by Shaun Hutson
Valerie Weston swept her short brown hair away from her forehead in a gesture that implied habit rather than necessity.
A nervous habit perhaps.
At the moment she had plenty to be nervous about.
Juliana Procon chewed the end of her pen, her eyes fixed on a sheaf of papers spread before her. There were drawings on some of them. She swallowed hard and pushed one of the drawings out of sight beneath more paper, her attention drawn towards the head of the table where Maria Goldman coughed, kept her hand over her mouth for a moment, then finally raised her gaze to look at her companions. She could feel the beginnings of a headache gnawing at the base of her skull.
It was almost 1.46 p.m.
It had already been a long day and she feared there was much more to come.
She took a sip of coffee, wincing when she found it was cold; then she cleared her throat again and glanced around the table at the other women.
She found it hard to disguise the weary look on her face.
1 thought it best to call a break,’ Maria said, looking at her colleagues. ‘I think we all need it.’
Nikki Parsons nodded, her hand still shaking slightly.
‘I wondered if anyone had any comments to make before we examine the first set of statements,’ Maria continued.
The women seemed reluctant to speak, but it was Janice Hedden who finally broke the uneasy silence.
‘How many more children are there to interview?’
‘Eight,’ Maria told her.
‘Same age range?’
Maria nodded.
‘The ones I spoke to seemed very afraid’ Janice continued. ‘Mainly that they weren’t going to see their parents again. The younger ones in particular.’
‘That’s only natural’ Maria said.
‘It seems to be about the only thing concerned with this case that is’ Val Weston offered.
‘I’ve never seen or heard anything like it’ Nikki Parsons echoed, her voice
low.
‘Do you think any of them are lying?’ Maria asked.
‘It’s possible, but most of the stories seem too complex to have been invented’ Nikki continued. ‘Especially by children so young.’
‘Janice, you said the children you spoke to seemed afraid’ Juliana interjected. ‘I noticed that too, but not so much afraid of their parents as of …’ she shrugged, struggling to find the words. ‘Of what might happen to their parents. They didn’t seem afraid for themselves, just puzzled by what had happened to them.’
‘Some of them spoke out without too much prompting’ Val Weston said. ‘The others were difficult, some still haven’t spoken.’
‘Any physical evidence of abuse?’ Maria wanted to know.
‘On two of them’ said Nikki.
‘One’ Janice added.
‘Three of them I interviewed’ Juliana said.
‘Val? What about yours?’ Maria asked.
‘Just the odd scratch or bruise’ Val Weston said.
‘I saw one boy who was scarred quite badly’ Maria confessed. ‘He told me how it happened but he wouldn’t show me the injuries below his waist.’ She swallowed hard. ‘He said that a stick had been pushed into his bottom, that it was painful when he went to the toilet.’
‘When’s the doctor arriving?’ Nikki asked.
‘He’s here now’ Maria replied. ‘He’s examining all of the children.’
‘A three-year-old boy and a six-year-old girl I spoke to reported having objects pushed into them’ Val added. ‘The girl drew that when I asked her to describe the object.’
Val pushed a piece of paper towards Maria.
On it was a cylindrical object scrawled in red crayon, round tipped and about six inches long.
Maria nodded slowly.
‘There were no physical signs, though,’ Val continued.
‘And you’re all sure that none of the children had a chance to speak to each other before you interviewed them?’ said Maria, looking at the other women.
‘There’s no way they could have worked out stories between them?’
The others shook their heads.
‘All right’ Maria said, wearily. ‘We’ll look at the statements now. I’ll start.’ She lifted the top sheet from the pile of papers at her left elbow and scanned it, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘This is from a four-year-old, Alex Cutler.’ She traced the words with the tip of her finger as she read: ‘“They make you stand in a circle and they laugh at you and sometimes I cried but then some more uncles and aunts come and they put the baby on the floor and then everyone walks around with their arms up and they shout. And you can see their willies. And then one of my uncles jumped on the baby.”’
‘Aunts and uncles,’ murmured Nikki. ‘The children I spoke to called them that.’
‘It’s common. The abusers make the children feel as if they’re some kind of extended family members. Aunts and uncles covers a multitude of sins,’ said Maria, cryptically. In more ways than one.’
She flipped through the sheaf of papers before her.
‘This is from a six-year-old’ she said, sucking in a tired breath. ‘“I loved my puppy but they killed it. They cut off its head and put the blood in a cup.”’
‘“Sometimes they used animals and they stuck a knife in them and then they put the blood in a jug’” Nikki read, holding a piece of paper before her.
‘“They stick swords in the cats and kill them and they made me drink the blood,”’ Janice added.
Maria ran a hand through her hair and sat back in her seat.
‘Nearly every statement mentions the killing of animals,’ she murmured.
‘Not the usual paedophile pursuit, is it?’ Juliana offered.
Maria shook her head.
‘Why animals?’ Janice asked.
Maria had no answer. She had her eyes fixed on the sheet of paper in front of her, the drawing on it.
