by Jane Adams
‘John, please,’ he said. ‘And he’s doing fine, Mr Laughton. He’s a very pleasant, very genuine young man. You should be proud of him.’
Laughton peered at him for a moment, as though looking for some deceit. Then he nodded, appeared to relax a little and sat himself down at the kitchen table.
‘I’m glad of that. Very glad. It can’t have been easy.’ He glanced across at Tynan and then enquired, ‘This girl he’s marrying . . .’ He laughed, suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Tynan, I’ve no right to ask, have I?’
John smiled at him. ‘Please, call me John,’ he said again. ‘I’ve not met her personally, but I hear she’s a nice girl, and her family certainly seem to have taken Sam to their hearts.’
Laughton nodded. He looked relieved. ‘He deserves to be happy. I only wish it could have been here that made him happy. To have one of our own leave like that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It was like a bereavement, having Sam decide to go.’
John looked at him curiously. ‘It isn’t the first time, though, surely? Well, I know it’s not. Sam’s uncle and his family . . .’
He broke off as Laughton got to his feet. Laughton was clearly displeased, his mouth set in a tight line. ‘That, Mr Tynan, was a different matter. An entirely different matter.’
Tynan gave him a questioning look, hoping that he would continue, but Laughton seemed unprepared to say more.
‘The publicity can’t have been pleasant,’ he said placatingly.
Laughton glared at him. ‘What that man did was sinful. He had a wife and children. A home. He was a part of our community, trusted, with a place of trust on the outside as well. And he did that.’
‘Nothing was ever proved,’ Tynan said mildly.
Laughton glared at him. ‘Many things can’t be proved, Mr Tynan. Many things, but they are truth none the less.’ He sighed. ‘We never told Johanna and the children that they must leave. We would have cared for them, protected them, no matter what it cost us.’
‘Cost you?’ Tynan asked.
Laughton glanced at him. ‘Johanna was not an easy woman,’ he said slowly. ‘She caused disturbance. Questioned the Elders and caused friction with the other women.’
‘Oh?’ Tynan asked, then, ‘It must be difficult, living communally like this. I don’t think I could manage it.’ He laughed, briefly. ‘Too cantankerous and too fond of my own way, I’m afraid.’
Laughton allowed himself a smile. ‘I don’t think anyone finds it easy all of the time,’ he said. ‘But Johanna and Eric . . .’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Sam tells me you’ve found them?’ He didn’t sound as though he considered that a desirable thing.
‘It didn’t take much doing.’ John reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Monday’s Chronicle, handed it to Laughton. The other man took it reluctantly and stared at the front page.
‘More trouble,’ he said. ‘Everywhere they go we hear there’s trouble. And you’re taking Sam into this? Don’t you have any sort of conscience, Mr Tynan?’
He thrust the paper back at Tynan, his lips once again pulled taut with disapproval.
‘Sam’s a grown man,’ John said slowly. ‘He makes his own choices and, if he feels he has to take his father’s things to his father’s brother, then that choice is his.’
‘And you think Eric Pearson will make him welcome? Or that it would be any good for Sam, even if he does?’
‘I doubt it,’ Tynan said. ‘But it seems to me that Sam needs to shed his old life completely before he gives himself to the new. I make no judgement about this setup, Mr Laughton. If it produces young men like Sam, then there’s probably good in it, but Sam makes his own choices now and there are things he needs to know and things he needs to do. This is one of them.’
Laughton frowned at him and shook his head. ‘Eric Pearson brought shame on our house,’ he said. ‘He’ll bring shame on whoever touches his life.’ He pointed at the paper in Tynan’s hands. ‘That shows what kind of trouble he causes, Mr Tynan.’
A movement behind him alerted them to Sam’s return. ‘I think you’d better go now. You know the way out, Sam. I wish you well.’ Then he was gone.
Sam looked at Tynan, his face apologetic and embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Tynan,’ he said.
John smiled. ‘Here, let me help you with that,’ he said, taking one of the boxes Sam held. ‘Now, let’s get going, and get this stuff to where it belongs.’
