by H K Thompson
The name rang bells in Ann McKenzie’s memory. This had to be the Stephen Dawson and the Irene Dawson who were the brother and mother of Tess Dawson, the woman who had brought the dead child into a police station. She said:
“I know the younger sister, I think. It must be her. She was admitted to a special unit near here in July. Hers is a strange story too. So how do we come to be involved here?”
“There’s the thing,” said Alun Davies. “The cottage was a terrible mess when we entered. Everything had been turned upside down and there was a lot of blood. Some was older blood, perhaps a day or two, and some was very new blood. Most of it came from Stephen Dawson. I should say that the postman found the body. He’d found the door open and called. There was, of course, no answer and he could see the chaos inside. When he went in to see what was going on he found Dawson in a terrible mess in the kitchen and very dead. The thing is, when we carried out our detailed forensic examination of the cottage we found, as I say, mostly Stephen Dawson’s blood. But there were other traces too. Some was from one other person who is, as yet, unidentified, and they were probably cut or scratched during some kind of struggle or fight that must have taken place. But what we also found was a trace of another type of blood. When we tested it we found that it had to belong to a female sibling of Dawson. There was also at least one other set of fingerprints, apart from Stephen Dawson’s. When we checked them out they belonged to Tess Dawson. Irene Dawson confirmed that Tess Dawson is Stephen’s sister and that she is here in your area at a place called Wellbridge House. Hence, my being here. We have to find out why she was there at or around the time of the murder and what she might know about the events leading up to it.” He paused and looked at Ann McKenzie. “She is a suspect at the moment.”
“I see,” she said, after a few moments. “This means that you’ll want to questionher.” She paused and then said: “That’ll be difficult.”
“Why difficult?”
“What do you know about why Tess Dawson is in a secure psychiatric unit?” she asked.
“We gathered from Irene Dawson that she had a child who had died in suspicious circumstances and that Tess Dawson was sent to the unit because she wouldn’t say how the child had died and she’d hidden the body for several years.”
“That’s correct. But the other reason she was sent to the unit at Wellbridge House rather than to prison was because she would never talk about what had happened. And she never has. Not a word. But she’s just begun therapy at the unit. I keep in touch with her progress. There’s a therapist who’s working with her now and at some point we hope that she may talk about what actually happened with the dead baby. Then again she may never. But this new development is a bit of a problem because it puts us up against Tess’s unwillingness or inability to speak. Finding her blood at the scene of her brother’s murder will put the cat amongst the pigeons. I’m thinking particularly of the Director of Wellbridge House who will have to be told about this. He is not the most sensitive of men except when it comes to his reputation. He’s going to get very excited and that won’t help Tess.”
“It’ll have to be done, I’m afraid. She’ll have to be questioned about her presence at the scene.” He sat and thought to himself for some moments. “But given what you’ve told me, what I could do is to let you have a copy of the file and for you to do an initial interview as you know her and the situation is complicated. Would you be prepared to do that? I’d very much appreciate it. She may have information that could throw light on the circumstances of Stephen Dawson’s death, which we could really do with. So far we’ve had no success in finding who killed him. We want to know why she was there.”
Ann McKenzie thought for a moment, scanning the surface of her desk with distracted attention. Perhaps she could put the empathy she felt for Tess Dawson to further good use. But first she would have to approach Peter Archer. That was the part she did not anticipate with any enthusiasm.
“Yes, I’ll do it, of course,” she said. “Let me have the file and I’ll make an initial approach to the Director on the basis of what you’ve told me. I’ll do it tomorrow and clear some time in the diary to visit him. I’ll also have a word informally with Evelyn Doyle, her therapist, to forewarn her.”
Alun Davies thanked her, handed her his contact information and promised the file within the week. All that remained for Ann McKenzie to do was to prepare herself for the approach to Peter Archer. But first she would phone Evelyn Doyle.
