by Alex Walters
Barker nodded. 'I don't know whether either of you gentlemen recall the Ben Wallasey case?'
Winston leaned forward. 'A child killing, wasn't it? Mid-nineties sometime? Pretty big deal at the time, if I remember correctly.'
Murrain remembered it only too well. He'd been a young DC at the time, had only recently made the move over into CID. He sometimes cringed now to think of the young man he'd been—brash, over-confident, expecting that he could eventually knock some sense into his complacent superiors. Unlike some, he'd been bright enough to realise, before it was too late, how little he really knew and how easily he could make himself unpopular. But in those days he'd had little time to waste on sentiment or emotion. He'd been surprised, therefore, by how hard the reports of the Wallasey case had hit him.
'You remember the details?' Barker prompted.
'It was another child,' Murrain said. 'Another child who apparently tortured and then strangled Wallasey.' He frowned, racking his brain to think of the name. For a few weeks, the case had gained the notoriety of the James Bulger or Mary Bell cases, the name plastered across the newspapers. 'Hancock?' he said, finally. 'Carl Hancock?'
'You've a good memory,' Barker said approvingly. 'Carl Hancock.'
Murrain exchanged a glance with Winston. Both of them understood where this was heading now, even if extracting the information was feeling like a bout of twenty questions. 'You're telling us Wickham is Carl Hancock?'
'On his release from prison some eighteen months ago,' Barker said, 'Mr Wickham was given a new identity and support to set up a new life in the north-west.'
Murrain noted again Barker's reluctance to answer a direct question. 'No-one thought to advise us he was arriving on our patch?'
'Only a small group of individuals—most of whom are gathered round this table—are aware of Hancock's new identity. You'll appreciate the sensitivity and the risk of leaks to the media. There was considerable—hysteria about the case.' Barker's expression momentarily indicated distaste, though it was unclear whether it was the murder itself or its media coverage that had aroused his disapproval.
'I appreciate that we apparently have a murdered child and a convicted child killer in close proximity,' Winston said. 'It might have been helpful for us to be aware of that.'
Barker tapped his fingernails on the table in a manner that suggested he was becoming slightly bored with the discussion. 'Our first priority, of course, is to ensure no hint of this reaches the media.'
Murrain opened his mouth but Winston was ahead of him. 'With respect,' he said, 'our first priority is to apprehend Ethan Dunn's killer.'
Barker nodded. 'I understand your concerns, Chief Superintendent. However—'
'There is no "however",' Winston said. 'We have a murdered child. We have a killer still on the loose. That's the priority.'
'There's no evidence that Hancock is responsible for Dunn's death,' Ashworth said. Barker shot him a cold look, suggesting he'd spoken out of turn.
'And there won't be, if we don't investigate him,' Murrain pointed out. 'No-one is saying that Hancock's the killer. But, given his history, it's a line of enquiry we have to pursue.' He looked back at Barker. 'I can imagine how the media would react if they discovered the authorities were aware of this and chose to ignore it.'
Barker met his gaze. 'I trust that's not a threat, Chief Inspector.'
'We have a job to do,' Murrain said. 'That job is to protect the public.'
'Then we're on the same side.' Barker smiled 'But, for our part, we have a duty to ensure these things are handled sensitively. We don't want to risk causing undue alarm.'
Murrain mentally translated that as: we don't want to risk any embarrassment in Whitehall. 'So what are you suggesting?'
'I've consulted with my colleagues here,' Barker said in a tone which indicated that the consultation had been largely one-sided. 'Our considered view is that Hancock is unlikely to be your perpetrator.'
'I don't see—' Winston intervened.
'But of course we understand you need to investigate the possibility. All we ask is that you do so discreetly, and that you work with our support.'
'Now that we're aware of the possibility,' Winston pointed out, 'we have an obligation to investigate, with or without your support.'
'I assure you that you'll find it much harder to do so without,' Barker said.
'I trust that's not a threat, either, Mr Barker,' Winston said.
