The Innocent Ones

by The Innocent Ones (retail) (epub)

  Once she’d settled into a routine, though, it became bearable, but that had been her worry, that the four months she spent remanded before her trial would become normal. Her fellow inmates were good to her, none had much of a problem with the death of her abusive boyfriend, but her fear was that the cell would become her life, that the years would stretch ahead in a monotonous blur. Her acquittal got her life back, and she was only just getting used to not feeling guilty about it.

  It was the loud bang of the doors that brought everything back, the way that everything echoed. That’s what had stayed in her mind the most: the echoes. Women crying, laughing, shouting, arguing. A prison never goes quiet.

  During the day, music was the main distraction, blasting out from cells, all competing against each other. In the evenings, it was about conversation, shouts along the wing, just anything to relieve the boredom, all bouncing around the steelwork of the building.

  On the first night of her release, it was the silence she struggled with the most. She’d had the hugs from her family, and it had been good to be in her old bedroom again, like a time capsule of innocence, but a moment came when she was alone and all there had been was silence. That was the loneliest night of her life.

  She took a deep breath and tried to put her memories away. That’s how she coped. She put everything in mental boxes and imagined closing the lids.

  Jayne sat back and straightened her shoulders. Her past was part of her, but it was down to her to come out stronger for it.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Dan said. ‘This is taking you back.’

  She gave a small laugh. ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘You’re quiet, and it isn’t like you.’

  The room was large, tables and chairs spaced out evenly, prison officers at both ends and a camera in each corner. Although they were there for a legal visit, the security was just as tight. Lawyers had been caught smuggling phones inside, so the guards were just as watchful.

  ‘Tell me how your trial went,’ she said. ‘Distract me.’

  ‘The naked gardener? Found not guilty. Eccentric. Ought to rethink his gardening habits. A flasher? No.’

  ‘Did he get out the main exhibit?’

  ‘Thankfully, no.’

  She laughed. The courts were often the venue for the absurd, and she enjoyed Dan’s war stories.

  The sounds of conversation drifted into the room as the small huddle of prisoners got closer, led in by a guard who watched them walk to their respective tables.

  Nick saw Dan and made his way over with a swagger, his grey sweatshirt obscured by a red bib. He sat down opposite and slapped his arms on the table. The hallmark of an experienced con, a display of arrogance and his arms kept in plain sight.

  Jayne hadn’t known what to expect. Perhaps that sunken junkie look, skin pale and grey, a film of sweat on his forehead, his eyes wide and darting. If he was ever like that, prison suited him. He looked healthy, his cheeks filled out, his body too, as if he spent his days using the prison weights.

  Jayne wasn’t sure it helped him. The jurors would understand a desperate drug addict making off with a phone and wallet, even if there was a corpse close by. But they’d find it even easier to imagine the muscled six-footer murdering Mark Roberts, because he had the physical strength.

  He cocked his head and smirked. ‘I like your new staff member, Mr Grant, although next time ask her to wear something more showy.’

  Dan was about to say something, but Jayne put her hand up as if to silence him and said, ‘Showy?’

  ‘You know, a bit more skin. It gets pretty intense in here, and sometimes you’ve just got to take yourself away from it, if you know what I mean. Some of the other firms do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  He flicked his hand towards the other tables, where legal clerks were waiting for their clients, mostly young and glamorous – some respite for the prisoners, a deliberate ploy.

  ‘Get themselves pretty young clerks like you and arrange weekly visits. Short skirt, tight blouse. It keeps them happy. Keeps them as clients.’

  Jayne took a deep breath. ‘I’m not here for you to wank over. Dan has got some news about your case. Do you want it or not, or are just interested in whatever you can drop into a tissue?’

  Dan leaned forward. ‘That’s why we’re here, for your case. Be respectful. Jayne’s here to help.’

  His eyes narrowed, his jaw set. ‘How will she do that?’

  ‘The victim’s mother wants to help you out. She thinks you’re a patsy for a big cover-up.’

  ‘Patsy?’

  It was Jayne’s turn for the smirk. ‘Here’s a tip. Don’t wank over a woman with more brains than you. You’ll wilt. Patsy means that you’re the fall guy, the mug who takes the hit.’

  ‘What did this woman want then?’ His voice had turned sulky.

  ‘She doesn’t think you did it, so wants to see the real killer caught.’

  ‘Fair enough. Is she called Barbara?’

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘She came to see me a couple of weeks ago. She wrote to me at first, asking to see me. I thought, yeah, why not. She can’t get to me in here. When she came, she didn’t make much sense, just jabbered on, wanted to know more. What could I say to her? I found her son dead and nicked his wallet. I thought she’d hate me, but she just talked about wanting to see the whites of my eyes.’

  ‘Whatever she thinks of you, she hates the real killer more. Tell us about the laptop.’

  ‘What laptop?’

  ‘The laptop you took.’

  ‘I didn’t take a laptop. There was no laptop there. I’d have taken it if I’d seen it, but it wasn’t there.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘I’ve told you what I did. What have I got to gain by lying about a laptop?’

