Unhappy Families

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Just blow a bit of smoke my way,’ he said.

  She smiled at that. Romney thought it suited her better than mortified.

  As soon as he smelled it on the air, he changed his mind and took one.

  ***

  15

  Romney was conscious of a few looks being directed their way as he led the woman through the doors of the station, up the stairs and then along the corridor to CID. His expression and his purposeful stride deterred any comments.

  He’d phoned ahead and told Grimes to make himself and Spicer available at short notice. Drop everything. They were going out. He told them to organise disposable suits, in case they would be needed, gloves and some cardboard boxes. He didn’t tell them why.

  They were waiting for him in CID and so was the gear he’d asked for. Romney made the introductions.

  ‘What’s up, guv?’ said Grimes. He’d sensed the seriousness of the situation in Romney’s phone call. Seeing Romney’s face and the look on the face of his company only served to concern the veteran policeman further.

  Romney said, ‘Sit down, everyone.’ They sat. He perched on the edge of Marsh’s desk. ‘Ms Coker... Is it Ms Coker?’ he said turning to her. She nodded, yes, she was. ‘Ms Coker asked me around to the flat Sammy lived in above Tiffany’s. She’s inheriting it and she’s cleaning it out.’ Grimes and Spicer both looked at her. ‘When she made a start, she found some old video cassettes.’ Romney stopped and studied the faces of his two detective constables. They both had young children. ‘I’ve seen a few seconds of one. It looks like child pornography.’

  Grimes closed his eyes and dropped his chin onto his chest. Spicer’s eyes widened and he whistled quietly as he inhaled deeply.

  ‘Ms Coker has given us permission to search the flat for anything of a similar nature. The tapes look old. The man’s voice on the one I sampled is foreign. It could be a very cold trail or there could be something for us to find and follow up. We can’t ignore it just because Sammy’s dead and we can’t prosecute him. There might be others around. I don’t have to tell either of you that paedophiles are notoriously gregarious.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Grimes. ‘Sammy Coker.’

  Romney said, ‘I know. Believe me, I know. You think you know someone...’

  The unfinished remark had special meaning for the police who knew something of Romney’s recent past in which he’d been well and truly duped by someone he thought he knew.

  Romney said, ‘We’ll take two cars.’ He checked his watch. ‘I want to get through it as quickly as possible. The three of us should be done in a couple of hours. If you think you’re going to be hungry, grab a sandwich now. I don’t want to be stopping for lunch breaks.’ He said this looking in Grimes’ direction.

  Romney stood up. ‘I need to make a couple of calls. Let people know CID is going to be empty. You can wait here, Ms Coker. See you two round there.’

  Grimes and Spicer nodded, collected up the boxes and headed for the exit. Romney went into his office and shut the door.

  ***

  16

  Joy and James Peters pushed into CID to find it unusually quiet and empty.

  ‘Maybe they’re all at late lunch,’ she said.

  She phoned Grimes. He answered after two rings.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she said.

  ‘Hang on. I’ll pass you over,’ said Grimes.

  ‘Joy?’

  ‘Sir. What’s going on? Where is everyone?’

  ‘Long story. What are you up to now?’

  ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’

  ‘Come round, then. We’re in the flat above Tiffany’s.’

  ‘Sammy Coker’s flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  *

  There hadn’t been much conversation between Marsh and Peters on the way round. The mysterious nature of Romney’s voice on the phone had given free rein to her imagination and her thoughts had been occupied with a range of possibilities regarding what to expect. All of them serious. Peters seemed content to look out of the window and jot the odd note in his notebook.

  The rain had stopped but the streets were still awash with the water. The puddles on the poorly maintained roads were plentiful and often hazardous, hiding potholes. Marsh pulled into the parking area behind the row of commercial premises to see both Romney’s and Grimes’ cars there. No forensics vehicle, which told her something.

  The metal staircase tolled their ascent. The door to the flat was open. They went into the grotty little kitchen. Smells prompted a memory for Marsh of the last time she was in Tiffany’s on a social call with Romney. She felt her skin crawl.