‘The children I spoke to mentioned cameras’ Val Weston said. ‘That one of the uncles always had a camera, that he was taking pictures of them when they had no clothes on.’
‘I saw one of those video cameras taking pictures of the baby’ Juliana read.
‘They made me touch Uncle Paul’s willy. I had to put my hands on it and he put it in my mouth and it tasted funny and they took photos’” said Nikki, quietly.
‘That statement is from a six-year-old boy.’ Her jaws were clenched tightly together, the knot of muscles there pulsing angrily.
‘We’ll finish interviewing the other children today,’ Maria told her colleagues. ‘Once we’ve been through all the statements and I’ve got the medical reports from the doctor, we’ll run through what we’ve got again.’
‘I would have thought it was obvious what we’ve got, Maria,’ Nikki said, scathingly. ‘A paedophile ring. How much proof do you need?’
Maria Goldman kept her gaze fixed on the sheet of paper before her, eyes tracing the outlines of the shape which had been drawn there.
‘I have no doubt that you’re right, Nikki’ she said, touching the scrawled image with her finger. ‘I just hope that’s all we’ve got.’
As she looked at what had been drawn on the paper, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Fifty-four
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ said Frank Reed, a broad smile spreading across his face.
Cath raised her eyebrows as she slipped inside his office and smiled back.
‘I thought you’d have been out gathering information for some Pulitzer Prize-winning article’ Reed chuckled, offering her a seat.
‘Not quite, Frank’ she answered, accepting it. ‘But this isn’t a social call.
I need your help on something.’
‘So, what else is new?’
‘You’ve seen the papers this morning? The news?’
‘The police raids, you mean?’
She nodded.
‘I didn’t expect things to go quite this far’ he said, softly.
‘Jesus, Frank, what did you think was going to happen? You scream child abuse and it warrants more than a few polite enquiries by the neighbourhood bobby on the beat.’
‘I heard somewhere they’d raided twenty-three houses.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Cath, what I did, I did for the good of those children. It had to be reported. What the hell was I supposed to do, sit around and let it just happen?’ he said, challengingly. ‘Anyway, what’s your problem? It’s given you something to write about, hasn’t it?’
‘Look, take it easy, I’m on your side, right?’
He sat back in his seat, glancing out of his office window. There was a group of children crossing the playground, chattering loudly until the teacher leading them called for silence.
‘So, what can I do to help?’ Reed said, finally.
Cath reached into her handbag and pulled out the computer print-out which had spent most of that morning stuffed into her glove compartment. She stood up and walked around the desk so that she was standing next to her brother; then she laid the print-out down before him, smoothing out the creases as best she could.
‘It’s a list of the families whose houses were raided this morning’ she told him. ‘I want to know how many of the kids go to school here.’
Reed looked up at Cath, then at the print-out.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘I’m looking for links, Frank, anything that ties these cases together.’
He spotted one name immediately.
Paul O’Brian.
Reed jabbed a finger at it.
‘I know. I’ve already been there this morning. The parents, well, the father at any rate, wasn’t very cooperative’ she informed him.
Reed studied the list.
He pointed to another name.
‘What about the address?’ said Cath.
The door to Reed’s office opened unexpectedly and both he and Cath watched as Noel Hardy entered.
The Headmaster glared at Cath, then at her brother, paused in the doorway a moment, then slammed the door behind him and strode across to the desk.
‘Haven’t we had enough of the press already today?’ the older man said, acidly.
T hate to tell you, Mr …’
‘Hardy’ the older man snapped. ‘In case your brother hadn’t told you, I’m the Headmaster here. This is my school. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.’
‘You said that other members of the press had been here today. I think I’m entitled to the same courtesy you may have extended to them’ Cath said, officiously.
‘There was no courtesy extended to any of them’ Hardy assured her. ‘But I’ll give you the same statement I gave the rest of them. No comment.’
‘A number of the children taken into care attended your school,’ Cath informed him. ‘Doesn’t that bother you?’
‘Are you trying to infer that the school is somehow to blame for what has happened to these children?’
‘I’m not trying to infer anything, Mr Hardy, but if you’re worried that inference might be attached to yourself or your school…’ She allowed the sentence to trail off.
‘I knew nothing of this …’
‘Abuse’ Cath said, with an air of finality.
‘Nothing’s been proved yet,’ the Headmaster reminded her.
‘Come on, Noel’ snapped Reed. ‘You know what’s going on here. We all do.’
‘I warned you,’ Hardy snapped, angrily. ‘I said that if this was reported it could damage the reputation of the school, whether you were right or wrong.’
‘So what matters more to you?’ Reed wanted to know. ‘The welfare of the children or the reputation of the school?’
‘I have to take into consideration the damage this publicity could do to St Michael’s,’ said Hardy.
‘What about the damage that’s already been done to those kids?’ snapped Reed.
‘That’s nothing to do with this school.’
‘Then why worry about it?’ Cath interjected. ‘It’s not you or your school that’s on trial, Mr Hardy. I’m just looking for the facts.’
