“You need some legal advice,” I told her. “Do you know anyone?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll give you a number. It’s likely he’ll be prosecuted. Bigamy is a criminal offence. Sentences vary but he could go to prison.”
“Good,” she said bitterly. “I hope he rots there. How could he? I just can’t understand it. I can’t. It doesn’t make any sense.”
She talked on, an endless litany of moments of betrayal and expressions of shock.
At half past two I heard the sound of someone coming in the front door. I turned in my chair.
“Adam,” she said. “He finishes early on Fridays.”
He came into the kitchen, his face strained with apprehension. “Mum?”
“It’s all right Adam,” she kept her voice steady. “I know. I know everything. Big shock, eh? Your dad’ll be leaving.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“Not yet. I’ve got the name of a solicitor.” Relying on the practical to make her way through this. “I’m going to ring them in a few minutes, find out what we have to do. I might need your help, okay? We got to stick together now.” I could see tears standing in her eyes but she held them there determined to be strong for him.
“Mum,” he wobbled a bit.
“Be for the best in the long run,” she said. “Come here.”
She hugged him briefly, fiercely. “It’s going to be okay, yeah?” She let him go.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“Put the kettle on then, will you? And get me a couple of Paracetamol. And put the heating on as well, eh? Warm this place up a bit.”
Self-defence was gruelling. It was the last thing on earth I wanted to do, but I dragged myself down there and knuckled under.
“Had a hold-up on Tuesday at the shop,” Brian, the security guard, told me. “Kids with bloody great guns.”
“Oh, Brian.”
“Shitting myself, I was. Did all the right stuff, no one got hurt. Still makes you think. Not much of a job is it? Only so long you put up with that sort of thing. Fourth time this year.” He shook his head.
“What else would you do?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. You like your work, don’t you?”
“Depends when you ask me.”
“Not had a good week?”
Bigamy, sexual abuse, deceit and betrayal, lives falling apart.
“There’ve been better.”
“Oi, you two,” Ursula yelled, “stop nattering and get on with it.”
Chapter Forty Five
I couldn’t settle that evening. I wrote half-a-dozen Christmas cards which would arrive too late no matter when I posted them and I drank too much wine. Easy drinking it said on the label and it was. Absolutely no problem at all.
The phone rang late. Rachel, my social worker friend. I explained to her that I’d got embroiled in a case of suspected sexual abuse but there was no clear cut evidence at this stage.
“Children?”
“No, vulnerable women. Well, woman singular at this stage. It’s all at a place for people with mental health problems or low self-esteem; some have learning difficulties. It’s all very circumstantial, no proof like I say. I need someone to talk to who’s experience of this, knows the ropes.”
“Probably Geraldine Crane ... it is Manchester?”
“Yes.”
“Let me check. If not, there’s a new guy, Toby Smith. I’ll find out. There is an emergency service if someone needs getting to a place of safety immediately.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“I’ll get back to you first thing after Christmas and you can talk to Geraldine or Toby then.”
I thanked her and we exchanged some brief news about ourselves before ending the call.
What would I tell them? Everything I suppose; the facts like Eddie Cliff forging references for his job, the rumours, the unsubstantiated claims from the clients at Horizons, my meeting with Melody. They would know what, if any, action could be taken. Maybe they could start a covert enquiry; it happened in cases like this didn’t it? Get the help of other agencies and invite people to talk to them about incidents from the past. If Bryony Walker was right there would be a trail of victims from Eddie Cliff’s life. Whether any of them would have the courage to testify was another matter. When I got the information from Harry it could be a starting point for further enquiries; a route map of his career. And if one person spoke out, that chink could be like a break in a dam. Others might come forward and there would then be no way to hide it all again.
Meanwhile Saturday awaited and my appearance at the Whitworth Centre Christmas Fair loomed. I had to go and behave as naturally as possible. Anything to reassure him that I was no threat, that I had accepted his explanation of being seen collecting Miriam on another day. But it would be hard to stomach, now I knew what had happened with Melody. Now I knew how he operated. When my every instinct was to have him seized and see him stand trial. However the detective in me was also aware that there could be opportunities for picking up some more information now I had a different perspective on events.
“We’ve put you on table decorations,” Eddie grinned. Nice as pie. What was really going on behind those crinkly eyes? “That’s your table. Sharon’s got some red paper for cloths, once that’s on you can put out this box. And if you sell out there’s spares in there.” He pointed. “Someone will be bringing round a float. Everything’s a pound so no worry with change. Leave you to it?” Brisk and breezy.
I nodded, smiled, hoped it didn’t look as false as it felt.
“Charles,” he called. “Give us a hand with the Grotto.”
Sharon arrived with a roll of red paper edged with holly motif. Together we unrolled it and cut it to fit.
She moved onto the next table and I lifted up the box and brought out the contents; candle holders, table and tree decorations, concoctions of fir cones, berries, glitter and tinsel, silver and gold spray. A woman gave me a saucer and £20 in coins and notes.
