by Ruth Sutton
‘OK,’ said Hobbs finally. ‘The prints off the spoon belong to the sister, and are also on the envelope that had the passport in it. The only other prints on the envelope must be those of the man we know as Anthony Lennon, right?’
‘Aka Roderick Arthur Petherbridge,’ said Sam, reading from his notes. ‘That was the name on the passport he nicked in Australia and doctored, to get him back here.’
‘And you reckon he trashed that young woman’s place as well?’
‘I think so.’
‘Well, think again, Nelly. No trace of those prints among the ones we lifted from the flat. Looks like there were two people involved there and neither of them was him.’
‘Damn,’ said Sam. ‘I thought we had it all tied up. Anything on record for the prints we do have from the flat?’
Hobbs shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘But we’ll keep checking.’
‘I’d really like to know who did it before it feels safe for her to go back there.’
‘They wouldn’t go back, would they? They must know it would be harder to get in now, and we’d be watching.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Sam. ‘She’s determined to go back anyway. Not sure why she’s in such a rush. Moved in with the Thornhills, you know, the Furness News editor and his missus, and they live like royalty apparently.’
‘Not easy living with the boss,’ said Hobbs. ‘I definitely wouldn’t want to live with mine.’
‘Nor me,’ said Sam, and they both laughed.
‘At least we’ve got the name this bloke’s using,’ said Sam. ‘Looks as if he had something to do with that suicide, in the woods at Attercliff.’
‘I heard that was some pervy bloke,’ said Hobbs. ‘Might have to give Roderick what’s-’is-name a medal. He’s not a nonce as well, is he?’
Sam shrugged. ‘God knows. And that’s not enough to kill yourself over these days. Can’t go to jail any more for liking men.’
‘But you can for liking boys,’ said Hobbs, ‘and whatever else those bastards get up to.’
❖ ❖ ❖
Sam took the forensic report back to the CID room and filed it with the other papers he was accumulating. It was time to pull some threads together. Stevie Stringer’s death was off the list now, unless Doc Hayward suddenly had a brainstorm and changed his mind. Sam needed to check on how he was. Maybe illness and medication had affected him while he was working on the PM. Maybe there was some evidence somewhere, even if the boy’s body was gone. Too many maybe’s.
He turned his attention again to the two other pieces of the case, Harries’s suicide and the trashing of Judith’s flat. Fingerprint evidence seemed to rule out Anthony’s direct involvement with the flat, but he needed to go back to the cigarettes found at Monty House and in the woods. He still wasn’t convinced that Harries had tied the knots on the noose himself. He would have to go back to Monty House, no matter how much everyone wanted him to drop it. And still no word from the phone call he’d made to Gateshead CID. A trip there to follow up the trail to Harries’s mother was another obvious move, but after the abortive visit to Lancaster he knew Morrison wouldn’t allow it. Maybe there was another way.
He looked at the black phone resting on its cradle like a crouching cat. Only he and Hobbs knew that Lennon’s fingerprints hadn’t been found at Judith’s flat. So if Hobbs kept quiet he could still pursue the Lennon connection for that reason and if he discovered anything compelling about Harries’s death, he would have cause to ask Morrison to reconsider
Just before eleven, Sergeant Clark reminded him about the two minutes’ silence for Remembrance Day and Sam heard the town hall clock strike as he stood to attention with others in Reception. Morrison arrived shortly afterwards and Sam had to convince him he was working diligently on the list that the sergeant had left for him. Then Harry Grayson hung around for a while and Sam continued the pretence of routine enquiries on other cases. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Grayson to keep his mouth shut with Morrison, particularly with regard to his own enquiries. By the time the CID room was quiet again it was mid-afternoon and starting to get dark.
It took six phone calls to find the address and phone number of a Mrs Mollie Harries in Gateshead, a widow, with a son. Sam found the nearest police station to the address he had and dialled the number. When the duty sergeant answered Sam explained that they needed to find the next of kin of a man found dead the previous week.