‘Journalists’ clichĂŠ number one’ Hardy snorted, as he moved towards the door.
‘Look, I didn’t come here to see you, I came to see my brother’ Cath said, irritably.
Hardy opened the office door and let it swing wide.
‘Then do it somewhere else,’ he said, angrily. ‘If you’re not off these premises in thirty seconds I’ll call the police.’
Cath shrugged, gathered up the computer print-out and pushed it back into her handbag.
‘Nice to see you again, Mr Hardy’ she said flatly, as she reached the door.
Then, turning to her brother ‘I’ll speak to you later, Frank.’
Hardy slammed the door behind her.
‘You can’t run away from this, Noel’ Reed told him.
‘I’m trying to protect this school.’
‘And I was trying to protect those kids.’
Hardy turned to leave, pausing in the doorway briefly. ‘Perhaps you should start thinking about your own job’ he said menacingly.
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m just protecting the school’ Hardy snapped then he was gone, the door
slamming behind him.
Reed sat back in his chair, exhaled deeply then looked down at the phone.
He waited a moment, then dialled.
Fifty-five
Dorothy Talbot sipped at her tea, then carefully replaced the cup and saucer on the table close to her, the china rattling.
James Talbot shot out a hand to steady the cup, fearing it would overbalance, but he withdrew it just as suddenly when he saw his mother push the cup further onto the table.
‘It’s all right, Jim, I can manage,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m not a cripple, you know.’
No. You’re just dying of cancer.
They were the only two people in the day room at Litton Vale. The other residents, or a party of twenty of them, had been driven in to the West End to see a film. Dorothy couldn’t remember the title but she hadn’t fancied it.
Some Victorian-based thing, she’d said.
‘You should have gone, Mum’ Talbot said. ‘You might have enjoyed it.’
She shook her head.
‘It didn’t sound very exciting,’ she told him. ‘Anyway, you know me, I like a good Western. Like the ones I used to take you to see when you were little.’
Talbot tried to hold her gaze but found that he couldn’t.
Guilt, perhaps ?
‘You took me to see all sorts,’ he said, chuckling as brightly as he could.
‘We saw Planet of the Apes four times when I was ten. You hated it, I remember you saying. But you still went back with me.’
She reached out and touched his hand.
‘What’s wrong, Jim?’
Could she read his fucking mind too? See inside him?
He forced himself to look at her, noticing that she looked pale, a little drawn around the eyes.
He thought about asking her if she was in pain.
‘There’s nothing wrong,’ he lied.
‘Is it work?’ she persisted. ‘You should try and get a rest, and I bet you’re not getting enough sleep.’
‘Mum, I’m fine, you’re the one who’s ill …’ The sentence trailed off.
She squeezed his hand more tightly, gripped it with surprising strength.
He met her gaze and held it.
‘Jim, I don’t want to die in here,’ she whispered.
‘Mum, you’re not going to die.’
‘Doctor Hodges told me how far advanced the cancer is.’
‘You’re not going to die’ he said, angrily, as if his fury would somehow reprieve her.
But you know she is.
‘These bloody doctors they don’t know shit,’ he snapped.
‘Just don’t let me die in here, that’s all I ask.’
He could face her no longer.
/>
Talbot got to his feet and walked across the day room, looking out into the immaculately kept gardens beyond. The sun was shining. He could hear birds singing.
It was a beautiful day.
Yeah, fucking brilliant.
He cleared his throat but didn’t turn to face her.
‘Have they given you anything?’
‘I take some tablets, I can’t remember what they’re called,’ she informed him.
‘I’m not even sure what they do. Doctor Hodges did tell me but I can’t remember.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘I think I’m going senile as well.’
‘Are you in pain?’
There, now you’ve said it.
‘No.’
‘You wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?’
He turned to face her, saw she was sipping at her tea again. As he looked at her, Talbot felt more helpless than
he had ever done in his life. Helpless to ease her pain, helpless to comfort her.
How often did she help you?
He walked back and sat down beside her.
‘I’ve been reading in the newspapers about those children,’ she told him.
‘Isn’t it terrible? It made me think about what your father did. How he hurt you.’
‘Forget it, Mum. That’s in the past.’
‘But it never goes away, does it, Jim? The memories never go. I hated him for what he did to you. I hated myself for not stopping him.’
‘You tried. Every time you tried.’
‘I should have killed him. After the first time he did it to you I should have killed him.’
He saw her eyes misting over.
‘I didn’t even have the guts to leave him,’ she said, softly. ‘To take you away from him.’ She gripped his hand. ‘Jim, I’m sorry.’
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Jesus Christ, Mum, you’re not the one who should be sorry,’ he told her, watching as she wiped the tear away with a hankie.
It should be me. For putting you in this fucking place.
As she shifted position in her chair he saw a flicker of pain on her face.
‘Are you OK?’ Talbot asked.
She smiled and nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘All I’m asking is that you let me come home, Jim,’ she pleaded quietly.
He sucked in a breath and got to his feet.