It was clear to Murrain that Winston was approaching the limits of his patience. 'In practical terms,' Murrain said to Barker, 'what are you offering? As Martin said, we have an obligation to act—legal, professional and moral. If you can help us meet that obligation more effectively, well and good. If you're simply going to be a barrier, then frankly—'
'Understood, Chief Inspector. We only wish to help. It's in none of our interests that this story hits the media until we know where we stand. It wouldn't help you to have some kind of media circus up here.'
That was true enough. If the media got hold of this story, they wouldn't be inclined to look beyond Hancock as a potential suspect. Senior officers would become increasingly defensive and jittery, and Murrain's task would probably become impossible. 'What are you suggesting?'
Barker leaned back in his chair and regarded Murrain as if he were weighing up his capability or perhaps his trustworthiness. Murrain had a suspicion this was a technique Barker had practised on his underlings in the Ministry, a way of implying that the listener was privileged even to be allowed access to Barker's invaluable insights. Another minute of it, Murrain thought, and Winston might actually explode.
'As I say, my own considered view.' Barker said, finally, 'having studied the background and discussed the case at length with my colleagues here, is that Hancock is very unlikely to be your killer.' It was clear that Winston was about to intervene again, but Barker continued smoothly on. 'But, as I say, I appreciate that we can't discount the possibility. He clearly needs to be investigated thoroughly but discreetly at this stage, at least until we know whether there are genuine grounds to consider him a suspect. My proposal therefore is that Chief Inspector Murrain conducts the investigation in conjunction with Mr Ashworth here, with Mr Kennedy available to provide advice as required. Mr Ashworth will be responsible for ensuring that Hancock's interests are protected.'
'You mean that the Ministry's interests are protected,' Winston said.
Barker nodded and smiled. 'There is a certain congruity between those objectives. But Hancock's well-being in our priority. It's critical that we keep this knowledge solely among ourselves.'
'I can't agree to anything without informing the Chief,' Winston said. 'He can't be kept in the dark about something like this.'
'I'll ensure that the Chief Constable is informed.'
'And I need at least one other member of my team involved,' Murrain said.
Barker looked sharply up at him. 'Why's that, Chief Inspector?'
'Because we're conducting an investigation of a serious, high profile crime. We have to do everything by the book and be seen to do so. Whoever the killer is, whether it's Hancock or anyone else, I don't want them escaping justice because we messed up on the procedural side. If we're interviewing Hancock, I want two officers present.'
'Who did you have in mind?'
'My deputy. DI Milton.'
'Is he trustworthy?' Barker addressed the question to Winston. Which, Murrain reflected, was probably a mistake.
'Oh, for Christ's sake,' Winston said, 'of course he's bloody trustworthy. More so than some jumped-up Whitehall pen-pusher—'
Barker's smiled remained fixed. 'Of course. I'll happily defer to your judgement, Chief Superintendent.' He looked back at Murrain. 'But this goes no further than you and your deputy, Chief Inspector. If this story were to leak, the consequences could be severe.'
That certainly sounded close enough to a threat, Murrain thought. 'I think we appreciate the gravity of the matter.'
Barker pushed himself to his feet. 'We've
taken enough of your time, gentlemen. Perhaps we can leave you with Mr Ashworth to discuss the logistics.' He smiled at Winston. 'I'll ask the Permanent Secretary to give the Chief Constable a call. Just so we're all clear where we stand.'
Winston exchanged a glance with Murrain. 'I think we're all very clear where we stand, Mr Barker. Thank you for your time.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tim Hulse had booked a back room in the local pub for the farewell do. It was the Friday before half-term and Kate was still planning to drive back to her mother’s, but felt she ought to show her face. Whether she’d be welcome was another question entirely.
In fairness, Greg Perry had been as good as his word. Not a word had leaked, even on the notoriously sensitive Service grapevine, about Perry’s report on the prison. When Hulse's move was announced, only a few days later, it had been presented as a promotion. He’d been selected by the Regional Director, at the instigation of the Director-General, to carry out strategic project work on the future of public sector prisons in an age of reducing costs, or some such nonsense. It was an honour and a privilege to be selected personally to carry out this critical assignment, he’d been reported as saying in the in-house newsletter. Kate knew from Hulse himself that he’d never uttered those words, and that his real response when the offer was first made had been heavily laden with expletives.
