“Peter doesn’t seem to have any problems with her.”
“Only because she doesn’t like him. She’s convinced he tried to turn her into a Valium addict after her parents died. It’s when she fixates on someone that the problems start…and that’s usually a woman.” She examined my face. “I’m not being unkind, Marianne. I’m just trying to warn you.”
“About what? That Jess is inept at making friendships…or that she’s a lesbian?”
Madeleine shrugged. “I don’t know, but she’s never shown any interest in men. Mummy said she was close to her father, which may have something to do with it. Most people take her for a teenage boy the first time they see her…she certainly sounds like one. Mummy said her hormones went awry when she took on the mantle of farmer.”
Her use of “Mummy” was getting on my nerves. I’ve never really trusted middle-aged women who choose that diminutive. It suggests their relationship with their mother has never developed beyond dependence, or they’re pretending a closer and sweeter affection than actually exists. “The only reason she showed up on my doorstep was because her dogs saw my car in the drive. She called them off when they surrounded me, otherwise we’d never have met.”
“How did they see your car?”
“Presumably she was exercising them along that stretch of road when I first arrived. Perhaps they saw me turn into the drive?”
“Is that what she told you?” She took my silence for assent. “Then she was lying. She breeds from those mastiffs, so she’s hardly likely to jeopardize them in traffic.” She propped her elbows on her knees. “All I’m saying, Marianne, is be a little wary. Even Peter thinks it’s strange that she happened to be passing that day.”
I gave a small nod which Madeleine could interpret how she chose. “You said it was worse when she feels rejected. What does she do then?”
“Prowls about your house in the middle of the night…stares through your windows…makes nuisance phone calls. You should talk to Mary Galbraith about it. She and her husband live in Hollyhock Cottage, and they had a terrible time after Mary made it clear she’d lost patience.” She held out her hands in supplication. “You must have asked yourself why people are so wary of Jess. Well, that’s why. Everyone starts with good intentions because they feel sorry for her, but they always end up wishing they hadn’t. Ask Mary if you don’t believe me.”
I did believe her. I’d already experienced a lot of what she’d described. “I’ll bear it in mind,” I promised, “and thank you for the information.” I reintroduced the subject of broadband. “I’m very conscious of how isolated I am here…particularly at night. I’d feel a lot happier with a more efficient telephone line.”
Madeleine agreed to it immediately, adding: “Jess’s solutions never last very long. She was always rigging things up for Mummy that failed a couple of days later. I remember her trying to make a television work in the bedroom, but the picture was never good enough.”
At least she tried, I thought, wondering what practical help Madeleine had ever given Lily. I took a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. “Do you?”
She looked as offended as if I’d offered her heroin. “Didn’t the agent make it clear this was a no-smoking tenancy?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said, popping a cigarette between my lips and flicking my lighter to the tip. “I think he was so desperate by the time I showed an interest that he’d have handed the keys to an axe murderer as long as the deposit was paid.” I rested my head against the back of the chair and blew smoke into the air. “If it’s a problem for you, I’m happy to vacate immediately in return for a full rebate. Your agent’s advertising a terraced house in Dorchester in his window that already has broadband.”
Her mouth turned down in irritation, as if my “broadbands” were having the same effect on her as her “Mummy’s” were having on me. “As long as you’re careful about putting your cigarettes out. This is a Grade Two–listed building,” she said rather pompously.
I assured her I was always careful. “You must have been worried every time your mother lit a fire,” I murmured, glancing towards the hearth, “particularly when her concentration started to go.”
Madeleine pulled a wry expression. “Not really…but only because I didn’t know how bad she was. She always seemed in such command when I came down…a little forgetful about small things, perhaps, but totally compos mentis about running the house. I’d have been worried sick if I’d realized she wasn’t coping. This house has been in my family for generations.”
I expect I should have let that go as well, but generations suggested aeons instead of the seventy-odd years of actual ownership. “Wasn’t it your great-grandfather who bought the property? I was told he was big in armaments during the First World War…and bought the whole valley in nineteen-thirty-five when he retired.”
“Did Jess tell you that?”
“I can’t remember now,” I lied. “Someone yesterday, I think. How did your family lose the valley?”
“Death duties,” she said. “Grandfather had to sell it off when his father died. He got virtually nothing for it, of course, but the developer who bought it made a fortune.”
“The one who built the houses at Peter’s end of the village?”
“Yes.” It was obviously a sore point with her. “That used to be our land until Haversham was given permission to build on it. Now his family owns one of the biggest building firms in Dorset while we’re left with an acre of garden.”
“Did Haversham buy the whole valley?”
She nodded. “Grandfather was lazy. He couldn’t be bothered to farm himself, or even find tenants, so he let Haversham take the lot and sell the agricultural land in piecemeal plots for twice what he’d paid for it.”
“Who did he sell to?”
