by Oliver Tidy
Vine nodded sympathetically and turned to Marsh.
Marsh said, ‘After a reassessment of the evidence, we are looking at things again, Ms Coker.’
Ms Coker looked pleased to hear it. She said, ‘Who’s in charge?’
‘That’s really an internal matter, Ms Coker,’ said Vine. ‘But I give you my personal guarantee that your claims are to be fully and fairly investigated.’
‘To that end,’ said Marsh, ‘we’d like to ask you a few more questions.’
‘Of course. What would you like to know?’
Marsh looked at her notebook. ‘As I understand it, you claim that your father sexually molested you. Is that correct?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Where did the abuse take place?’
‘At our home. In my bedroom.’
‘Can you describe the nature of the contact?’
‘He made me take my clothes off. He touched me in my private places. I was made to touch him in his private places.’
‘Did things ever go further than that?’
‘No.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I honestly can’t remember. The images are very clear in my mind but I can’t say exactly how old I was. About ten. Maybe a little younger.’
‘Are you able to say for how long the abuse went on?’
‘No. I wish I could but I can’t. Some years, I think. My memories are so confused of those times.’
‘You just said you still have very clear images of what happened.’
‘I do. Of that. But everything else is a bit of a haze. Apparently, that’s quite normal.’
‘Just so that we can get a feel for the history of events, can I ask why you waited so long to say something about things? You say you were about ten when the incidents took place,’ Marsh wanted to say alleged incidents but didn’t want to alienate the woman, ‘and then ten years ago. How old are you now, by the way?’
‘Thirty-seven.’
‘So you would have been about twenty-seven when you confronted your father about things? Agreed?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘We discovered it during our investigations. That’s, say, seventeen years between the incidents and you deciding to say something about them. Unless there was a time before that that we don’t know about?’
‘No, that was the first time. I’d repressed it. It had had such a disabling effect on my consciousness that I’d blocked it out. It was like it hadn’t happened. And then I had cause to see a psychiatrist for something unrelated. He unlocked my memories. It all came flooding out. He helped me to see that the repression was responsible for the state of my mental health at the time. My subconscious denial was like a cancer for my self-confidence.’
‘What was your psychiatrist’s name?’
‘Why do you need to know that?’
Marsh made a face. ‘No special reason. Just curious.’
Marsh allowed the quiet to stretch out in the hope that Amy Coker would feel obliged to provide the information.
‘His name was Clavell. Doctor Clavell.’
‘Local?’
‘Yes. Deal.’
Marsh jotted the name down in her book and Amy Coker looked a little uncomfortable.
Marsh looked up and smiled. ‘And it was after your sessions with Doctor Clavell that you confronted your father about what you believed had happened?’
‘It did happen. My memories are vivid, even now.’
‘Do you mind me asking you a difficult question?’
‘What is it? You can ask. If I can’t answer, I’ll tell you.’
‘What do you hope to achieve by bringing all this up now, after your father is dead and buried?’
‘I want people to know the truth. I’m not ashamed of what happened to me. I was a child. He was a monster. My family never believed me. They never listened to me when he was alive. They all sided with my father. They disowned me. Shunned me. I want them to know that I wasn’t lying. I want them to know that he was a paedophile and I was his victim.’ Almost as an afterthought, she said, ‘And now they have to believe me. I found evidence of his... disgusting perversion in his flat. No one can argue with that. And all the police want to do is to sweep it under the carpet.’
Superintendent Vine, who had been sitting and listening quietly, said, ‘No we don’t, Ms Coker. That is why we have invited you in. We are not preparing to pretend this didn’t happen or to play things down. You have been the victim of one of society’s greatest evils and we will do everything we can to make sure that you get justice for your pains.’
Marsh couldn’t tell if this was the station chief being political or whether she really meant it.
To Amy Coker, Marsh said, ‘You want the family to feel bad about it?’