In any case, the announcement had fooled no-one. Everybody recognised a sideways move when they saw one, and it was an accepted truth that an operational governor wouldn’t move into a backroom role voluntarily. A move like that meant at least one of three things—you’d burnt out, you’d offended the wrong person, or you’d failed. Quite often, all three.
Hulse had borne up pretty well. He’d toed the party line in talking to the wider world, but made it clear to the powers-that-be that he was going through the motions. He was no doubt already looking round for an alternative job with some private-sector prison provider. Well, good luck to him, Kate thought.
This wasn’t strictly speaking goodbye, in that Hulse was expected to be around for another few weeks yet. Perhaps he wasn’t sure how long the rest of the team would be around. The current expectation was that John Hodges would hold the fort for a month or so till a permanent replacement was identified. Hodges seemed happy enough with that but only on condition he was then given the early retirement deal he’d been angling for. Others on the senior team had concluded that, once a new broom arrived, their days would be numbered and most were actively looking for transfers.
Kate hadn’t decided about her own future. This was supposed to have been a new start—a new job, a new house, a new life. She was still due to bring Jack up to join her during the holiday so he was ready to start his new school at the beginning of the next half term. That was all going ahead, but she felt as if the rest of her life was once more on hold.
She knew she was viewed with some suspicion within the prison. She was seen as Perry’s lackey even though she’d had barely any contact with him, other than a couple of phone calls, since the meeting in her office. Hodges seemed fine with her—he’d been around the block enough times not to be fazed by corporate politics—but there was a frisson in her relations with the other members of the senior team.
Tonight Hodges was as welcoming as ever. 'Come in, lass. Fill your glass and join the wake.' He was sitting at the bar, apparently content not to join any of the chatting groups around the room.
'Is that what it is, then?'
He took a sip from his pint of beer. The pint was barely touched and she guessed it was still his first. Hodges gave the impression of being one of the lads but maintained a degree of detachment from their more boisterous behaviour. 'I’m not sure what else you’d call it. That’s what usually follows a death, isn’t it?'
'Who’s died?'
He raised his glass. 'To the memory of Tim Hulse's career.'
'He’ll bounce back, won’t he?'
'Once your card’s marked, it stays marked. People have long memories.' He looked up at her. 'Your friend Greg Perry might do well to remember that.'
'He’s not a friend. Just someone who used to be my boss.' The words felt oddly like a betrayal, but they were true. 'What did you mean about long memories?'
He took another almost imperceptible sip of his beer. 'You pass a lot of people on your way up. And some of them remember you.' He smiled. 'I go back a long way. Mine and Greg’s paths crossed a few times over the years. I know where a few of the bodies are buried.' He smiled, but it wasn't clear whether he was entirely joking.
'Is that right?' She felt that Hodges was inviting her to enquire further but she had little inclination to do so. 'Where’s Tim? I ought to have a chat with him. I can’t stay too long.'
'I’m not planning on staying much longer myself. Leave that kind of thing to the youngsters.' He swivelled on his bar stool and gestured towards the far corner of the room. 'Tim’s over there. Might be glad of being rescued.'
Hulse was in the corner of the room, being talked at by Sharon Barnes. Kate had no great desire to engage in any conversation with the latter, though she hoped insufficient drink had been taken to fuel any conflict. She smiled her thanks at Hodges and eased her way to where Hulse was standing.
He caught her eye over Sharon’s shoulder with ill-disguised relief. 'Kate! Glad you could make it.'
Sharon regarded Kate coolly. 'Good you could spare the time, Kate. You’re usually in such a hurry.'
'I’m heading back to my mother’s tonight,' she said, 'so I can’t stay long.' She held up her Coke. 'Can’t even drink.'
'Better keep your wits about you,' Sharon said. 'I’ll leave you to Tim’s tender mercies.' She pushed her way, perhaps more brusquely than she intended, back towards the bar.