*
Ann McKenzie phoned Evelyn Doyle later that day, got her answering service on her office number and asked her to return her call as soon as she could. Evelyn Doyle called between sessions and the two arranged to meet for a drink at The Crown that evening. They agreed to meet in the lounge bar. It was quieter and the tables were spaced well apart.
Evelyn Doyle left Wellbridge House at 6.30pm making as sure as possible not to bump in to Peter Archer. The Director had been patrolling the unit all afternoon, asking questions of the staff, holding conversations. He had days when he would pay close attention to what went on in the unit, to the scheduled events and classes, to the staff meetings, liaisons and handings-over that took place as shifts changed, tired staff went off duty and new staff took over their responsibilities. Both staff and residents disliked this over-zealous attentiveness.
Evelyn climbed into her car, took her usual three deep breaths that signalled the finish of the working day, and started the engine. She looked forward to her meeting with Ann McKenzie. They had met at two or three liaison meetings, Evelyn Doyle on behalf of Wellbridge House and Ann McKenzie on behalf of the Police Special Cases Unit. They had hit it off. This latter unit had been set up to deal with unusual cases that did not follow the usual routes through the Criminal Justice System, cases that were marked out by atypical and exceptional circumstances and aspects that warranted special treatment. Tess Dawson’s case had been one such case and there were, in fact, three residents at Wellbridge House who had come to the unit via this route. The two women had established a good professional relationship and had met once or twice socially over lunch. They had discovered a rapport and an easy companionship that both enjoyed.
Evelyn Doyle arrived ten minutes early and was seated with her drink in an alcove in the bar when Ann McKenzie entered and looked around, scanning the room and finding her colleague in the early evening throng. They sat, drank slowly and appreciatively and let the stresses and strains of the day subside. Little had been said on the telephone.
After some minutes Evelyn Doyle looked up and asked:
“Do you want to make a start on the mysterious matter that prompted this meeting?”
Ann McKenzie placed her elbows on the table, and laced her fingers under her chin.
“I had an unexpected visit today from a police Inspector from Dyfed-Powys Police. Getting straight to the point, he had come to tell me that Tess Dawson’s brother has been found murdered in a remote cottage in Pembrokeshire.”
Ann McKenzie paused and looked at Evelyn Doyle’s face. Evelyn returned her look. She was bemused, puzzled, thrown. She said:
“Really? How extraordinary. When did this happen? Recently?”
“It happened at the end of February. The Welsh police have only just got in touch with us. I know that the contact came via the mother Irene Dawson but I must admit to being a little curious as to why it’s taken this long to get to us. Anyway, that’s really neither here nor there. The thing is, Evelyn, Tess’s blood and her fingerprints were found in the cottage at the scene of the murder. A DNA test showed that. There can be no mistake. The police in Wales want to question Tess about the fact that her blood and prints put her at the scene. They want to know why she was there and what she might have seen. She is a suspect. The Inspector who came to see me, Alun Davies, has suggested that I might do the interview as I know her, and given the sensitivity of the case, I’ve agreed. This is why I wanted us to meet first before I have to see Peter Archer.” She paused and consulted Evelyn’s fa
ce for a reaction.
Evelyn looked at her and played with her glass of wine, twisting it round on its stem.
“When are you seeing Peter Archer?” she asked. “You’ve thrown me a bit with this news,” she continued quickly, picking up the thread and regaining her equilibrium.
“I’m glad it can be you rather than anyone else. But, you know, I don’t think that she’ll talk to you. It’s very early days and we’ve only just begun. She has actually begun to talk to me and, of course, I’m afraid that our small bit of progress will be affected. I feel very protective.”
“I know and I understand but it has to be done. I think that it’s a shame that we have to come blundering in to upset things at this early stage but we do. I’m not going to put any pressure on her and I was going to suggest that you sit in on the interview.”
Evelyn thought for a moment.
“Thanks for the thought but I really can’t do that. I have to keep myself well clear of other things that are happening in Tess’s life. I do think she’ll need someone with her. How about Mark? We have to make sure at all costs that Peter Archer doesn’t appoint himself.”
