Convictions

by Julie Morrigan

  ‘There should still have been something, surely.’

  ‘You’d have thought so. I can’t believe how unlucky we’re being. The car was showroom-clean.’ She barked out a humourless laugh. ‘Maybe God is on his side, after all.’

  ‘What’s next, Karen?’

  ‘We’re watching him, naturally. Especially at night, when wifie’s asleep and might not miss him. Also to and from work; times when he might conceivably disappear for a period of time and go to do whatever he does with Annie.’

  ‘Do you think she’s still alive?’

  ‘I fucking hope so, mate.’

  ***

  Annie looked up when she heard the key turn in the lock. She liked the younger people, looked forward to their visits. They made things more bearable. When she saw it was the man, her heart sank. He was carrying some things and he put them on the desk in the corner.

  ‘Come and sit down here,’ he said. ‘I want you to write a letter.’

  ‘Who to?’ Annie closed the Bible she’d been given to read and got off the bed.

  ‘To the people you used to live with. Come on, quickly now.’

  ‘Mum and Dad and Tina.’ Annie sat at the desk.

  The man tutted, exasperated. He was holding a pair of scissors. He grasped a lock of Annie’s hair and cut it off, then put the hair in an envelope.

  ‘What are you doing? Leave my hair alone!’ she exclaimed.

  He slid a notepad and pencil in front of her. ‘Here,’ he said, ignoring her outburst. ‘I’ll tell you what to write.’

  Annie picked up the pencil and straightened up the pad in front of her.

  ‘Put “Dear Mr and Mrs Snowdon”.’

  ‘When I write a letter, I have to put my address first. At the top, here.’ Annie pointed to the top right hand corner of the paper. ‘Mrs Barry taught me that.’

  ‘This isn’t that sort of letter. Start with “Dear Mr and Mrs Snowdon”, like I told you.’

  ‘Then I put the name and address of who I’m writing to here.’ Annie pointed to the left hand side, further down the page. ‘Oh, and I need to put the date here, under my address.’ She looked at him. ‘What’s the address here?’

  ‘Just do as I tell you.’

  ‘But you’re wrong,’ Annie insisted. She was proud of knowing how to write a letter.

  ‘Do as I tell you or God will punish you.’ The man raised his hand. Annie remembered the slap and sting when he had smacked her previously. She put the pencil to the pad.

  ‘Dear Mum and Dad,’ she said as she wrote. Then she shouted in pain as he smacked her across the legs. ‘Ouch! Why did you do that? I was writing what you said. That hurt!’

  Write “Dear Mr and Mrs Snowdon”. That’s what I told you to write, and that’s what you will write. Do you understand?’ He tore the first sheet of paper off the pad as Annie rubbed her sore legs. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. Crying was also punished by slapping.

  The man said God punished her, but she was pretty sure it was him, really. She didn’t think the God of her Sunday School classes or Children’s Bible would spend his time slapping little girls. He had a really kind face. Besides, he was more concerned about lost sheep and little lambs, and what widows might do.

  She wrote what he had told her to, then carried on as he dictated the rest of the letter to her.

  ‘You did not deserve to have me as your daughter. You did not look after me and so God has taken me away from you. This will be the only time you hear from me. I am going to be in a better place, with God, and you will never see me again. Goodbye forever.’

  ‘What name shall I put?’ asked Annie, wondering if she should use the one the man liked to call her or her real name.

  ‘Sign it “Annie”,’ he said. ‘But that’s the last time you will use that name. Do you understand? You aren’t even to think it. If you do, God will know and he will punish you.’

  Annie signed the letter, then the reality of what she had written hit home.

  ‘What does it mean? “This will be the only time you ever hear from me. I am going to be in a better place, with God, and you will never see me again. Goodbye forever.” When will I see them again? Can I see them soon?’

  The man took her hands and shook his head. ‘Look at me, child.’ Annie looked. ‘Do you remember when you got into the car with your sister?’

  Annie nodded. ‘I miss Tina,’ she said.

  ‘When you got in, you were “Annie”, but when you got out again and began your new life here, you stopped being “Annie” and became someone else. Your parents neither loved you nor cared for you. You have a new family now. God chose you for us and us for you. You’ll live in God’s house, child. You’ll follow God’s path.’

  Annie began to cry.

  ***

  Next morning, Ruth picked the mail off the doormat at the Snowdon household, as had become the custom. ‘What’s that one?’ asked Tina, watching as she flipped through them all. ‘The one in the little blue envelope. Open that one first. I think it’s from Annie.’

  Derek was at Ruth’s side in a flash as he heard his daughter’s words. He took a quick look. ‘She’s right, that looks like Annie’s writing. Penny! Penny! Over here, love!’ Penny flicked her cigarette out of the kitchen door and came to see what the fuss was about.

  Ruth took a pair of latex gloves out of her bag and slipped them on, then slit open the envelope. A lock of blonde hair fell out when she shook it, followed by a letter.

  Derek picked up the hair. ‘That’s Annie’s, I’m sure of it.’

  Penny took it from him, felt the texture with her fingers, then held it to her nose. ‘He’s washed her hair in something,’ she said. ‘Annie’s hair normally smells of apples. This is more like detergent.’

