False Witness

by Michelle Davies

  She went outside to her car to make the phone call, on the pretext of fetching something from it.

  Byford didn’t pick up. She left a message saying she needed to speak to him urgently, but didn’t mention the notebooks so he couldn’t use the time before calling her back to invent an excuse as to why he hadn’t handed them in.

  She toyed with ringing Umpire to see what he thought, but decided against it, knowing Renshaw wouldn’t thank her for soliciting his advice. So she dialled another familiar number instead.

  ‘Maggie, how’s it going?’

  DI Tony Gant was markedly ebullient for someone so famously grumpy and Maggie felt a pang that she was about to ruin the FLO coordinator’s good mood.

  ‘I’m fine, but I’m not ringing about me, though. I wanted to talk to you about Jamie Byford.’

  ‘Is this because he keeps being yanked back to HQ to deal with that case? Sorry, Maggie, there’s nothing I can do about that.’

  ‘It’s not that. I don’t think he’s cut out for family liaison.’

  She didn’t want to wade straight in with her concern about him withholding evidence, knowing the shit storm it would unleash.

  To her utter shock, Gant agreed with her.

  ‘He’s not the most obvious candidate, no. If I had my way this wouldn’t be his first case.’

  ‘But you’re the coordinator, you must’ve put him forward.’

  ‘Well, not exactly.’

  ‘You were told to?’

  ‘He was suggested to me, yes.’

  Maggie’s mind whirled. Gant was scrupulous about making sure he assigned FLOs with the right qualities to each case – why would he let someone else call the shots on an investigation as sensitive as Benji’s?

  ‘Has Byford even completed the training?’

  The pause was all the answer she needed.

  ‘Look, Maggie, I can’t get into this. Just do your job and don’t worry about Byford. He is a great detective, that’s not up for dispute.’

  ‘But if he’s not a trained FLO—’

  ‘Drop it, Maggie, please. This goes way above my head and yours.’

  She fell silent, frustration leeching through her every pore.

  ‘Now we’ve sorted that, I can tell you my news. It’s being announced first thing on Monday, so consider it a heads-up. I’m moving on.’

  ‘What?’ Maggie was stunned. ‘Moving on to where?’

  ‘I’m transferring down to Cornwall. My wife wants to live somewhere more rural and I’m ready for a job change. You know, it’s a shame you’re not a higher rank, Maggie, because you’d be great to take over this job.’

  ‘You think I could be the Liaison Coordinator for the entire force?’

  ‘Absolutely. The job requires someone who is considered and organized and above all thinks about the families’ needs when assigning their FLOs. I think you’d be terrific at it.’

  ‘As are you, which is why you can’t leave!’

  She was shocked how upset the thought of him leaving made her feel. She couldn’t imagine not working with him. He was the one who’d recruited her to family liaison in the first place and had overseen her training and every assignment. He was more than her senior officer: he was her mentor and a friend.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Maggie, but my bucket and spade are packed. But I’m serious about your potential – you need to think about moving up. It’s time. I know how much you love family liaison and if you’re determined to continue with it there is scope to take what you do to a much higher level. The Met is always looking for officers of your calibre. I know someone who works for the Homicide and Serious Crime Command, I could put in a good word for you.’

  ‘Joining the Met would mean moving to London.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that? You’re young, you’re not saddled with kids: this is the perfect time to further your career. Do you really want to spend your entire working life in the town you grew up in?’

  Maggie leaned back against the headrest and took a deep breath. She’d never contemplated moving away from Mansell before, mostly because of Lou and the kids. Could she really up and leave? What about Umpire? Yet she knew what he’d say – ever since they’d first worked together he’d been pressing her to apply for promotion. If she moved to London, he’d find a way for them to make it work.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a big step,’ she said.

  ‘Say the word and I’ll make some calls. But don’t let opportunity pass you by, Maggie – there’s a career waiting for you beyond Mansell if you want it.’

