Forgotten Voices

by Jane A. Adams

  Mac nodded. ‘I’m told Marsden’s has been working with the probation service for quite some time?’

  Dan Marsden nodded. ‘My parents started the ball rolling about twenty years ago. I took over the day-to-day running of things about five years ago and I’ve just carried on. I’ve broadened things out a bit, I suppose, started up the Youth Scape project for young offenders and those considered at risk. Carrie Butler over at the Breed Estate has helped out with accommodation. I can’t say Carrie is a big fan of the project, but one thing I learnt from my mother was how to twist arms,’ – he laughed – ‘and I think she’s coming round to my way of thinking.’

  ‘And you worked with Ellen Tailor?’

  Dan nodded. ‘I did. I liked her a lot. Carrie let me borrow her and a couple of other members of staff when I was trying to get things set up. Ellen continued to help out. The kids loved her.’

  ‘Were you close?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Close …? No, not really. We worked together, had the odd drink at the end of a long weekend of wrangling teenagers and I went to the farm a couple of times. Once for dinner and one time I just happened to be passing the end of the lane and I dropped in.’ He paused as though considering carefully then said, ‘I should probably tell you now that I was close by the farm on the afternoon she died. I’d been driving back from Carrie’s. I even thought about dropping in.’

  ‘And what time would that have been?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Two thirty, maybe. You could check with Carrie what time I left, but I doubt it would have been much later than that. I was back in the office just after four. I expect our CCTV could confirm that for you.’

  He’s providing himself with an alibi, Mac thought. Guilt or just the sudden need many people experience to account for their movements when the police come calling.

  ‘I liked her a lot,’ Dan added. ‘We got along fine but I’m not sure I ever knew her that well.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Ellen was like … I don’t know, like a lot of people who are hurt by life. They learn to keep a bit of themselves kind of private. Closed off, if you know what I mean. I felt I caught glimpses of Ellen, the real Ellen, especially when she was with her own kids.’

  ‘Would you have liked to know her better?’

  Dan Marsden laughed. ‘Inspector, she was in love with her husband. Even after he died, she was still in love with her husband. There was never a chance of anyone getting to know Ellen better, not while that was true, so, let’s say, I didn’t give it any thought. I enjoyed working with her and I enjoyed her company. I believe she thought of me as a friend. That was all. Besides, I’m a married man.’

  Which means nothing, Mac thought. He waited, but Dan had said all he was going to say on the subject. Mac, on the other hand, was certain there was more.

  ‘Anyway,’ Dan said. ‘You came here to ask me about Philip Soames.’

  Mac nodded. ‘How come he worked here? As I understand it, he served his time in the Midlands.’

  ‘That’s right. Two terms. The first for GBH, twelve months I believe, though he was out in eight. The second time, he served three years. Wounding with intent. I checked his file when I knew you’d be coming over. I don’t have all the details, of course. The probation service only tells me what they consider I need to know.

  It was, Mac reflected, more than he knew, but he made no comment. ‘What do you think of him?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘He does his job, doesn’t make trouble. I think he goes for an occasional drink with some of the others but beyond that, not much.’

  ‘How come he’s here,’ Mac said, returning to his earlier question.

  ‘That’s not so unusual. Word gets around and schemes like this are rare. Proper jobs at the end of a prison term are like hen’s teeth. He applied, got through the interview, came down and stayed in a hostel until he found a bedsit. The probation service helped with that, I believe.’

  ‘But you know nothing more than that. He never said anything?’

  ‘I can’t say I ever asked. Inspector, I manage the warehouse. I manage our other projects, but the day-to-day interaction with the employees is handled by Jake Partick. I thought you might want a word, so I’ve asked him to drop by. He should be here in a few minutes.’

