by Oliver Tidy
‘I’ve been giving that some thought too, ma’am,’ said Romney.
‘Well if what you’ve come up with is a match for her manipulation of us I, for one, would be very pleased to hear it.’
As Romney smiled back, he wondered how true that statement would prove to be after he’d outlined his less-than-honest approach.
***
55
Because of the logistics involved in getting Amy Coker, her legal representative, Superintendent Vine and Romney all together in one place with the minimum of fuss and wasted time for the police, it was decided to have Amy Coker brought from her temporary place of incarceration in Canterbury prison to Dover police station. Here she was put into a holding cell until everyone else was available for the interview.
The police were at pains to appear as affable as possible when the four of them were finally seated in Interview Room One. The tape machine was running and recording, with the police claiming that the nature of the interview necessitated it.
‘How are they treating you in Canterbury, Amy?’ said Boudicca. The forced and false sympathy made Vine come across as a caring interrogator.
Amy Coker said, ‘Not bad. I think the circumstances I’m there under are helping others to understand that I’m not a real criminal.’
Vine nodded more sympathy and understanding in Ms Coker’s direction. ‘Of course,’ she said.
The solicitor, an overweight and rather self-important woman, said, ‘Do you think we might get on with whatever is so important that the police have had to drag my client all the way to Dover and make me rearrange some important meetings?’
Romney looked at the woman and said, ‘If you’ve got more important places to be, don’t let us keep you.’ He waited a long moment, letting the woman feel his stare before turning his attention back to Amy Coker and saying, ‘Amy, the reason we’ve asked you to come here is that we’ve had a significant development in our enquiries that directly concerns you.’
Romney paused again. He wanted to gauge Amy Coker’s reaction. To see whether she might betray something of the deception he believed her guilty of.
She managed to stare back at him with no discernable emotion before saying, ‘What development?’
Romney and Superintendent Vine had agreed that Romney would tell the lies. It had suited them both. Being no stranger to a little or a lot of manoeuvring of the truth with criminals if it dove-tailed with his needs, Romney felt he’d make a better, more convincing job of the one chance they’d be likely to get. For her part, Superintendent Vine wanted no officially recorded part of the falsehood Romney was about to engage in. Romney understood that the station chief must be able to claim a position of deniability, to be above such unethical practice. He did not hold it against her.
Romney met Amy Coker’s severe stare, leaned in and said, ‘Over the weekend we had a woman come into the station claiming that your father, Sammy Coker, systematically sexually abused her over a period of years while she was a young girl. She says that she wasn’t the only one. She knows of others who are too afraid to come forward, for now. It seems that your claims in the local paper gave her the confidence to come to us. We’ve asked her to encourage the others she knows of to come forward. I’m sorry, but it now looks like your therapist, the man you killed on Friday... well, you might have been wrong about him. We all might.’
Amy Coker’s face drained of all colour. Her mildly interested countenance was replaced by something that showed her outrage, her fury and hostility to what she’d heard. She leant forward in her chair, gripped the table edge and raising her voice said, ‘She’s a liar.’
Romney was encouraged that she hadn’t called him a liar. The bait, it seemed had been taken. He said, ‘I spoke to her myself, Amy. She is very convincing. She’s described the inside of Sammy’s flat in great detail.’
Amy Coker stood up. ‘No. That’s not possible. She’s lying. My father was not a child-molester, a pervert.’
The legal representative, seemingly as shocked by the news as her client, tried to calm Amy Coker down and encourage her back to her seat. The police let the line spool out.
Romney said, ‘Please sit down, Amy.’ He waited for her to do that before saying, ‘We understand that this news must be a great shock for you, especially in the light of Friday’s events. I’m shocked, too. Sammy was, as you know, an acquaintance of mine, and speaking personally...’
‘This is bullshit. I’m telling you that my father was not a paedophile. He was not. Who is she? What’s her name?’
‘Sorry, Amy, but you must know that we can’t divulge that information to a third party. Anyway, that’s really all we wanted to tell you. Once again, I’m sorry, but we thought it best that you heard this from us as soon as possible. It’ll probably end up in the local press this week.’
Romney made to stand, indicating that the interview was at an end.
‘It’s a lie, I’m telling you,’ said Amy. ‘Why won’t you listen to me?’ She looked between the police officers for a sign that they would.
Romney sat and said, ‘Amy, must I remind you that only last week you were convinced that your father was guilty of such things – apparently you’d been living under that assumption for years. I’m afraid it looks as though you are going to have to accept that version after all.’
‘I won’t because he wasn’t.’
‘How can you be so sure all of a sudden?’
‘They were false memories. You said so yourself,’ she was staring manically at Vine. Boudicca stared back with an air of emotional detachment.
‘The police certainly aren’t qualified to make such claims, Amy,’ said Romney. ‘We can entertain lines of enquiry, consider ideas, share our thoughts, but that’s all. That’s all we were doing on Friday.’
