Songbird

by Peter Grainger

  Terek had some sort of coffee in a tall cup, and Waters had a teabag suspended in a plastic cylinder. But best of all, there were two cardboard containers with slivers of fried potato, and a selection of sauces sealed into cellophane pouches. Waters stared and Terek must have taken the look for awkward gratitude.

  He said, ‘Help yourself. It was an early start. I thought you might be hungry.’

  Within moments the Donnellys had confirmed they’d met Michaela Fletcher, her two daughters and her sister in the Pinehills social club last Thursday evening. They were nice young women said Elsie Donnelly, and you could tell they were sisters even though they weren’t like peas in a pod. Terek would have let that go but Waters asked her what she meant, and she said, ‘One was quieter, she was the mother of the two youngsters, and the other was more outgoing, a bit of a character I’d say. I thought it was funny because you could see the same difference in the two girls, couldn’t you, Bill?’

  ‘Aye, you could,’ said Donnelly. He was watchful of the detectives, who had not yet told the couple why they were being asked about the events of last Thursday. Waters thought the man was wary of admitting he had noticed Michaela Fletcher’s daughters.

  Elsie Donnelly said, ‘Why, what’s happened then? Has there been an accident? Not to one of those children, surely?’

  Terek had explained at the beginning that they were talking to everyone who might have met the women, and Elsie Donnelly hadn’t yet made the connection with her husband’s criminal record – her question was an innocent one, and possibly rather naïve.

  No, said Terek, and he told them why the police were now questioning so many potential witnesses. Waters watched them closely, and saw the shock become horror on Mrs Donnelly’s face, though the detective inspector had given them little detail. Donnelly saw the detective sergeant’s intense observation and showed that he understood it now, though he said nothing other than the usual expressions of sympathy for those going through such an ordeal. This was awkward, and Waters wondered how Terek was going to handle it.

  ‘I just cannot believe it,’ Else Donnelly said again, ‘we were sat there with them. She was very pretty with her red hair… Smart clothes, knew how to dress herself. I’d say she had a wicked sense of humour, too. Didn’t she, Bill?’

  Donnelly nodded but said nothing, glancing briefly at the detective inspector before holding Waters’ gaze again – one could almost interpret the look as saying, get on with it, why don’t you?

  Terek said, ‘We know Mrs Fletcher left the club with her daughters around half past nine. We’re interested in what her sister did after that. What time did you leave the bar, Mr Donnelly?’

  Elsie Donnelly said, ‘I’d say about ten thirty. I remember saying that we couldn’t be much later because we had to be away early in the morning.’

  ‘Why was that, Mrs Donnelly? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Oh, because…’

  She hesitated, looked from the detectives to her husband and understood something at last, though Waters couldn’t yet see how this line of questioning had brought her to it. Her expression altered – she was suddenly more defensive and about to speak but Donnelly stepped in.

  ‘It’s alright, love. These two gentlemen haven’t come all that way without an agenda and we’re gettin’ to it now, aren’t we? Aye, I thought so. They’ve been doin’ some digging, that’s what this is about.’

  Terek said in a tone that was a little too official, ‘Mr Donnelly, we are interviewing everyone who had contact with Michelle Simms that evening. By your own admission, you were in conversation with her. We managed to speak to most people on the Friday but you had left the site very early. Naturally we have followed up on the people we were unable to interview then.’

  Donelly said, ‘Right, followed up, you say. But did you check all their records? Their criminal records, I mean?’

  Waters saw the little shake of Mrs Donnelly’s head and then her gaze dropped down towards the living room carpet – it was flowery but threadbare, something from another era altogether. There wasn’t much money here, and a week in a caravan would be their only holiday, he guessed. It was plain enough, though, that she was well aware of her husband’s past.

  Terek was not willing to back off and find another way forward, and the sense of confrontation grew.

  ‘Mr Donnelly, your behaviour aroused our suspicions and we acted accordingly. Can you explain to us why you left the Pinehills caravan site early on Friday morning? Were you aware of the police activity before you did so?’

