Sasha pointedly returned to her notes. "It's difficult to see when he could have done it, Mrs. Fletcher. His mother gave him an alibi for the Monday and Tuesday, but you say you saw blood on Grace's window on the Tuesday afternoon. That suggests someone else killed Grace."
"Don't see why. What was to stop Howard doing it Monday night?"
"His mother alibied him. She said she was awake all night worrying about his job prospects."
"You talking about Wynne?"
"Yes."
"She was lying through her teeth."
"The prosecution didn't think so. That's why they argued that Grace died on the Wednesday."
"Not my problem," Louise said frankly, reaching forward to stub out her cigarette. "You asked me what I thought and I told you. Wynne was a lush-put away half a bottle of gin a night because she couldn't stand Howard and she couldn't stand her job-and I've never heard of a chronic alky lying awake worrying. Everyone at Brackham & Wright's knew. Her shift followed Dad's, and she was so hungover sometimes, she'd collapse over her bench with her head in her hands. Why do you think she was so worried about getting the chop?" Her pale eyes flashed with sudden humor. "Ask David Trevelyan. He'll tell you it's true. Everyone knows the whole Howard thing did her a favor. She ended up with the money from the sale of Grace's house and got shot of her useless son."
Sasha rested her pencil against the arm of her spectacles and stared at her notepad.
"Is that it? Are you done?"
"Just a couple more questions, Mrs. Fletcher. You said it was Cill who told your father about the rape ... yet, according to your brother, you and she fell out so badly that she stopped coming to your house." She looked up with a smile. "When did she have an opportunity to talk to him?"
Louise didn't answer immediately. "Probably on the phone when Mum was at work. It's the kind of thing she did."
"Not easy if she was at school all day. There were no mobiles in 1970." No answer. "And if it wasn't Cill, there were only two other people who could have told him: you or Grace."
"Why not Billy?"
"He wouldn't have said that Cill deserved it, Mrs. Fletcher, but Grace might have done if you fed her your version first when you collected the clothes." She paused in face of Louise's incomprehension. "I'm trying to understand why your father encouraged you to tell the police about the rape on the Saturday morning, when David Trevelyan had punched him only a few hours earlier for saying Cill was a cheap little tart who deserved what she got. Most men-particularly men with unhealthy passions for little girls-don't do that. They damp down police interest as fast as they possibly can."
Out came another cigarette. "He always called her a tart."
"Only after the rape. Before the rape he wanted her on his lap all the time. That must have made you jealous."
"Why should it?"
"He was an abuser, Mrs. Fletcher, and you were his little princess. Did he show his disappointment too obviously when Cill stopped coming to the house? What did you tell him? That she preferred rough sex with Roy Trent to letting a dirty old man grope her?"
It was a second or two before Louise could bring the flame into contact with her cigarette. "What if I did? It doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything, Mrs. Fletcher. It says you're a liar and that you were jealous of your friend. And that lends credence to your brother's version of events." She paused. "It must have made you very angry that everyone you ever met-male or female-preferred Cill."
*25*
There was so much hatred in the pale eyes that Sasha moved warily to the edge of her seat. On paper, there was no contest. She was taller, heavier and younger, but she didn't know how crazy Louise was and she certainly didn't fancy her chances if the woman seized on the heavy glass ashtray as a weapon. "I'm sorry if I offended you," she said, reaching down to put her notepad in her case. "It was a flippant remark and I apologize."
Louise watched her suspiciously. "What are you doing?" she demanded.
"I've taken up enough of your time."
"You haven't finished yet," she snapped. "Aren't you going to ask me how my father reacted when he heard I'd told the police Cill had been raped?"
This time there was no pretense when Sasha ran her tongue across her lips. There was too much emotion in the room and she lacked the experience to deal with it. aCertainly. If you want to tell me."
"The usual. Said he'd have me the minute Mum was out of the house."
"And did he?"
The cigarette trembled violently in Louise's fingers. "He sent Mum and Billy shopping, then buggered the life out of me in front of Grandstand. I even remember what was on-a horse race. I hate the fucking animals and they're on every television screen in this house." She gave a harsh laugh. "You're all obsessed with Cill's rape. What about mine?"