  ‘Have you got something of Annie’s that would have her fingerprints on it?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘Can I see that, please?’ Derek reached for the letter with trembling fingers.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ruth, holding it away from him, ‘but you mustn’t touch it. It’s evidence.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Derek. ‘What does it say?’

  Ruth scanned it and her heart sank. ‘It’s not her words,’ she told them. ‘Whoever has her must have made her write this.’

  ‘But what does it say?’ asked Penny.

  Derek and Penny sat either side of Ruth and she held the letter out for them to see. Penny read just a few lines, then turned away and started to cry. Derek read it all, as did Tina, who had crept round behind the couch and was looking over Ruth’s shoulder. She crept back and tried to put her arms round her mum, but Penny pushed her away.

  ***

  ‘We got a match on the fingerprints. The letter we received was definitely handled by Annie Snowdon,’ said Ruth.

  ‘What do you think it means?’ Karen Fitzgerald was studying a photocopy. ‘“I am going to be in a better place, with God, and you will never see me again.”’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t mean what it sounds like,’ said Ruth.

  ‘Significant that we got this after we let Cotter go.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘It certainly makes him look guilty. Did anyone following him see him do anything suspicious?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘He never put a foot wrong, not so as anyone noticed, anyway.’

  ‘So how the hell did he get to Annie?’

  She shrugged. ‘I honestly have no idea.’

  ‘Does the house have a basement? A garage? A shed? Outhouses? Anything at all, any place he might have that child concealed?’

  ‘The team went over it inch by inch, from top to bottom. They were in the loft, they had floorboards up, the works.’ She scratched her head. ‘You don’t suppose he could have a tunnel … or a pit dug under the garage … Jesus, there must be something. He’s been in contact with that girl. The letter was posted in the town, he works at the Civic Centre.’

  ‘Did anyone see him post anything?’

  ‘They say not. They can’t remember seeing him do an
ything like that, anyway.’

  ‘Could the wife have done it?’

  ‘She hasn’t been across the doors. She’s still not very well and she’s scared of facing the neighbours. The house was pelted with eggs last night. Made a right mess. She hasn’t even been out to clean that up.’

  ‘Christ, Karen, what the hell can we do? According to this, the kid’s saying goodbye before she goes to live with God. What the hell are we supposed to think?’

  ***

  The television appeal by MC Boyz had given the enquiry a boost and the phones had been red hot with tips, suggestions and sightings. Once more, however, as each one was checked out it came to nothing. Annie Snowdon had simply vanished into thin air.

  Ruth was at the Snowdon house when she got a call from a very excited DC Rob Winter. ‘You’re not going to believe this, Ruth,’ he said, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. ‘It’s Cotter. He’s confessed.’

  ***

  ‘You’re kidding!’ PC Dave Cross was hearing the tale from Ian Atkinson.

  ‘Straight up. Rang Fitzie and said he had something to tell her, then came in and coughed to the whole thing.’

  ‘So where’s the bairn?’

  ‘He reckons he suffocated her by accident while he was trying to keep her quiet and he dumped her in the sea off Roker pier.’

  ‘Poor kid.’

  ‘Aye, well, after this much time had passed, there was really only going to be one outcome.’

  ‘Still can’t help feeling sorry for her.’

  ‘And her sister. Imagine having to live with that for the rest of your life.’

  PART TWO

  Chapter 6

  ‘Hurry up! We haven’t got all day,’ snapped Penny.

  ‘Sorry, Mum. I’m ready now.’ Tina ran down the stairs and grabbed her jacket off a peg in the hall as she flew out of the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

  Her mum was already in the car, reversing out of the drive almost before Tina had the door shut. Penny was always angry these days. She rarely smiled and Tina couldn’t remember the last time she had heard her laugh. She prayed, though. Not that praying seemed to bring her much comfort.

  It was Sunday afternoon and they drove in silence. Tina had been obliged to go to church that morning. Her mum went almost every day, but Tina got away with going just once a week. She didn’t want to go at all. It was no longer that she hated the stupid God who had taken so much from her in her short life, but that she had realised there was no such thing as God. The whole thing was a delusion and her mother was mentally ill. She had already decided she would stop going just as soon as she had her own place and could organise her own life, but for now it was easier just to do what her mum asked.

  So Sunday mornings were spent in church, after which they went home for lunch, then in the afternoon they drove to the cemetery. Penny parked in the usual place and Tina hopped out of the car and opened the hatchback. She lifted out an armful of flowers and a bag of tools. Penny closed the back of the car and zapped it to lock it: you could never be too careful, even if they would be within sight of the vehicle at all times. She trusted no one, not even in the cemetery grounds.

  They trudged together over the grass to the plot. Tina felt her throat constrict when she read the headstone. It never got any easier.

  In memory of Derek Snowdon, aged 44 years. A loving and much-loved husband and father.

  Also Annabelle Snowdon, aged 8 years.

  “God saw your goodness shining true and made a home in Heaven for you.”