‘Yes I do. I want them to hate themselves for doubting me, for not listening to me, for not believing me.’
‘Before, you said that you wanted to raise awareness of a possible paedophile ring operating in the town.’
‘Yes. I do. That as well. I want to try to expose anything like that so that other poor innocent children like I was don’t suffer the same fate I did.’
‘How old were you when you mother died?’
‘Seven.’
‘And it was your father who brought you up?’
‘Yes. If that’s how you want to look at it.’
‘At what age did you leave home?’
‘Seventeen. I moved in with my boyfriend of the time.’
‘Was it because of what had happened?’
‘No. I told you. I’d suppressed all those memories. It wasn’t until I sought professional help some years later that everything came tumbling out.’
‘It must have been a terrible realisation for you?’
Amy Coker looked Marsh straight in the eye and said, ‘It was worse than anything you can possibly imagine.’
*
After seeing Amy Coker off the premises, Marsh let out a long breath and checked her phone. She saw she had one missed called from Romney and one from Justin.
She rang Justin and spoke with him as she headed back upstairs to CID.
Marsh found Romney in his office distracting himself with bureaucracy. The remains of his lunch sat on top of a pile of leaflets. She tapped on the open door and he waved her in.
‘She gone?’ he said.
Marsh nodded. ‘
‘And? How did it go?’
‘You want to buy me a coffee across the road?’
Romney smiled and there was something genuine and knowing in it. ‘Is this because you think I’m going to need a cigarette?’
‘No. It’s because I want a proper coffee.’
Romney stood and stretched. ‘Have you heard from either Peter or James?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I had a strange call from Peter. He and James were shouting at each other. I couldn’t work out if he’d dialled me by mistake or if they were messing me about.’
‘Shouting at each other?’
‘I know. Weird. I rang him back but he didn’t pick up.’
‘Is that why you rang me?’
‘Yes. I wondered if you had James’ mobile number.’
Marsh said, ‘I can ring him.’ And she did. ‘It’s gone straight through to answerphone.’
‘Oh well. I’ve heard that phone reception on Romney Marsh can be a bit dodgy. I’m sure if anything had happened to them we’d have been told.’
*
Romney lit up, blew a stream of smoke towards heaven and said, ‘OK. I understand all that. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you about it?’
It was Marsh’s turn to smile. ‘Don’t tell me I’m that transparent these days.’
‘Maybe we’ve just been around each other long enough to understand each other.’
‘That’s a bit spooky, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with anyone knowing me that well.’
It was one of their
rare intimate moments and something for Marsh to secretly take pleasure from when she thought back to the first case they’d worked on together and the then cantankerous nature of the man sitting opposite her who had not gone out of his way to make her feel like a welcome addition to Dover CID.
Marsh said, ‘There were a couple of things that gave me cause for concern. One: she seemed far more interested in making her estranged relatives sorry for ever doubting her than she appeared in helping to expose a local paedophile ring, which is what she originally claimed was motivating her to go public. In fact, I had to remind her of that. There seemed a great deal of self-interest involved for her as opposed to the common interest. Two: she wasn’t happy talking about the psychiatrist that treated her. She was definitely reluctant to reveal his name. And all this came out after she’d been consulting with him.’
‘So? It’s what trick-cyclists do isn’t it? Help people develop a greater understanding of themselves; enable individuals to comprehend their personal histories better so that they might learn from them and move forward in a more positive and constructive way.’
‘You sound like you have firsthand experience of the couch, sir,’ said Marsh, half laughing.
Romney blustered and reddened a bit. ‘Nonsense. I’m just well informed, that’s all. And these are the things that are bothering you about the interview?’
‘Yes. I know it’s not much, is it?’
‘It could be more if Sammy’s fingerprints hadn’t been found on the tapes. There’s no doubt that he handled them.’
‘But you still don’t think he’s guilty?’
Romney huffed and stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I definitely don’t want to. How did Boudicca seem?’
