Unsafe Convictions Read online

  As she went from the room, closing the door quietly, Jack gazed thoughtfully in her wake. ‘D’you remember those Greek plays we had to read in school? She’s like the chorus, isn’t she? Popping onstage every so often to make a pointed comment, then disappearing into the wings until she’s needed again. Let’s hope she resists the temptation to twitter to the rest of the old-biddy network in between times.’

  ‘Stop fretting.’ McKenna reached for a cigarette. ‘She’s a policeman’s widow. She’ll know exactly when to talk, and when to keep her own counsel.’

  ‘Unlike Ms Holbrook, then,’ Jack said. ‘You don’t need a law degree to know she’s well and truly breached the rules of sub judice with all this garbage. Why don’t we shut her up with an injunction?’

  ‘That’s not the answer.’ McKenna moved aside the statements. ‘Injunctions will simply encourage more speculation about a cover-up, of which there’s been far too much already.’ Searching for an ashtray, he added: ‘Anyway, her promised exclusive interview tomorrow with the grievously wronged Mr Smith should make for interesting reading. She writes with a clever mix of sensationalism and pseudo-intellectualism.’

  ‘And poisonous innuendo,’ Jack observed. ‘She’s thoroughly tainted your integrity with that rubbish about your ancestors. Not to mention what people will read into your delayed promotion and mystery absences from duty.’

  ‘What she wrote about my ancestors is perfectly true, as you well know. How you read it depends on your own frames of reference, which was precisely her intention; and my integrity, as well as yours, is already compromised simply by our being here. Everyone we speak to will be hostile and evasive, if not downright dishonest, and the outcome will displease, disappoint, or anger someone. As Holbrook so clearly points out, we stand to get our hands very dirty.’ Pausing to draw breath, McKenna went on: ‘The police see us as their worst nightmare, the public see us as a corrupt arm of a corrupted body, and for the media we’re simply page fodder until something juicier comes along. We’ll get a warning shot fired across her bows, but it won’t have much of an effect. She’s on a roll, as the saying goes, and I expect she’ll cross our path sooner rather than later. She’s probably holed up somewhere where she can keep her eye on the tragedy queen, if, that is, she’s not actually camping out on his doorstep.’ Catching the expression on Jack’s face, he scowled. ‘And I don’t want a lecture about my attitudes! In more honest times, Smith would be judged for the vicious pervert he undoubtedly is, instead of attracting maudlin sympathy from people who should know better.’

  ‘Not a few psychologists believe some degree of violence is inevitable in marriage and other close relationships.’

  ‘And comments like that simply encourage the outrages that Smith and his ilk choose to indulge.’ McKenna’s eyes sparked with anger. ‘You see them on television, you read about them in the papers, and you find them in the dock, displaying their suppurating emotional wounds, and laying claim to debts society doesn’t owe. It’s a lifelong revenge trip against the world at large.’

  ‘You can’t jump to conclusions about Smith being a pervert because of what Linda Newton said at the trial,’ Jack added mildly. ‘And even if he is, it’s not necessarily his fault. Research points clearly to a genetic or pre-natal predisposition towards homosexuality.’

  ‘What he chose to do about it is his fault,’ McKenna insisted. ‘He married under false pretences, abused his wife, stole some of the best years of her life, and tried to pretend all the misery he caused wasn’t his doing. Nobody held a gun to his head while he deceived and battered Trisha, and nobody twisted his arm to marry again. He’s indulging a monumental and parasitic self-centredness, and I shudder to think what might befall Beryl when her gullibility and bank accounts dry up.’ He paused, searching to express feelings which he believed were based on moral truth, but which, when voiced, seemed to be founded in bigotry. ‘I’m not condemning homosexuality, Jack, but I abhor the hidden misery people like Smith cause. They demand every available social and material benefit on the grounds that their alleged affliction bestows greater rights than the rest of the world enjoys. Their orientation might be beyond their control, but how they deal with it most certainly is not.’. Again, he stopped speaking, then said: ‘Still, my feelings don’t matter. He’s laughing, all the way from the open prison door to the bank where he’ll deposit his obese compensation cheque.’

