Murder of Innocence

by Veronica Heley

  Diana was coming down the path with little Frank in her arms, calling for Ellie. The toddler was wailing. Diana was getting angry.

  Ellie put the torch down on the floor, aiming its beams at the plant pots, and began to pull them away from the wall. One stack. Two stacks. Lift them clear and dump them on the table. Three … and there was the faded tartan of her old rug. Also there was Midge, curled up on top of the boy, staring down into his sleeping face.

  ‘Mother, what on earth are you doing?’

  ‘What I ought to have done this morning. Finding Tod.’

  ‘Well, he can’t be there. I looked.’

  Ellie didn’t reply. Four stacks. Five. She lifted the pots and put them on the table. A terracotta pot crashed to the floor and broke. Midge decided he’d had enough and strolled out of the shed, darting between Diana’s legs to shoot back up the garden. Still there was no sign of movement from the bundle of rug.

  ‘He’s here.’ She knelt down. ‘Tod. Tod, it’s me.’ Pray God he’s alive.

  ‘Mother, come away, for God’s sake. Frank, please! Just be quiet for a moment and I’ll get you your drink. Mother, if the boy’s been hidden there, he’s probably …’

  ‘Dead?’

  The lantern was there, the stub of candle burned out. And his school bag. Ellie tugged at the rug and it flopped down over her hands, revealing a grubby small boy in a foetal position.

  Diana drew in her breath. ‘Oh, my God …’

  Ellie told herself she was not going to faint. There was a nasty dark stain on the rug around the boy’s body. Dried blood? He was wearing his school clothes, but there was no sign of his jacket. His clothing looked dishevelled, the buttons on his school blouse not done up correctly, as if someone else had dressed him in a hurry.

  I must keep calm. Dear Lord, help me to do the right thing.

  She felt for a pulse in his neck. ‘He’s alive. Phone for an ambulance.’

  Diana hissed something between her teeth and ran back up the garden path.

  ‘Oh, Tod.’ She must not cry.

  There was no movement from the bundle under the table. Gently she tried to pull him out by means of the rug. He didn’t resist. He wasn’t stiff. He was floppy, so he couldn’t be dead. But he didn’t open his eyes.

  Ellie began to pray aloud. ‘Dear Lord, don’t let him die. Tod, dearest, it’s all right now. I’m here. The ambulance is coming, any minute now. Just hold on, there’s a good boy …’

  Dear Lord, how could you let this happen to him? No, I know I ought not to question whether you know best, but … I can’t bear this. Dear little Tod. Such a bright light in my life. Yes, Lord, I know I’m being selfish, thinking only of myself, but he is a nice boy and … just save him, will you? And I promise I’ll …

  No, that’s stupid. No bargains. That’s not the way. I’m not thinking straight.

  She managed to pull Tod clear of the table and lift him into her arms. It wasn’t easy to do but she managed it, somehow. She held her cheek to his, feeling his cold skin gradually warming to hers. There was blood on his face from a head wound. As she moved him, fresh blood began to seep from deep cuts on his wrists, so he must be alive. Yes, he was still breathing, if shallowly. The rug was stiff with dried blood, as were his trousers. She didn’t want to think what had caused his injuries.

  Dear Lord, she prayed. If it is your will, let him live. Give him strength and courage to meet whatever is to come. Give us all strength and courage. We’re going to need it.

  There were more footsteps coming down the garden path. Not Diana, but her next-door neighbour, the teacher Armand. Sharp-voiced, foxyfaced, practical.

  ‘Ellie, are you there? I was just parking the car when your daughter shot out of the house screaming something about … oh, my God. Is he …?’

  ‘No. But in a bad way.’

  ‘Shall I take him off you?’

  ‘I’m keeping him warm. Besides, it doesn’t matter about my clothes, but you might get blood on your suit.’

  He hesitated, and then to his credit stooped down and took the boy from her.

  ‘He’s too heavy for you. I’ll carry him up to the top. We mustn’t waste any time getting him to hospital.’

  She let the boy go and as she did so, the tears came. Armand carried the boy gently up the slope.