‘She came across as very supportive of the victim. Very sympathetic. I’m not sure she experienced the same reservations I did. Do.’
‘She’s essentially a wooden top. I wouldn’t hold her lack of acumen against her. Besides, she’s got to be careful to play the part of a seriously concerned station chief.’
‘I don’t think she was playing the part.’
‘No, probably not. That article is almost certainly already making waves at Area. She’ll be looking to get things sorted quickly, efficiently and without any embarrassment.’
‘Have you bugged her office, sir?’
‘Pardon? What are you talking about?’
‘Those were almost her exact words when she gave responsibility for the case to me.’
‘She what?’
‘She doesn’t want you anywhere near it – and she’s right, of course. If it’s not bad enough that you were friends with the man there’s now this big public allegation of cover-ups in the local press.’
‘So that’s why you brought me outside for a coffee,’ said Romney, lighting up another cigarette.
‘No, sir. I told you: I wanted a proper coffee.
Romney still didn’t believe her.
‘So she’s put you in charge?’
‘Yes. It’s my main priority as of one hour ago.’
‘Well, good luck – and do me a favour, will you?’
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘Stop referring to me being Sammy Coker’s friend – unless you can prove his innocence, of course.’
They sipped their drinks in quiet for a moment before Romney wiped the smile off her face: ‘You haven’t forgotten you’ve got court tomorrow, have you?’
Romney’s mobile rang. Seeing Spicer’s number, he answered it.
‘Guv, where are you?’
‘Across the road having a coffee, why?’ Romney waited. ‘Hello!’ He could hear Spicer was still there making muffled noises. ‘Derek?’
In a strained voice, struggling with emotion, Spicer said, ‘It’s Peter. There’s been an accident.’
‘What? How bad is it? Derek?’
‘Peter’s dead, guv.’
***
32
‘He died at the scene,’ said Superintendent Vine. ‘A suspected massive coronary. The paramedics were unable to revive him. Tom, I’m very sorry. I know... what a close team you run downstairs.’
Romney had not recovered from his numbness. He sat in the chair the other side of the desk from the station chief unable to accept the news, unable to feel what he knew he should be feeling. He’d left Marsh and Spicer to their shared and obvious suffering and grief in CID. Their reactions showed that the news had fully impacted on each of them. Full understanding, it seemed, was still trying to catch up with him.
‘His wife, children,’ said Romney. ‘They need to be told.’
Vine said, ‘Of course, Tom. It’s a priority to get to them before the news does through other channels.’
‘I want to do it,’ said Romney, sitting up a little straighter.
‘As station chief...’
‘Yeah, I know. I understand that. I mean I’m coming with you.’
‘Tom, normal practice is...’
‘I don’t give a toss for normal practice. My colleague, my friend is dead. His wife and children deserve to hear of their loss from someone who knew him. Someone who cares about his passing. Not some stuffed shirt rushed down from Area because of his pips.’ He stood.
Vine hesitated.
Romney said, ‘We need to do it now, ma’am.’
Superintendent Vine and Romney made their way through the station to the car that would drive them to Grimes’ home. Officers fell silent and stood respectfully aside and still as they passed. Only the sound of someone crying uncontrollably followed them out into the car park.
Romney sat up front. Vine occupied the back seat. Neither of them spoke during the drive.
Romney was quickly out on arrival and opened the door for the station chief. They walked together up the garden path towards Grimes’ family home. Another police car arrived and parked up behind them.
Romney took a deep breath and pushed the doorbell. He stared hard at the front door and waited.
A noise and movement through the frosted glass indicated the approach of someone. From their size, Romney knew it was Maureen, Grimes’ wife. He was glad it wasn’t one of the children.
She opened the door and looked in surprise at the identity of her callers. It was a look that quickly changed to something terrified. Her hands came up to her mouth. Her eyes filled. ‘No. Not my Peter. Please, Tom. Tell me it’s not my Peter.’
