Becoming Tess

by H K Thompson

  *

  She made no attempt to contact anyone for support over the weekend and on Monday she was due to meet up with Ann McKenzie at their usual rendezvous, The Fensham Tea Room, that late afternoon, for tea and a catch-up. The afternoon palled, overburdened with meetings, two of them, that dragged on interminably and to little purpose. She had to deal with Peter Archer in full flight, holding forth with a mixture of sarcasm and analysis. The meeting with him ended with a closing salvo of criticism, unexpected and therefore doubly potent, about the way certain aspects of the unit were being handled. Staff were upset.

  That had been the second meeting of the afternoon, so her state of mind when she arrived in Fensham and the tea room was one of niggling anger and frustration, and sorrow at the effect of Peter Archer’s actions. She looked around after her detailed reading of the menu, at the comforting decor and the warming fire in the grate, logs crackling and flaming, casting pleasant soft flickering light over the room, and remembered how pleasant and soothing it was to gaze at a fire. The usual waitress came to the table and exchanged pleasantries with her. Within minutes tea arrived and Evelyn made a sortie to the counter to choose a cake. As she arrived back at her table, Ann McKenzie walked in through the door and waved.

  Evelyn and Ann sat at their table like two old friends exchanging notes about colleagues and partners and local events. They were actually exchanging notes about various possible additions to the Wellbridge House roll-call. And then the subject of Tess came up and Evelyn happened to mention how she was making great strides in their work. It was then that Ann told her that Alun Davies had emailed her only today telling her that he had been instructed by his boss to make arrangements to meet and interview Tess. Her meeting, therefore, with Evelyn this afternoon was fortuitous. Evelyn enquired about the state of play of the investigation, whether any progress had been made to find the person or people responsible for Stephen Dawson’s death.

  “I did chat for a while with him about that,” Ann replied. “There are some drug leads that they’re still following up. It’s an unpleasant part of the job dealing with drug dealers and the kind of turf warfare that goes on between them. It seems that for a while Stephen Dawson had been involved in the illegal importation of drugs smuggled into West Wales from North and West Africa that involved very large sums of money. Dyfed-Powys had been able to track down a bank account belonging to Dawson and could see one particularly large sum of money come into the account and then go out again very quickly. Dawson told the bank that he had been given some money by his mother and that he’d used it to buy a house and because he’d had the account for a long time the bank did nothing more. But of course the money was not from Irene Dawson at all nor was it spent on a house. It appears that Dawson had probably embezzled or stolen the money somehow and that it belonged to a particularly nasty drug dealer called Dean Stukely.

  He and his cohorts operate from London but have an outpost in West Wales that coordinates the illegal importation of drugs on the Welsh coast. Dawson obviously saw a chance and went for it and probably paid the price. Whoever broke his neck was delivering retribution for Dawson cheating them. He couldn’t resist. Dyfed-Powys still have no idea what he did with the money. He lived in a ruin of a hovel with an old banger with flat tyres that wouldn’t start parked out front. There were a few hens but the place was a tip, an absolute mess and filthy. Anyway…what’s up?” Ann looked quizzically at Evelyn, whose face had registered an expression of disbelief and then quiet amazement. She waited a few seconds and Evelyn answered:

  “Tell me again how Stephen Dawson died.”

  “Why?”

  “Just tell me again so I can be sure I heard you right.” Evelyn had rested her chin on her upturned hands, elbows resting on the table in front of her, tea untouched in her cup, cake uneaten on the plate.

  “OK.” She paused for a moment before the reprise. “Stephen Dawson died from a broken neck. He was found tied to a chair in the kitchen of his cottage. Someone, the pathologist said, if I remember rightly – it was while ago that I read the report – had probably grabbed Stephen Dawson’s head from the back and twisted. His neck had broken. He was also pretty badly beaten and had a very nasty wound, I think, on the side of his head, which was the result of a blow from a fire poker that they found in the room. The blow had caused serious bruising. But it was the twist to the neck performed by someone who knew what they were doing that was the cause of death, no doubt about that. Why do you ask, anyway?”