  The sudden roar of a vacuum cleaner overhead drowned the last of his words as Rene set about her chores, her footsteps thumping around the upstairs rooms. Each roar from the vacuum cleaner was preceded by a squeak from its wheels, then, as the church clock began to strike nine, chimes echoed weakly from an old-fashioned mantel clock above the gas fire.

  ‘That blasted church clock’s getting on my nerves already.’ Jack sighed, gratefully changing the topic. ‘It woke me up every hour last night. Not that I got a proper sleep, anyway. The bed’s too small. I haven’t slept in a single bed since I got married.’

  ‘Maybe you’re too large,’ McKenna suggested blandly.

  ‘You’re just as tall!’

  ‘But not so heavy.’

  ‘I’m bigger built, that’s all. I’m not into the heroin-chic look you and Janet favour.’

  ‘I’ve always been scrawny. Janet’s another matter, though.’

  ‘She is, isn’t she? And considering it’s six months since that awful miscarriage, she should be back to her old self by now.’

  ‘She’ll never be back to her old self, and she can’t come to terms with her new one.’

  ‘She eats hardly anything, you know. I’ve watched her in the canteen. She picks at her food, then pushes it away like it’s choking her.’

  ‘She’s feeding on her guilt,’ McKenna said.

  ‘Well, I hope you don’t unconsciously encourage her. Religious guilt runs in your veins, too, instead of good red blood. You might be at opposite ends of the spiritual spectrum, but the guilt’s the same.’

  ‘My church was always more accommodating than the Welsh chapel of pregnancies out of wedlock.’

  ‘You’re still into self-castigation. You can’t help yourself.’ Jack regarded the other man, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. ‘On those many occasions when you light another fag as soon as you’ve stubbed out the last, you mouth a couple of Hail Marys or something similar while you’re flicking your lighter.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘And smoking’s another bad habit you foster in Janet. You should positively discourage her, instead of offering the packet out of some twisted sense of good manners. Or’, Jack added caustically, ‘because of a mutual sympathy between addicts.’ When McKenna failed to respond, he said: ‘Perhaps we should get Ellen Turner to take her in hand.’

  ‘What good would that do? We’re not making any impression on Janet, so why should Ellen fare any better? She’s a total stranger.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Jack said. ‘She also makes the final decision about officers who are physically or mentally unsound and should be retired. In many ways, she’s got more clout than our chief. She’s certainly got more degrees. She could wield the big stick in Janet’s face, couldn’t she?’ He paused, drumming his fingers on the desk. ‘But more to the point, she’s a woman, she’s older, she’s presumably wiser, and she’s been there herself.’

  ‘Been where?’

  ‘Her first child arrived four months after that very posh wedding she had, so it was either extremely premature, or Ellen thoroughly enjoyed her engagement.’ Jack grinned. ‘And as she’s now got two more kids, she and Andrew Turner QC must be at it like rabbits at every turn.’

  ‘Not necessarily. It’s not statistically improbable that they’ve had sexual relations on only three occasions.’

  *

  Rene had an instinct for people which had rarely let her down. She pottered around the kitchen, collecting utensils and the ingredients for shepherd’s pie, while McKenna sat at the table, finishing a drink. He could have finished his dr
ink in the front room, where the other man was making one telephone call after another, but she sensed that he wanted to talk to her, so, with just the odd, innocuous comment disturbing the comfortable quiet, she waited. He was very handsome, she thought, glancing at his fine-boned face, even if rather too thin, and his dark-auburn hair would make a saint green with envy. She suspected there was a real temper to go with that hair, but she had no intention of arousing his ire, for she wanted his mind clearly on the facts, not confused by ill feeling and annoyance. Only then was he likely to discover who scapegoated a decent, honest policeman, and had probably left the mortally wounded Trisha to suffocate in her blazing house. Counting potatoes into the sink, she covered them with warm water, pulled on rubber gloves, and reached for the peeler. ‘You do realise I’ve known Barry Dugdale since he was in nappies, don’t you? And you must’ve been told I see a lot of Fred Jarvis. And Linda, of course.’ One peeled potato landed with a thud on the draining board. ‘Fred’s wife, Dorothy, was my best friend.’ She sighed. ‘She was a lovely young woman. Her dying the way she did was a tragedy. Linda was only eleven, and Trisha was just getting to that age when she should have been enjoying herself.’ Another clean potato joined the first.