Romney said, ‘I’m so very sorry, Maureen.’
*
Even though it was late, both Spicer and Marsh were still in CID when Romney returned. Four red and swollen eyes stared out from two white and punctured faces. He sat down with them and realised he’d sat in Grimes’ chair. He got up quickly and pulled over another.
‘A massive heart attack,’ said Romney. ‘How many times did we tell him?’
Spicer snorted and wiped at his nose with his handkerchief. ‘He loved his food.’
Marsh snivelled. ‘Oh God, I’m going to miss him.’
‘We’ll all miss him,’ said Romney. ‘He was part of the furniture.’
Spicer said, ‘How did Maureen...?’
Romney said, ‘As you’d expect. Awful. Just awful.’
Marsh said, ‘He’d have appreciated that it was you who told her.’
Spicer made a noise of agreement.
Romney said, ‘I need a drink.’ He went into his office and came back empty handed. ‘I forgot. I poured it away.’
Marsh said, ‘I don’t want to go to a pub.’
Spicer said, ‘Leave it with me. He got up and left the room.’
Romney said, ‘The place already feels empty without him.’
Marsh started crying again.
Romney stared at her, not knowing what to say or do. He said, ‘What about James?’
‘What about him?’
‘How is he?’
‘Cuts and bruises. They said Peter’s injuries weren’t life threatening either. A lorry rammed them. Peter had blocked their path. But it was his heart.’
&nbs
p; Romney said, ‘Say that again.’
Marsh said, ‘His injuries weren’t...’
‘No, the bit about the lorry.’
‘A lorry rammed them. Peter had blocked their path.’
‘That’s what I heard. I told you: it sounded like they were shouting at each other. I thought it might have been a prank. I heard the crash. I heard Peter die.’
Spicer made them start by pushing noisily back into CID. He was carrying a half-empty bottle of scotch and some disposable cups. He poured them each a drink and passed them round.
Romney raised his cup and said, ‘To Peter Grimes.’
Marsh and Spicer echoed the toast. They each threw back their drinks. Marsh coughed violently. Spicer poured them each another. They sipped them in contemplative, morose silence.
The phone rang. At that time of night it would not be an outside call. Romney answered it.
‘Tom. It’s Blanchett. I don’t have the words right now, so I’m not going to try. Just wanted you all to know that whenever you’re ready, we’ve got cars standing by to drive you home.’
Romney thanked his opposite number and replaced the handset. He passed the message on.
Marsh said, ‘I should be going anyway. I’ve got court tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure, given the circumstances...’
‘No, sir. Thanks. I’m sure Peter would want us to carry on. That’s what I intend to do. To be honest, the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Joy stood just as James Peters opened the door and put his head through the gap. They all looked in his direction. He had a plaster on his forehead and the makings of a bruise on his cheekbone.
‘I’m not here to intrude in your private grief,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t leave without saying something.’
Romney said, ‘Come in, James. Have a drink.’
He came in, took the offered paper cup and accepted a good measure. He sat down in Grimes’ chair and no one said anything. Marsh sat again.
Marsh said, ‘How are you?’
‘Please, let’s not talk about anything or anyone but Peter. But please, can we talk about him? Just a little. Or at least can you just listen to me talk about him.’ James drank a large mouthful. ‘I hardly knew the guy. I only met him a couple of days ago, for God’s sake. But he was such a warm, big-hearted fellow, funny, caring, calm, helpful, patient... you should have seen the way he drove me down to Dymchurch today... he knew so much and was happy to share his knowledge and accommodate me. He was in his element. I felt like I’d known him forever.’ Romney looked up from the stain on the carpet he’d been staring at to stare into James Peters’ face. Tears stained the author’s cheeks. ‘He could have saved my life today. He told me to get out of the vehicle when that lorry was heading our way. He wasn’t thinking of himself.’ After a short pause, he said, ‘They said it was his heart gave out on him.’