"Leave," said Sasha's boss in her ear. "Trevor's watching her ... says she's about to blow."
It was true. Anger flared in the woman's eyes again like a forest fire fanned by wind. "Why don't you say something? What sort of damage do you think a grown man does to a skinny little kid? Why do you think I've never had babies?"
Sasha fluttered a hand to her mouth. "I'm trying to find some ... words. I'm not qualified for this, Mrs. Fletcher. You should consult a lawyer or someone who works in the field of abuse."
Louise's derision was colossal. "How often have you been buggered, darlin'? Have you even had sex? Maybe you consult a lawyer every time a man looks at you, just so your fat little arse remains intact. Cill never got buggered-rogered by a trio of clowns, maybe, but never buggered. She should have been. It would've taken some of the heat off me."
"Humor her..."
"I'm sorry," said Sasha inadequately. "Have you ever thought about having your father prosecuted? There's no time limit on this sort of case ... and I'm sure your brother would support you. He's the one who first suggested to us that your father abused you."
The woman stared at her. "Dad paid me and Micky a small fortune in blood money to keep quiet."
"About what?"
"Micky had a knife ... said he'd chop my dad's dick off if he didn't pay for what he'd done." She fell silent, looking back down some dark corridor of time. "He was so scared ... couldn't look at me without shaking. I reminded him of Cill. It gives you a buzz when you get that kind of reaction."
Sasha ignored her boss's voice in her audio specs telling her to leave. "Did he kill Cill, Mrs. Fletcher? Your brother says you know what happened to her."
The woman stirred. "It was Howard," she said automatically.
"Is that what Roy Trent told you to say?"
Louise's mouth twisted into a cynical smile and, for a moment, she looked as if she were about to agree.
"Don't be an idiot, Lou," said a man's voice from the doorway. "There's no harm done except your pride's been dented. Let's cool it, eh?"
Sasha's heart leaped in her chest. Colley Hurst? She flicked a rapid sideways glance at the newcomer, but he had dark hair flecked with gray. "Leave now," said her boss's voice in her ear. She reached for her briefcase again.
The woman looked murderously toward the visitor. This is my house, Roy. I'm the one who says what happens in it."
"Except you're making a fool of yourself," he said harshly, before jerking his head at Sasha. "Get your stuff together, girl, and I'll see you out."
There was a pulse of time in which Louise seemed ready to accept his authority. A look of resignation crossed her face and she leaned forward to abandon her cigarette in the ashtray before pushing herself to her feet. But something happened. Perhaps Roy was too insistent. Perhaps Sasha drew attention to herself by moving. Perhaps Louise heard the tinny voice in the spectacle arm. The end result was the same-a manic fury that was beyond anything Sasha had ever imagined or witnessed.
It happened so fast she could only watch in horrified paralysis as Louise swamped Roy with a burst of energy, battering at his head and eyes with the ashtray, kneeing, kicking, forcing him to the floor. "It's always ab
out you ... protect you ... keep your fucking secrets."
At the back of Sasha's mind was a bizarre hope that it was a performance put on for her benefit, and she was only halfway to her feet when Louise brought the heavy glass weight crashing down on Roy's temple. She lurched forward in a panic, sending the coffee table crashing onto its back. "Mrs. Fletcher! MRS. FLETCHER! For God's sake, STOP! You're killing him."
Either the woman didn't hear her or Sasha was too insignificant to worry about, but there was no time to debate the rights and wrongs of any particular action. Sasha's instinctive response was to stop the terrible battering and she lunged forward to grab at Louise's wrists. It was like being caught up by a tornado, a whirling frenzy of movement as Louise turned on her, knocking her to the floor. Sasha felt her shoulder glance off a coffee-table leg before the underside rim slammed into her spine and knocked the wind from her lungs.
If a sensible thought about tactics entered her head, she had no recollection of it. She just gritted her teeth and clung grimly to the other woman's hands, thwarting every attempt to bring the ashtray in contact with her face. Flat on her back, and unable to gain an advantage because she was trapped between the legs of the table, she fought a desperate, sweaty struggle to hold the other woman at bay.
