by Jennie Finch
Lauren screwed up her sandwich paper and lobbed it into the bin. ‘Well, I don’t think he did it and if the police can’t see that maybe we should try to find out ourselves. We can’t just abandon the lad. He won’t stand a chance in prison.’
Alex peered at her second sandwich, sniffed it and decided not to bother.
‘I don’t know. It’s not exactly my job. I wouldn’t know where to start.’
Lauren slid off the chair, excited at the prospect of a new challenge.
‘Come on, we’ve got to try. Someone probably saw him out on the riverbank for a start. We could ask around. What harm can it do?’
‘That may be how they do things in London,’ said Garry Wilkins, putting a sneer into the name of the capital city, ‘but it is not acceptable behaviour in Somerset.’
Alex sat in front of her Senior’s desk and nodded. She had long ago decided silence was the best response with Garry. He worked himself up into quite a state if contradicted and tended to take his anger out on the team at random.
‘Brawling in the waiting room! We’re lucky you’re not being accused of assault. What were you thinking?’
Alex tried to look contrite and waited until Garry started again. It was obvious he had no interest at all in what she might have been thinking.
‘God, the people we appoint. You don’t know the area, you don’t know the job, the way you dress – and that terrible old car of yours.’
Alex struggled with the temptation to point out she couldn’t afford a better car after five years at university and she always wore a skirt (reluctantly) into court. Besides which, as she said to Lauren later, taking a new car into some of the areas she had to visit was just asking for trouble.
She wandered down to the front office, still smarting with the injustice of it all. To her surprise, Pauline, the senior administrator, opened the door and invited her in to the back office tea-room, a rare honour. Lauren and Pauline brewed fresh coffee and sat her down whilst the other office women smiled and greeted her like an old friend. When Garry rang down demanding to know where she was, she heard Pauline offering a vague story relating to an emergency call-out necessitating her absence for the afternoon.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Lauren. ‘He’s been losing it for a while now. That’s why there’s so many new staff coming in. No-one wants to stay for long and he moved half the experienced people out into other offices. He thought they were undermining his authority.’
‘Glad it’s not just me then,’ mumbled Alex. The remark about not knowing the job had stung her. She’d left a secure job in the civil service to follow her dream of becoming a probation officer. After three years at university she’d got a degree in social science and she’d spent two more years getting her qualification. A whole year of that had been working on placement in hostels, offices and court buildings. Lauren shook her head at her.
‘It’s our job to teach you what you really need to know,’ she said. ‘You may know the book stuff but no-one comes here able to organize a case-load. You got no idea how to address the local court when you need to breach someone, your paperwork is a terrible mess and half of you don’t keep proper records. The first year we take one officer each and try to beat you into shape.’
Alex was rendered speechless for a moment, but if she was being honest she suspected there was considerable truth in Lauren’s words. The administrators were overworked, undervalued and poorly paid compared to the probation officers but they knew everyone, always had the correct files to hand and seemed to handle the sad and sometimes aggressive procession of clients with tact, humour and considerable skill. Without Lauren, she reflected, she would have crashed and burned in her first week.
She looked around the office with more attention, noting the speed and efficiency of the activity. The women rarely stopped for a chat yet they were good humoured and relaxed in their competence. Lauren was watching her and suddenly grinned.
‘Yep, you get it. Lots of you don’t, however long you’re here. Just don’t let Garry see you behaving towards us as if we’re real people. Seems it offends his sense of importance.’
‘And, off the record now,’ added Pauline, ‘you watch him. He’s been known to make rather strange decisions, especially if he thinks someone’s a bit of a challenge. So you check with Lauren or me if you’re not sure of anything. Now, you go off and get that old car of yours out of the car park before he spots it.’
‘What about work?’
Lauren held up a form. ‘Is already being logged. You’ve been very busy this afternoon, doing your job somewhere else. Why don’t you go see Ada Mallory, see if Kevin was teamed up with anyone else that night? I reckon he must’ve seen someone else on the river. Maybe someone can give him an alibi.’
On the way out she passed Gordon, damp cloth in hand, scrubbing at the back seat of his car and received a vague wave in acknowledgment of her greeting. Stung by his attitude she drove off feeling almost surplus to requirements once more.
It was abominably hot in the Mallory’s front room. The windows were closed against the fresh spring air, the fire was roaring in the hearth and the whole room was crowded with furniture, ornaments and dogs. Clothes were scattered across most surfaces and there was a layer of animal hair on the sofa where Alex perched after Mrs Mallory had swept a pile of grey underclothes on to the floor to make space. One large and overly affectionate dog of indeterminate breed lay across the rest of the couch, inching its head towards her as she reluctantly accepted a biscuit to go with her dark, stewed tea. She declined the offer of sugar after seeing the bowl with its mix of lumpy white granules and unidentified black specks. Ada Mallory settled her ample self in an armchair, pulled her bright pink cardigan around her shoulders and sighed heavily.
‘My poor boy, he’s no killer. Half the time he don’t even kill them fish proper. They was still moving around when they police gets there. I ask yer, how comes there’s no blood on him then ’cepting that bit on his shoes? They said he’s washed it off but I know they can tell now even after washing. And to be honest, he’s not a great one for that is Kev. He was still all muddy from that fishing.’