‘So what you want us to do,’ said the sergeant finally, ‘Is to visit this Mrs Harries and check that she has a son Desmond, who was a priest in Cumberland and then a padre. Last known address,’ he paused, checking his notes, ‘Montgomery House in Attercliff, Lancashire. That right?’
‘ Yes, and if all that’s confirmed you can tell her that the son has died, and it’s believed he took his own life. She might want to come down, if that’s possible, or give us instructions about the body, all that.’
‘OK,’ said the sergeant.
‘Oh, and get a sample of handwriting,’ said Sam. ‘Tell her he left a note and we need to verify.’
‘If there is anything, what do want us to do with it?’
Sam thought of something. ‘You don’t have one of those telecopier machines do you, that takes a copy of something and sends it over a phone line?’
The sergeant laughed. ‘You’re joking right? We’ve got a copier, but that’s it. If we get something from her, I’ll put it in an envelope and send it. That’s as advanced as we get here. Where do you want it sending to?’
Another decision. ‘Send it to me,’ said Sam. He gave Elspeth’s address. ‘Stuff goes missing here,’ he explained. ‘Could end up on someone else’s desk, so home’s easier. OK?’
‘If you say so. Do you want me to let you know if and when we find Mrs Harries?’
‘That’d be great thanks,’ said Sam. ‘Ask for DC Tognarelli, Barrow CID.’
‘Anything to do with ice cream?’ asked the sergeant, before he asked Sam to spell it.
❖ ❖ ❖
It wasn’t a great time to go to Montgomery House, but there were buses along the coast road at this time of night, and Sam didn’t have to wait long. He reckoned he could claim to be calling in his own time if Morrison objected.
When he got to the house and the big door opened he was very pleased to see Mrs Robinson there rather than Captain Edwards. And she seemed pleased to see him too, which was even better.
‘The captain’s not here,’ she said. ‘We’re having to appoint another padre, of course, and he’s at a meeting with some of the trustees in Broughton.’
‘I’m sure you can pass on to him what I have to tell you both,’ said Sam. ‘It’s not much, I’m afraid, but I know how anxious you must be to track down Mr Harries’s next of kin.’
‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked. ‘I was just about to have some myself. Have a seat in the office, I’m sure the captain wouldn’t mind.’
‘That would be very welcome, thank you,’ he said, and she hurried away to arrange it.
Sam looked around the tidy office. The photos on the walls were all of groups of people. Some of them were of the boys, with the year written underneath. Another, on the far side of the hearth, was of a group of soldiers, by the look of it. They were all wearing hats with one side pinned up, and shorts. There was no caption on the photo. He looked more closely. One or two of the faces looked familiar. Mrs Robinson came back into the room carrying a tray of tea and a plate with slices of cake that gleamed with fruit and cherries. Sam’s mouth watered.
‘That’s an interesting picture, isn’t it?’ she said, noticing where Sam was standing. ‘Did you spot the captain?’
Sam looked again. There he was, in the middle of the front row.
‘That was before his injury of course,’ said Mrs Robinson, stirring the tea in the large teapot. ‘Malaya somewhere, in the mid ’fifties I should think. This place has been going for ten years, and it took him a while to set it up after he was invalided out. We didn�
�t hear much about that war, did we?’
‘It was all about rubber plantations, wasn’t it?’ said Sam. ‘Fighting off the Communists, as I remember.’
‘The captain doesn’t talk much about it, not to me at least,’ said Mrs Robinson. ‘Do you take sugar, detective?’
Sam was still surprised, and pleased too, when someone called him that. He took the tea from her hand, and accepted the proffered cake, too. It was as delicious as it looked. He watched Iris Robinson as they sat in silence for a few minutes. She must be in her fifties, he thought, and a good-looking woman in her time. The grey hair was full and swept up into a bun behind her head and the skin unlined and glowing in the light. She looked younger than she had that night when they found Harries hanging in the tree.