  Marsh called out. Grimes stuck his face round the door of one of the rooms off the hallway. He was wearing latex gloves, which told Marsh something else.

  Romney’s voice drifted up the hallway and he followed it. The look on his face when he saw James Peters spoke volumes. Peters was scribbling into his notebook and Romney took the opportunity to make a face at Marsh – what the hell’s he doing here? With Peters behind her she was able to make a face back – you knew he was with me, so if you didn’t want him here you should have said something.

  ‘Hello again, Tom,’ said Peters.

  Romney forced a smile and said hello.

  Marsh felt no awkwardness when she said, ‘What’s up? Must be something important if you’ve got all CID round here rummaging around on their lunch break.’

  He held her stare and said, ‘It is important.’ There was a brief pause while he thought. ‘Just wait there a moment, will you. I need to talk to someone before I say any more.’ Romney indicated with a quick flick of his eyes that he was going to see if James Peters should be asked to go and get a cup of coffee.

  Romney left them in the kitchen and Grimes came in.

  Keeping her voice down so that Romney wouldn’t hear, she said, ‘What’s going on, Peter?’

  Grimes looked over his shoulder to make sure Romney wasn’t on his way back. ‘Woman who’s inherited the place came round to start the big clear out. She found more than she bargained for.’

  ‘What? Come on. Not a sex dungeon?’ she said.

  Grimes didn’t smile. He said, ‘Kiddy porn.’

  Marsh’s mouth fell open. She was about to say something when she saw Romney striding back in their direction. Marsh shut her mouth and waited. Grimes went back to work.

  Romney came into the cramped little kitchen and said, ‘I had to speak to the woman, she’s a relative of Sammy’s – his daughter, actually – to see how she felt about a non-police presence. She doesn’t object.’ Romney focussed his attention on James Peters. ‘She says she doesn’t mind your presence, but you’ll become privy to some very sensitive information, something that could very well lead to the opening of a police investigation. I’ll remind you that you need to be sensitive regarding the sharing of things you might learn here. For example: I don’t want to learn that hashtag James Peters author was tweeting about ongoing investigations complete with selfies. That clear?’

  ‘Crystal, Tom.’ said Peters. ‘I fully understand that child pornography is not something to be treated lightly.’

  ‘How did you know what this was about?’ said Romney.

  Neither Marsh nor Peters answered and Romney huffed as he worked it out. He said, ‘Yes. Child pornography.’ Turning back to Marsh, he said, ‘The daughter came round to start clearing stuff out and found some video cassettes. I’ve looked at one. It seems old, home-made and it’s foreign. There are six. I haven’t looked at the others but she has and she says they’re all like the first. She’s asked us to go through the place to see if there’s anything else. We haven’t found anything more yet.’

  ‘How explicit are they?’ said Marsh.

  ‘The few seconds I could stomach were, thankfully, not explicit. But it’s obvious what it is. The lack of explicitness took nothing away from the menace of it, though. Perversely, it might have made it worse. The poor girl looked terrified.’ Romney closed his eyes and
shook his head. ‘We’ve only got a couple of rooms to go. The way it’s looking, I don’t think we’re going to find anything else, but we’ll have to finish the job.’

  Behind Romney, Amy Coker walked into the kitchen. Romney made the introductions.

  ‘I’ve read some of your books,’ she said to Peters.

  He smiled a little sheepishly, like he wasn’t sure how to behave.

  ‘Don’t worry, I enjoyed them,’ she said, misinterpreting his discomfort.

  ‘That’s always good to know, Miss…’

  ‘Coker. Amy. And it’s Ms.’

  She offered her hand and he shook it.

  ‘So what brings a famous author to Dover?’ she said.

  ‘Sir, can I have a word,’ said Marsh.

  Romney and Marsh stepped out onto the small metal platform at the top of the stairs, leaving Peters and the woman to their small talk.

  ‘What is it?’ said Romney.