* * *
Rezah Masouk was coming out of his house when Mike Croft arrived at Portland Close. Rezah had a suitcase in one hand and what looked to be a carrier bag stuffed with teddy bears in the other.
Mike eyed the baggage thoughtfully. ‘Is anything wrong, Mr Masouk?’
Rezah shook his head. ‘I left word at the police station,’ he said, ‘in case you needed to speak to me or to Ellie.’
‘You’re leaving?’
Rezah laughed briefly. ‘It looks that way, Inspector. We’re staying at my parents’ home for a few days. All of this . . . mess, it isn’t good for Ellie.’
Another man and a young woman came out of the house. The man was older than Rezah, but there was a strong resemblance between them. The woman wore jeans and a green shirt but her head was covered by a hijab that completely hid her hair. They looked curiously at Mike.
‘This is my father, Inspector Croft, and my sister.’
The older man extended a hand. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Inspector.’ He glanced at Rezah. ‘You have everything? Good.’ He nodded briefly, and went with his daughter to get into the car.
Mike asked, ‘And how is Mrs Masouk?’
Rezah frowned slightly. ‘This has done her no good, Mr Croft. Three years, almost, we’ve been here and everything’s been fine, and now all this.’ He sighed.
‘I’ve left her with my mother while we came to collect some things.’
Mike nodded. ‘I can understand you wanting to be out of it.’ Then, ‘Tell me, Mr Masouk, the people round here, you’ve never had any problems with them?’
‘You mean, Inspector, has there been harassment because I’m not whiter than white and I’ve stolen an English woman?’ He laughed briefly at Mike’s expression. ‘No, please, Inspector. I do know what you mean, and, no, we’ve had no problems. I don’t know of anyone who has . . . until now.’
He put the suitcase and the bag in the boot of the car, then reached into his back pocket and withdrew a large manila envelope.
‘This is what I call problems,’ he said, handing it to Mike.
Mike withdrew the single sheet of paper and read it, frowning.
‘The council are applying for an injunction,’ Rezah said. ‘A restraining order.’
Mike could hear the anger in Rezah’s voice. He handed the letter back.
‘We’ve all got them,’ Rezah went on. ‘The entire street. And we did nothing, Inspector. We wanted peace and quiet. We had no wish to be drawn into this, whatever it’s about.’ He shook his head, bewildered. ‘I don’t want to tell Ellie about this,’ he said.
‘Mr Masouk,’ Mike began, wanting to reassure him, ‘we have nothing in our reports to suggest that you or your wife took part in any of the stone throwing. In any of the violence. Your wife acted out of concern . . .’
‘And ended up with this?’ Rezah shook the letter angrily. ‘With this threat to take away her home if there are any more reports of harassment or vandalism.’
‘Nothing will happen, Mr Masouk. There’s no suggestion of your involvement.’
‘Isn’t there, Inspector? I think the council and court records are going to be showing otherwise, don’t you?’ Mike said nothing. There didn’t seem much point. He stood and watched as Rezah Masouk got into his car and started the engine. Then he made his way, reluctantly, towards the Pearson house.
‘He’s Moslem, you know.’
Mike was taken by surprise. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Masouk,’ Johanna Pearson said. ‘Moslem.’
Mike was nonplussed. ‘Is that relevant, Mrs Pearson?’
Johanna snorted as though the reply should have been obvious. ‘Don’t you listen to the news, Inspector Croft?’
‘When I can.’
‘Then you’ll know the damage they’re doing. Conversion at all costs, Inspector. Conversion by the book or by the sword. It’s all the same to them.’
‘I don’t think Mr Masouk is set to take up the sword, Mrs Pearson.’ Mike was genuinely astonished. ‘And all religions have their extremists.’
‘Live and let live. Is that it, Inspector Croft?’
‘Whenever possible,’ Mike said. ‘There are people always willing to do harm, no matter what religion they belong to.’
‘And that makes it all right?’
Mike sighed. ‘Mrs Pearson, I don’t think this is the time for religious dialectic, do you?’