‘I’m not sure we offered you condolences for your loss when my colleague and I were here that night,’ he said. ‘It must have been a terrible blow for all of you to lose Mr Harries so soon after Steven’s accident.’
‘It was,’ she said. ‘The captain was as distressed as I have ever seen him. The boys didn’t say much, but they’ve learned to keep their feelings to themselves, in public at least.’
‘And in private?’ asked Sam.
‘It was Stevie they were really upset about,’ she said.
‘That’s understandable.’
‘Of course. We had some nightmares. It was a terrible way to go, and some of the boys couldn’t get it out of their minds.’
‘Did any of them want to go to the funeral?’ he asked.
She looked up. ‘That was hard decision for the captain,’ she said. ‘But he just felt that we couldn’t rely on the boys to behave properly at the crematorium. Some of the older ones, at least. They seemed angry, as well as sad.’
‘How so?’ said Sam.
She hesitated. ‘You’d have to ask the captain about that,’ she said. After a moment she went on, ‘Did you say you had some news about Mr Harries’s mother?’
‘We think we’ve found her, in Gateshead. Captain Edwards said it was Newcastle but they’re very close, aren’t they? I’ve asked my colleagues at the local station there to go and check and break the news to her. We were concerned that the family might not have found out about it. And we need contact with the next of kin before we know how to dispose of – er, what kind of funeral they would wish for.’
Iris nodded. ‘Every mother’s worst nightmare,’ she said.
‘Do you have children yourself?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘My late husband and I weren’t blessed with children,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s why I love my work here, with the boys. They’re like my family.’
Sam looked at her kind face. Surely, he thought, if anything untoward had happened to Steven here she would have known, and intervened. It was quiet in the office; he could hear the wall clock ticking.
‘Mrs Robinson,’ he began. ‘We have heard that Mr Harries may have some trouble in the past, when he was a parish priest. It may have something to do with what he did.’
She looked up. ‘What kind of trouble?’ she asked.
‘It was rumoured that he had been interfering with some young boys.’
‘Oh, no!’ she cried. The surprise and abhorrence were clear in her face. ‘That can’t be. Where do rumours like that come from? It’s wicked.’ She put down her tea and reached for a handkerchief. ‘He had impeccable references when he came here. The captain would never employ anyone he had any doubt about, never.’
‘I’m sorry to have you ask you this,’ said Sam. ‘But did any of the boys ever say anything, or complain about Mr Harries in that way?’
‘Never,’ she repeated fiercely. ‘They’re troubled children. They’ve seen more than you and I could ever understand, but about Mr Harries, never.’
Sam waited and wondered.
‘What about anyone else?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘The boys say things sometimes, things they make up in anger, or to wriggle out of trouble, like boys do,’ she said. ‘But nothing that worried me, really. No, nothing. I always checked with the captain in case there was anything we needed to follow up on. But there never was. He’s always most particular.’
‘What about visitors who come here?’ Sam persisted.
‘Friends of the captain, old army buddies, they visit from time to time. And there are some quite famous people too, who organise fundraising for us, but they’re not really strangers are they?’ she said, recovering her composure. ‘Dr Graham and the trustees come to see the boys, of course, and do their proper tour of inspection once a year as required, checking on safety, but they’ve never reported anything, nothing like that. Whoever spread stories about Mr Harries is wicked. Do you think that’s maybe why he…?’ Her words tailed away. Sam said nothing. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘You’d better come back and see the captain about this,’ she said. ‘If it was something we missed, he needs to know.’
Sam stood up. ‘I will, of course, Mrs Robinson. It’s probably nothing, but we need to do things properly where children are concerned.’ He stopped. ‘Do you have any personal information about Mr Harries I wonder? Any record of illness, perhaps?’
‘I might have,’ she said. ‘It would be in my office upstairs. I’ll go and have a look.’
Sam heard her footsteps on the stairs, and her voice as she said. ‘Never you mind who’s down there. In your room, Mikey, please, and finish your homework.’ Doors creaked, and then he heard her steps on the stairs again. She was empty-handed when she came back into the room. ‘I can’t lay my hands on the file I need,’ she said.