  Ellie couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

  The knowledge of what was to come was too much for her to bear.

  The room wasn‘t used very often but when it was, you could understand why the windows had been closely sealed and the fireplace, too. The houses in that road were detached, set well apart in a pleasant neighbourhood to provide privacy for the fortunate owners. The back gardens were long and well fenced. Across the bottom of the gardens ran a tube line. No one walked their dogs that way, or kicked a football over into the garden by accident or on purpose.

  When dusk came, lights were switched on in the kitchen and sitting room of number thirty-four, as usual. Curtains were drawn. There was the scent of curry from the kitchen. Then the television was turned on until it was time for bed.

  There was absolutely nothing abnormal about all that.

  Only the stains on the wallpaper in the nursery told a different story.

  So it was a police matter again, but with a different slant. Tod lived. At least, his body did. His mind was another matter. On Thursday he opened and closed his eyes but didn’t respond in any other way. The doctors were wary. There’d been a blow to the head, they said, apart from the – er – other injuries, which had been stitched up. Tod was young and strong, yes. But they couldn’t say how soon he might become fully conscious.

  Mrs Coppola was hysterical. The police said that she and her son – if he lived – would be given counselling.

  Ellie wasn’t offered any counselling but definitely needed it. She reflected that it was all very well for people to come to her with their troubles – which they did – but when you were a strong person and needed help for yourself, you didn’t get it. She was distracted with worry about Tod and to add to her misery, Diana had brought baby Frank and decided to sleep over at Ellie’s. Diana said that there was a nasty smell of gas in the kitchen at the flat, and she couldn’t expose her little baby to such a dangerous situation. Anyway, said Diana, she was sure that Ellie would be glad of the company, with a homicidal maniac in the neighbourhood.

  The police cordoned off the shed as a crime scene, though Ellie pointed out that the keys were found in Tod’s pocket, so he must have locked up and then crawled through the window to hide. The police found blood on a corner of Ellie’s potting-shed table, where Tod must have struck his head while scrambling through the window. They took the table and the rug away for tests.

  The only bright spot on the horizon was that baby Frank’s babysitter was back on the job.

  Ellie was frantic to be quiet on her own in her own house. By the time she’d done the rounds of visits to Tod at the hospital, to a gradually recovering Aunt Drusilla and liaised with builders she was too tired to fight with Diana. So at night she threw some food together and washed up, agreed with whatever Diana said – more or less – and went to bed early. Though not to sleep well.

  By Friday morning Ellie had had enough. Diana’s husband Stewart would be coming south to join them that afternoon. Diana had said that naturally he would also expect to sleep at Ellie’s. Ellie liked her son-in-law well enough but if he were to move in, too, Diana’s temporary move might harden into a permanency. Just to get some peace and quiet, Ellie might find herself forced to leave. Fudge and fidget, it was her house and not Diana’s, wasn’t it?

  This was one problem too many so she rang the Gas Board and asked them to check out a possible leak at Diana’s – they could get a key from the managing agents in the Avenue – and to leave a message about it on her answerphone. That done, she arranged to meet an old friend up in town for the day.

  Liz Adams was the wife of the ex-vicar at St Thomas’ Church on the Green. An experienced cou
nsellor who worked with the victims of abuse and trauma, she’d been a tremendous comfort to Ellie when Frank died. Ellie had kept in touch with Liz and her husband after he’d been promoted to a larger parish on the other side of London, and every now and then Liz and Ellie enjoyed a day out together.

  Liz had also got a promotion to a better-paid job recently, so her grey hair was well cut and she wore a stylish trouser suit. Otherwise, she was the same dear old ‘horse-face’.

  They met at the Wallace Collection in Manchester Square, which had free entrance, superb pictures – Ellie usually skipped the armoury section

  – delightful restaurant facilities and excellent toilets.

