injuries could be worth a six-figure sum in the High Court, couldn’t they? And Mandy’s.’

  ‘Apparently, Darren wasn’t even marked. Like the rest of them, he’s lying.’ McKenna sighed. ‘And he may well be. Abuse is a bandwagon any child can jump on once it starts rolling.’

  ‘Don’t let people faze your thinking,’ Griffiths warned. ‘Arwel’s death and Blodwel might be entirely separate issues, but I’m quite sure we should be interested in both.’ He fell silent, then said, ‘I take your point about bandwagons, but children in care have a different kind of vested interest in keeping shtum about abuse. Darren and this lad Tony are good examples of what happens if they don’t. For every kid lying or exaggerating about being abused, there’ll be another who isn’t. Nobody can hope to keep the lid tight on things for ever. They blow up in the end.’

  McKenna smiled. ‘Before embalming came into vogue, coffins had vents to allow the gases of putrefaction to escape. The vents were closed at one funeral because of the stench, and the coffin exploded. The undertakers were successfully sued for breach of contract.’

  ‘Quite.’ Griffiths nodded. ‘Everybody comments about the stench at Blodwel, don’t they?’

  ‘Elis telephoned,’ Jack said. ‘He’ll be in about eleven, because he’s exercising his horse until then.’ Glancing at the rain squalling against the window, he added, ‘Wouldn’t fancy being out in this, would you?’

  ‘Horses must be exercised,’ McKenna said. ‘They get nasty otherwise, and end up with fat ankles, like Doris Hogg.’

  Jack yawned.

  ‘Don’t you sleep at nights any more?’

  ‘I keep waking up in the small hours, heart pounding, brain racing, and dripping with ice-cold sweat. Everything’s a bloody nightmare!’