  Mac thanked him. ‘And do you think Philip Soames had any contact with Ellen Tailor as a result of them both working for you?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, Ellen was a volunteer. Granted, I gave her some paid hours recently. Got her on a training course, so she got a basic youth work qualification too. But there’s no reason they should have met. This side of the business is kept strictly away from the youth work. It wouldn’t be either wise or proper to connect the two. Ah, here’s Jake. If there’s nothing else, Inspector, I’ll leave the two of you to talk. Help yourself to coffee.’

  Dan Marsden breezed out before Mac had time to say a word. He saw Jake try to hide a grin. ‘Is he always like that?’

  ‘What, in his own little world? Oh yes. You want some more of this very average coffee?’

  Mac handed Jake his mug.

  ‘But he’s a good man to work for,’ Jake added. ‘Takes care of his people. And he genuinely believes he has a moral obligation to do good, I think … which can be a right pain, as I tell him from time to time.’

  Jake set the coffee down on the table and settled into his boss’s chair. He looked quite at home there, Mac thought.

  ‘So, Philip Soames,’ Mac said.

  Jake nodded. ‘He works hard enough to not be noticed, not so hard as to be considered an arse-licker. He’s intelligent, got a bit of a short fuse, doesn’t like being made fun of but he’s got the sense not to let that show generally speaking.’

  ‘Does he ever talk about his past?’

  ‘Not so I’ve noticed. But most don’t.’

  ‘And is it unusual for your employees not to be local?’

  ‘Not unusual at all. No. Like I said, most don’t talk about their past and a good number are trying to get as far away from that past as possible. It’s easier to make a fresh start where no one knows you or has any preconceptions or any demands. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that one of the biggest causes of reoffending is getting drawn back into your old circle of friends. The other biggest cause is not having the basics in life. A job, a place to stay, a sense of self-worth.’ Jake grinned again. ‘I’m starting to sound like the boss,’ he said.

  ‘You’re starting to sound like a social worker.’

  This time the grin turned into a laugh. ‘Guilty,’ he said. ‘To make it worse, I actually studied sociology at university, but I’m told it’s not an arrestable offence. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘And you’ve worked here for?’

  ‘Five years, now. Since Dan took over. He made some changes, brought in some new staff and I was one of them. I’d been looking for a new direction for a while and this seemed like a good opening.’

  ‘And do you get involved with the youth work?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘No, Dan is very strict about keeping the two interests separate. No crossover of staff, and he’s careful not to allow any of the ex-offenders have contact with the youth outreach side. He treads a very careful line.’

  Mac nodded and then checked his watch. ‘I’d better be off,’ he said. ‘If you think of anything I should know, here’s my card. And a second one for the boss.’

  He was aware of many eyes watching him as he walked back through the warehouse. He knew they would recognize him as a cop from a mile off and know also that speculation would be rife about Soames’ police interview earlier that afternoon. Glancing back as he opened the small door set into the massive warehouse shutters he saw Jake speaking to one of the men. Jake seemed to be telling him to calm down, his hand gestures and general demeanour suggested he was dealing with quite a major upset. He was in half a mind to go back and ask what was wrong. Did it have a bearing on Mac’s visit? Then he looked again at his watch and realized he wa
s only just going to make his slot with the probation officer, so he let it go but, on impulse, Mac took his phone from his pocket as though responding to a call and, surreptitiously, he took a picture of the two men.

  ‘Carrie, hi, it’s Dan Marsden here. Yes, thanks, I’m fine. You? Good, good. Carrie, I was wondering if the police have been to see you. About Ellen.’

  He listened as Carrie told him that they had interviewed just about everyone on the estate.

  ‘Yes, an Inspector MacGregor was just here. He asked what I assume was the usual stuff. If she’d got any worries, that sort of thing. I told him what I could. Carrie, you’ve not spotted anyone strange hanging around or anything? No, it’s just that, well you know I keep the Kid Scape projects as far away from the work we do here as it’s possible to be, but … well I worry, you know. What if—

  ‘No, you’re probably right. I’m probably worrying about nothing. Yes, we’ll all miss her. Any news on the funeral yet? No, I’ve heard nothing from the Tailors, but I didn’t know them that well. I’ve just been telling the inspector, though, I was over that way the day Ellen died. Yes, it didn’t strike me at first either. I must have been driving by the end of her lane at about two, two thirty.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I’m sure they will be checking that out. Right, thanks, Carrie. See you soon.’