  52

  Maggie felt oddly exposed as she walked into the incident room two hours later, as if her nerve endings were twitching for everyone to see. She wasn’t sure which of Gant’s bombshells had unsettled her the most – him quitting his position or Byford being foisted upon her by someone higher up the chain of command than him.

  She sat down at her desk and surreptitiously leaned over to open Byford’s bottom drawer. It was locked. She made a decision: she would stay late until everyone else had gone home so she could break into it. Even if Byford came up with a perfectly plausible excuse as to why he hadn’t told anyone about the notebooks or submitted them as evidence, she wanted to see what was in them before he could. Suspicion that he was hiding something other than the notebooks themselves nagged away at her.

  Staying late would mean cancelling her birthday dinner with Umpire. With a sigh, she called him to break the bad news. Fortunately he’d had enough birthday celebrations of his own cancelled at short notice because of work to not get angry.

  ‘There’s so much going on now,’ she said, cupping her hand over the mouthpiece so he could hear her. The room had suddenly got noisier with the return of Renshaw and Burton; Nathan, who was at a desk in the corner double-checking the typed-up statements he’d taken from the classmates and their teacher, gestured at them to pipe down.

  ‘I’ll cancel the booking,’ said Umpire. ‘I’ve heard there might be another body at the school site. Is that right?’

  Bad news travelled fast.

  ‘Possibly. I’ll know more after the briefing. I am sorry about dinner.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. I feel bad because first Brighton and now this.’

  Maggie smiled. ‘I think it’s a sign I should ignore turning thirty. Actually, there is one good thing that’s happened – Jude texted to wish me happy birthday.’

  ‘Really? That’s great he’s made contact.’

  ‘He said he misses me and wishes me and Lou would make up. I texted him back but he’s not replied.’

  ‘If he’s texted you once I’m sure he will.’

  ‘I hope so. I have to go now. I’ll miss you this weekend, but have a great time with the kids. Call me when you can.’

  ‘I will.’

  As she hung up, Renshaw called her over to join her and Burton.

  ‘How’s Imogen holding up?’ she asked.

  ‘Not bad, although the family is concerned attention is being diverted away from Benji with the dog search. It might help if you go round to see her, reassure her.’

  Renshaw nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘When’s the excavation going to start?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow – we can’t get everything on site before then. So I’m afraid we’re all on call this weekend.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Maggie. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

  ‘I had a night in planned with a bottle of wine,’ said Burton resignedly. ‘Talking of which, you missed Julia Hepworth’s drunken antics. She turned up absolutely hamm—’

  He never got to finish the sentence.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Nathan suddenly shouted, making them jump. ‘I don’t fucking believe it.’ He rushed across to them holding a printout, so worked up his face was scarlet.

  ‘I’ve just found this mixed in with the pile of statements – it’s the transcript of the caretaker’s 999 call. I don’t know why the fuck we weren’t given this sooner. Anna,
you really need to read this.’

  Renshaw snatched it from his hand. As her eyes scanned the document, her cheeks burned like Nathan’s.

  ‘He’s been lying to us from day one. According to this, when the dispatcher asked him to describe what had happened, Donnelly replied – and I quote – “The boy was on the wall and the girl pushed him. Oh God, oh God, I think he’s dead.” The dispatcher then asks if he’s sure the girl pushed him, and Donnelly replies, “I saw her do it – she put her hands on his chest and pushed him with all her might.”’

  53

  Alan knew as soon as the door went that he was in trouble. The head walked in first and on her heels were DS Renshaw and the male officer Alan had seen milling around the school interviewing some of the teachers.

  His little office suddenly felt very crowded.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Mrs Pullman, sounding anything but, her expression set like stone. ‘These officers need to speak to you as a matter of urgency. As it’s nearly four o’clock I’ve told them you can be relieved of your duties for the rest of the day.’

  Alan nodded but was distracted by the male officer, who had walked over to his desk and was peering closely at his computer screen. There was nothing incriminating open on the desktop, but still Alan’s pulse juddered with fear.