Alex nodded sympathetically and nibbled at her biscuit. It was very old and very stale. She tried a sip of tea to wash away the taste and wished she hadn’t. Clearing her throat as she tried to marshal a suitable response she glanced at Ada and suddenly realized she was crying. Great fat tears rolled down her face and fell into her tea cup. Alex put her own cup on the floor and reached out to steady the woman’s shaking hands.
‘’Tis not right! My poor little lad, they knows it’s not him but they’ve got him now. Don’t reckon we’ll stand no chance of getting him back. He hates bein’ inside. Always out in all weathers he is. He’s not got no chance locked up with them evil men.’ She sobbed, sniffed loudly and sobbed again.
‘And I can’t even go see him. ’Tis so far, Bristol. There’s no bus nor nothing!’ She finished with a wail.
Alex fumbled in her case and pulled out one rather crumpled tissue. Mrs Mallory took this feeble offering, soaking it with one huge blast from her nose. Note to self, thought Alex, get better tissues. She felt something nudge her leg and flinched as another dog, a long haired lurcher speckled in grey and tan leaned on her foot, mouth open to steal the biscuit she had left on her saucer.
‘So I ended up offering her a lift when I go up to see him,’ she admitted to Lauren the next morning. Lauren threw her a look of withering scorn.
‘Now how do you suppose she’s going to get in without a visiting order? Kevin can’t read you know, so he don’t send them out.’
‘Oh shit, I didn’t think of that. How does she usually manage?’
Lauren sighed and pointed to a row of folders on a shelf by the window.
‘The tacky green one on the right,’ she said.
Alex reached up and took the folder. It was labelled ‘KM: VO’, and inside was a bundle of form letters, neatly typed and signed, requesting a visit with
Kevin. Lauren held out her hand and took a blank form.
‘He’s in Bristol isn’t he – right. What day you planning to go?’ She typed in the details, addressed an envelope and flipped the finished letter into the post tray.
‘Now you have to go back and tell her to expect the order,’ she instructed. ‘The Mallorys have a nasty habit of burning anything official looking as soon as it lands through their door.’
Alex groaned. She was already heartily sick of the Levels and still could not find her way out from that eerie, flat landscape. She knew one road – and it was only wide enough for one car. Once again she had driven straight on from her visit to Mrs Mallory, emerging somewhere near Glastonbury.
‘Isn’t there a map or something,’ she asked. Pauline looked up and laughed at this.
‘There’s a map, sure. We call it the “Edgar”, but you’re welcome to a copy if you want.’
‘Edgar?’
‘For Edgar Allan Poe,’ said Lauren. ‘You know, “Tales of Mystery and Imagination”.’
‘More like “The House of Usher”, out there,’ commented Paul Malcolm, leaning over the counter. ‘Hi Alex, how’s it going with Brian?’
Alex was working frantically, trying to finish up her notes from her day in court when a call came through summoning her to Garry’s office. He gave her an approving glance as she knocked and entered.
‘That’s much better,’ he commented taking in her skirt, blouse and jacket. ‘That’s how a probation officer should dress.’
‘Just the women though,’ said Alex, and regretted it the instant the words left her mouth. Garry frowned.
‘Of course, just the women. What are you implying?’
‘Sorry, nothing. Nothing – it was just a bit of a joke Garry.’
Her Senior did not seem to find it very funny and continued to frown in her direction.
‘Well, I suppose you have different ideas, coming from London.’ Again the sneer in his voice. ‘But I hope you will settle down soon and start to do things our way.’
He reached into his desk and pulled out a pile of folders, thrusting them over the desk at her.
‘You’ve been here six months now, seven I think it is, so we will be increasing your case-load until you reach the norm. As you know, we try to break new officers in gently.’
Alex took the files and tried to hide her dismay. She was already struggling to cope with the twenty or so probationers allotted to her, especially as she was now on the court rota and expected to attend, suitably dressed of course, for one full day a week.
‘There are a few old hands in there – see what you can do with them but don’t get your hopes up,’ said Garry, waving his hand in dismissal. ‘Oh yes, and a transfer from Exeter office. We’ve no details yet but there’s an address. I’d like you to make contact with him at once. Thank you.’
He had turned his attention back to his desk before she reached the door leaving her to struggle with the folders and the handle, which was sticking as usual. One of the joys of an old and poorly converted building she had decided.
Well, that was not one of his best pep-talks she thought as she hurried back to her room. He really should work on his motivational skills. She dropped the folders on her desk, sank into her chair and surrendered to the misery that flooded over her. Lauren found her, damp eyed and hunched behind the desk, having failed to get an answer on the internal phone.
‘It’s too soon to expect you to carry a full case-load,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to have a year before you build up to that. What’s he given you?’ She rummaged through the files sorting them into three piles as she went.
‘Hopeless cases,’ said Lauren tapping the first stack. ‘Give them a month with weekly calls and take ’em back to court. No point in wasting time ’cos they’re not going to attend and they’ve probably already breached their parole. They’ve just not been caught yet.’