  He put down the receiver as Jake came into the office. ‘I’m off then,’ Jake said. ‘Everything all right?’

  Dan nodded. ‘You give the policeman all the help he wanted?’

  ‘I think so, yes. Not much I could tell him really. Tough on Phil, though. He’s bound to be up there at the top of their list.’

  ‘You’ve no worries on that score?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘From what I’ve seen, he’s trying to get his life sorted. But I’ll keep my eyes open and I’ll have a word when he comes into work tomorrow.’

  ‘Do that. Night, Jake.’

  Dan Marsden walked out of his office and stood on the walkway looking down into the warehouse. Having the police come here was never a good thing. It unsettled the employees. Made them feel that the law wasn’t giving them the second chance they thought they deserved. That some of them, Dan conceded, probably did deserve.

  But unlike Jake, he wasn’t so sure about Philip Soames or if he deserved anything at all.

  TWENTY-TWO

  William Trent walked along the footpath towards the farm. He paused, as always, to look down at the place where Ellen had lived.

  Where Ellen had died.

  It seemed to William Trent that anyone he had ever cared about had been taken from him one way or another. But to lose two women to violence seemed … unnatural.

  There seemed to be no police activity today, though he assumed someone would still be watching over the place. William found that he was dreading the day when the last of the police cars drove away and the farmhouse would be left alone and uncared for. Open to anyone who cared to break the flimsy lock on the back door. To smash one of the thin panes of an ageing window and lift the catch.

  Ellen had installed bolts and even window locks to those windows that would take them, but the house had never been built for defence from the outside world. It had been a home, a shelter, a sanctuary, but those security measures it did possess relied upon the occupants to implement them once they were safe inside. Once the final policeman left, the house would be alone, unprotected, helpless.

  William turned away, finding the thought just too much to bear.

  He walked further along the ridge and crossed the stile that led to the footpath across the fields of the neighbouring farm. In the distance he could see Jenkins, dog at his side, shotgun broken across his arm. William Trent wondered if the man slept like that. Dog at his side, gun close at hand. He wondered if the police had taken neighbours’ guns for testing and then decided probably not. Unless they had a suspect, it was unlikely they’d go round, farm to farm and take away the everyday tools of the farming trade. It would be like seizing a tractor or a combined harvester.

  The farmer watched Trent approach. ‘Afternoon. Rain later, I reckon.’

  Trent nodded. ‘Looks that way,’ he said.

  ‘Off your usual route, then?’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ Trent agreed.

  ‘Well, watch out for the cows in the next field down. They’ll not hurt you, but they do get curious. And there’s muck everywhere so don’t you go slipping.’

  Trent looked carefully at the man, wondering if he was having a laugh at William’s expense, but he decided not. It was simply advice and observation. ‘I will,’ he said and decided that he’d probably walk back round by the road, at least to Ellen’s farm. He could get back on to the ridge close to there and not have to risk the cows for a second time.

  In the event, William had been so lost in his own thoughts that he traversed the cow field and the next without consciously realizing it and the next time he took account of his surroundings, he had reached the road and was only a hundred yards or so from the Richardses place.

  Hilly Richards opened the door and greeted him with a puzzled frown. ‘Can I help you? Oh,’ she added, her frown relaxing. ‘You’re that historian fellow, aren’t you? Ellen talked about you a lot.’

  William acknowledged that he was and asked if she could spare him a few minutes. ‘There are a couple of things I’d like to ask you. You and your husband if you’ve got the time.’

  ‘Who is it, Hilly?’ Toby called out from the other room.

  ‘You’d best come in. But if you could take your shoes off first. Cow shit’s a devil to get out of the carpets.’