'She’s not happy,' Kate observed.
'Just anxious,' Hulse said. 'Who can blame her?' He had an almost empty pint glass in his hand. Kate guessed it wasn’t his first, and probably not his second.
'Not me,' Kate said. 'Can I get you another?'
'You certainly can. Follow me.' Hulse led her in Sharon’s wake towards the bar. Sharon was already apparently deep in conversation with John Hodges. Hulse caught the barman’s eye with practised ease and ordered a pint for himself and another Coke for Kate. 'I put £100 behind the bar. Reckon that’ll last fifteen minutes or so with this bunch.' He waved his hand towards the door. 'You mind going outside for a few minutes? Could do with a cigarette.'
She’d never seen him smoking before. He wasn’t one of those who’d cluster, regardless of the weather, in the allocated smoking area outside the administrative block. 'Given it up for years,' he said, reading her thoughts. 'Till a few days ago.'
She followed him into the pub car park. It was a decent enough evening, still light, though the low sun was stretching shadows across the tarmac. Hulse avoided the smoking shelter and walked over to the small garden area at the side of the pub. He slumped down at one of the tables and fumbled with his cigarettes and lighter. 'Is he really a friend of yours, then?'
She perched on the bench next to him, conscious of the damp wood beneath her pale skirt. Hulse was already halfway through his pint. 'Who?'
'Greg Perry. You seemed to be buddies. More than I’d realised.'
'I’m not sure Greg even has any friends.'
'No, well, that figures.'
'I want to get one thing straight, Tim,' she said. 'Whatever Greg might have done, whatever decisions he might have made, they’re nothing to do with me. I’m not his grass.' She thought back to that last meeting with Greg, and wondered whether this was strictly true.
'I know that,' he said. 'I’m not a fool, Kate. Greg Perry’s reputation goes before him. And, by and large, it’s a good one. He’s professional, gets the job done. Treats people fairly. Blah, blah.'
'But?'
He took a deep swallow of the beer. 'But I don’t think he’s treated me fairly. He’s shafted me.'
'I don’t think I’m in a position to—'
> 'No, I don’t expect you are. Nobody is where Perry’s concerned.'
'You’ve lost me, Tim.'
'Sorry.' He held up his glass and peered into the amber contents. 'Look, Kate, I know you didn’t have anything to do with what’s happened. I imagine Perry asked your views of me and of the prison. I imagine you were honest with him. People usually are. That’s one of his gifts. He makes you trust him.'
'I didn’t—'
'I don’t really care whether you did or didn’t, to be honest. It wouldn’t have made any real difference. He’d already made up his mind. He was just looking for ammunition.'
She could see where this was going. Hulse had persuaded himself that Perry had acted unreasonably, and that was no doubt the version of events he was sharing with everyone. It was one way of preserving a shred of dignity.
'It doesn’t stack up, Kate. Everyone knows this place has had its share of problems. That’s why they offered me the job in the first place. I had a reputation of my own, you know.'
She did know, or at least she knew what Perry had told her. 'So it was your job to turn the place around?'
'Exactly. I’d had been a success at my previous place. Same kind of issues. The place was a mess. I’d joined as the Dep without really knowing what I was letting myself in for. Within a few weeks the Governor disappeared with a supposedly stress-related illness which rapidly turned into an early retirement. I kept the show on the road and they offered me the job on a permanent basis. Within six months, I’d got the place back on track. So they knew I could do it.'
'But this place must have been a big challenge?'
'It was. It is. That’s what’s so frustrating. I mean, the inspection report before I came was dire. Everything was wrong. And now—'
'You think it’s improved?'
'We’re in a different league. I’m not saying we’re perfect. There's still some way to go, but I’ve done everything that could reasonably have been asked and more. All the performance measures are there. We’ve sorted the drugs issues. We've got rid of all the bad apples among the Officers. We’ve built up a great management team, present company included.' He took another swallow and finished the pint. 'The really frustrating thing is that whichever bugger is here when the next inspection takes place will receive all the plaudits.'