She remembered thinking her boss would be furious because the audio specs were somewhere beneath her, broken. She remembered thinking she needed to lose weight, as she felt the back of her jacket rip. She remembered thinking her mother had taught her that nice girls never got into fights. Most of all, she remembered thinking that if she got through this she would hand in her notice immediately. Fear grew as Louise's knee jammed into her midriff and made the struggle for breath even harder. Why hadn't she heeded George's and Jonathan's advice?
After how long she decided to bullshit the woman, she didn't know. Hours? Seconds? "You don't ... need to do this," she grated out of half-starved lungs. "We know ... what happened."
Louise released her left hand from the ashtray. "No one does except me and Roy," she snarled, thrusting her hands apart and slamming Sasha's arms against the sharp edges of the table legs to break her hold. "Micky's dead and Nick can't remember."
"Then you ... tell us," Sasha managed despairingly.
Louise dragged her hands together again, preparing to repeat the exercise. "Nick'll kill me."
Sasha exerted all her strength to hold her wrists together. "Not if we ... can prove it," she grunted.
There was the briefest relaxation of pressure, and this time it was Sasha who whipped her arms out, gasping from the pain as the sharp edge of the wood cut into the flesh of her arm in the same place as before. As a tactic, it worked spectacularly. The shock of the impact catapulted the ashtray to the far side of the room and, by luck rather than judgment, toppled the smaller woman off balance, pulling Sasha into an ungainly roll. As the table legs gave way beneath her weight, she took a lungful of air and then flailed a leg across the writhing woman, pinning her to the ground.
"ENOUGH!" she roared. "I am NOT Cill Trevelyan."
POOLE POLICE STATION
CIVIC CENTER POOLE DORSET BH15 2SE
INCIDENT REPORT
Date: 5.26.03
Time: 1223
Officers attending: PC Alan Clarke, WPC Mary Chambers
Incident: Disturbance at Palencia, Frean Street, Sandbanks.
The disturbance was reported at 1223 by Duncan Bartholomew of WCH Investigations. An ambulance was requested at the same time. Officers Clark and Chambers arrived at Palencia within ten minutes. Five persons were in the house: Mrs. Priscilla Fletcher (tenant/occupier), Mr. Roy Trent (visitor), Mr. Duncan Bartholomew (partner with WCH Investigations), Ms. Sasha Spencer (WCH Investigations employee), Mr. Trevor Paul (Bentham Inquiry Agents employee). Bartholomew, Spencer and Paul are licensed operators.
Ms. Spencer reported a fight between Mr. Trent and Mrs. Fletcher, and subsequently between herself and Mrs. Fletcher when she tried to intervene. Mr. Trent had been hit on the head several times by a heavy ashtray but was sitting up by the time the officers reached the scene.
Paramedics arrived within five minutes. Although Mr. Trent initially refused medical assistance, he was persuaded to go in the ambulance and receive treatment at Poole General Hospital. He had difficulty focusing and standing, and severe concussion was diagnosed. He was asked to remain at the hospital until Officers Clarke and Chambers could take his statement. His address-Crown and Feathers, Highdown-was supplied by Mrs. Fletcher.
Mrs. Fletcher agreed that Ms. Spencer had come to her house by invitation and that Mr. Bartholomew and Mr. Paul had come to Ms. Spencer's assistance when the fighting got out of hand. They deny trespass. Mrs. Fletcher admitted that she left her front door open when Ms. Spencer arrived, which is how Mr. Bartholomew and Mr. Paul gained entry. She thanked them for their assistance.
Mrs. Fletcher said that she had taken her husband Mr. Nicholas Fletcher for a checkup at Poole General this morning. She expressed considerable fear of both him and Mr. Trent and said she couldn't remain in the house in case either of them returned. She refused to give a statement at this time, asking instead to be taken to Poole police station to make a written statement there.
After escorting everyone off the premises, Officers Clarke and Chambers secured the house and drove Mrs. Fletcher to Poole police station. A statement was subsequently taken from Mr. Trent at the General Hospital. On his advice, Officers Clarke and Chambers allowed him to inform Mr. Fletcher of the incident. Mr. Fletcher reacted angrily but accepted Mr. Trent's offer to stay at the Crown and Feathers in Highdown until the matter is resolved.