  Marsh indicated they should talk in the car park, well away from the door where they might be overheard. They went down and Romney took out a cigarette.

  ‘I thought you’d given up,’ said Marsh. She looked very disappointed and a little bit cross.

  ‘I’m a smoker, Joy. Either you are or you aren’t. I am. This news about Sammy. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘I can understand that; you two went back a long way. But you’ve been doing so well, sir.’

  Romney wasn’t interested in talking about his failures. ‘I would never have had him down as the type.’

  Marsh thought back to the Sammy Coker she’d met on a few occasions and found herself strangely unsurprised by revelations that he was a sexual deviant. She had not liked the man and she had never enjoyed being in his café. She said, ‘That’s one of the things with paedophiles: there is no type. There’s no dress code, like neo-Nazis or crack-heads. Still, Sammy Coker. It’s awkward.’

  Romney said, ‘No it’s not. The memory of Sammy Coker will get no favours from me.’

  ‘I meant awkward that he was a friend of yours, sir.’

  Romney shook his head and said, ‘He wasn’t a friend. We didn’t socialise. He just happened to run the café I liked to eat in. And don’t forget that he provided us with some good intelligence over the years. Sammy was an informant. That’s why I gave him the time of day.’

  Marsh thought Romney sounded like a politician who’s just found out one of his colleagues had been caught fiddling his expenses.

  Marsh said, ‘So she came round and found the tapes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But nothing else?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘And he was her dad?’

  ‘As I said.’

  ‘If you were clearing out your dad’s things and found child pornography among his stuff, what would you do?’

  Romney said, ‘I know what you’re getting at, but there are things you don’t know. They didn’t get on. She hadn’t seen him for years and she says that if she didn’t report it then maybe whatever network he might be part of would remain uninvestigated and free to continue its practices – and she doesn’t want to live with that knowledge whatever the personal cost.’

  ‘OK. Where are the tapes now?’

  ‘Upstairs. You volunteering to look at them?’

  ‘Someone’s got to, haven’t they?’

  ‘I don’t want to ask Peter or Derek; they’ve got kids. How about you take three and I’ll take three.’

  Marsh liked Romney for his compassion for the men. She knew he wouldn’t want to watch them either. ‘Deal.’

  ‘Let’s go and get them. There’s something else I want you to do for me.’

  Romney told her what that was on the way back upstairs.

  When they went back into the flat, James Peters and Amy Coker were deep in conversation. They stopped talking .

  Marsh said, ‘Come on, James. We’ve got errands to run.’

  Romney handed her a box with the tapes and the other things he wanted checked, and Marsh and Peters headed back to the station.

  ***

  17

  Joy had taken James Peters with her to the forensic laboratory that was housed in the building next to Ladywell police station. When she’d finished Romney’s errands, she headed back to the station, mentally preparing herself for viewing the tapes. Peters had asked if he could stay on at forensics for a while because he had some things he would like to discuss with the forensic scientist.

  As she pushed through the station doors, she was thinking about Mr Christie and how much she’d like to hear he’d been run over by something slow and heavy. She was also thinking about Sammy Coker and how she hoped he would be roasting for eternity on a spit over an open fire somewhere.

  The officer on the front desk looked up from his paperback novel and made a face. He said, ‘My dearest colleague of the esteemed CID variety, Superintendent Vine’s compliments, and please would you call on her at your earliest convenience.’

  Marsh said, ‘What are you reading? Butlering for Beginners? Looking to move up in the world? I hope you’re not speaking to everyone who walks in off the street like that. Half of them won’t understand a quarter of what you’re saying.’

  ‘What about the other half?’

  ‘The other half probably don’t even speak English to begin with.’

  The officer made noises associated with the sharp intake of breath. He squinted in Marsh’s direction, although the light was very good.

  ‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ she said.

  ‘Just checking I’m not speaking to a certain DI. You’re sounding more and more like him every passing day.’

  Marsh shrugged it off. ‘I’m not surprised, some of the idiots we have to deal with.’

  ‘Having a bad morning? Hang on: didn’t you leave here with our celebrity writer? You haven’t fallen out already, have you?’

