Close Her Eyes

by Dorothy Simpson

  ‘You spoke to the parents about this?’

  ‘Initially I didn’t want to make an issue of it. It was the mother who used to turn up at parents’ evenings, and I did try tackling her about it, but nothing happened. She was a quiet, ineffectual little woman and I guessed she simply didn’t have the strength of character to get Charity to toe the line. Having met her, and having been aware all along that there must be some reason for so young a child to be so troublesome, I concluded that either the father was as ineffectual as the mother, and Charity had always been allowed to have her way unchecked, or that he must be a very powerful, repressive person who kept Charity so firmly under control at home that at school she was reacting against being over-disciplined. Ah, I can see from your face, you’ve already met him. Of course, you would have, in the circumstances. You’ll understand what I’m going to tell you, then …

  ‘Well, eventually I reached the point where I decided that I must have a word with him, and the next time Charity was in trouble I told her that that was what I had decided to do. I can assure you that I’ve never seen that particular warning have so powerful an effect. The child was petrified. She must have been—oh, let me see—about six and a half at the time. She begged me not to send for him, promised there’d be no more misbehaviour.’

  ‘So you didn’t see him?’

  ‘Not at that point. I thought that the threat alone might have achieved the desired outcome and indeed, for a while, Charity was much better behaved. But gradually she began to slip back into her old patterns of behaviour. Now I didn’t like ruling a child by fear, and I don’t like making threats which are never put into practice, because obviously they lose their efficacy. I gave her one or two gentle warnings and privately decided that if this went on, I would have to talk to Mr Pritchard, if only to satisfy my own need to know the right way to handle Charity. I thought, if we could have a sensible discussion together, we might be able to help her.’

  Thanet could see what was coming.

  ‘Well, things came to a head about six months later. Charity’s form teacher came to me and told me that she’d caught the child red-handed, pouring ink over a set of brand-new text books. Those particular books had been on order for months, and the entire class knew it. I called Charity in, told her I’d definitely decided to ask her parents to come and see me. She became hysterical. She screamed, she sobbed, she swore she was sorry, that she’d never, ever put a foot wrong again … It was so distressing. I felt in something of a dilemma. If I back-pedalled now, I would undermine my authority and destroy my credibility, make Charity think that she could always manipulate me if the need arose. On the other hand, the child was clearly so terrified at the prospect … Anyway, I finally decided to go ahead, on the grounds that there was clearly something radically wrong in her relationship with her father, and that if I were to be able to help her, I needed to know what it was. I can see, you’ve guessed what’s coming, haven’t you?’

  ‘Possibly. But I want to hear it all the same. In detail. So do go on.’

  Miss Foskett shook her head sadly. ‘The interview was a disaster, from start to finish. I talked, they listened. I’m not exaggerating when I say that Mrs Pritchard did not say a single word, from beginning to end. Any questions I asked were countered by further questions from Mr Pritchard. There was no discussion, as such, at all. I really did try very hard, but soon realised that it was pointless. The man had a completely closed mind … You know they belong to that sect called the Children of Jerusalem?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve had difficulties in dealing with the children of families belonging to it before, but never in quite such an extreme form. As soon as I saw that there really was no point in continuing, I brought the interview to a close.’ Miss Foskett shivered, hugged herself as if she were cold. ‘And do you know what he said, as he went through the door?’

  Thanet waited.

  ‘I’ve never forgotten it. He turned, looked at me with those very dark, burning eyes of his and said, “Thank you, Miss Foskett, for bringing the matter to my attention. The Devil walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘They left.’

  ‘What did he mean, do you think?’

  ‘Presumably, that the Devil was responsible for Charity’s behaviour, that he had seduced her into evil, so to speak …’

  ‘And the result?’

