Taking Pity

by David Mark

  McAvoy finds his right leg jiggling as he writes. Has to slow his breathing as he scrawls blue ink on the page. Feels like he can see the whole scene in front of him. Can smell gunpowder, blood, and snow.

  “I asked what Daft Pete was doing there,” says Audrey, her face flushed. “Why he was tied up. I don’t know why I asked, really. Looking back, it seems obvious. But I was in such shock that I was gabbling too, like Big Davey. I asked Pete if he was okay. If he’d been hurt. He didn’t reply. Just looked on like a dead fish.”

  “You thought Pete might have been a victim?”

  “It didn’t cross my mind he was the one who’d done it. He was just a big daft lump. Everybody knew Daft Pete. He was a bit of an odd one, but it never seemed there was any harm in him. So when John Glass told me Pete was under arrest for killing them all and that he’d just confessed, my feet just went from under me. Was a night I’ll never forget. Wasn’t long before it was all ambulances and blue lights and coppers asking questions and tires getting stuck in the mud. But in that moment, it was just the four of us and it didn’t seem real.”

  McAvoy pauses. Rubs a big hand over his face.

  “What did you know of Peter Coles before that night?”

  Audrey shrugs. “He lived in one of the other farm cottages with his gran. His mum had been a silly, flighty soul who kept falling in love with every bloke who showed an interest. Went off with an airman, if I remember. Left little Peter at home. He was never a bright lad. I suppose you’d have to say, looking back, the other kids were a bit mean to him. He was years younger than me, so I’m probably not the best one to ask, but I got the impression school wasn’t much fun for him. He was happiest on his own, I think. Used to walk miles, away in his own little world. Loved those woods behind the church, I remember that. I think it was when he was a teenager and he started getting those, you know, urges, that he went a bit off the rails. His gran got a few knocks on the door from local blokes who said he’d been watching their wives. I would love to stick up for him, but I know for a fact he was a bit of a Peeping Tom. Definitely had a good ogle through our bathroom window a few times. And stuff used to go missing.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Underwear,” says Audrey shyly. “Off the line. These were the days when you didn’t even like to hang your bra on the line in case somebody thought you were a hussy. But there were days when the wind was blowing hard, you could get your laundry done in an hour and you’d take the risk. That’s when they’d vanish.”

  “And people thought it was Peter?”

  “There weren’t many other suspects. And when they searched his room they found plenty, didn’t they?”

  McAvoy rubs one hand over the other, thinking.

  “Did you have any reason to believe he had any problems with the Winn family?”

  Audrey cocks her head to the left and makes a face, as though struggling with an uncertain thought.

  “You know the oldest girl was a looker, don’t you?” says Audrey. “Anastasia. Pretty as a picture, and very clever. She didn’t go to school around here at first. Was off at some boarding school. Had lovely manners and real poise. I think the other girls were pretty jealous. Heck, I was jealous myself and she was half my age. She wasn’t flash with it, though. Just a nice, sweet girl. And I think Peter didn’t quite know how to deal with the fact he liked her in a certain way.”

  McAvoy nods. He would rather form his own conclusions, but can’t help asking the question. Can’t help finding out what the local line is on a tragedy that shook the whole community.

  “What do you think happened, Audrey?”

  She raises her arms, palms up. “Peter used to like going up to the church to read the gravestones and play with his gun. He’d been told off for it before, of course. Nowadays the police wouldn’t let him anywhere near a gun. But this was a rural community and he was a farmhand, and the local blokes didn’t see any reason to object to him having a shotgun, provided he kept it under lock and key. Seems crazy now, looking back. But he was a hard worker for Mr. Winn. Wasn’t exactly one of the more popular blokes, but people tolerated him, and at least he was working. A shotgun kind of came with the territory. He would just have these episodes where he’d do something silly, like taking potshots at passing airplanes.”

  “And you think he was doing that when Mr. Winn interrupted him?”

  Audrey digs her toe into the carpet again. “Could be. Mr. Winn liked to walk in those woods. Sometimes the family would go with him. It was a nice night before the snow started. Maybe they were walking off dinner. Maybe Peter panicked. Maybe he shot one of them by accident and killed the others so nobody would tell. That’s the kind of thought I can imagine him having. It’s just so horrible. Even now, thinking about it, I get goose pimples.”

  Audrey pushes up the sleeve of her cardigan and holds the limb out for inspection. The gray hairs upon her flesh have risen like sails.

  “I know it’s hard, Audrey, but do you think you can remember anything else from that night that may help?”

  She looks out the window at the damp green fields and the carpet of dead leaves.

  “You’d do well to speak to Vaughn,” she says. “Oldest boy. Done well for himself, despite everything. Took a long time for his money to come in from the sale of the farm, of course. His solicitor’s still alive, though he’s about a thousand years old. Lives up the road there. Did a top job for Vaughn. Wasn’t easy to sell. Nobody wanted to buy the place for years. Took its toll on this little community, Sergeant. I’ll never forget when Peter’s gran came back from his first hearing at York Crown Court. She’d aged about twenty years. Was hard for her after that. She’d been quite close with Mrs. Winn. She was the one who persuaded Mr. Winn to give Peter a job on the farm. She felt like she’d made it all happen.”