  ‘He’s all right. He’s in forensics. What does she want, any ideas?’

  The officer leaned his elbows on the counter. ‘Sorry, but she wasn’t her usual chatty self when she called down.’

  Marsh smiled at him. ‘I’ll let you get back to your studies. If there’s a chapter in there on polishing silver let me know, will you?’

  A commotion behind her signalled the entrance of a track-suited couple both wearing garishly coloured oversized trainers that weren’t laced up. They looked to be in their late teens and slightly emaciated. He was talking loudly on his phone. She was shouting at a small shaven-headed boy who was crying. Marsh noticed the tattoos on the man’s hands and neck and the number of piercings in the woman’s face.

  Marsh caught the eye of the officer as she walked away to the password-protected door that connected the outside world to the sanctuary of the station. The unspoken exchange said everything.

  Marsh decided to find out what the station chief wanted straight away. On the top floor, she applied her fake smile to speak with Boudicca’s gatekeeper. ‘Superintendent Vine wants to see me,’ she said.

  Marsh waited while the frigid woman buzzed through to Vine’s office. After a brief exchange and without looking up at Marsh, she said, ‘She says to go in.’

  Marsh would like to have snatched up one of the sharpened pencils and pinned the woman’s hand to her desk with it. As she crossed to Vine’s door, Marsh forced herself to empty her mind of the angry thoughts for the people that currently crowded it.

  ‘You asked to see me, ma’am?’ she said as she went in.

  ‘Hello, Joy. Yes. Let’s sit over there, shall we?’ Vine indicated the informal seating area – the upholstered chairs around a small circular coffee table in front of the window.

  As they took their seats, Vine said, ‘I had a call this morning from a rather tetchy-sounding Mr Christie.’ Vine looked at Marsh for anything she wanted to say to that. Marsh looked back at her and tried to keep her feelings off her face. Sounding like she was trying to prompt Marsh’s memory, Vine added, ‘He says you paid him a visit at his home in St M
argaret’s Bay.’ Vine paused again and Marsh felt uncomfortable enough to fill the void.

  ‘That’s right, ma’am. He’s the son of an old and frail woman who has reported an intruder in her home three times in the last week.’

  ‘So I gathered. What was the purpose of your visit to him?’

  ‘I wanted to see if he knew anything about the invasions of her home and if he did whether he could help us to understand the reality of them any better. If he didn’t know, I wanted to make him aware of the situation.’

  Vine raised her eyebrows a notch and said, ‘I see.’

  Marsh said, ‘There seems some concern over whether the woman is fantasising the events. Having spent some time with her, I believe her. I don’t think her son does.’

  ‘He claims you were rude and aggressive towards him when he didn’t see things your way.’

  Marsh forced down her natural reaction to that. ‘I’m sorry that he interpreted my concern for his mother’s welfare like that, ma’am.’

  ‘So he’s mistaken?’

  ‘I know when I’m being rude and aggressive, ma’am. He is mistaken. Perhaps Mr Christie just isn’t used to people talking to him like an equal.’ Marsh felt a degree of guilt for her words as soon as they were out of her mouth and she realised this was because she was not entirely sure the man was mistaken. She said, ‘I’m very worried that the series of intrusions that have so far brought no physical harm to his mother might escalate into something violent.’

  ‘Why?’

  Marsh frowned at the station commander. ‘Because it’s inevitable, ma’am. A man is breaking into her home on a regular basis. Sooner or later he’s got to get to the reason he’s doing it. I called on Mr Christie because I want to prevent something like that happening and he is the only one who could do something about it, if he cares to. It’s not often CID have the opportunity for preventative policing.’

  That seemed to mollify Vine slightly. ‘That’s true. As station chief it’s good to know that I have officers who are prepared to make the time in their busy workloads to care about the vulnerable members of society. But we do need to be mindful of our limits, Joy. I appreciate that you’ve informed the man of the situation. That’s as much as we can do. We cannot insist he does anything.’