  ‘Disaster, to my mind. Charity was away for a week and when she came back she was a different child—really different. Apart from being painfully thin, she was polite, quiet, well-behaved, industrious … You’ll probably ask what I’m complaining about, when this was precisely the effect I’d been struggling to achieve, but to my mind … How can I explain? After this incident she was … lifeless. There was no vivacity, spontaneity, responsiveness … And yet, I still don’t see how else I could have handled the situation constructively. As I told you, I still think of Charity as one of my worst failures—perhaps the worst failure of all. And I would like to assure you that I’m not given to self-castigation. It’s so unconstructive to brood on failure. Better, by far, to learn from it and forget it. But in Charity’s case … I suppose you might say that that child has haunted me, over the years. And now …’ Miss Foskett shook her head regretfully and then added briskly, ‘Well, that’s about it. I can’t really see why you wanted to hear all this rigmarole, but for what it’s worth, there it is.’

  Thanet did not feel that this was either the time or the place to embark upon a dissertation on the importance of understanding the victim’s character in a murder investigation such as this. He merely assured Miss Foskett that what she had told him was extremely helpful to him and that he was grateful to her for being so frank.

  Before she closed the front door behind him she said, ‘You know, I’d have given anything to know just what he did to her in that week she was away from school.’

  And so should I, thought Thanet. So should I.

  What was more, he was going to have a damned good try at finding out.

  11

  ‘She’s in the front room.’

  It was precisely nine o’clock and Mrs Hodges had clearly been waiting for their knock; the door had opened almost before the reverberations had died away. In the narrow hall she hesitated. ‘She’s ever so upset. You won’t …?’

  ‘I do understand that, Mrs Hodges,’ said Thanet. ‘And I’ll be as gentle as I can, I promise.’

  This seemed to satisfy her and she opened the door, led the way inside.

  The girl huddled in the armchair facing them raised blank, terrified blue eyes. She was very like her mother in build and colouring, with a bush of elaborately frizzed hair haloing a round face puffy with weeping. Beside her, on the arm of the chair, lay a damp, wadded face-flannel. Thanet had a brief, vivid image of Mrs Hodges kneeling on the floor beside her daughter, murmuring soothing words and sponging away the tears as if Veronica were a little girl again and had hurt herself while playing in the garden.

  But the marks of this injury were not going to be so easily eradicated, he thought as they all sat down. Crouching on the edge of her chair with fixed, stricken gaze, hugging herself as if she were afraid that her body might be about to fly apart, Veronica reminded him of a wounded bird waiting for the vultures to descend upon her and tear at her vulnerable flesh with their sharp beaks.

  If he was right, she was more sinned against than sinning, and had had a pretty bad time over the last two years. But her evidence was crucial, of that he was convinced, and somehow he must win her confidence sufficiently to obtain it.

  He glanced approvingly at Lineham, who had positioned himself behind the girl’s line of vision, on a small upright chair. Louise’s condition was apparently unchanged and the sergeant seemed marginally more cheerful this evening. He was as aware as Thanet of the importance of this interview and clearly his mind was on the job.

  Mrs Hodges had seated herself protectively on the arm of Veronica’s chair,
with an arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  ‘I really am sorry to have to bother you at a time like this, Veronica—I may call you Veronica?’

  He waited for her tight, wary nod before going on.

  ‘I do appreciate what a terrible shock this must have been for you. But I’m sure you’ll want to do all you can to help us.’

  She bit her lip and he cast about for a reassuring opening. Every line of questioning seemed fraught with potential menace for the girl.

  ‘Your mother tells me you’ve known Charity for a long time? Since you were at primary school together, I believe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was barely audible, but a beginning. For the next quarter of an hour Thanet concentrated on putting her more at ease, chatting innocuously about Dene Road School, then about the Girls’ Technical School and gradually he was rewarded by seeing Veronica relax a little, speak more readily.

  When he judged that the time was right, he said, ‘Now I know that you might find some of the questions I have to ask you a bit upsetting, but I want you to remember that I’m not out to browbeat or frighten you—in fact, that’s the very last thing I want to do, and if at any point you feel you’d really rather call it a day, you only have to say so and we’ll stop. Though it’s only fair to warn you that in that case we’d have to resume some other time. It’ll be up to you. I’m trying to be completely frank with you, you see.’