  ‘I was not aware of it. We left because I wanted to get back here to Barnsley before midday.’

  ‘And why was that, Mr Donnelly?’

  Elsie Donnelly stood up and said, ‘I don’t need to hear all this again.’

  Her husband reached out a big hand towards her, the thick, blunt, bricklayer’s fingers curled inwards a little with what Waters guessed was arthritis.

  She said, ‘It’s alright, let them ask their questions. We’ve nothing to hide. I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?’

  It was defiant politeness and rather admirable, thought Waters. Terek declined. Waters felt the pressure to do the same but resisted it – a mug of home-brewed Yorkshire tea would go a long way towards undoing the horror he had encountered in the fast-food restaurant, and, more importantly, his instincts were telling him to put some distance between himself and his inspector as far as dealing with William Donnelly was concerned. He said he would like a cup of tea, and wondered silently whether there might be Rich Tea biscuits on a plate.

  Terek said, ‘You were not aware of police activity? I see. Can you explain to us then why you wanted to be back in Barnsley by midday, Mr Donnelly?’

  Donnelly watched his wife leave the room before he answered.

  ‘Because we’d left Barnsley at midday the previous Friday. I wanted to get ’ome before the seven days were officially up. That’s why.’

  ‘The seven days? I don’t understand, Mr Do-’

  ‘The seven days as stipulated by the register. If I’m to be away from ’ome for a period longer than seven days, I ’ave to report it to the local police station. I don’t like doin’ that, so I avoid it whenever I can.’

  Terek allowed several seconds to pass as he reviewed his position. The noise from the kitchen had ceased and Waters guessed that Mrs Donnelly was listening even though she’d said she didn’t need to hear this again.

  Then Terek said, ‘By “the register”, Mr Donnelly, I assume that you are referring to the Violent and Sexual Offender Register, as set up under the Sexual Offences Act 2003?’

  The large hands were partially concealed in Donnelly’s lap but Waters could see the fingers flexing and then tightening rhythmically into fists. When he wasn’t saying something, the jaw was clenched and the eyes that glared back at the officious fool of an inspector were hard. Donnelly was of average height, perhaps five feet nine inches, but he was still broad-shouldered. In his time, he had been a physically powerful man.

  Donnelly said, ‘Well, the only other register I’ve been on to my knowledge was the one at Dearne Valley primary school, so it’ll be one or t’other, won’t it? I’ll leave it up to you to work out which one I’m talkin’ about, you being the detective.’

  Detective Inspector Terek was invariably oblivious to irony and sarcasm – this was one of his most remarkable qualities. Around him there seemed to be an impermeable membrane of self-regard and single-mindedness. He went on, ‘I see. Can I assume that you have been meeting the signing on requirements of the register in other respects, Mr Donnelly?’

  ‘Assume what you bloody like. You’ve only to pick up the phone and ask them, I expect. It’s out on the hall table.’

  Elsie Donnelly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen with a tray in her hands. She said, ‘Bill, make some space, please.’

  The low coffee table between the sitting room chairs had newspapers and magazines on it – The Mail on Sunday and Gardener’s
Weekly. Donnelly began shuffling them together, but he did so stiffly, his neck barely turning to either side; Waters leaned forward and helped a little. Donnelly muttered, ‘Thank you’ and Waters said, ‘Back trouble?’

  ‘Aye, you could say that. I slipped down a ladder with a full hod on my shoulder. Only a couple of rungs but it did for me. Compression injury of the upper spine. Three years ago, and I ’aven’t worked a day since.’

  Waters nodded and kept his expression neutral but Donnelly’s sense of persecution had been aroused by Terek. Still looking at Waters, he said, ‘It’s all official. I claimed under the employer’s insurance. X rays, MRIs, it’ll all be in my medical files. I’m not cheatin’ on the benefits.’

  ‘I never thought for a moment that you were, Mr Donnelly.’