  ‘You’re welcome to use my office,’ said Mrs Pullman.

  ‘I think it would be better if Mr Donnelly came down to the station with us,’ said Renshaw. ‘You don’t mind that, do you?’

  ‘How long will it take?’ he asked worriedly. ‘I need to lock up at the end of the day.’

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Pullman can find someone else to do that.’

  The head nodded. ‘I’ll do it myself if needs be.’ She fixed her eyes on Alan’s. ‘Can I please ask that you cooperate with them? It would be in everyone’s interests if you did. Rushbrooke needs to get back to normal.’

  The head made it sound as though he was the reason the police had been swarming all over the place and not the kid who fell, and he was stung by the rebuke. He was also scared. Why did they want to question him again? Had they found out he started the fire? Did they know about the Pavilion?

  The scratch on his face suddenly itched like mad but he kept his hands clenched at his sides, not wanting to draw any more attention to it. He could say with some conviction that he had no idea how he did it – whatever Gus insisted otherwise, he still had no recollection of going to talk to Ruby. And even if he had approached her, what would her response have been anyway? He might not use her and her friends the way others did, but he was as bad in many respects. He was the enabler and coward who turned his back and ignored what was going on to save his own skin.

  It bothered him that he couldn’t lock his office door as the police marched him outside, but if he insisted they might become suspicious, as might Mrs Pullman. Instead he unfastened the bundle of keys he carried on a loop on his belt and handed it to her. Some of the keys were labelled and for the ones that weren’t he explained their function as quickly as he could. The look on the head’s face suggested she’d forgotten which key fitted which lock the moment he’d told her, but she said she’d work it out.

  Alan was grateful there were no children around to see his walk of shame across the playground to the staff car park, where the officers had left their car. He was also grateful their vehicle was unmarked, its plain, dark navy bodywork making it indistinguishable from any other car on the road.

  They made the drive into the centre of Mansell in silence, the two of them up front and Alan sitting in the back. He debated asking if he needed a solicitor but feared doing so was tantamount to admitting he was in trouble.

  Renshaw didn’t bother with preamble: she simply slipped a piece of paper across the table and asked him to read it aloud.

  As his own words leapt off the page at him, Alan swallowed hard. So this wasn’t about the fire.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  ‘That’s a very different account to what you told us on Tuesday, Mr Donnelly.’

  He pushed the piece of paper back towards her.

  ‘I was in shock. I made a mistake.’

  ‘Your statement on Tuesday was a mistake?’

  ‘No, when I dialled 999. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. What happened . . . it was horrible. I still can’t get that kid’s face out of my mind.’

  ‘I imagine it has been a very difficult experience for you,’ said Renshaw frostily. ‘But here’s the thing. I’ve got an eleven-year-old boy lying dead on a mortuary slab and his mum is beside herself wanting to know how he ended up there. You swore blind it was an accident but then I’m given this transcript and suddenly it appears that you’re lying. So I’ll ask you again, Mr Donnelly, why did you give us a different account to the one you told the dispatcher?’

  Alan could feel the sweat beading on his forehead but didn’t dare wipe it away. He knew every movement, every gesture, was being scrutinized.

  ‘I told you. I was confused and upset.’

  ‘Did you or did you not see Poppy Hepworth push Benji Tyler off the wall to his death? Hang on, what does it say here?’ Renshaw picked up the transcript and began to read as though she was rehearsing for a play. ‘Oh, yes, here we go – “I saw her do it – she put her hands on his chest and she pushed him with all her might.”’ She put the paper down on the table and stared at him. ‘Well?’

  ‘That’s what I thought I saw, but when I calmed down I realized I’d got it wrong. There was no way she could’ve pushed him from where she was standing – they were too far apart. It might’ve looked like she had, but what I saw was her reaching out to try to grab him to stop him falling.’

