No Spoken Word

by David Menon

  ‘This is quite a place you’ve got here, Kath’ said DC Alexander after Kath Ward had greeted them. ‘It must’ve taken you a while to build up a collection like this’.

  ‘It did’ said Kath, wistfully. ‘Well it was mine and Tony’s life’s work. There’s a hell of a lot of memories in this place’.

  ‘Happy ones?’

  ‘Mostly’.

  Her thoughts had been turning in recent days to she might leave the business to when the time comes. Or maybe she might decide to retire early and go on all those trips to far off places that she and Tony never got round to doing. The thing was that neither she nor Tony came from large families and the only one she could think of who would be interested was her nephew who lived up in Preston and was as enthusiastic about books as she and Tony had always been. But he was married with kids and would therefore probably have to commute instead of upping sticks and moving down altogether. She’d maybe get the funeral out the way and then put it to him. It would depend what his wife had to say about it too of course. But one way or another Kath would have to do something with the business because she had no stomach for carrying it on without Tony.

  She introduced them to her shop assistant Wendy and Alexander couldn’t help but smile at the way she looked. She could only work in a place like this. She was probably in her thirties, she wore no make-up, her hair was a straggly mess that reminded Alexander of a burst couch, and the black v-neck top she was wearing looked like it had never seen a washing machine. No jewellery, no rings on finger. A smile that said she wasn’t used to smiling. The loves of her life were all contained on these shelves.

  ‘Do you want a coffee, Wendy?’ Kath asked.

  ‘No, thanks’ Wendy replied revealing teeth that could be cared for a little better. ‘I’m a bit out there on caffeine to be honest’

  Kath then led Bradshaw and Alexander through to a back office where she offered them tea or coffee. ‘Although I’ve only got instant’. They both said instant was fine and accepted her kind offer. The room was larger than a standard office and looked like the kind of place meetings of small groups would be held. Kath confirmed to Bradshaw that was indeed the case.

  ‘So why are you here?’ she asked once they’d sat down with their beverages. ‘Apart from to check on how subversive I’m being this week’.

  Bradshaw smiled. ‘Oh I don’t think we’ve anything to worry about with you, Kath’.

  ‘You never know. It’s always the quiet ones’.

  The three of them laughed at Kath’s obvious irony. She wouldn’t be quiet about anything, least of all anything to do with politics.

  ‘Thank you’ she said. ‘That’s the first time I’ve laughed since ... well, you know?’

  ‘We do’ said Bradshaw. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘Well it isn’t easy, is it? I’ve lost my right arm’.

  Bradshaw knew all about that. ‘Well take it from one who knows’ he said ‘There’ll be days when it seems like the grief will go on forever. And then you’ll wake up one morning and Tony won’t be the first thing you think about and when you do think about him it won’t hurt like hell’.

  Kath regarded him shrewdly. ‘Quite the sensitive soul for a copper, aren’t you’.

  ‘We are sensitive souls when we’re allowed to be, Kath’ said Alexander.

  ‘Touche’ said Kath before turning back to Bradshaw. ‘But thank you. I appreciate your words’.

  ‘You’re welcome’.

  ‘So why are you here? Have there been any developments?’

  ‘Yes’ said Bradshaw who reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced the photo-fit that had been put together following Diana Matthews statement. This is who Diana Matthews says is our killer. Our boss is going to produce this at a press conference this afternoon. We wanted you to look at it to see if you recognised him?’

  Kath looked at the photo-fit and at first she didn’t recognise anything at all. But then she looked again. And she looked more closely. There was something about him. There was definitely something about him. But just where did she know him from?

  ‘Kath?’ asked Bradshaw.

  ‘Yes’ she said. ‘I think I do recognise him’.

  ‘You think you do?’

  ‘Well I didn’t when I first looked but I have to say that the more I do look at him the more I think that I have met him or seen him around somewhere’.

  ‘Can you remember anything specific?’

  ‘No’ said Kath, shaking her head. ‘I can’t. But he does look like someone I’ve seen, somewhere. Sorry but I can’t be anymore sure than that. Wait a minute, though’. She called through to Wendy and asked her to come and look at the picture. ‘Do you recognise anything about this guy, Wendy?’

  Wendy looked for a moment and then said ‘No. I can’t say I do’.

  Bradshaw noted the definite blush in those otherwise colourless cheeks. ‘Wendy? If there’s something you can tell us then please do so?’

  Wendy didn’t look him in the eye when she replied. ‘No, I don’t recognise anything about him. I don’t recognise anything at all’.

  ‘Well I’m sure there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on’ said Kath. ‘Leave it with me and if I can think of anything I’ll let you know’.

  Alexander looked round at all the flyers and notices on the board above the makeshift desk when he spotted an estate agents leaflet showing details of a Victorian semi in Chorlton. It looked odd sitting there amongst all the advertisements for visiting Cuban dance bands and Vietnamese acrobatic ensembles.

  ‘Are you buying property, Kath?’

  ‘What?’ she asked before looking up and following his eyes. ‘The house? You mean you don’t know about that?’

  ‘Why should we?’