  “No real reason, Ann. Except I never knew how he’d died.”

  Evelyn thought fast. Tess had not killed her brother. This character Stukely had done it. They must have come back after Tess had been there and finished the job they had started. Tess was in the clear and it had been the way he was murdered that had persuaded the police that Tess was almost certainly not the killer. But what Evelyn realised simultaneously was that Tess was at risk. She had seen the men who had killed her brother. She could, in all probability, identify them. As yet no one but she and Tess knew that. She thought for a few moments about what her next move should be and said:

  “Ann, I have to be honest with you. Tess has made certain disclosures about seeing Stephen just before he died. I think it would be timely for her to be questioned again but please let me prepare the way. Give me a few days so I can meet Tess for a couple more sessions and try and get her to the point where she is willing to answer Alun Davies’ questions. Could you do that?”

  “Sounds interesting and important. She’s told you something about his death, hasn’t she? No, don’t answer that. I know you can’t and won’t. I emailed him back to say I’d arrange it with Wellbridge House. Let me go through the process and take my time and I’ll do my best to make sure that there’s no interview until next week. I think that’ll be OK with them. They have loose ends to tie up and Tess is one of them.”

  “Thanks. You’ve done me so many favours over this Dawson case. And I appreciate your patience very much.”

  “That’s OK. What’s important is that we get to the bottom of Tess’s part in all this. It seems we’re getting close. Have some more tea, and you’ve hardly touched your cake.”

  *

  Evelyn thought long and hard about how to handle the facts that had come to light in her conversation with Ann McKenzie. After thinking most of the evening, vacantly watching her favourite television programme, she came to the conclusion that she must tell Tess about how Stephen really died and do what she could to encourage her to make a voluntary statement to the police. She would tell her that Dyfed-Powys Police were planning to see her the following week but let her, as far as possible, come to an agreement that she would make a statement off her own bat. That would count in Tess’s favour in the future.

  She sat in the therapy room centring herself after her first session of the day. She had written up her notes and was in the process of clearing her mind in preparation for Tess’s arrival when she heard her footsteps up the stairs and along the short distance of the hallway to the door. She heard and watched the doorknob turn and Tess enter the room. She smiled and Tess returned her smile. As she sat down on her usual chair facing her therapist, Evelyn leant forward slightly to indicate an uncharacteristic preparation to speak before Tess began her monologue. She said:

  “Tess, there’s something important I have to say to you before we continue with what you’d like to speak about. I’ve decided to do this in the session as there’s no other space in which I can and it is related to what you’ve been saying here recently.”

  Tess looked anxious and nodded. “OK,” she said. “It sounds a bit worrying.”

  “What I’ve to tell you is, I hope, the opposite of worrying. But we’ll see. I met with Inspector McKenzie yesterday and she told me something that I think will change things for you. It came out quite unexpectedly as we were discussing the death of your brother. The subject came up because Ann told me that Dyfed-Powys Police do want to come and interview you about the death of St
ephen. I should tell you that it seems you’re no longer a serious suspect. They believe he was killed by drug dealers because he’d got out of his depth. There was a large sum of money involved and he was killed because he’d stolen or embezzled it from the wrong people. They had come after him and they were almost certainly the men that you saw beating him in the cottage. The thing is, Tess, it’s become clear from my conversation with Inspector McKenzie that Stephen didn’t die from the blow with the poker. He was killed by someone breaking his neck.”

  Tess sat still and looked intently at Evelyn as she spoke to her. As she took in the meaning of what Evelyn was saying and as Evelyn came to the end of her statement, Tess looked down at the rug on the floor, studying the muted pattern and taking in the meaning of what had been said. She thought to herself firstly that it could not be so, that she had killed her brother not the men who had gone away. That meant that they must have come back to finish the job. She thought how one of them in leather as a consequence, no doubt, of a slight and scarcely discernible nod from the man in the suit, had grasped Stephen’s head and twisted his neck until the crack of bone on bone resulted in the end of Stephen’s troubled life. He had got what he wanted.