  She was listening intently. So was her mother.

  ‘The other thing I want to say is that whatever you may have to tell me about your friendship with Charity, we’re not here to judge you. We’re not out to find a scape-goat, merely to try to find out a little more about her. Charity didn’t seem to have many friends and we really do feel that you might be able to help us perhaps more than anyone else can. You follow me?’

  A small, tight nod. She was frightened again but, Thanet judged, prepared to be co-operative, within limits. Here goes, then, he thought. He had no choice, really, he had to begin with the business of the telegram. So much of his subsequent questioning would depend on whether or not there was an innocent explanation. If there wasn’t, he hoped that Mrs Hodges’ reaction to the news of the girls’ duplicity would not interfere with the course he wanted the interview to take. If only he could have seen Veronica alone …

  ‘Perhaps we could begin by going back to last Easter, when you and Charity went to Dorset.’

  This was unexpected and she didn’t know whether to be reassured or alarmed. Her eyes widened slightly and she glanced up at her mother, who squeezed her shoulder.

  ‘When did you leave Sturrenden?’

  ‘On the Friday morning.’

  They had arrived at the Holiday Home soon after four. They had been in a group of twenty-four young people from all over the country. Ages ranged from fourteen to eighteen and most of them were girls. The three boys, like Charity and Veronica, were among the youngest. All of them had been expected to make their own beds in the dormitories, to follow a rota system for laying the tables and washing up, to follow the tight schedule of Bible classes and discussion groups and to participate in the organised games in the afternoons.

  ‘You enjoyed the weekend?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ But her voice lacked conviction.

  ‘So why did you leave a day early?’ His voice was mild and he had phrased the question very carefully, leaving the way open for a straightforward explanation of telegram and family illness, if that was the way it had been.

  Her eyes told him at once that it had not. That quick, agonised upward flicker in the direction of her mother only just preceeded Mrs Hodges’ reaction.

  ‘A day early?’ she said sharply. ‘What do you mean, a day early?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Veronica,’ said Thanet. ‘But I’m afraid all this really does have to come out.’

  Mrs Hodges’ face had gone red. ‘What do you mean, sorry? What are you talking about?’ And then, to Veronica, ‘What’ll all have to come out?’

  ‘No!’ Veronica began to shake her head wildly. ‘No no no no no …’ Then she buried her face in her hands and began to cry without restraint, rocking to and fro as if noise and motion together could block out awareness of the ordeal now facing her.

  Mrs Hodges, looking shocked and bewildered, slid off the arm of the chair, knelt before her daughter and, putting both arms around her, tried to calm her.

  Lineham raised his eyebrows at Thanet. Delaying tactics? he mouthed.

  Thanet shook his head. He had been expecting just this reaction and had decided how to deal with it. He waited until the girl’s sobs had begun to abate and then, raising his voice, said, ‘Veronica, there’s no need to be so upset. Your mother’s not going to blame you, you know, when she hears the whole story.’

  As he had hoped, this gave her pause. Slowly, she raised a streaming face from her mother’s shoulder and looked at him.

  He met her gaze squarely. ‘I really mean that.’

  She wanted to believe him, he could see. She looked doubtfully at her mother, who was now sitting back on her heels.

  It was Mrs Hodges who clinched the matter. Levering herself up with one hand on the arm of the chair, she scrambled to her feet. Then she put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Well, I haven’t the foggiest idea what all this is about, but if you’re worried about what I think, love, forget it. Anything’s better than all this palaver. And if you do know anything that’ll help the police, well, you owe it to Charity to tell it.’

  ‘Owe it to Charity!’ Veronica burst out. ‘But that’s just the point, Mum. I don’t owe her anything, not a bloody thing!’

  ‘Watch your mouth, girl! You know your dad couldn’t stand women swearing.’