  Tina and Penny didn’t speak, didn’t need to: they had done this so many times that their moves had a strange, choreographed grace. Tina gathered up the previous week’s flowers and put them in a bin bag, then weeded the plot while Penny emptied out the stale water in the stone vase and replaced it with fresh, then arranged the new flowers. Penny took out a disposable wipe and cleaned the gravestone while Tina used a similar cloth to clean the marble edging. Then the cloths went into the bin bag with the faded flowers, the weeds and any rubbish that had been on or around the grave, and Tina took the bag to the bin while Penny gathered up the tools they had used and put them back in the bag. By the time she had placed that in the back of the car, climbed into the driver’s seat and fired the engine, Tina had returned from her errand and hopped into the passenger seat, and they drove home, again in silence.

  When they got in, Tina went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and Penny went into the lounge and turned on the television. As Tina put the tray down and began transferring the teapot, mugs and a plate of biscuits to the coffee table, Points of View was just ending. By the time the tea had been poured and the women were seated, each with a mug of tea and a jaffa cake, Songs of Praise was just beginning. The timing was perfect for Penny, but Tina’s heart sank. Sundays were an exercise in endurance from beginning to end.

  At sixteen, Tina had still been trying to please her mother, still believed that she could somehow make things right. Consequently, in accordance with Penny’s wishes, she had stayed on at school to do her A-levels with the intention of going on to university. In the time since then, however, Tina had grown up considerably. Now just turned eighteen and with only a few months left at school, she had a whole new set of plans. She had been working at ‘Cutting Edge’, a hairdressing salon in town, and had a job lined up there just as soon as she finished her exams. The owner had also promised her first refusal on the little flat above the salon, which she was currently renovating. It would be ready at about the right time and Tina was looking forward to moving in.

  She hadn’t yet told her mother. When she did there’d be a row, guaranteed, and she was fed up with rowing.

  As Songs of Praise moved into what, for it, was high gear, Tina picked up a magazine and did her best to tune out the television. As a defence mechanism, she started playing her current favourite album on her internal stereo.

  When the programme finished and the news began, she still hadn’t tuned the television back in. Not until she heard her mother start to make a strange keening sound did she pay any attention to what was actually happening. She dropped the magazine and jumped out of the chair and onto the couch, next to Penny.

  ‘Mum! Mum, what’s wrong?’

  Penny couldn’t speak, could only manage to point at the television set and make that awful noise, while tears coursed down her cheeks. Tina looked at the set: the face on the screen was that of George Cotter, and the newsreader was saying something about an appeal that was expected to lead to an overturned conviction. Tina went cold as she realised what it meant: George Cotter would be released from prison. She ran upstairs to the bathroom, only just made it before she brought up her tea and jaffa cakes.

  ***

  Ruth Crinson pulled up outside of the Snowdon house next morning and was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu. She had been back once or twice over the years since Annie Snowdon had disappeared and George Cotter had been convicted of her abduction and murder, on the strength of his confession and despite the lack of either evidence or a body, but today felt different. Today felt like they were back at the beginning, starting again, no idea who was responsible for the loss and misery the family had endured.

  ‘How could this happen?’ Penny asked her, almost as soon as she opened the door. ‘He admitted he’d done it. How can he change his mind now?’

  ‘It’s … complicated,’ said Ruth. She’d been dreading this, even though she’d insisted she should be the one to come. She’d helped the family through everything else that had happened to them, she felt she had to see the job through. ‘Can I come in?’

  Tina was bringing through a tray of drinks as Ruth went into the lounge. ‘I’ve made you your usual,’ she told Ruth, flashing her a smile that vanished so quickly Ruth was hardly sure it had been there at all. ‘I stayed home from school today. I thought I should be here.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Ruth. ‘You can help your mum with this.’

  Tina smiled again
, and this time it stayed in place for a little longer.

  Once they were all seated, Ruth tried to explain the situation. It was something she herself found confusing, frustrating: she could hardly imagine what Penny and Tina made of it.

  ‘When Cotter confessed, he put himself behind bars,’ Ruth told them. ‘We couldn’t have put him there. We had no evidence. Okay, we had a few bits of circumstantial evidence, but nothing that could be considered “beyond reasonable doubt”. Not enough, to be honest, to have even persuaded the CPS we had a case. Then, even when he told us where to find Annie, we couldn’t find her. She just wasn’t there.’ Ruth took a sip of her coffee. ‘Now Cotter is saying that his confession was false. He was stressed and scared by the questioning and then by being followed, and he imagined he must have done what he had been accused of. He says he made his confession while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ exclaimed Penny. ‘He’s as guilty as sin.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘I know. There’s no doubt in my mind that the right man was locked up. However, he’s persuaded a psychiatrist that he’s telling the truth about fabricating his confession and with his professional support, and in the absence of any hard evidence, we simply can’t fight his claim effectively. We’ve got nothing.’

  ‘Will he get out?’ asked Tina.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ruth. ‘He’s due in court tomorrow morning and the chances are he’ll be free to go after the hearing.’

  Penny sagged back in her chair. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please, God, no.’

  ‘Mum …’

  ‘He can’t be let out. We’ve got a life sentence and he can just change his mind and walk free? How is that fair?’