  Tess began to cry silently. Something involuntary in her took over her rational mind, and everything she knew and experienced about Stephen counted for nothing in a moment of grief. She was overcome by the sadness of loss and the suffering of Stephen’s awful, painful life and, in the same moment, of hers. There was no self-pity, just the honest, raw expression of a bond that had long since seemed dissolved but which now, surprisingly, reasserted itself. She felt freed. She could no more describe to Evelyn what was happening inside her than bring Stephen back to life. She looked up with tears still quietly falling down her cheeks.

  “So I’m not to blame. It wasn’t me. I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted, Evelyn. I’m innocent.” She thought again intently, slowly. And then: “Except for the thrill.” She paused and said in conclusion: “So I suppose I’ll never be innocent again, will I?”

  “No, I don’t think you will. You have a conscience, Tess, and it’s a force to be reckoned with.”

  Tess paused again, thinking through what Evelyn had said. She thought about the police and how she wanted to be rid of their presence in the background of her life. She came to a conclusion and said:

  “I think I should make a statement to the Dyfed-Powys Police about what happened at Hafod Fach. Could you arrange that for me? Is that something you would do? I know it’s going to happen anyway.”

  “What I think you should do after the session is go to the office and speak to Mona. Tell her that you want to make a statement to the police and could she arrange it for you. She’ll tell the Director and he will contact Inspector McKenzie. She’ll then organise the statement. You’ll almost certainly also be questioned further by the police and it may be Inspector McKenzie who will do that. Give me half an hour after the session to fill Mona in before you speak to her and so that she can find out what to do procedurally. Then we can tie this whole episode up and get on with our work here.”

  Tess looked at Evelyn, making up her mind, thinking about what Evelyn had said.

  “Yes. I’ll do that.”

  “Tess, I think we should call it a day for today and resume your story on Thursday.”

  She stood and smiled her small, crooked smile of childlike acquiescence and left the room. Evelyn wrote her notes at the small desk, describing the breach of the session boundaries and the upshot of their time together and left the room to talk to Mona. Her task for today was nearly done.

  *

  Her meeting with Mona was brief and to the point. Evelyn then went to the staff room to use the phone to try and get hold of Ann. She stopped first by the tea counter and poured herself some tea. She was desperate for a drink. She realised that she had probably been very tense before her meeting with Tess. She sat in the armchair by the phone and looked up Ann McKenzie’s work number. She dialled her direct line and was relieved when the Inspector picked up and announced her name.

  “Hello, Ann. It’s Evelyn Doyle.”

  “Oh, hi, Evelyn,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “Good news, Ann. About Tess Dawson. She’s agreed to make a formal statement about what happened at Stephen Dawson’s cottage in Wales. I told her about how Stephen actually died. She was relieved. You see, she thought she’d done it, that she was responsible. I can’t say more, but Tess will tell you the full story in her statement. I believe her. She has no reason to lie, especially as she thought all along that it was her who killed him. Anyway, Peter Archer will be in touch with you to tell you formally and you can put the wheels in motion. I’m assuming that you can take the statement and that Dyfed-Powys will accept that.”

  There was a pause then Ann McKenzie said:

  “I see. Well done. I’m glad I happened to mention how he died. I’ll wait for the Director to contact me. Dyfed-Powys may have questions they want to put to her before she makes the statement. They’ll probably let me do that now she’s no longer a suspect. I’ll see what I can do. I assume that you’d prefer that.”

  “Yes, but I’m probably being too protective. I’ll leave it in your hands. See you soon.”

  “Bye, Evelyn.”