It was her turn to look surprised and Mike took full advantage. ‘I see you have new windows, Mrs Pearson.’ He went over, puzzled by the slight distortion of the view outside, and tapped on the glass. Then looked questioningly at Johanna.
‘Oh, they didn’t put glass in this time. It’s some sort of unbreakable plastic,’ she said, her voice rich with satisfaction. ‘Let the little bastards try and break those.’
‘And you think they will?’ Mike asked her.
Johanna snorted rudely. ‘Oh, they’ll try again, Inspector. They’ll try again to frighten us and they’ll go on trying. But they won’t succeed. Oh no. We’ll stand firm.’
Mike looked thoughtfully at the woman. ‘What are you hoping to gain?’ he asked her softly. ‘Why is your husband so intent on stirring all of this up again?’
‘The guilty should be punished,’ Johanna said stoutly. ‘It’s justice that matters. I intend to make them pay for what they did to Eric. To all of us.’
She paused then and let her gaze travel over the shabby room with its ill-matched furniture; its lack of any sense of home. Mike could see how weary she looked, how great the strain must have been these past years, following Eric Pearson from place to place. Facing so much turmoil. So much pain.
He said gently, ‘You must love him very much, Johanna.’
She turned on him, eyes blazing as though he’d said something insolent and cruel. Then the anger died, swiftly, as though she no longer had the strength to maintain it.
‘He’s father to my children,’ she said. ‘The man I married and made my vows to. And I believe in his innocence, Inspector, believe that those men framed him, sought to discredit him because of what they knew Fletcher had told him.’ She moved closer to Mike. He could feel the tension in her body even without being close enough to touch.
‘If I didn’t believe in him, Inspector, believe that all they said about him was lies and more lies, do you think I would have left our home and brought our children to be with a man capable of abusing them? Is that the kind of woman you think I am, Inspector Croft?’
Steadily, Mike returned her gaze. ‘I believe you did what you thought was right,’ he said. ‘But what about the children, Johanna? Can it be right to make them suffer like this for a matter of principle you’ll maybe never be able to prove?’
Johanna Pearson turned away from him, her shoulders trembling, back rigid, holding in her pent-up anger. ‘The courts will decide, Inspector. We’ll make our case when the time comes.’
Mike sighed. It seemed of no use to reiterate that the Pearsons’ so-called evidence might not even make it into court, and would likely be discounted even if it did.
He would have given a great deal for a brief look at the journal, but there was no hope of that. It was defence evidence, exempt from right of disclosure.
Below them, a banging on the door and a shout announced Eric Pearson’s return. Johanna moved towards the stairs. Children’s voices sounded, three or four of them all talking at once, as Eric made his entrance.
Mike was about to follow Johanna down the stairs when a car pulling up in the road outside the house attracted his attention. John Tynan? What was he doing here?
Mike stood and watched as John and a younger man got out of the car and began to take boxes out of the boot.
Sam Pearson, by any remote chance? Mike wondered.
He made his way downstairs and opened the front door before John and his younger companion got to it.
‘John?’
‘Well, hello there. This here’s Sam, you remember I mentioned him to you?’
Mike nodded. Eric Pearson’s voice, angry and questioning, broke into the conversation.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’
Mike stood aside, pressing himself against the wall in the narrow hallway.
Eric Pearson stared out at the two men standing on his doorstep.
‘Hello, Uncle Eric,’ Sam said.
* * *
Eric Pearson was clearly far from pleased.
Grudgingly, he had allowed John Tynan and Sam to come inside and shown them through to the kitchen, where they had placed the boxes on the table.
‘My father wanted you to have these things,’ Sam told him. ‘He said there were some of his and some things that you’d left behind.’ He hesitated, clearly confused by the lack of response from his uncle. He said hesitantly, ‘You did know that my father had died, didn’t you?’
Eric glared at him. ‘How could I have known?’ he said. ‘And it makes no matter. The whole damned lot of you died as far as we were concerned, the day we were driven out.’
For a moment Sam stood, staring at his uncle, lost for words. Then he gathered his dignity about him and said quietly, ‘Well, I’ve done what I came to do and that’s an end to it. I’ll say goodbye now.’ He nodded politely at Johanna and headed for the door.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Johanna said vaguely.