  ‘Okay, good point. Nick, we’re going to look into this. We’ll carry on with your defence, that you’re a thief, nothing more. There’s an extra angle though, and it might complicate things.’

  He frowned. ‘What’s it all about?’

  ‘An old case from a seaside town. Mark Roberts was looking into it, which led him to Highford. From a place called Brampton. Ever heard of it?’

  ‘No. What was the case he was all excited about?’

  ‘We don’t know. But I don’t think we should ignore it. Do you want us to look into it?’

  He turned to Jayne. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’d be stupid to ignore it.’

  He thought about that before nodding his agreement. ‘If you both say yes, then I say yes too.’

  ‘Good,’ Dan said. ‘We’ll keep you informed.’

  ‘What, that’s it?’

  ‘What are you expecting?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some company.’

  ‘We’ve got your case to sort out. We’ll have a drink at your release party.’

  As they stood to go, he said to Jayne, ‘Next time, a bit more, you know.’

  ‘Skin?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Not a chance. See you soon.’ She indicated to one of the guards that the meeting was over.

  They were shown out by a guard who wasn’t interested in conversation, and once back on the street, their personal items collected, Dan said, ‘Fancy a trip to the seaside?’

  ‘Both of us?’

  He laughed. ‘I wish. No, just you, see what you can find out.’

  ‘Why not? After all, what’s the worst that could happen.’

  Dan chose not to answer that.

  * * *

  Barbara was waiting at Dan’s office when he returned, her handbag on her knees, staring straight ahead. Dan sensed the awkwardness as he rushed in, Margaret’s pinched expression as she sorted out letters into envelopes giving away her thoughts, the silence heavy.

  Barbara stood. ‘Any news?’

  ‘I’ve been to the prison to see Nick.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You didn’t mention that you’d been to see
him.’

  ‘I had to know, Mr Grant. Whatever I thought, I had to hear him answer, to see the truth in his eyes. It gave me the strength to speak to you, to do this.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘A pathetic man, hard to like, but a murderer? Not a chance. So, what can you tell me?’

  ‘Not much,’ Dan said.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nick Connor is my client. Whatever he said is confidential.’ When Barbara pursed her lips and redness flushed into her cheeks, he added, ‘I appreciate everything you are doing, but I must never forget that I’m working for Nick and Nick alone. We want the same thing, but that doesn’t give you access to all that I know.’

  Dan paused as Barbara stiffened. He had to remember that Barbara was grieving. All he was doing was his job.

  ‘We’re taking it seriously,’ he said, his tone softer. ‘Jayne is going to Brampton today, to find out more about whatever Mark uncovered.’

  Before he could add anything further, Jayne pulled up in her car.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Dan said and went outside.

  Jayne lowered her window and smiled. ‘Are you sure you don’t fancy coming with me? A couple of days away, some sea air, a small seaside town. It will be Highford with a crisper wind.’

  ‘I’ve got work to do here. Crime doesn’t stop just because I do, and there’s no one to fill in for me if I’m messing around near a beach.’

  ‘Don’t become all about work, Dan. There’s some fun in you somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll be having fun. It’s just that for me, fun means getting people out of prison or arguing at a police station.’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘That’s just what I mean.’

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Leave me here.’

  ‘With Barbara?’ And she raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the office window Barbara was looking through. ‘You need to be careful.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Isn’t this all a bit too convenient? Nick’s trial is next week and Barbara turns up with snippets of information, making you drop everything to help her. I see something different in Nick than you. There was no outrage at being wrongly accused. Just the usual sulk of someone caught doing something bad. We’re like a hungry dog following a biscuit trail, except sometimes it’s just a trap.’

  ‘But I can’t ignore what might be important, and I’ve got to look out for Nick. People like Nick Connor live their lives on the wrong end of everything. This isn’t anything new for him. And I don’t have to worry about his innocence. I’ve freed guilty people before and I’ll do it again. It’s about Nick Connor getting a fair hearing, nothing more.’

  ‘Okay, I get it, Mr Lawyer.’

  ‘I’m not helping Barbara. I’m helping Nick Connor. If it doesn’t advance his case, I won’t use it.’

  ‘What if it goes the opposite way? How do you know we won’t uncover something showing his guilt?’

  ‘I don’t, but I’m not obliged to tell anyone else. Just make sure you report back to me. Barbara will find out what I want her to know, nothing more.’

  ‘Does she realise that?’

  ‘Does it matter? She’s not my client. Now go. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘If I make it there,’ she said, banging her steering wheel and laughing before she set off, her arm out of the window, waving.

  He watched her go before he turned to head back into the office. As he went inside, Barbara was standing there, her arms folded.

  ‘Do you think she’ll find anything out?’ she said. ‘She seems awfully young.’

  ‘Jayne will do just fine. I wouldn’t trust her with the job if I didn’t think that.’

  Barbara smiled, but it was icy. ‘Of course. After all, it’s Nick Connor’s case, not mine. You’ll do your best for him.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘The windows aren’t as thick as you think, Mr Grant.’

  ‘We want the same thing,’ Dan said. ‘We just have different reasons for it.’