She turned to the second pile. ‘These are your real work. Mainly young lads on first or second offence, a few come up from Social Service nannying like Brian.’ She caught sight of Alex’s face. ‘They not all like Brian, you know. And actually I do think you’re doing him some good. He’s been quite polite since you had a little word with him and he’s actually come in almost sober a couple of times.’
She turned her attention to the last folder. ‘This ‘ent right,’ she said, opening it to show a single piece of paper with a note attached. ‘This is supposed to be a transfer, some bloke from Exeter out on licence from Dartmoor, but there’s nothing but a name, address and this scrawly old signature. It’s not even on proper paper so I can’t tell which office it’s from.’
Alex took the page and examined it. There was a name – Andrew Michael Hinton – and an address she did not recognize. Someone had scribbled something at the bottom which looked like ‘Agg B. P/L?’ She couldn’t make it out properly as there was a bold, clear stamp across it saying ‘TRANSFER TO: with ‘Highpoint’ written in pencil.
‘I’m not sure you should just go out there,’ said Lauren. ‘’Tis out on the Levels, way past the Mallorys’ place. Used to be Ada’s family home, way back. I thought it’d fallen down years back. Maybe you should get him to visit first. We don’t even know what he was in for, nor how long he got.’
Alex knew she was right, but Garry had practically ordered her to see this Andrew Hinton as soon as possible and she was reluctant to question his instructions any further.
‘I’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘I worked shifts in some of the nastiest hostels in London. I know how to take care of myself and how to avoid trouble.’
Lauren looked unconvinced. ‘Well you go during the day and let us know when so we can check you’s back safe,’ she said. ‘I don’t like it. I don’t think he should be sending a woman out there alone at all.’
The assumption that she was somehow weaker, more vulnerable than her male colleagues, coming straight after Garry’s comments on her ‘unsuitable appearance’, drove all the sense from Alex’s head. She was sick of people telling her this was not a job for a woman. She’d had enough of that whilst training and still heard it from her family when she phoned home every week.
‘Rubbish,’ she said angrily. ‘I’ll pop out this evening. I’ve got my map and I want to get this sorted at once. Thank you Lauren.’
Lauren stood up, stung by her tone, and walked to the door. She stopped and turned but Alex glared at her and said, ‘Thank you Lauren. Good night.’
Lauren shrugged and left, leaving Alex feeling more miserable than ever, guilty and slightly apprehensive. She looked out of the window and saw clouds gathering in the distance. Well, there was nothing for it, she had to go or lose face entirely. She would apologize in the morning, she thought, as she watched Lauren climb into her specially modified car and drive away into the gathering gloom. There was no time to go home and change either, she realized, cursing her own temper. Stamping on the clutch and banging the gear stick she set off to meet this mysterious new parolee as the rain began to fall around her.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t sure why he’d come back to this place. Sure, he had some good memories – holidays and sunny times when he’d been a kid, the early years with the warmth of a family and times spent with his sweetheart in this front room or the little garden out the back. Still, it was not a good idea going back to places where he was known. It was just he didn’t have many choices in his life now. This was the only place he could think of where he might get some news, call in a few favours. He was supposed to be Andrew Michael Hinton, but as soon as he got the bad news about his health he knew he had to be Kevin’s dad, at least this once in his life.
He stared out of the window and scowled at the clouds mounting into grey, sullen hills on the horizon. He hated the rain, hated being cold and he’d been cold a lot of the time recently. Dartmoor was a dour and bleak place for those confined within the walls of the Victorian prison. He turned from the window and searched the ceiling, trying to locate the
source of a steady dripping sound. The cottage was in a poor state of repair and the roof was leaking. There was a movement outside and his attention fixed on the muddy track leading to the cottage’s front door. A battered blue motorcar turned in and wallowed slowly over the potholes towards him. He knew who it was before she got out of the car. Alex’s eccentric Citroën was already a standing joke in local criminal circles.
Alex slid to a halt some way from the front door and leaned back into the seat cushions. Despite being only too familiar there was still something slightly unsettling about the slow descent of the car body as the suspension deflated. For months she had fought the urge to get out and check the car was clear of the wheels before moving off and several younger probationers had taken to hanging around the car park first thing in the morning or in the evening to watch her arrive or drive off. That showed you how little there was to keep them entertained she thought grimly as she opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Her left foot landed in a pothole, the water oozing into her impractical ‘court’ shoes.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ she muttered to herself as she tried to twist free of the clinging mud without falling face first into the surrounding ooze. She pulled herself upright, slammed the car door shut and staggered up to the cottage door. Actually ‘cottage’ was a rather flattering description, she decided. Several windows were boarded up, the roof sagged alarmingly on one side and the brickwork surrounding the front door was crumbling away. One good shove, she thought, and the whole front would cave in. She tapped on the filthy glass, one eye on the porch balanced precariously over her head. There was no response and as she stepped back she noted there was no smoke from the chimney or light inside any of the rooms. She really ought to check the back, just in case, she thought, as the rain trickled down her neck, but the brambles and nettles crowding the old wooden gate off to the side decided her. The first call was made, there was no-one there and she could come back later when she was dressed for the task.