‘No!’ said Amy. ‘Listen to me. Whoever she is, she’s lying. She’s after something. Doctor Clavell gave me false memories. I know he did.’
‘How can you know, Amy?’
‘Because I’m not the only one he did it to.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Romney.
‘Amy,’ warned her solicitor.
But Amy Coker refused to listen to her legal advisor. Suddenly more important than her own defence regarding her killing of Doctor Clavell was her defence of her father’s reputation.
‘There are others. I’ve met them. He used us. He ruined our lives.’
‘Others?’ said Romney. ‘What others?’
Rather late, Amy Coker sealed her lips. She folded her arms and glared at Romney. He stared back and said, ‘For the tape, Amy, would you care to share with us the names of others who you claim were given false memories by Doctor Clavell?’
Amy Coker did not answer.
Romney said, ‘For the benefit of the tape, Ms Coker refuses to answer.’
‘You’ve just told us that you’ve met them, Amy. We’d like their names.’
Amy Coker glowered at Romney.
Romney said, ‘Once again, Ms Coker declines to answer.’
The solicitor said, ‘I think my client has said enough. She has nothing further to add. Isn’t that obvious?’
Romney said, ‘That’s fine. Maybe she said more than enough, eh? I say more than enough because according to your client’s recorded testimony on Friday she had no idea until it was discussed as a possibility in this police station that Doctor Clavell, her former therapist, had any association with the practice of False Memory Syndrome. I’m sure that Doctor Clavell’s old client list won’t be hard to track down and from there anyone who your client may have had communication with.’ Romney turned back to Amy and said, ‘Sure there’s nothing more you’d like to say, Amy?’
Amy Coker glared maliciously at Romney. It was the cold stare of an ungracious loser who would not forget. She said, ‘Was there really another woman at the weekend?’
Romney did his best to sound convincing for the tape and look convincing for everyone present. ‘Of course. We’re not allowed to tell lies.�
� He smiled back and, once more for the tape, recited the phrases that signified the end of an interview.
When the machine was off he said, ‘But I’ll say this, Amy: I did get the feeling that she was reluctant to commit to participate in a full blown investigation. I’m not at all sure that we’ll be hearing from her again.’
Amy Coker just stared back.
Because he thought he might not get another chance to ask questions that had been bothering him, Romney said, ‘Just out of interest, why were you at his funeral if, as you claim you believed at the time, you thought him guilty of sexually abusing you and you hadn’t been on speaking terms for years?’
Amy seemed surprised by the question. ‘At the time, I wanted to see him put in the ground. I hoped that seeing him buried might help me to bury my memories.’
‘Really? That seems a strange answer to me. With hindsight it seems more likely, given what we’ve discovered since, that you were there to say goodbye to a man who you couldn’t have healed your rift with while he was alive. And I find that very sad. He was your dad.’
‘I can’t help what you think,’ she said.
‘And the wake? Why attend that?’
‘They are still my family. They weren’t responsible for what I believed he’d done to me.’
‘Did any of them ever hint that they believed your accusations?’
‘No.’
‘And yet you chose to mix with them still?’
‘Yes. He was dead. As far as I was concerned that was time for a fresh start.’
Romney let his noncommittal grunt speak for what he thought of that. He was glad he’d turned the tape off.
*
They were back in Superintendent Vine’s office, sitting either side of the island of informality. Vine had shut the office door. Romney gauged that she was not cross with him because on their way in she had asked for more coffee. And biscuits.
Being something of an astute judge of people, Romney could tell that Boudicca was conflicted. He felt he knew what by. It gave him a tingle of amusement to think that the spotless, whiter-than-white station chief and aspiring first female Chief Constable of Kent had been encouraged to stumble into the grey area that blurs the line demarcating proper police procedure from something less regulation. And Romney had been her guide. Romney was reminded of Marsh’s highlighting of the motivating force that good old self-interest had the potential to be.
Superintendent Vine looked at Romney. Romney stared back and waited.
‘On this one, I think we’re probably past any... pretence,’ she said. ‘That was... many things. Some good, some less good, some that made me professionally a little uncomfortable. I hope you know what I mean by that.’ Boudicca seemed to relax a notch. She said, ‘I had an old boss who firmly believed that the ends always justified the means. I don’t subscribe to that ideology unreservedly. But there are times when I do. I think it’s fair to say that everything we claimed downstairs was not strictly accurate and therefore falling foul of Professional Standards, but in this particular case I’ll sleep all right.’
A tap at the door heralded the entrance of refreshment. The tray was placed on the table between them and the door was quickly shut to seal them back in.
‘We both know that what I shall refer to as police tactics have led us to a position that is a great relief for me personally. I thank you for that, Tom. I don’t mind telling you that I have had a rather shitty weekend because of what Amy Coker committed to tape on Friday.’
Romney dipped his head in acknowledgement. He said, ‘Purely incidental to the bigger picture, ma’am. I’ve got this thing about not letting villains, whatever their class, colour or gender, put one over on Dover CID.’