  As they looked at the Flemish interior pictures, Ellie unburdened herself of her grief about Tod. ‘Do you know, I think I was a suspect for a time? It was my shed, my padlock, my garden. They worked it out that I’d no motive and wouldn’t have had time, anyway. By great good fortune I had an alibi all Monday afternoon and evening. That weird odd-job man was with me till dusk – I’ll have to tell you about him sometime, talk about “odd”, the word might have been invented for him – then Armand from next door took me to B&Q to choose some more tiles for the floor of the conservatory – my first choice was out of stock and of course he wanted to see what was available because he’s going to have a conservatory, too. Actually he was very helpful, and I did get some more tiles though they are not quite what I wanted. Then dear Rose came with me to the slide show and talk in the hall.’

  ‘Do you feel guilty about that?’ Ellie paused in front of a small picture of a woman sitting with her back to the viewer, looking into space. What was she thinking about, that still, quiet woman?

  She sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose I do. If I’d been at home he might have felt able to come and tell me what had happened. We’d have saved a day.’

  Liz pressed her arm. ‘What do the doctors say?’

  ‘They can repair the damage to his poor little body, though there may be scars. The bang on the head is another matter. He did come round but …’ She scrabbled for her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Liz! He’s not really “there” any more. His eyes are open some of the time, but he doesn’t seem to recognize us.’

  Liz moved away to examine a seascape. ‘It’s early days. Children are resilient.’

  ‘You of all people know better than that.’ Ellie blew her nose.

  Silence.

  Ellie mopped her eyes and turned to ask Liz why she hadn’t responded. Liz was staring at a painting of a lad with a cheeky grin on his face. There was a bright sheen of tears in her eyes.

  Liz said angrily, ‘His hair always stuck up at the back.’ She was not referring to the child in the picture.

  Ellie remembered with a jolt that Liz had had young Tod in her Sundayschool class. Liz had been fond of Tod, too.

  Ellie closed her eyes. She wanted to scream. She’d been depending on Liz to prop her up but it seemed that Liz wasn’t able to cope, either. Which meant that Ellie would have to ‘pick herself up, dust herself down, and start all over again’. By herself.

  She couldn’t do it. She wanted to burst into tears, lie down on the floor and weep herself insensible. She. Could. Not. Do. It.

  Yes, she could. If she made an enormous effort, she could control her own feelings and not batten on Liz.

  Ellie took a deep, calming breath, deliberately pushing her own tearing grief down and out of sight. Without speaking they moved on to another room, and stopped in front of a big canvas showing a celebration following the birth of a child. Here was a Flemish interior with people crowding around a table and a fireplace. They were toasting the father, proudly holding up the newborn baby.

  Only if you read it aright, there were clues to what the picture was really about. Broken eggshells, etcetera. Meaning broken virtue. The comely wife was smirking, her lover leaning over her shoulder to whisper in her ear, the husband holding up a baby who was probably not his.

  ‘Lucky they didn’t have DNA testing in those days, or there’d have been all hell to pay.’

  ‘Every picture tells a story.’

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud till Liz replied.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. I wonder if the husband ever found out. Was there any … on Tod, I mean …?’

  ‘Yes, if they find the man responsible they’ll be able to get a conviction.’

  ‘No suspects?’

  ‘No. Except … well, Mrs Dawes – remember our flower lady? I swear she had white roots to her hair showing on Sunday, but yesterday it was all black as jet again – anyway, she said there was a rumour that a paedophile’s been seen in the area, though no one seems to know who it is. Someone from the bail hostel the other side of the shops. I expect Mrs Dawes got that item of gossip from her lodger.’

  ‘Didn’t she take in a nephew of hers? No, wait a minute, he left some time ago, didn’t he?’

  ‘He went off to share a flat with some friends, so Mrs Dawes took in a poor sort of creature from the hostel instead.’

  ‘He’s not the paedophile?’

  Ellie had to smile at that. ‘Oh no. Not the sort.’

  ‘Hm? Sure about that? The unlikeliest people …’

  Ellie laughed. ‘Poor Gus. He told me “Gus” is short for “Gustave”. Anybody less like a “Gustave” … No, definitely not the sort.’

  ‘What’s your idea of a paedophile, then?’

  ‘Well, for a start, Gus is too old …’

  ‘That means nothing.’

  ‘Too frail, honestly. And he stank of those horrid hand-rolled cigarettes. Tod didn’t smell of cigarettes when we found him.’