“I doubt he’d do such a task. Too hands-on. I’ll ask for Mark and see how we go.”
“I really appreciate your taking the time to deal with this with so much care. It matters very much to someone like Tess. She has a future but everything could so easily be put back. Thanks.”
They both contemplated their drinks in silence and Ann McKenzie inwardly braced herself in anticipation of her meeting with Peter Archer the next day.
*
Inspector McKenzie knocked at the Director’s mahogany door the following morning at nine o’clock, the exact designated time. She heard the instruction to enter through the polished wood and turned the shining brass doorknob. She wondered if he did it himself, keeping the woodwork and doorknob so shiny. She paused momentarily, dismissed the mischievous idea with a smile and entered.
“Good morning, Mr Archer,” she said, forestalling his greeting by a fraction of a second. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”
“Good morning, Inspector McKenzie. My pleasure,” he purred. Peter Archer had a well-known liking for women in positions of authority and a ranking female police officer was a gift for him.
“How nice to see you. Let me see, it must have been when Tess Dawson was admitted that we last met. How are things at HQ?”
“Fine, thank you. And yes, it was when Tess Dawson was admitted. I was her accompanying officer. I still am her liaison officer between here and the Special Cases Unit, as you know. It’s in that capacity that I’m here. To get straight to the point, there have been some developments with regard to Tess Dawson concerning her brother Stephen. He was found murdered at the end of February in Wales and I’ve had the Dyfed-Powys police onto me about the case. Briefly, some of Tess’s blood was found at the scene of crime. So were her fingerprints.”
“How do they know it belonged to Tess? DNA I suppose?” he said.
“Yes, that’s right. It was the blood of a female sibling and Tess is Stephen Dawson’s only sister. Dyfed-Powys didn’t find this out until recently, hence the delay.”
“Not very good police work, eh, Inspector?”
She ignored the jibe and continued: “They have asked me to interview Tess. We’ve agreed that, given the circumstances, it would be better for me to interview her initially than them. Someone she doesn’t know.”
“Well,” he said.
Ann McKenzie knew what was to follow. She braced herself.
“Tess Dawson is now implicated in two suspicious deaths. This surely has to be more than a coincidence. I hope you don’t end up rearresting her for another crime. I always had an uneasy feeling about this particular resident. All this not talking, withholding. I always felt uneasy about it, the dead child and now this. Yes, of course you must question her. Should I sit in whilst you do? What do you think? She should have someone with her, shouldn’t she?”
“I think she should have someone with her but I would suggest Mark would be an appropriate person. She’s used to him on a daily basis. You’re rather too high up the hierarchy here. I think that would intimidate and inhibit her.”
He agreed for Mark to be the person, admitting that his position should be kept untainted by too many hands-on roles. The matter was settled. The interview would take place in two days’ time and Peter Archer would inform Mark. It also fell to Peter Archer as Director of Wellbridge House to inform Tess Dawson officially.
Chapter 7
Evelyn Doyle and Tess had their next session on Tuesday morning. Evelyn, held up unavoidably for two or three minutes in the office, entered the counselling room to find Tess already seated. She was looking distressed and agitated but not because Peter Archer had given her the news of her brother’s death. He had been uncharacteristically slow in passing on the information. He had not yet met with her.
“You look agitated this morning. Has something happened?” Evelyn asked.
Tess looked solemn. It took her several minutes before she raised her head and looked briefly at Evelyn. She spoke in a mumble:
“I’m feeling a bit numb this morning. I didn’t sleep well.” She paused for what seemed like several minutes. “You see, I had a letter from my mother yesterday.”
Evelyn registered this news with the attention it demanded. A letter from her mother was a singular event, something that would take her off guard and disturb her equilibrium. If she could have her way all communications with Irene Dawson would be banned.
“I see,” said Evelyn. “Do you want to tell me what your mother had to say in her letter?”