Vine nodded and sipped her coffee. ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’
Romney said, ‘Yes, ma’am. I’d say that Ms Coker spun one of the most tangled webs I’ve been caught in for a long time.’
‘She caught a few of us, Tom. Like flies. It’s thanks to you that she didn’t get to cocoon us and serve us up for dinner.’
‘We’re not there yet, ma’am.’
‘You have doubts that you’ll be able to find witnesses to prove that she was aware of Doctor Clavell’s involvement with FMS?’
Romney shook his head. ‘Not now.’
‘Good. How’s Fower settling in?’
‘Fine. I have high hopes for him.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll talk to him about making his move more permanent.’
They finished their drinks quickly and Romney made his excuses to leave. As he got to the door, Vine said, ‘Tom. Thank you. And well done.’
He smiled back said, ‘Ma’am,’ and left.
*
Romney breezed back into CID feeling good about things. He took a moment to run his eye over his domain. The powerful and painful jolts of realisation that had plagued him in the days immediately after Grimes’ death had evolved to be replaced by something more akin to sad acceptance – a dull ache when he was reminded of Grimes’ absence. He was glad they’d rearranged the furniture. It helped him.
Marsh was just finishing on the phone. As Romney was standing close to her workstation she looked up to see what he wanted. When he didn’t say anything, she said, ‘How’d it go with Ms Coker?’
He perched on the edge of an adjacent desk. ‘Better for us than for her, I think.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that she painted herself into a corner. We need to get hold of Doctor Clavell’s old client lists, start tracing women he treated. Amy Coker just admitted that there are others. And that she’s been in contact with them, which rather undermines her claims of earlier that she had no idea Clavell was a charlatan until the police told her.’
‘Maybe your Doctor Puchta will have heard something on the psychos’ grape vine that could help us,’ said Marsh.
Romney looked to be giving it some thought. He said, ‘Why do you keep referring to her as my Doctor Puchta?’
‘Just a figure of speech,’ said Marsh, smiling innocently.
‘Nothing more from your Mrs Christie over the weekend?’ said Romney.
Marsh shook her head and became serious. ‘Nothing for the police.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, I’ve spoken to her a couple of times and she hasn’t been bothered by the mystery intruder.’
‘You’ve got a bit of a thing for little old women, haven’t you?’
Marsh shrugged it off. She wouldn’t say that her motivation for looking out for Mrs Christie stemmed from her feelings of failure regarding her duty of care for her own mother.
‘Anyway, that’s good, isn’t it?’ said Romney, misinterpreting her frown.
‘In a way it is, but just because it’s stopped doesn’t mean nothing ever happened or that it won’t ever happen again.’
‘What can you do?’ said Romney in a tone that indicated the answer was nothing and that should be an end to it.
Unwilling to leave it, Marsh said, ‘I’m still bothered by what the son said about her not having been able to hear downstairs if she was upstairs because her hearing is poor.’
‘Right. So?’
‘So an intruder...’
‘Assuming there ever was one.’
‘... must have made a lot of noise for her to hear him and come down to investigate. Maybe he wanted to attract her attention. But she maintains that when she came down to confront him he never said a word, was dead quiet.’
‘You’re saying that if there was an intruder their only purpose was to make her aware of their presence and then leave?’
‘I know it sounds odd.’
‘It sounds like she’s unhinged with a story like that.’
‘There’s another thing: the intruder...’
‘Assuming there ever was one,’ interrupted Romney again. In answer to the look Marsh gave him, he said, ‘Just playing Devil’s advocate. Remember that?’
‘... mu
st have known she didn’t have a phone upstairs. That’s why he didn’t leave until she came downstairs. How would he know?’
‘Obviously it would have to be someone she knew or someone who knew her circumstances. Look, Joy, we could go around the houses on this one all day and still get nowhere. My advice is to draw a line under it. It seems to have fizzled out anyway.’ Romney raised his voice so that they could all hear him. ‘Right, I’m sending out for coffee. Who wants what?’
***
56
Two nights later Joy was doing her ironing, listening to a play on the radio when her mobile began squawking. In the seconds it took her to reach the device her heart rate had doubled – the ringtone had been assigned to just one person. With her other hand she flicked off the radio then yanked the cord to the iron out of the socket.
‘Helen? It’s Joy. Do you have an intruder?’
Helen Christie whispered, ‘Yes. Someone’s downstairs.’
Marsh snatched up her keys and was slipping her feet into her trainers. She grabbed a jacket off the pegs by the front door. ‘Helen, do not go downstairs. I’ll be there in five minutes. Less than that. Let him make his noise.’
Marsh terminated the call, slammed the front door behind her and ran the length of the concrete gangway towards the stairs. She took them two at a time. She was in her car with the engine started in under two minutes. When she had negotiated the other parked vehicles and was accelerating along Marine Parade, she called the station.
Through her deep inhalations she explained the situation and told them to send support. No sirens. No lights. She wanted to catch him, not scare him off.