  “She accepted Peter’s guilt?”

  Audrey cocks her head again. “That’s a harder one to answer. These days you’d say he was probably ill and give him pills to make him better. In those days she was just the grandma of a weirdo. And when he got sent to the funny farm she was left all alone. We assumed there would be a trial at some point, but after a few years we all kind of put it in the past. Mrs. Coles moved away. I think she got a new lease on life after a few years and started putting the past behind her, too.”

  McAvoy keeps his mouth closed. Mrs. Coles did find some renewed zest for life, but it took the form of harassing her local MP and demanding answers over her grandson’s continued incarceration.

  For a spell there is silence in the room. McAvoy settles back in the sofa and looks up at the ceiling, where a crack runs from the chimney breast to just above the door. Audrey follows his eyes.

  “Subsidence,” she says, tutting and rolling her eyes. “If I ever sell this place it will get me about one pound fifty. Needs a lot of work-doing. It’s what some of the houses are built on, you see. Funny old place, is Holderness. You know the saying about building on shifting sands, don’t you? Could have been written for this bit of coastline. I’m a Holderness girl and even I feel like a stranger here sometimes. It comes with nobody knowing you’re here. Unless you’re from nearby, you think the coast stops at Hull. We’re this little bit that’s stuck on afterward. Miles and miles of not a lot. Gives you a bit of a chip on your shoulder. Puts a bit of wildness in the eyes.”

  McAvoy watches, amused, as Audrey does an impression of having psychotic eyes.

  “Anton said it was a hard place to get used to. He wasn’t wrong. Loved it in the end, though. We had his ashes scattered in the front garden. Didn’t know where to put him that meant more to him than here, with me.”

  “Did you go to the funeral?” he asks. “The Winn family, I mean.”

  “It was a quiet affair,” she says, still looking out at the garden. “Would have been held at Saint Germain’s but that would have been too horrible. Was held at Saint Patrick’s in Patrington. The Queen
of Holderness.”

  “The Queen?”

  “It’s true. That’s what it’s known as. The ‘King’ is Saint Augustine’s in Hedon. Saint Patrick’s is the ‘Queen.’ Stunning building. Was on a list in the Sunday newspapers as one of the most beautiful in England. The spire’s nearly two hundred feet tall. Looks a bit out of place in a little town like Patrington, but this used to be a big important place, centuries ago. Everybody knew the Queen. Quite a thrill to say you were married there.”

  “You and Anton?”

  She smiles warmly. “Beautiful day. ’Twas 1962, it was. I think that was the last time it was sunny.”

  McAvoy lets his eyes travel back to the crack in the ceiling. He finds himself beginning to worry that one slam of the door will bring the roof in on Audrey George. She seems to read his mind.

  “I’m no spring chicken, Sergeant. Whatever will be will be.”

  “I could have a look at it, before I go,” he says, rising. “Might just need the gable end repointed . . .”

  Audrey puts out a hand to stop him. “If you did everything today, you’d have no reason to come back, would you. And I hope you do.”

  McAvoy stays where he is, half risen. He feels like he is trapped midway into a curtsy. He straightens his back and readjusts his clothes; trying not to tower over the seated Mrs. George.

  “If you did ever need to give evidence in a trial . . .”

  She gives another shrug. “It would be something to do with my day,” she says. “I can tell them all I’ve just told you. I told it all to half a dozen different policemen back when this all happened. Nothing ever came of it. Peter never really got dealt with properly. The ashes of the two Winn children are still blowing across this land, aren’t they? Their parents are still rotting in the ground. You seem like a nice policeman, but I do think this was done a bit shabbily. It made life difficult for John Glass afterward. He got the mick taken out of him a lot after that. For panicking. For not having his cuffs. And the detectives were not the nicest of people. He was supposed to be our community policeman, and there were people who thought he rolled over and let the men in suits say and do whatever they wanted. I always thought that was unfair. Anton did, too. He and John were never exactly close, but I got a lovely letter from John when Anton died. Not everybody was so thoughtful. Vaughn Winn was, though. I’d only ever spoken to him a handful of times, but when he sent money for the new roof at Saint Germain’s, I sent him a letter of thanks, and he must have remembered me.”

  McAvoy takes his eyes from the crack in the ceiling. “Vaughn Winn? You’re still in contact?”

  “Well, not exactly contact, no, but there are people in Patrington who have a lot to thank him for. He’s sent money for a few goodwill projects. Good of him, really, considering what this place cost him emotionally.”

  McAvoy purses his lips and breathes hard, like a racehorse at the end of a gallop.

  “Do you have his contact details?”

  Audrey grins. “If I give you them, do you promise to come back?”

  McAvoy eyes the remaining flapjack on the plate.

  “Promise.”

  SEVEN

  COLIN RAY’S FACE has taken on the same characteristics as the sky. He’s gray, damp, and there’s a good chance of thunder.

  He sniffs, almost from his toes. Something lumpy rattles its way from his lungs to the back of his throat and he turns and hawks it against the wall of Hull City Hall. It clings like a limpet.