John glanced at Mike, then followed them. Mike heard him say, ‘I’ll leave you my card, my dear, just in case you want to talk to Sam again.’
Eric Pearson looked at the boxes on the table, a curious expression on his face. Mike knew he had been completely forgotten as Eric Pearson slowly began to unpack the boxes and assemble the contents on the kitchen table.
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday afternoon
‘So, what was in the boxes?’ Jaques asked.
Mike shrugged. ‘Nothing more or less than you might expect. A few books. Poetry mostly. A nifty selection of ties; rather too bright for Eric’s taste, I would have said, and a plastic bag full of photos.’
‘Oh?’ Jaques sounded ironic.
Mike smiled. ‘No, sir, family snapshots, mostly taken at the house in Otley by the look of it.’
‘Hmm.’ Jaques frowned. ‘Anything else?’
Mike shook his head. ‘Bits and pieces. Some of their mother’s jewellery, nothing valuable and the sort of trinkets people keep around them. Nothing significant.’
Jacques sighed. ‘So he didn’t exactly play the loving relative?’
Mike shook his head. ‘No, sir, but if you ask me I think that’s just as well. Sam Pearson’s probably better off making his own way.’
‘You could be right.’ Jaques glanced down at the sheet in front of him. ‘But this other matter, Mike. This request to see Fletcher. What do you hope to gain from it?’
‘Probably not a great deal.’ Mike frowned briefly. ‘Fletcher made several claims while he was being interviewed but wouldn’t substantiate any of them. I’d just like to know if a spell inside’s softened him up any.’
Jaques gave him a shrewd look. ‘And that’s all?’ he asked.
Mike shrugged. ‘The truth is, I don’t know, sir. There’s just things I’d be happier about if I could confront Fletcher personally.’
‘You think we missed something?’ Jaques’ voice was sharp.
‘I don’t know,’ Mike said, refusing to be intimidated. ‘But Fletcher’s been inside more than a year now. Almost two if you count the remand, and it’s just possible that having time to think might have made him more prepared to put detail to some of the claims he made. And this boy we’ve found
. It fits with the kind of story Fletcher was spinning. I have to look at everything.’
Jaques stared at him for a moment or two longer, then said, ‘I’ll set it up, but I doubt you’ll get much out of him even now. Arrogant bastard, he was, all the way through. Almost as though he saw himself as being above the law in some way. Like he expected all the time for something or someone to come along and get him off. Never seen anyone look so surprised as Fletcher did when the jury came back with a thirteen-count guilty verdict.’
Mike nodded. ‘But then,’ he said, ‘he claimed all along to have friends in high places he’d drag down with him if he looked like going under. Maybe he figured they’d be so scared of what he could say that they’d move mountains to get him off.’
‘Maybe so. Instead of that, his so-called friends let him swing.’ Jaques nodded as though suddenly making up his mind. ‘All right, then. You talk to Fletcher and report back. But my feeling has to be that you’re wasting your time.’
Mike shrugged but decided to make no comment. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, and left the office.
* * *
‘And just what are you doing?’
Maria sounded amused. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden surround, her lips twitching with half-controlled laughter.
Mike glanced up, then smiled and put the book he was holding aside.
‘Catching up on some reading,’ he said.
‘So I see.’
She crossed the room, kissed him and then reached out for the nearest of the books that Mike had scattered all over the low table and looked at the title.
‘Is this to do with the Fletcher case?’ she asked.
Mike leaned back on the sofa and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘Could be,’ he said. He stretched wearily. ‘God, but this makes depressing reading.’
She perched herself on the table edge and began to examine the books. Mike watched her. He enjoyed watching her.
‘You’ve certainly covered some ground,’ she said. ‘Satanic Abuse to Nursery Crimes and beyond.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any of it make sense?’
‘Less and less,’ he said, laughing rather bitterly.
Maria smiled, stroking the spine of the book she held with a long finger. Then she sat down beside him on the small sofa, kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