“Okay everybody, we’re opening the doors.” He had changed. Cowboy to Santa Claus. Ho ho ho. I felt sick.
A steady stream of people came in and the next hour passed in a blur of chatter and sales. I finally got relieved by another volunteer.
I ran into Jane in the toilets. She had a ring of tinsel on her head, her hair was just right for the Christmas fairy but her face looked red and angry from the eczema.
“Hello,” she remembered me. “I’ve nearly spent up.” She held aloft a bulging carrier bag.
“I bet you made half of them, didn’t you?”
This tickled her. “Yes, I made half of them and now I’ve bought them. And I made half of them.” She laughed.
“Jane, you know the day you got burnt?”
She pursed her lips and frowned. “It hurt, that, really hurt.”
“How did it happen?”
“It was hot, the wax in the little pan. I was stirring it and it tipped onto me. I was screaming and they said ‘oh, get Eddie, get Eddie.’“
“Eddie wasn’t there?”
“He was in his office, he had to get a letter for Melody to fill in. Miriam ran to get him and you know what he said? Only a little burn. I was on fire, it felt like. Really hurt. I said take me to the hospital.”
“Where was Melody when you got burnt?”
“In the office,” she laughed as if I was stupid, “getting the form.”
I nodded.
“You said she was upset?”
“She was crying in here. After they put the dressing on me I saw her. Miriam was looking after her. She had a row at home.”
Two women came into the washroom. I changed the subject. “Are you going to buy anything else?” I asked Jane.
“I’m going to see Father Christmas.” She shrieked with laughter. “Have you seen him? It’s Eddie dressed up. Last year I got nail varnish and some stickers.”
I went out with her into the melee and had a look round some of the stalls.
I bought two trinkets for our tree. Sharon, sporting a holly head-dress was at the entrance in conversation with a tall, smartly dressed Afro-Carribean woman.
“This is Mrs Wood,” Sharon said. “Chair of our Management Committee. Sal’s been helping us out.”
“Thank you,” Mrs Wood said.
“Sal’s a private eye,” Sharon said.
“Really?” Her eyebrows rose and fell. “That sounds intriguing.”
“Can be. This is very successful,” I nodded to the hall.
“Yes. The whole project has done extremely well. Immense amount of work though, not just today but week in week out. Sharon,” she turned to her. “I’ll stay here for a while, you go see to Chantelle.”
“Great.” Sharon left us.
“You employ people here, that’s part of your job?”
“The committee as a whole, yes. Plus policy, planning, training, health and safety, you name it.”
“So if anyone had a complaint who would they talk to?”
Her brow creased, she looked at me sharply, alarm in her eyes.
“To me in the first instance.”
I felt in my bag and fished out a card and pen, ready to take her number.
“Touting for business?” Eddie Cliff walked towards us, still in his red and white robes.
My stomach tightened. “Every bit helps,” I joked. I passed Mrs Wood my card. “So yes,” I said. “Tell your friend to give me a ring, it’s completely confidential.” I prayed she’d cotton on and not say anything to Eddie. She looked slightly unsure but took my card. I struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.
Eddie Cliff looked at me brightly, inquisitive ultramarine eyes, then at Mrs Wood.
“It suits you,” she said drily.
“I’d better go,” I said and fled with my skin crawling.
I knew Ray was expecting me back so he could go shopping but I needed to straighten my thoughts. I drove the car round to nearby Plattfields and parked on the roadside. I concentrated.
Eddie Cliff and Melody Gervase had been alone in the office when Jane burnt herself. He was probably well out of order leaving the group unattended but I bet no mention of that was made in any accident report. So, Jane got burnt and Miriam hurried to get Eddie. She walks in on them. A big shock all round. Eddie has to see to Jane, apply first aid and calm her down and meanwhile Miriam and Melody go to the toilets, the only place he’s not allowed. Melody is distressed (at being caught out? At something Eddie has said?) and Miriam promises to help. Melody maybe asks her not to say anything. She’s very frightened. Don’t tell, don’t tell. She never goes back to the Craft Club after that. She heard about Miriam’s death. A sign, she said. She promised to help. She died. Look what happens. Never dared go back. Waited, not knowing if her withdrawal would be enough to spare her. She must have been terrified when I showed up at the sewing circle asking questions.
So, the group leave. Melody and Miriam are supposed to clear up. Then what? Does Eddie make more threats? Underplay it? Pretend it never happened? He could probably rely on his threats keeping Melody quiet. But Miriam, who had stumbled upon the abuse? There were no sweet promises or soft kisses to bind her to him. When Miriam rang Hattie Jacobs, she had talked of being put in hospital if she told them, that it was awful and he would punish her. Eddie’s threats?
Why then had she let him in, gone in his car? She was scared, she knew what he was doing. Why hadn’t she just locked her door and refused to come out? He hadn’t physically forced her into the car or Horace Johnstone would have said so.
And then what?
One way or another, Eddie Cliff had driven Miriam Johnstone to her death.