  “About fucking time,” he says, wiping the rain from his face with a grimy hand. “Freezing me bollocks off.”

  Inspector Phil Batty pouts as he reaches across and opens the door of the patrol car. Ray pushes off from the wall of the building and ducks into the warm vehicle without a hello.

  “Another lovely day in the city of sunshine—eh, Col?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Batty’s grin threatens to touch his ears. He eases the vehicle forward a few yards until he finds a suitable parking space. They come to a halt outside a clothes store selling the kind of jeans that makes teenagers walk as though they have just soiled themselves. It’s all Day-Glo and thumping techno beats and Ray struggles to imagine he will ever be a customer.

  “Used to be a record store, that place,” says Batty, taking his seat belt off and turning to face his passenger. “Local institution. Bloody shame.”

  Ray shrugs. He moved to Hull for work. He has little affection for the place and can’t abide the accent. His own roots are vaguely West Midlands but he has little in the way of a dialect. His words are all bile and sneer.

  “Coffee shops and travel agents, that’s all we’ve got left,” says Batty, waving a hand at the empty shopping street framed by the rain-spotted windscreen. “Was always heaving with people when I was a kid. Couldn’t move for shoppers . . .”

  “Shite,” says Ray, unable to let it go. “I’ve seen pictures, Phil. Place has always been a shithole.”

  “No, seriously, Col,” says Phil earnestly. “Hull used to be a great place . . .”

  “Shite,” Ray says again, picking at a crumb on the leg of his trousers. “It’s a hole in the ground. You can’t build a city on fish without it starting to stink somewhere down the line.”

  Phil seems about to offer a riposte but gives in to a smile. He’s spent his whole career with Humberside Police and has a nice uniformed job that rarely takes him away from the station. He’s a good ten years younger than Ray, but his sedentary life means he looks a little flabby and unfit. He’s well liked by his team and largely ignored by the brass, which for a good chunk of the area’s coppers is the ultimate dream. He’s also a man who remembers a favor.

  They sit without talking. Watch the rain and the mist on the windscreen, and the steam rising from Colin’s wet clothes.

  “They’re missing you,” says Batty at last. “The lads. It’s shit you have to stay away.”

  Ray is gratified by that. He coaches the force’s football team and is missing his interaction with the boys far more than any other aspect of his day job.

  “You’re taking care of them? I heard we let in a real soft one against those wankers from the tile warehouse.”

  “They just need to concentrate. Keep their eyes open and not drift off. We’ll do fine. Finish midtable, I reckon.”

  Ray grunts and nods. He’d be happy with that sort of finish. He wants Batty to do well in his absence but would hate for him to be seen to do a better job.

  Above them, the streetlights suddenly flare back to life. There was only an hour or two, around midday, when they were switched off. It’s not yet four p.m. but already evening is settling on the city center; falling as ash from a sky of woodsmoke and rain.

  “Shaz keeping you informed of developments?” asks Batty, resting his head against the window on the driver’s side. “Plenty going on. You’ll know what happened to the Scotsman’s house, eh? Gypsy bitch. I never even knew he was married. You can’t imagine it, can you? Bet she’s the sort to stop taking the pill and not tell you about it. Probably trapped him with a nipper.”

  Ray swills his spit around his mouth, tasting cigarettes and pastry. He looks at Batty.

  “You know that’s shite, Phil. Was fuck all to do with his wife. That lad Downey was a villain. He wanted to show he was hard man. Picked on the first copper he could. Cost the jock his house. She’s left him, last I heard. Took the baby, too. He’s having a miserable time of it. Came out of hospital to find his life ruined. His missus had never even met the fucker who did it.”

  Batty shrugs. He doesn’t really mind which story is true, but the one about McAvoy’s pretty wife having affairs on the side is the one that’s more fun to talk about over a pint with the lads.

  “Shaz was the one who told me,” says Batty, a touch petulantly. “Gave me plenty of details, too.”

  “Shaz doesn’t know a fucking thing,
” spits Ray. “Silly cow’s all loved up, isn’t she? Fallen for some slick prick from London.”

  “Aye, she was looking like something from a Disney movie when I saw her the other day. All bluebirds and bunny rabbits and twirling her skirts. You know him?”

  Ray shakes his head. “I haven’t had the pleasure. Smelled him on her, though. Shaz and me had a drink a month or so back. Could smell his aftershave on her when she kissed me. Must bathe in the stuff. Must be an estate agent or something.”

  “He’s not a copper, then?”

  “I didn’t ask. Just know he’s got money and he smells like a poof. And Shaz is so cockblind that she’s forgotten who got her where she is.”

  He says the last with venom, turning away so Batty doesn’t see the hurt in his eyes when he talks about his protégé. For ten years, he and Shaz Archer have been inseparable. Every job he has taken has been on the proviso she comes as his number two. He had been expecting to run the Serious and Organized Unit alongside her before the job went to Trish Fucking Pharaoh. He’s pissed off that she has abandoned him when he needs somebody to buy him drinks and tell him none of this shit is his fault.