  ‘At least do me the courtesy of not treating me like a fool.’ And with that she went through the door and marched towards her car.

  Margaret gave a tut of disapproval as she went. ‘Grieving mother or not, that lady needs to learn some manners.’

  Dan didn’t respond. Instead, he listened to the fast clicks of her footsteps, growing faint all the time, before turning to go upstairs to his room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1997

  Porter smacked the door hard as he went into the station, through the public area and towards another door on the other side.

  He’d been to Ruby’s home to break the news, a younger officer with him, Louise, to soften the effect of the hard-bitten old cop.

  Louise trotted to keep up. ‘Everything all right, sir? You’ve been quiet.’

  ‘Just showing my human side.’

  ‘Young Ruby? I know, it was awful, but I’d have thought you’d be used to it.’

  ‘The day it doesn’t affect me is the day I’ve been in the job too long. It’ll pass.’

  It was just a front. He’d seen a lot of death during his time in the police, but it was mostly accidental or neglect, or the occasional suicide. Car crashes. People falling from the cliffs. Old people discovered when the letters started to pile up on the other side of the door. Murders were rare in Brampton. It wasn’t that kind of town. It was a tough place, violent in its own way, but that was just Saturday-night pub brawls. Brampton had always been a place where people felt safe walking the streets or leaving their doors open.

  Or letting their children play at annual fairs.

  Most deaths he’d visited had been about feeling squeamish. The grey wetness of brains spilling out of a gleaming white skull, cracked open after a car crash, thrown through the windscreen and smashed against a tree. The nauseating smell of a body left in a warm flat for a few days, like a mix of dirty toilet and rotting meat. The way their shit rolled out of their mouths when they were moved, their muscles no longer working, the bloating of the body pushing their bowel contents to whichever was the easiest route. That was all about keeping his dinner down.

  This had been different, because the emotion hit much deeper than a churning stomach. That could be made good again by a joke amongst colleagues, laughing at the new cop throwing up on the pavement, or something life-affirming, like junk food or a walk along the beach. A dead child was a whole other evil. It hit harder and took something away from him each time, and not all of it was ever put back.

  People came out with the usual trite comments about hugging their own a little tighter, as if the depths of sorrow could be somehow restricted to parents. You didn’t need to have children to feel grief at all the hope snuffed out, a life that would never get lived, and everyone was looking to him to catch the killer. And to make sure it never happened again.

  William’s death had been bad, battered and twisted, and then dragged out from behind the old concrete pillbox and ending up on the metal table of the mortuary, in the cellar in the old hospital. There was talk of a new one, some modern place on the edge of the town, but until then the old building was still being used, with its high ceilings and clanking radiators, long corridors painted yellow that echoed with shouts and cries and the squeaking wheels of trolleys.

  Ruby’s body was worse, because she had started to lose some of her humanity. Decomposition had begun, left in the ground for nine days, her skin green and bloated. She was no longer the perfect little girl that her parents had dreamed of being found. Instead, her body had started to devour itself, the bacteria eating through the cells with nothing to stop it, breaking down her organs, turning everything into liquids and gases.

  The soil had slowed it down, but not enough. The grave had been too shallow, the soil too loose. Air had got in, water too.

  The visit to her parents had been as hard as he’d expected, although the slow drag of his feet along the garden path had given away the news before they’d knocked on the door. As Ruby’s mother, Angela, opened the door, Louise
tilted her head and gave a smile filled with regret, sharing her pain as Angela gripped the door jamb and the colour disappeared from her cheeks.

  It was four words from Louise, softly spoken, that took away any last hope. ‘Can we come inside?’

  Angela’s eyes had rolled and she sank to her knees, Louise rushing to catch her.

  Porter carried on through to the public waiting area. He loved his job. He hated his job.

  They’d been able to keep the discovery secret for the moment, no local radio station willing to risk broadcasting anything, but he didn’t know how long it would last. He knew he could cajole and bully the local journalists, but the nationals wouldn’t care about upsetting a small‑town copper like him.

  As they went through the secure door and towards the offices at the back, all commandeered for an Incident Room, everyone looked round. Twelve officers. Four of them were detectives, two brought in from the bigger town further along the coast, but the rest were constables drafted in from the uniformed section, those who could be trusted to write legible statements and keep good notes.

  As Porter shook his head but said nothing, everyone nodded their understanding and went back to their piles of paperwork, all glad they hadn’t been given the job of telling the family.

  He went to his desk, where slips of papers had been piled, all with messages to call people back. One was from the force’s media officer. He knew what that would be about. Wanting to know when they could broadcast the news and whether he was ready for a press conference.

  There was one man who seemed apart from everyone else.

  He was standing by the radiator, his helmet under his arm as if he were on parade. Young, early twenties, no signs of stubble, his cheeks flushed.

  As Porter carried on flicking through the messages, he walked over and said, ‘Sir, can I have a word?’

  Porter looked up. ‘I’m all yours.’

  The young constable looked round the room, as if nervous about spilling whatever evidential morsel was troubling him. Everyone was pretending to read their paperwork, but Porter could tell they were waiting to see whether the young constable was about to make a fool of himself.