  Kath smiled. ‘The security services really do keep everything from you coppers, don’t they? That was the house that during the years of the Cold War was used by the KGB as a safe house’.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ said Alexander.

  ‘In the middle of bloody Chorlton?’ said Bradshaw.

  ‘How did you know about it?’ asked Alexander.

  ‘It was well known amongst the left-wing fraternity throughout the fifties and sixties’ Kath explained. ‘And the knowledge was passed on to those of us who followed on. ‘I don’t know of any personal connections anyone had with the house or anything but I do know about the big rumour’.

  ‘The big rumour?’

  ‘You mean you really don’t know? I’d have thought this would’ve been common knowledge amongst the police these days. The word was that the KGB used the house for some kind of execution back in the late fifties’.

  ‘Execution?’

  ‘One of their ranks who turned out to be a traitor’ Kath went on. ‘It was kept quiet they say for obvious political reasons’.

  NO SPOKEN WORD

  TEN

  Barton wasn’t eager to hang around after he’d delivered his statement to the press and asked for the photo-fit picture to be distributed as widely as possible. It would be getting into the local printed and website media plus the regional and national TV stations. There would be somebody out there who would recognise something about the put together mug shot. He’d had to dodge some pretty hard questions about not having any leads over the disappearance of Sylvia Clarke but any criticism of a lack of progress in that direction had been mitigated by the photo-fit of someone they believed to be an actual suspect in the case of both murders.

  After the statement to the press Barton returned to his office and the out into the squad room where he called an impromptu meeting of his team. There were several leads shooting out in all directions and they all needed to get a grip on where any new information might be taking them. With the white board now dominating the room with more pictures and comments coming by the day, Barton asked DS Bradshaw to speak first.

  ‘Sir, I think we need to question Wendy Jackson who works for Kath Ward at the second hand book shop on Newton Stree
t. She denied it but I’m convinced by the look on her face that she did recognise something about the photo-fit that would be helpful to us’.

  ‘So why would she deny it?’

  ‘Perhaps the link between her and the man concerned isn’t innocent?’ Bradshaw went on. ‘I think that’s affair assumption, sir. But I also get the feeling that she would be easy to bend if we put enough pressure on’.

  ‘Okay’ said Barton thoughtfully. ‘And this house in Chorlton that allegedly used to be a safe house for the KGB?’

  ‘Whether or not it turns out to be important to us, sir, I still feel instinctively that it’s worthwhile checking out’.

  ‘Yes, I agree’ said Barton. In his experience a breakthrough in an investigation often comes from the most unexpected place. And there was a whiff of this side of this development to the story that gave him the same instinctive lurch that all the details about James Matthews and his career had given him. And he wasn’t done there yet. He was certain there was more to find out about Mr. Matthews. ‘Louisa? Could you look into all that for us, please?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir’ Louisa replied. ‘I’m on to it. I’ve already got the address and I’m now looking into the land registry of the property’.

  ‘Why did I just know you’d be several steps ahead of me?’

  Louisa blushed. ‘Sir’.

  Barton smiled and winked at her. ‘Now we’ve not been able to get anything of any value of James Matthews’ he said. ‘But he’s a liar. I’m convinced that he could tell us so much more than he has’.

  ‘He couldn’t be the actual murderer of either Maria Taylor or Tony Ward though sir’ said DI Ollie Wright. ‘Picking up his granddaughter is a pretty sound alibi’.

  ‘I know but he’s involved in some way’ said Barton. ‘And we may find out by taking the long way home as they say and sifting through all the other leads which will eventually lead us to be able to nail Matthews as a liar with the authority of knowledge of the truth. But having said all that I don’t think it should distract us from the more immediate. I want us all to be primed and ready to respond to the photo-fit appeal because I’m sure that he’s our killer’.

  DI Ollie Wright drove himself and DSI Barton out to the Hale home in Cheshire of Vincent Taylor. Barton took the opportunity to ask about how Wright’s plans with his partner to adopt a child were going.

  ‘We had our first kind of interview a couple of days ago, sir’ Wright answered. ‘It went well, I have to say. But you can never really tell until they come back to you. By the way, thanks for the reference letter you sent in on our behalf, sir. We really appreciated it’.

  ‘You’re more than welcome, Ollie. I think the two of you would make great parents and if I can play a part in making that happen then I’ll do it’.

  ‘Thank you, Sir’.

  ‘So what do you think we’re going to find with our Mr. Vincent Taylor, Ollie?’

  ‘Apart from a very old man I’d like to know he seemingly doesn’t care about the murder of his daughter. I want to see how that feeds in to what we’re doing already, sir’.

  ‘Gut feeling?’

  ‘Oh that there is some connection to present day events’ said Ollie. ‘I just hope we don’t have to dig too deep to find it’.

  ‘You and me both, Ollie, you and me both’ said Barton who was feeling a little maudlin this morning. ‘The school holidays are coming up and I’d like to take some time off so that me and Toby can go away for a week’s holiday somewhere. You know, Spain or Italy? Perhaps Tenerife? My sister and my nephew may be able to come with us since Kyle will be on school holidays too and I know my sister hasn’t been on holiday for a long time’.