“I don’t know. It happened in the late forties. I think my mother said it was split between four of the local farmers, but it’s changed hands several times since. The north acreage was bought by a cooperative from Dorchester about three years ago.”
“What about the Derbyshires? Did they buy any?”
“Of course not. They couldn’t have afforded it.”
“Except Barton Farm’s quite big, isn’t it? Peter told me it’s one and a half thousand acres.”
Madeleine shook her head. “She’s a tenant…owns about fifty acres and the rest is rented. Jess’s family were humble people. Her grandmother worked as a maid in our house after the war.” She looked at the fireplace. “Old Mrs. Derbyshire used to clean out that grate every day. Mummy said she had a squashed nose and flat face and looked like a mongol or someone with congenital syphilis.” She caught my eye. “She wasn’t either, of course, but it’s obviously genetic or Jess wouldn’t have the same problem.”
I blew smoke in her direction. “And it was this lady’s husband who owned Barton Farm in the fifties?”
I could almost hear the words “She was no lady” forming in Madeleine’s head. “No, it skipped that generation. The husband contracted polio during the war and died of it shortly after he returned home—and there was a younger brother who died in Normandy, I think. Jess’s father inherited it from his grandfather. Then he died, and Jess took it over…although what’s going to happen when she goes is anyone’s guess.”
“Perhaps she’ll have children.”
She threw me a scornful glance. “They’ll be virgin births, then. She’d sooner lie with her mastiffs than a man.”
Ss-ss-ss! “So what happened to Jess’s grandmother?”
“When her son took over, she went to Australia to live with her brother. Before that she kept house for her father-in-law. He was a drinker…drove his wife to an early death and then made his daughter-in-law’s life a misery. According to Mummy, it soured her relationship with her son—which is why she emigrated—although I expect the hope of a better life had something to do with it as well.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Only when she came back to help Jess through the
funerals. She stayed about three months, but the whole thing was too much for her and she died of a stroke soon after she returned home.”
“That’s sad.”
Madeleine nodded. “Mummy was upset by it. She saw quite a lot of Mrs. Derbyshire while she was over. They were different generations…and from very different backgrounds, of course…but she said it was fun reminiscing about the old days.”
“It must have been terrible for Jess.”
“It was,” she agreed, holding my gaze for a moment before looking away. “She came up here with a carving knife and slit her wrists in front of Mummy. There was blood everywhere…although the doctors said it was a cry for attention rather than any serious attempt to harm herself. The cuts weren’t deep enough to do any real damage.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Poor Mummy was petrified,” Madeleine went on with a hint of apology in her tone as if she regretted having to tell me. “She thought the knife was meant for her. It was such an odd thing to do…come all the way to Barton House to kill herself in front of an audience.” She paused. “It’s why I was so appalled yesterday when Peter said Jess was helping you settle in. He should have warned you about her mental state instead of encouraging her to fasten on you the way she fastened on to my mother.”
Extracts from notes, filed as “CB16–19/05/04”
…I can’t eat anymore. I force myself to try but everything tastes the same…
From:
[email protected]
Sent:
Sun 11/07/04 14:05
To:
[email protected]
Subject:
Thank God!
* * *
Where the hell have you been, Connie? You promised you’d keep in touch as long as I put you on the plane, but all I’ve had is silence for nearly two months—zilch…00000000—until a miserly 15-word email 2 hrs ago. I’m so damned angry with you. I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry since you left.
FYI: I’ve been bombarding London for info, only to be told they know less than I do. Harry Smith had to ask a colleague on a tabloid for your parents’ address because your next-of-kin details are out of date. All your father will say is that you’re “out of London” and he’s passing on messages. So why haven’t you answered any of them? Where are you? What’s going on? Have you seen a doctor? I wouldn’t have kept my mouth shut if I thought you were planning to deal with this on your own. Have you any idea of the stick I’m getting?
I assume you used my private address to avoid the office finding out. Well, OK, except you’ve told me nothing apart from your new e-address and the fact that you’re “fine.” I can’t/don’t believe that. You must talk to someone. London had a counsellor lined up for you—they were willing to give you all the protection you wanted—but you blew them away. Why? Don’t you realize what the consequences are likely to be? I still have nightmares about Bob Lerwick being shot in front of me, and that was ten years ago.
At the moment I’m beating myself up for not forcing you to accept help here. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping it quiet, but now…
It’s turning into a hell of a mess, frankly. I’ve been interviewed three times by a cynical US cop working with the Baghdad police (Jerry Greenhough) who’s concluded the whole “abduction” was a scam. He seems to think you’re planning to demand huge sums in compensation or write a best-selling “fiction” about something that never happened.
Write to me, Connie. Better still, phone. My number’s the same.