  The lie was convincing enough to send a flicker of doubt across Renshaw’s face. Her colleague looked equally uncertain and Alan experienced a surge of confidence. He might actually pull this off.

  ‘That’s what you believe now, that she tried to help, to stop him falling?’

  ‘Yes. They were too far apart for it to be anything else.’

  Renshaw looked far from happy.

  ‘Listen, I’m not going to get a little girl into trouble for something she didn’t do,’ Alan continued, sensing he was on the home stretch. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I’m very sorry the boy died, I wish I could’ve saved him myself. For as long as I live I will never be able to wipe the memory of him lying on the ground bleeding like that. But I know what I saw and I’m sorry, but I can’t change that.’

  54

  Julia had managed to force down a couple of slices of dry toast when they got home and was now napping on the sofa. The rest of the house was as quiet: Malcolm had spirited Dylan to the cinema, Poppy had shut herself in her room and Ewan was working at the kitchen table.

  Drifting in and out of sleep, Julia’s mind replayed snatches of the morning’s events but she couldn’t tell which bits were real and which were scenarios conjured in her dreams. Her falling over had definitely happened – she had bruised knees and bloodied palms as evidence – but Ewan swearing at her, telling her to go home? It wasn’t like him to use the F-word in public. That bit can’t have been real.

  She must’ve rolled over onto her side and fallen into a deeper sleep, because when she came to again the digital clock on the DVD player said it was 18:05. She ungainly got to her feet in an ungainly fashion and walked to the kitchen, clutching the walls for support. She could no longer be classified as staggeringly drunk, but she felt terrible. Mouth parched, head pounding, the makings of an epic hangover.

  She went straight to the sink and gulped down two large glasses of water.

  ‘Sore head?’ asked Ewan from behind his laptop.

  ‘I feel awful.’

  ‘You won’t get any sympathy from me,’ he said curtly. ‘You were a disgrace.’

  His anger shook her.

  ‘I know, and I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know the police were going to call us.’

  ‘DS Renshaw warned us at the po
lice station that they might need to see us at short notice, when she asked us to stay in Mansell. You couldn’t even stay sober for a few hours.’

  ‘It was only a couple of drinks,’ she protested.

  ‘You were threatened with arrest, for crying out loud.’

  ‘Was I?’ Julia was appalled she couldn’t remember. ‘By who?’

  ‘DS fucking Renshaw, that’s who,’ Ewan shouted at her. ‘Can you imagine if she had nicked you? The officer questioning Poppy arrests her mum for being abusive and too fucking pissed to stand up straight.’

  Julia quailed, his tirade pinning her to the kitchen unit. She had never seen him so angry.

  ‘Daddy, don’t.’

  Neither of them had noticed Poppy coming into the kitchen. She was teary-eyed and trembling as she looked from one parent to the other.

  ‘This is all my fault you’re arguing,’ she cried.

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s mine,’ said Julia. ‘Daddy’s right, I did a stupid thing.’

  She went to hug her daughter but Ewan got there first.

  ‘I’m very sorry we upset you,’ he said, kissing the top of Poppy’s head and smoothing her hair. ‘I just got a bit angry at Mummy, but we’ve sorted it out now.’

  Watching Ewan lie so effortlessly to their daughter when they both knew the row was far from over reminded Julia that she still hadn’t got to the bottom of what Poppy had told him on that first day in the head’s office.

  ‘Are you two keeping something from me?’

  Ewan stared at her as though she was mad. ‘What are you going on about?’

  ‘On Tuesday, when I left Mrs Pullman’s office to get some air, something happened. You looked shocked. Poppy, what did you tell Daddy?’

  Poppy stonewalled her.

  ‘Daddy, can I have some ice cream?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No, she can’t, we haven’t had tea yet,’ Julia snapped. ‘Poppy, I asked you a question.’

  ‘Why are you getting cross with me?’ her daughter answered, growing tearful.

  ‘See, now look what you’ve done,’ said Ewan. For once Julia ignored him.