  ‘Oh all right, Mum, I’m sorry, but honest, you just don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Well how am I supposed to, if you won’t explain!’

  But still Veronica hesitated before taking the plunge. She glanced from Thanet to her mother and back again. Then she shrugged and said, ‘It was Charity’s idea. The telegram.’

  ‘What telegram?’ said Mrs Hodges.

  Thanet raised his hand. ‘Please, Mrs Hodges, I think Veronica would find this easier if you could just listen, for the moment. I know it won’t be easy for you, but if you could wait, save your questions till later …’

  ‘All right.’ She was reluctant, but seated herself on the arm of Veronica’s chair again and prepared to do as he asked.

  ‘You might prefer to tell us in your own way, Veronica,’ said Thanet. ‘If you get stuck, I’ll help you out.’

  Veronica shifted restlessly.

  ‘You were bored, I suppose,’ prompted Thanet.

  ‘Out of our minds!’

  ‘Then why …?’ Mrs Hodges caught Thanet’s eye, subsided.

  ‘Never a minute to yourself,’ said Veronica as if her mother had not spoken. ‘Lights out at ten o’clock, jolly hockey sticks every afternoon, washing up for thirty-odd, including the staff, who never lifted a finger to help … And the atmosphere of the place! Long faces, everyone in dead earnest all the time … So in the end, Charity said, come on, let’s get out of here, I’ve had enough.’

  ‘This was when?’

  ‘On the Sunday afternoon. We were supposed to be staying until Wednesday morning. Well, I’d had enough too and we talked about it for a bit. I knew Mum wouldn’t mind if I got home a couple of days early. But we haven’t got a telephone here and we knew they’d never let us go without permission from our parents. So Charity suggested the best way would be to send ourselves a telegram, pretend there was some emergency at home. There was a pay-phone booth at the Home and we had just enough change between us, so we decided to send it right away, but when we enquired we found that although you can phone in a telemessage any time up to eight in the evening, they’re not actually delivered until the next first class post in the area. And there was no post next day, being a Bank holiday. So we had to wait to send it until the Monday and it
came first thing Tuesday morning.’

  ‘And it worked?’

  ‘Oh yes, no problem. We were away by mid-morning.’

  Veronica paused, glanced uneasily at her mother.

  Mrs Hodges opened her mouth to speak, closed it again as Thanet shook his head. Wait, his eyes signalled. You’ll find out soon enough.

  ‘Go on, Veronica,’ he said gently. Then, as she still hesitated, ‘Let me help you. When you were on the train you were upset to find out that Charity had no intention of going straight home. Instead, she was suggesting that you should make the most of the unexpected day’s freedom, live it up a little … Am I right?’

  Thanet heard Mrs Hodges’ sharp intake of breath as Veronica nodded miserably.

  ‘How was I to know she was going to suggest anything so crazy!’ Veronica burst out. ‘We hardly had any money left after paying more than three pounds for the telegram and naturally I thought we’d be going straight home. But no! The minute we sat down in the train she started on me. She had it all worked out. We’d pick up some boys on the train or, failing that, in London, and get them to pay for everything … Don’t look at me like that, Mum! You needn’t worry, I didn’t go along with her, though believe me, you ought to give me a medal for holding out. She just went on and on and on …’

  ‘So what did you do, in the end?’ asked Thanet gently.

  ‘We split up. When we got to London I didn’t know what to do … In the end I looked up the YWCA in the phone book. They’ve got an accommodation and advisory service. I couldn’t stay in one of their hostels because I was broke, but they managed to fix me up just for the night in one of their emergency hostels … It was awful, having to throw myself on their mercy like that. I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life …’ Veronica shook her head as if to erase the memory and rubbed her eyes.

  Thanet could see that Mrs Hodges was again bursting to ask a question and again he knew what it was: But why didn’t you just catch a train, come straight home? Thanet gave her a quick, fierce frown. Later, he mouthed. He had his own reasons for not wanting to put that particular question at this point.