  William looked down at his feet. His walking boots were caked in mud and, as Hilly so accurately put it, cow shit. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘I’ll get the kettle on then,’ Hilly said, though Trent could hear the uncertainty in her voice now the invitation had been extended. ‘You come in when you’re ready.’

  Trent sat down on the porch and began to untie his laces. The mud and muck smeared across his fingers and he wiped them on his pocket handkerchief, dropping that down beside his boots when he was done. Entering the Richardses’ house, he could almost taste the near animosity drifting like fog from the living room. He wondered at it. He’d met Hilly Richards once, when she’d dropped by Ellen’s to get some eggs, but they’d not spoken beyond introductions and he could think of no reason for dislike. Maybe he was just imagining it, William thought. But the feeling wouldn’t go away; was intensified when he opened the living room door. Toby sat in a large armchair, his wheelchair set beside it. Hilly on the other side, her hands clasped in front of her as though they had decided they must present a united front.

  Against what? William wondered.

  Behind Hilly the kettle began to scream and the strange spell was broken. She unclasped her hands and moved off towards the kitchen. Toby directed William to take a seat.

  William perceived the unspoken demand that he should get on and state his business.

  So he did.

  ‘The police came to see me today to ask more questions about Ellen Tailor’s death,’ he said. ‘They told me something I didn’t know. That Ellen came running to you for help one night. That she came here, scared out of her wits.’

  And you didn’t report it, he added silently, a surge of anger growing up from the pit of his stomach.

  ‘She did. Yes. What about it?’

  ‘I want to know what frightened her. I want to know why it took until two days after her death for anything to be said about it.’ He drew a deep breath, but the words escaped anyway. ‘I want to know who killed her.’

  Toby Richards regarded him coldly. ‘Are you accusing us of something?’ he asked. ‘Ellen arrived, late at night, in a right state. We were all for calling the authorities, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Didn’t want to make a fuss, she said. Was most likely just spooked because it was the first time she’d been in the house alone at night since her husband died. She let her im
agination get the better of her.’

  ‘Imagination doesn’t break windows,’ William observed.

  ‘One of the kids might have done that and not said.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘As like as not. Look, we took her in, she slept the night, we fed her next morning and Hilly drove her home. What more could we have done? What more would you have done?’

  I’d have gone to the house or at least called the police, William thought. ‘Did your wife go in with Ellen when she drove her home?’

  Toby sighed. ‘Like I told the police, Ellen had Hilly drop her at the bottom of the lane and she walked up.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? She felt embarrassed, maybe. Ellen was a sensible woman, most of the time. I suppose she felt bad about making that amount of fuss. Didn’t want it getting around.’

  ‘In case Daphne Tailor got wind of it?’ William asked.

  Toby seemed to relax. Just a tiny bit. ‘She’d have had a field day,’ he agreed. ‘Had it in for the girl all along, has Daphne.’

  ‘So Ellen said.’

  Hilly had appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a tray laden with mugs and biscuits. ‘I made coffee,’ she said. ‘It was quicker. I hope instant’s OK?’

  Quicker, William thought. Hilly must be hospitable, but she didn’t have to encourage any length of stay.

  She set the tray down on a low table and handed William a red mug. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘No thank you. Do you know Daphne well?’

  ‘Their family have been our close neighbours since we moved here. But we’ve known them for years. Our kids went to the same school.’

  ‘In very different years, though,’ Toby said. ‘Our eldest was starting at secondary when Daphne’s were finishing.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ She eyed Trent warily. You’re an outsider, the look said. We’ll talk, but don’t expect to find out much.

  ‘And do you get along with Daphne?’

  ‘Fortunately,’ Hilly said, ‘we don’t have to. We’re not family. Daphne is protective of family and that can make her fierce at times. If she doesn’t approve of what they’re doing, she says so but I’m sure she’ll look after the children now their parents are gone. Probably move back to the farm. I know she was put out at having to leave.’