  ‘Won’t that cramp your respective styles, sir?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well prospective suitors will think you’re a couple and be put off from making a play for you’.

  Barton smiled. ‘Well my sister isn’t really looking out for it. She’s got this married bloke who comes round and gives her a service every couple of weeks. It’s not ideal but she loves him as much as she can given the circumstances and she’d love for him to turn up on her doorstep with his suitcases one day’.

  ‘Likely to happen?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He’s just your average married guy getting his cake and eating it. But he makes my sister happy in some small way so what the heck. At least she’s getting it on a regular basis. I need to sort myself out, Ollie. Lillie Mae is gone and she isn’t coming back. Collette was a wonderful way back into the world of relationships and I’ll remember her fondly until my dying day. But she’s on the other side of the world for fuck’s sake. I need to sort myself out with a woman closer to home. It’s difficult when you’ve got a kid though. I’m so protective of Toby and I need to trust somebody with him, you know’.

  ‘It is possible though, sir’ said Ollie. ‘I mean, I know people who’ve gone on to form second relationships quite happily. And with kids involved’.

  ‘Oh I know it does happen’ said Barton. ‘So we’ll see’.

  For saying that Vincent Taylor must be worth a fair bob or two his house down a private rood in Hale was a reasonably understated affair. Just your average six up six down detached property with plenty of ground at the back and the usual locked gates at the front. The only addition to the usual security apparatus of all the rich folks around here was an actual security post with a guard holding a rifle over their shoulder.

  ‘Pretty heavy duty security’ said DI Wright as he drove up to the security post. ‘Is it here to protect what gets out or what gets in?’

  ‘That’s what will be interesting to find out’ said Barton.

  The security guard looked at their warrant cards and then rung through to the house to inform the housekeeper that they were coming in. Then he raised the barrier and DI Wright drove them through. The housekeeper opened the door and introduced herself as Marion Brightman. She led them through to a small room at the side of the house with about half a dozen armchairs covered in plain light blue fabrics and a long low white table in the middle. Tea was served and then the man appeared.

  Vincent Taylor was about to be eighty years old but you wouldn’t think it. Barton noted that he was carrying his age very well. There was no sign of any frailty, he seemed steady on his feet with no droop of his shoulders or uncertainty about his footing, and he was dressed casually but smartly in a pair of dark brown trousers and a cream coloured polo neck sweater. His handshake was firm, his smile was broad, there were wrinkles but little sign of the usual tram lines down the neck that are usually associated with older people. A couple of liver spots on his otherwise strong looking hands were one of the few signs of his age. This was a man who was used to dealing his own cards and having his own way.

  ‘So detectives’ said Taylor. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Are you aware of what’s happened to your daughter Maria, Mr. Taylor?’ Barton waded in. May as well just go straight for it or else someone like this Taylor character would no doubt fill the whole meeting with pointless subterfuge conversation to divert attention away from what he didn’t want to talk about. Barton just had that feeling about him.

  ‘Detective, I haven’t seen my daughter for almost forty years’.

  ‘What was the reason for the estrangement?’

  ‘Let’s say I didn’t agree with her lifestyle choice’.

  ‘You mean you didn’t like the fact that she was a lesbian?’

  ‘Like it? I didn’t like it? Detective, I couldn’t have been more opposed to it. That’s why I cut her off and proceeded with my life as if she didn’t exist. I met a wonderful woman called Pearl. Sadly we didn’t have any children and Pearl died of breast cancer five years ago. I’ve had a good life and I can’t say that I’ve missed my daughter’.

  ‘Well I’m grateful for your frankness, Mr. Taylor, but don’t you think you’re being rather harsh?’

  Taylor shrugged his shoulders. ‘No’.

  ‘Mr. Ta
ylor, your daughter was murdered. She was shot twice in what looks suspiciously like some kind of contract killing’.

  Taylor shifted slightly in his chair. ‘Yes, I read about it in the paper’.

  ‘And didn’t you think to come and pay your respects?’

  ‘No because I don’t have any respects for her’.

  This was interesting, thought Barton. He’d never met a parent before who’d been so willing to wash his hands of his child because he didn’t agree with how they were living their life. This was a man who’d had to take decisions with the chill shooting up his spine.

  ‘You’re very certain of your feelings’.

  ‘I don’t waste time speculating with myself’.

  ‘It looks like you’ve led a very nice life since you returned from Russia’.

  ‘I can’t complain’.

  ‘But coming back to your daughter ... ‘

  ‘ ... if we must’ sniffed Taylor.

  ‘When you defected you and your wife left her with your mother for twelve years before you came back with the news that her mother had passed away’ said Barton. ‘So you effectively dumped her twice. Once when you defected and again when you didn’t like her sexual orientation’.

  Taylor shrugged his shoulders. ‘If that’s how you want to put it but look, is there any point to these questions? Yes, I suppose it’s sad that she’s gone but you’re talking about a stranger to me. Maria and I gave up on each other a lifetime ago’.

  ‘After you’d dumped her’.

  ‘Alright, but I couldn’t live with her ... her lesbianism. I’m not a modern thinking man in that way’.