‘I could wait,’ said Sam.
‘No, not now,’ she said. ‘It gets busy again now with the younger children going to bed. It’ll be tomorrow before I can look for it. And you said you wanted to see the captain?’
No point in arguing, he thought. Don’t want anyone complaining to Morrison when I’m not supposed to be here. ‘I’ll come back in a day or two,’ he said.
‘Thank you for coming, Detective Tognarelli.’ She smiled. ‘I do appreciate it, and I’ll tell the captain you called.’
Sam wanted to ask her not to mention it, but that was no good. He shook her hand. ‘And thank you for the tea and cake. Most welcome after a long day.’
‘Good night,’ she said, opening the front door.
❖ ❖ ❖
Sam stood at the bus stop, watching the moon over the bay. It was clear, but the weather forecast in the paper talked of fog. He pulled his coat collar up and thought about what she’d said.
CHAPTER 19
The Thornhills were both out, and Judith had the big house to herself. She had started making lists of things she would need to return to the flat, and was already looking forward to living alone again. Hospitality on this scale was impressive for a while, but it was beginning to feel like a gilded cage.
She pressed the button to close the curtains, although the cloud was down and so thick outside that no one could have seen in unless they were standing with their face pressed to the glass. Edna had gone home and wouldn’t be back until the morning. Judith had spent most of her few days at Bay View in the main front room that Irene called the lounge, the kitchen on the other side, the breakfast room towards the back and her bedroom that was above the kitchen. Now she wanted to explore a little further. The Thornhills’ bedroom and bathroom were on the right hand side of the landing, above the dining room and office downstairs, where Judith had never been. She pushed open the dining room door and peeped round. A long table dominated the room, with a matching sideboard and eight chairs. Must be quite a sight when it was all laid up for a special meal, she thought, with glasses and plates shining, and people in good clothes.
Further back beside the dining room on that side of the house was what Irene called the office. Judith had glimpsed inside it only once. It was just after she’d moved in and she’d been coming down the stairs quietly very early one morning, still feeling like an intruder, as if she didn’t be
long there. When she heard Alan Thornhill’s voice on the phone she froze where she was, embarrassed. ‘Not now,’ he’d said, ‘No. I can’t. We’ve got company. Tomorrow. Yes, I’ve got them.’ She’d heard the telephone click onto the receiver and realised that she could see into the room. Thornhill was standing with his back to her, looking at some photos on the desk. Then he gathered them into a folder and put them into the desk drawer. He locked the drawer, took out the key and stretched his hand beyond her view. She heard a tinkle as if the key had been dropped into something. Then he’d begun to turn towards the door and Judith had carried on down the stairs. He’d said ‘Hello’ to her and gone out.
Now, with the house to herself, she wanted to see every room, but the office door was locked, so she went up the stairs to the really interesting place, the Thornhills’ bedroom at the front of the house. There were two big beds and what looked like a walk-in wardrobe, and Judith felt particularly guilty looking through Irene’s well-organised clothes – the colours, the fabrics, and shoes arranged in neat rows. It was like something out of Vogue. Alan’s wardrobe took up half the space, but everything was just as well arranged – and the ties! She remembered what Irene had said about the club tie that Alan and his friends had. There were only a few ties that weren’t plain or striped. One of them was dark blue, with a small image of an animal of some kind, a beaver maybe, with two curved daggers on either side. Maybe they all wore aprons and had funny handshakes as well, Judith thought, as she pulled the sliding wardrobe door back to where it had been before.
She crept back down the stairs, feeling as if she’d done something really bad and was afraid of being caught. It was only a house, she said to herself, and they’d told her over and again to treat it as her own, so she had. At the back of her mind, she still had doubts about their reasons for being so hospitable. They clearly wanted to look after her, but why? On the other hand, did it matter? She was free to leave any time she wanted, and there’d been no more talk about losing her job. Irene was probably supporting her, like she had before.