Evelyn felt uncomfortable. She was sitting in the presence of Tess Dawson knowing that Stephen Dawson had been killed and she had so far said nothing about it. It occurred to her fleetingly that her mother’s letter could be telling Tess that news and she assumed that the Director would have told her. No sooner had she thought this than Tess said:
“My mother wrote to tell me that my brother was dead. He’s been killed. I know the word is ‘murdered’, but I find it so hard to say it. You hear it all the time on the TV. You see murders being committed. But it’s all so unreal and make-believe there. When it actually happens to someone you know it’s different. I can’t take the reality of it in. It feels so enormous.”
“Tess, I know about the death of your brother. I didn’t know that you knew, that your mother had written to you and told you. I’ve just been informed by the police, by Inspector McKenzie. You’ll remember her. I know she’s coming to see you tomorrow. She’s coming to interview you about the events leading up to your brother’s death.”
“Yes, I’m sure she is. They must have found traces of my blood in the kitchen. And my fingerprints.” She paused. “It was awful.” She paused for longer. “I knew they could trace me.”
Evelyn waited, taking in what Tess was saying. Finally she said: “Will you talk to Inspector McKenzie tomorrow? I know that arrangements are being made for you to see her in the afternoon. Then perhaps this matter can be cleared up.”
Talking to the Inspector was an unwelcome pressure. Since receiving her mother’s letter, Tess had been caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts. Her struggle with them had left her feeling disorientated and drained. She wanted to tell the whole story to Evelyn, make a clean breast of it. She wanted to give an account of why she had been in her brother’s kitchen, why traces of her had been left behind at the scene of his death.
She said: “I want to talk it through with you, about being there.”
Evelyn nodded. She guessed that during this last long pause Tess had been weighing up what she wanted to say, and that she had to feel totally in control to do that.
*
Later, Tess left the session and walked downstairs to the lounge. She helped herself to tea from the urn and sat down on the sofa. It felt reassuring that Evelyn knew about her brother’s death and knew that she had been at the scene
of his murder. She did not allow herself to recall the events that had led up to her being there, nor to remember what had happened in the kitchen in her brother’s cottage. Instead she recalled the beautiful countryside that lay all around the cottage, the open fields surrounded by dry stone walls. She thought about how many hours it would take to build such walls and how many hours, days, weeks and years it would take now to repair them. It seemed an impossible task.
She was sitting deep in thought on the sofa when Mark approached and broke into her thoughts.
“Hello, Tess. The Director would like to see you as soon as possible. Do you have time now?”
Tess nodded reluctantly and stood up. She guessed that it would be about Stephen. It felt as if all hell was breaking loose about Stephen. She followed him to the Director’s office. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. “Enter,” it came. Mark opened the door and held it as he accompanied Tess inside and then retreated, closing it behind him and leaving her alone with Peter Archer.
“Do come in, Tess, and take a seat,” he directed pleasantly enough, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk.
Tess went forward and sat on one of the chairs. Peter Archer sat down behind his desk and looked at her intently. He laced his fingers and smiled a faint smile of welcome. Tess could see he wanted to put her at ease. She had never liked Peter Archer and had never felt at ease with him. She found his enthusiasm and interest intrusive and superficial. They jarred with her. She found his enthusiasm over-zealous and the interest feigned. She had never uttered a word to him. He felt he could trump her intransigence with the news he was about to give her.
“I’m afraid that I have some bad news for you, Tess. It concerns your brother Stephen. I’m afraid that he has been found dead. He’s been killed. Did you keep in touch with him at all?”
She could tell at twenty paces that Peter Archer was struggling with his announcement. He had lost courage by the time he reached the third sentence and his final question signalled his loss of control of the situation. As Tess remained silent he was increasingly perturbed and agitated, for there was no sign of emotion on her face, no indication that she had even taken in the shocking news. He interpreted this to himself as her obdurateness and her unfeeling inclination. He waited for a response. None came.