  ‘What was wrong with her?’

  ‘Breast cancer.’ She scraped ferociously. ‘It’s a cruel way to go.’

  ‘Between finding out you’ve got cancer and dying from it there’s too much time for hope,’ he said. ‘My father had a tumour cut from his stomach and less than a year later, they found another one in his liver. He was barely fifty when he died.’

  ‘And how old were you?’ Rene asked, adding to the potato mound.

  ‘Twenty.’

  She nodded. ‘Like Trisha, then.’

  He lit a cigarette and while smoke drifted under her nostrils, reminding her quite forcibly of the scent that had always hung about her husband’s clothes, she finished the potatoes, scooped the peel into the bin, rinsed the sink, then tipped in four large carrots, ready topped and tailed, and covered them with water.

  ‘Have you seen Linda recently?’ McKenna asked.

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. And she asked me to tell you she wants to talk to you.’ Holding each carrot in her left hand, she took off long, neat strips of orangey peel. ‘She doesn’t know what to do with herself since Smith came out of prison. She’s hurt, and bitter, and grieving, and she’s scared of him and, heaven knows, she’s got good cause.’ She picked up a chopping knife, and began expertly slicing the vegetables. ‘And she hasn’t a good word to say for young Father John, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? He was the one to give Smith his “get out of gaol” card.’ The carrots landed with a hollow sort of noise in a big steel colander, then danced under a jet of cold water, while she turned her attention to the potatoes. ‘Mind you, if you took too much notice of Linda at the moment, you’d believe every priest ever to set foot in Haughton is a cheat, or a liar, or a drunk, or a pervert, and she says Father Brett’s the worst of the lot.’ The carrots went into a pan, while the colander was filled with potato chunks, and doused under more cold water. ‘Then again, she’s not the only one who doesn’t like him. He’s smarmy, and he’s got a big opinion of himself, which isn’t helped by the way some folk fawn over him, especially the women.’

  ‘Why does Linda want to see me?’

  ‘Like I said, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.’ She put the potatoes into another pan, sprinkled salt, lit the gas, then sat down opposite McKenna, rubber gloves still on her hands, orange stains on the hatched palms and finger ends. ‘To tell you the truth, I think she’s hoping you’ll somehow be able to send Smith back where he belongs. I told her that’s not why you’re here, and I said you’re not here either to find whoever killed Trisha, more’s the pity.’ She fell silent, memory disturbing her features. ‘Most folk think you wouldn’t have far to look if you were, whatever that court decided. You’d go past the church, down the road as far as the Junction Inn, turn left, drive another mile, turn right, and there you’d be, right outside the gates of the house. Would you believe’, she added, shaking her head, ‘what that silly Beryl Kay’s done? That house was called The Parsonage from the day it was built, which must be at least a hundred years before her grandfather bought it, and now she’s changed the name to Piers Holme. My daughter noticed the other week when she was going past.’

  ‘How many children have you got?’ asked McKenna.

  ‘Just the one. She’ll be thirty in April. There’s only a few weeks between her and Linda, you know. Dorothy and me used to take those two everywhere together.’ Rene took off her rubber gloves and placed them neatly beside her. ‘And what about you?’

  ‘We didn’t have children.’

  ‘P’raps as well, seeing as you got divorced. D’you live alone, then?’

  He nodded. ‘Apart from two cats. Mr Tuttle’s wife is looking after them.’

  ‘Has Mr Tuttle got youngsters?’

  ‘Twin girls. They’re doing A levels this summer, and they both want to go to university.’