Love, Dan
Extracts from notes, filed as “CB16–19/05/04”
…Obedience comes quite easily after a while. Do this. Do that. Inside my head, I rebelled. If you let me live, then you will die. It was a way of staying sane…
…The truth was different. You belong to me. You die when I say so. You speak what I tell you to speak. You smile when I tell you to smile…
…At what point did I decide to be controlled forever? When I realized that every shameful thing I did was being videoed? Why didn’t I refuse? Was death by suffocation so bad that I’m prepared to live like this?
…There were no marks that would say what had happened. I bled inside but not outside…
…I’m lucky. I’m alive. I did what I was told…
From:
[email protected]
Sent:
Mon 19/07/04 17:22
To:
[email protected]
Subject:
Keith MacKenzie
Attachments:
AC/WF.doc (53KB)
* * *
Good to hear from you, Connie. After your release, I tried to contact you via your mobile and old address but without success, so presumably some thief in Baghdad has them? I was shocked to read about your abduction, particularly as it happened so shortly after your email in May re MacKenzie. You say there was no connection between the two events, but, yes, you’re quite right, I did wonder. To the extent that I contacted Bill Fraser in Basra and suggested he look into it. In the event, you reappeared, unharmed, before he was able to take it further.
You say your boss in Baghdad is interested in picking up the O’Connell/MacKenzie story where you had to leave it. I’m attaching my correspondence with Bill in full, as you requested, although some of it may not make pleasant reading for you. Bill tells me the situation in Baghdad is out of control. Foreigners have become a commodity, with most abductions being carried out by professional gangs who sell their hostages on to the highest bidder. As you say, you were “fortunate” to be released when you were.
As you will see, Bill has spoken to his US opposite number in Baghdad re the two cases you found in the Iraqi newspapers. He has also had some email correspondence with Alastair Surtees re O’Connell/MacKenzie. Nothing conclusive, but interesting evasion from Surtees.
You asked if I kept a copy of my report on the Sierra Leonean murders. I did and I’m attaching it. I’ve also forwarded it to Jerry Greenhough (Bill’s oppo in Baghdad) if only to point out similarities in the killer’s/killers’ MO. Finally, I’ve been given a contact in the Kinshasa police who’s agreed to check for similar murders there in1998. It’s a long shot—Kinshasa has 15,000 street children who die/go missing all the time—and teenage girls are particularly vulnerable. I’ll let you know if I hear from him, but don’t hold your breath. He paid lip service to international cooperation by answering my email, but I suspect my request was shelved. Old cases are hard/tedious work, particularly when there’s no financial incentive.
My wife and family are well. Thank you for asking.
Finally, don’t hesitate to write/call if there’s anything I can help you with. Is there a reason why the only contact detail you’ve given me is your new email address? Or why you’re choosing to act as a middleman between me, Bill Fraser and your boss?
Kind regards,
Alan
DI Alan Collins, Greater Manchester Police
(Extracts from attachments)
Email from Bill Fraser to Alan Collins
…My oppo in Baghdad is an NYPD Captain called Jerry Greenhough. He did a stint in Afghanistan two years ago and was seconded to Baghdad in May. He’s a decent enough bloke but I’m afraid he has reservations about Connie Burns. He wasn’t in on her debriefing, but after listening to the tape he found her “evasive and unconvincing.” On several counts: a) she told police virtually nothing, claiming her blindfold as the reason for her ignorance; b) she insisted that her boss, Dan Fry, sit in on the questioning with instructions to halt proceedings if she showed signs of distress—which she never invoked; c) she was examined by a doctor who found no evidence of rough handling or forceful restraint. This has led to some scepticism about the whole episode, particularly as her imprisonment was only 3 days’ duration.
It’s a difficult one, Alan. I don’t necessarily share the scepticism—I can think of a number of reasons why a woman wouldn’t want to talk about an experience like tha
t—but, according to Jerry, there were too many inconsistencies in her answers. Nor did the abduction follow a recognized pattern. I passed on your suggestion re MacKenzie, but that has no takers either. Connie was “self-possessed” and “in control” throughout the interview, and adamant that nothing untoward had happened during her captivity. This seems to be backed by the doctor giving her a clean bill of health. I hear what you say about MacKenzie’s MO, but releasing a woman unharmed isn’t his recognized pattern of behavioureither.
Interestingly, I’ve had more success re Connie’s suggestion that the two murders in Baghdad were a) linked; b) linked to similar murders in Sierra Leone; and c) might be the work of Keith MacKenzie aka John Harwood aka Kenneth O’Connell. Jerry has worked with the FBI on two serial rape cases and is at least willing to embrace the possibility. Any chance of sending him your report on the Sierra Leone victims? The downside is that investigations like this are complex and sophisticated, and I can’t see raw recruits coping unless they have continuity and commitment at the top. FYI: I have less than six weeks left of my tour and Jerry goes home at the end of September, and even the most able Iraqis won’t have the finances to conduct a cross-border inquiry.
The Devil`s Feather Page 8