  ‘Ah. Reasonable.’

  They passed on to eat in the restaurant. Pretty plates of unusual salads. Waiter service. A little too noisy to be entirely comfortable, but the glassedover courtyard was a delightful place in which to eat.

  Ellie struggled to finish her plateful. Struggled to maintain a bright manner.Talked about going to the National Gallery to see a newly opened exhibition. Talked about where she would like to go on holiday that year.

  Liz followed her lead. But when they were leaving, they passed back through the Flemish pictures again and Liz stopped short, looking up at that busy picture of celebration, with the husband holding up a child who was possibly not his own.

  Liz touched Ellie’s arm. ‘You said every picture tells a story.You’re good at that, Ellie. Reading the picture, I mean. Can’t you find out who did that awful thing to Tod?’

  Instinctively Ellie rejected any further responsibility. She laughed as if Liz had made a joke.

  Liz sighed, shaking her head. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’m no help to you today, am I?’

  ‘You’ve had to counsel all sorts in your time. What sort of man does that to a young boy?’

  ‘Paedophiles think sodomy is absolutely natural. The blow to the head, the damage inflicted on the boy – that’s not usual. Sometimes …’ she hesitated and then braced herself. ‘Sometimes they take photographs or even video their victims. Pass the evidence around, put it on the Internet even.’

  ‘Ugh! That’s creepy. Can you generalize what sort of man it might be, off the record?’

  ‘Off the record and in general terms … an older man, you’d be surprised how old sometimes. Usually a solitary sort of person. Quite often they’re unemployed because the pursuit of what they call their “hobby” takes up all their time. If Tod didn’t smell of cigarettes, did he smell of drink or aftershave?’

  Ellie closed her eyes and thought back. ‘He smelt faintly of chlorine from the baths. He’d been swimming just before. Someone – the man responsible I suppose – must have given him a lift afterwards. The police have interviewed the staff on duty at the swimming pool and talked to Tod’s friends, who’d all left earlier than him, apparently. The police are going to try again next Monday, see the regulars, you know.

  ‘Did Tod smell of anything unusual? Not that I can remember. It was twenty-four hours before we found him. He smelt of Midge, who often
sleeps on the rug Tod had wrapped around himself. And potting compost, dust and spiders.’

  ‘Do spiders smell?’

  They both smiled. Leaving the gallery, Ellie looked back at the picture of the quiet girl, sitting with her back to them, gazing at … what? ‘I wonder if she was praying, or just accepting whatever life had in store for her?’

  ‘Ah, acceptance. The secret of a contented life?’

  The two women embraced at the tube station.

  ‘Love to your dear husband,’ said Ellie, remembering their former vicar with fondness and respect.

  ‘I’ve not been much help to you today, have I?’ said Liz. ‘Gilbert will want to know the latest. He was fond of Tod, too. Ring us when you hear anything?’

  ‘Promise.’

  One went east, and the other went west. Ellie shuddered, trying to face the immediate future … Tod, Aunt Drusilla, Diana …

  She would put off going home for a bit, by doing her sick visiting on the way.

  Ellie sat by Tod’s bedside, holding his hand in hers. They’d shaved part of his head to treat the gash on it and he looked a proper little wounded soldier. It also looked to her as if he’d lost weight. He was hooked up to a Walkman – his mother’s idea – but though it was playing loudly enough for Ellie to hear the scratchy beat, his eyes were still unfocused. Ellie wondered why his mother hadn’t brought his toy panda. It might have been more comfort to him.

  She turned down the volume on the Walkman and stroked the back of his hand. ‘What say I get you a brand-new Playstation? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Or would you prefer a new PC with access to the Internet? You can play a raft of games on it, but also use it for finding out things, for school, homework … generally play around with it?’

  Not a flicker of interest.

  ‘The builders have nearly finished my conservatory. I’m having a water feature inside, a trickling sort of fountain for soothing background. I couldn’t get the tiles I originally wanted for the flooring – you remember helping me to pick some out of the catalogue? Well, they were out of stock so Armand helped me to get some others. I thought they weren’t quite as nice at first, but I’m growing to like them …’