  Chapter 22

  “I can’t tell you the difference it’s made to me knowing that I didn’t kill Stephen. A huge, threatening weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.”

  Tess sat in the session in her usual chair, facing Evelyn. She’d spent the last two days digesting the new information that Evelyn had disclosed to her and felt, in turn, liberated and exhausted. After, she’d retired to the potting shed, excusing herself to Ted who had been expecting her to work in the garden for the rest of the day. She sat on the old gardener’s bench facing the sun as it moved low in the winter sky, watching the birds searching for food. She’d always meant to put up a bird feeder to help them out in the winter months but had never got round to it. She remembered making a cursory mental note but was unmotivated, preoccupied by the recent tumultuous turn of events. The uncomfortable mixture of relief and guilt that she’d identified persistently nagged at her mind. The conflict had gradually calmed itself with the passing hours, but sitting that late morning in the potting shed the conflict was in full cry.

  Nothing could have prepared her for this bolt from the blue. For the best part of a year she had been trying to come to terms with what she believed she’d done and reviling herself for it. She watched Ted hoeing the vegetable beds, then amble over to the array of compost heaps, remove the old carpet covers and examine closely what lay beneath them. He seemed unusually relaxed. Perhaps he was simply enjoying the easy-going pace of winter when what needs to be done in the garden is unhurried. She was fortunate that Ted seemed to know when she needed her space in the shed, that he was sensitive to her and accepting of her moods. He stood and pressed his hands into the small of his backwardly arching back, turned and looked towards her. He waved when he saw her watching and resumed his work.

  She looked up, still thinking about the garden and then remembering where she was and how she wanted to use the session. Evelyn smiled at her.

  “Now I’m free of Stephen I want to talk about Rachel. It’s hard to know how to start. I’ll just jump in and see where it goes. I came back from West Wales after what I thought was killing Stephen. I was in a strange state of mind, guilt and relief, replaying what had happened, wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t hit him. I was getting nowhere, going round in circles. I can remember going out into the garden and spending maybe two, three hours there, getting cold but enjoying the fresh air. It made me forget, just for a minute or two at a time.

  I started thinking about Rachel, something I usually tried not to do. I let her lie. It was weirdly comforting knowing she was there. But I began to think about her and what she’d meant to me for those brief days and weeks when she was alive. I loved her, yes, like I’d never loved
anyone before. But it was more than that. When she was alive I found her fragility and vulnerability almost unbearable. It would be so easy to do her damage from which she’d never recover. And she’d be helpless and powerless to stop it happening. I found that the most painful thing to live with, every time I looked at her.”

  She stopped, distressed.

  Evelyn watched her and her descent into the past. After several minutes she said:

  “I think that your feelings about Rachel are important. It seems to me as if you were projecting something of yourself onto her, your own fragility and vulnerability, your own fears about being damaged, your inability to recover from what happened to you in the past. You were helpless and powerless in relation to your mother and Stephen. And that was what changed in West Wales. You stopped being helpless and powerless. I can understand why you could face Rachel again and bear her fragility and vulnerability. You were strong enough. You were able to go down to the cellar and dig her out of her grave.”

  Tess looked up. After many minutes she said: “Yes” and then asked, mostly to herself:

  “But why did I bury her? When she died, why did I bury her?” She was struggling.

  “You said before that you found it weirdly comforting knowing that she was buried in the cellar. Perhaps you couldn’t bear to let her go. But perhaps more likely you weren’t ready to let her go because there was something more that she meant to you that you didn’t understand at the time.”

  “I can see now that she was sort of part of me, fragile and vulnerable. Were bad things done to me at the age Rachel was when she died? Perhaps that was what was so unbearable. I wasn’t ready to look at that in myself. Now I’ve begun to and the shock of what happened with Stephen made that possible. In more ways than one. But most of all, Rachel made it possible when she died and set this whole process in motion. And then meeting you here and doing this work. How amazing it is to look at all of this in this way.”