I couldn’t carry it on my own another day.
I went to the police.
Chapter Forty Six
Elizabeth Slinger police station is a large purpose built facility in Withington, near the hospital. I spoke to the desk sergeant who checked and told me the inspector who had been in charge of the police enquiry into Miriam’s death was on leave for Christmas. I then explained to two different people, at intervals of ten minutes, why I was there and that I had new information relating to that death, that I suspected foul play. After hemming and hawing and raised eyebrows and throat clearing and several suggestions that after the holiday would be better, they finally took me through to a small interview room where I could wait to see someone in the serious crimes section.
I rang Ray and told him I would be a while longer.
Detective Sergeant Elland made careful notes while I went through my story. I told him what I knew, what I’d heard and what I suspected. He checked some details and then asked me if I had spoken to anyone in Social Services regarding the alleged abuse.
“Not yet; I hope to as soon as possible,”
“We do try to work together on cases like this. Now, the suspicion of foul play, that wasn’t raised at the inquest?”
“No, although her family have said all along that her fear of heights would have made her incapable of jumping off that building. Plus she was sane and healthy that morning.”
“It’s not hard evidence, though.”
“I know,” I tried not to show my frustration. “But this man lied to the police about when he last saw the victim. He said he’d seen her at midday but he picked her up after two o’ clock.”
“According to the ex-husband?”
“Yes. And Miriam rang her friend and said he would punish her and send her to hospital.”
“She didn’t identify him by name.”
“No but together with the fact that he lied and the history he has ...”
“Alleged history. He has no criminal record that you are aware of?”
“No. But the police never spoke to this friend that she called, or to the ex-husband; it’s new evidence. They never even checked all the CCTV tapes, they could have seen him driving in with her. They didn’t even ask for it, only the one for the top floor and that wasn’t working.”
“Well, if it appeared to be suicide ...”
“And if it had been a white man, would any more effort have been put in? A rich white man, no hint of illness, well connected - what then?”
“We don’t work like that,” he said coldly.
“She was black.” I said. “She had a history of mental illness, she got second class treatment.”
“Look, I didn’t work the case and I haven’t got the papers here, but the facts at the time led to a suicide verdict. The coroner was satisfied.”
“The family weren’t. There weren’t enough facts.” I stressed the words. “No one contacted her friends, no efforts were made to establish how she got to town, she didn’t drive, she didn’t have a car. But no one bothered. Mad, black woman, jumped. End of story.”
Even I had been sure that they’d reached the right verdict when Connie had first hinted at other possibilities. But I hadn’t known then how token the official investigation had been.
“I can’t agree with you,” he said. “And I don’t think wild allegations about the conduct of the enquiry will help you get a fair hearing. As for this new information I’ll discuss it with my colleagues in the unit and a decision will be made as to whether any further enquiries need to be made.” His eyes were glazing over; he’d heard all he wanted to and now he wanted rid of me.
“And they might not be?”
“Hard to say. What you’ve got is pretty shaky. To be frank there is always a question of priorities and resources.”
“Murder must be a pretty high priority.”
“Oh, yes. But what you’ve got is barely grounds for reopening a case. If it was in my hands I’d want a word with this Mr Cliff again, particularly if he’s been giving false information. But it doesn’t follow that there’d be a fresh investigation launched. It may be that there’s more of a case to make on the sexual abuse allegations. I suggest you discuss it with social services as you planned and meanwhile I’ll have a word at this end.”
“When?”
His jaw tightened a fraction. “As soon as someone from the initial investigation is back from leave.”
“When will that be?”
“I’ll have to check.”
“Will you ring me, let me know what they say?” I was determined to hound them until I had a response.
He considered this.
“I’ll need to know if I’m talking to social services, won’t I?”
“You can ring here,” he said. “But I suggest you leave it till near the end of the week.”
“And who should I ask for?”
“You can ask for me,” he said crisply.
And that was it.
The clock would creep round slowly, the world would keep turning, Eddie Cliff would go about his business and at some point the police would consider their response. I’d wanted action, swift and decisive, vindication, recognition. But it doesn’t work like that. Not in those circumstances. And I was haunted by the notion that he might just get away with it all. That he could go on because he was too clever and those he hurt too afraid to stop him.
From the car I called Connie Johnstone.
“I was going to ring you,” she said. “I’d not heard anything.”
“Yes. I need to see you. Can you do it tomorrow, can you come to the office?”
“When?”
Laura and I were taking the kids out at some point. We’d promised. I’d been neglecting them at weekends. If we were to go anywhere the morning would be better for that. It would be dark early.
“About two?”
“Yes, Martina has a dance class so it would be just me and Patrick.”
“That would be better actually.”
“Have you managed to find out any more?” I heard the anticipation in her voice.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was impossible to say anything else without launching into a full blown account.
I rang Roland on his mobile and told him I’d be seeing Connie and Patrick the following afternoon.
“And you’re gonna tell them about my dad?”
“Yes.”
Towers of Silence Page 19