POOLE POLICE STATION
CIVIC CENTER POOLE DORSET BH15 2SE
WITNESS STATEMENT
Date: 5.26.03
Time: 1630
Witness: Priscilla Fletcher aka Priscilla Fletcher Hurst aka Louise Burton aka Daisy Hopkinson aka Cill Trent
Officers present: DS John Wyatt, DC Peter Hughes
Also present: Ms. Sasha Spencer (at the request of the witness)
Incident: The murder of Priscilla "Cill" Trevelyan on the night of May 30/31, 1970.
This statement was written from notes made during an interview with Priscilla Fletcher. She agrees that it is a true and complete record of what she said, and she has signed it accordingly.
My father started abusing me when I was eleven years old. I believe my mother knew what was happening, although the subject has never been discussed between us. When Cill and I became friendly, I tried to keep her away from our house because I knew my father liked her. She was unhappy at home and preferred spending time in other people's houses. When we bunked off school we usually went to Grace Jefferies's, where we spent time with Howard Stamp.
I became jealous of Cill because she was popular and I wasn't. I had few girlfriends at school because none of them liked the way my father behaved toward them. Howard didn't like me because I'd teased him in the past. Our teachers blamed me for leading Cill astray, and Cill's parents reported me to my parents, saying that Cill's problems were my fault. The fight we had at school on Friday, May 29, was sparked by my jealousy.
After Mrs. Trevelyan phoned on the Saturday morning May 30 to say that Cill had not slept in her bed the previous night, I went round to Grace Jefferies's house. Cill was eating ice cream in the kitchen. I thought it was funny because my mother had said how upset Jean Trevelyan had sounded. That is what made me decide not to say anything to my parents or the police. This decision was reinforced when my mother became angry after the police suggested we might know where Cill was. I couldn't contradict her without being punished. I told the police about the rape to get Cill into even more trouble with her father. He always said he'd wash his hands of her if he found out she'd had sex with a boy. I was still angry about our fight the day before when she had punched me and pulled my hair. It seemed a good revenge to make her life even more difficult. I hadn't told my father that Cill had been raped because I didn't want him feeling sorry for her.
Instead, I told him she'd had consensual sex with three boys. He became upset and started referring to her as "a tart." When he told Mr. Trevelyan that "she deserved what she got," he was referring to a possible pregnancy, as I'd told him that Cill had missed a period. This wasn't true, but my father was pleased about it because he thought the Trevelyans were snobs.
After Cill went missing, he told me to repeat the story to the police so that David Trevelyan would know the sort of daughter he had.
Soon after my mother and I returned from the police station on Saturday, May 30, my mother ordered me to go to my bedroom so that she could tell my father what I'd said to the police. I disobeyed. Instead, I went to the public telephone in Bladen Street to call Roy Trent. I had made friends with Roy Trent, Micky Hopkinson and Colley Hurst after Howard kept complaining to Cill and Grace about the way they bullied him. Even at the time I understood that I had more in common with alienated teens than I did with losers like Howard Stamp and Grace Jefferies. Now I realize that I was looking for anyone who shared my sense of unhappiness and lack of worth.
It is true that I sought out Trent, Hopkinson and Hurst and asked them to give Cill Trevelyan a fright. It is also true that I engineered the meeting and was angry when Cill insisted on bringing my brother along. At no point did I suggest rape. I asked them to pretend to like her, then treat her unkindly afterward. My feelings about the rape were mixed. I was glad that Cill was violated but I became obsessed with the idea that Trent, Hopkinson and Hurst only did it because they fancied her.
This made me angry. Although I didn't name the boys, I described them well enough to be identified. They were well known to the police at that time as persistent truants, petty thieves and vandals, and they were regularly taken home in a drunk and disorderly state from Colliton Park and the waste ground behind Colliton Way (now Colliton Industrial Estate). I hoped Trent, Hopkinson and Hurst would be scared and embarrassed by being taken in for questioning. I hoped the same would happen to Cill when she went home.
Disordered Minds Page 34