  ‘That’ll cost,’ she said feelingly. ‘You could still get grants when my girl went, but we were forever baling her out. Then again, she was training to be a vet, and that’s always an expensive business.’ She glanced at him, knowing perfectly well he knew she was horse-trading information. ‘The two ladies you’re expecting,’ she began. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Janet Evans is a detective constable,’ he told her. ‘She’s twenty-seven, and she’s not married. Ellen Turner’s in her late thirties, and her husband’s a barrister. They’ve got three children.’

  ‘Is she a police officer as well?’

  ‘No. She’s in charge of administration for our force, but in this case, she’ll be overseeing this investigation.’

  Frowning, Rene said: ‘I thought you were in charge.’

  ‘I am.’ He smiled.

  ‘That’s all right, then.’ She rose and, picking up the gloves, added: ‘I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to do your job, but don’t you forget one thing. If Smith really didn’t kill Trisha, whoever did is going to get very worried now you’re here. You need to watch out for people.’

  *

  ‘I’ve notified the various solicitors when we intend to interview Dugdale, Lewis and Bowden.’ Jack pushed a list of times across the desk to McKenna. ‘You said you want to see Ryman again, too.’

  ‘He’ll keep for a few days,’ McKenna said. ‘And make arrangements to interview Linda Newton as soon as possible.’

  ‘With or without legal representation?’

  ‘With.’

  ‘Is an interview under caution really warranted ? Because she was briefly Dugdale’s flame many moons ago — and you’ve only got Ryman’s word for that — it’s jumping the gun to suspect her and Dugdale of conspiring to fit up Smith. And that’s another idea Ryman put in your head, isn’t it? He probably dropped Linda into your lap to take your mind off the bloody awful job he did of supervising the investigation.’

  ‘We leave no stone unturned, if we can help it.’

  ‘Then shouldn’t we add Fauvel to the first round of interviews? Our primary task is to find out whether Dugdale lied about that letter, or whether Fauvel did.’

  ‘Our first priority is investigating what Dugdale, Lewis and Bowden actually did or didn’t do, to resolve the uncertainty around them. Suspension can make people very panicky.’

  ‘They’ll have been offered counselling, I imagine.’

  ‘That won’t alter the fact that they see their future in the hands of total strangers, who could, for all they know, be under instruction simply to find, or fabricate, grounds for dismissal.’

  ‘As in no one cares very much who’s hacked to bits as long as the pound of flesh is forthcoming.’ Drawing circles with his ball-point pen on a sheet of scrap paper, Jack asked: ‘Exactly how much latitude do we have?’

  ‘As long as we don’t provide Smith with further grounds for complaint and, by extension, enhanced
compensation, our hands are remarkably unfettered.’ McKenna began sifting a pile of documents, in search of a pathology report. ‘And bearing in mind you were quick to rebuke me for prejudging Smith’s sexual orientation, don’t leap to your own conclusions about Ryman’s motives.’

  ‘How did the top brass come over to you?’ Jack asked. ‘Well-practised in shrugging off allegations of corruption? Resentful because this applecart was tipped up so publicly? Scared we’ll find a whole load of rotten apples, instead of just a few?’

  ‘I had the impression of a well-run force doing its best to provide a good public service. The senior ranks seem more distressed than anything, and not only because three of their officers had to be suspended. Linda Newton’s not alone in believing Smith killed her sister, and the only real resentment I detected was over the fact that he’s out of prison. Trisha’s murder was a nasty affair, and it’s left a very nasty taste.’

  ‘So, contrary to what Holbrook’s telling the world, the file on Trisha isn’t closed?’

  ‘No, but it’s not officially reopened, either.’

  ‘That won’t please Rene,’ Jack commented. ‘Bearing in mind her connections and aspirations, at what point do we tell her to stay in the kitchen, as it were?’

  ‘We don’t. Like Smith, we’re outsiders, so we need all the good press we can get. Having her on our side, thinking she’s privy to what’s going on even if she can’t direct it, won’t do us any harm.’

  ‘That’s an extraordinarily cynical view.’

  ‘I’ve never been able to see the dividing line between realism and cynicism,’ McKenna admitted. ‘Perhaps it’s something I should deal with. But don’t belittle her potential. You could say she’s powerful with the local knowledge.’