  The man seemed to be grudgingly satisfied by that, and Waters was satisfied that he could, if necessary, get access to those medical records, this being a murder investigation. If he did so, it would not be to check on William Donnelly’s benefits claim.

  There were two cups of tea on a tray that had a picture of heather-coloured moorland and distant, blue hills, with ‘Welcome To The Dales’ printed around the edge. Two cups on two matching saucers, bone china, the Sunday best. Waters had to allow himself a little smile. The tea was all anyone could have hoped for, and he thanked Mrs Donnelly, and then realised that in the silence everyone was watching him and waiting, even DI Terek. It appeared that he was now expected to continue the interview.

  Waters said, ‘Mr Donnelly – after Mrs Fletcher left with the children, did Michelle Simms continue to talk to you and Mrs Donnelly?’

  Elsie Donnelly moved a little to stand behind her husband’s chair but made no more answers on his behalf. It was plain who the police wanted to do the talking, and the young-looking detective seemed to have a better way about him.

  Donnelly said, ‘No. In fact she’d gone before t’other one. She’d been up at the bar for some time before her sister left us there.’

  ‘Did you notice whether she was talking with anyone in particular? Anyone at all, not necessarily a man?’

  ‘No. It were crowded up there. I suppose there was a little gang around her… As Elsie said, she were a lively girl, one you’d notice.’

  Waters looked up at Elsie Donnelly but her face gave nothing away. After a moment, she said, ‘And the singing, Bill. Remember?’

  ‘Oh aye. One time there was a country song, you know country and western, came over the audio. She sang a few lines and they gave her a cheer and told her to keep going. We could hear her from where we were sat. She had a proper voice, I’d say.’

  It helped that Waters had been in that bar but he’d discovered a while ago a gift for imagining crime scenes, and as Michelle Simms would be dead not many minutes after that burst of song, this was almost such a scene. Was the killer there with her, watching, listening, cheering her on? He could imagine and then re-imagine, altering a detail or two each time, until one particular sequence was the best fit for the evidence that had been gathered. There she was, Michelle Simms, a few drinks the worse for wear by ten o’clock on what would have been a hot, sultry evening, laughing, joking, showing off a little with people she didn’t know.

  Waters said, ‘And you left the bar at what time, Mr Donnelly?’

  ‘Still about half past ten, like my wife told you a few minutes ago…’

  Waters accepted the rebuke to his simple ruse and Donnelly almost smiled for the first time.

  ‘And then you walked together back to your caravan. You didn’t take a detour, go for a stroll? And you didn’t see or hear anything that might be useful to us?’

  ‘No to most of that. We did go straight back to the van. We must have been in bed before eleven. We’d already packed.’

  ‘Mr Donnelly, I have to ask – could anyone confirm that, any of it? Did you see or speak to anyone else after you left the club?’

  A longer pause this time before William Donnelly said, ‘No. We didn’t show our passports or have any photos taken when we crossed the border.’

  Waters nodded his thanks but then Mrs Donnelly said, ‘We did speak to someone, Bill. The couple in the next-door caravan were sitting out on their verandah, because it was such a stuffy night. We passed the time of day with them. Their dog was barking, a little terrier thing. They’d probably remember us.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ said Donnelly, ‘we didn’t know them from Adam but they might.’

  Terek said, ‘Thank you both for your cooperation. That’s something we can check if we think it’s necessary. Should you notice anything about the case in the news, you’ll possibly see that we have taken DNA samples from the men who were staying on the site. Obviously in your case, Mr Donnelly…’

  Waters wondered how many times in a single interview it was possible to go the wrong way along a one-way street. Donnelly’s DNA profile would be in the system, and there was nothing to be gained by reminding him of that.

  Terek went on, ‘We might have further questions, Mr Donnelly. Do you have any other holidays booked in the immediate future?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we’ll be on our way.’

  When they stood up, William Donnelly remained seated, not looking at either of them. It was his wife who showed them to the front door of the terraced cottage that must have once been lived in by coal-miners. Terek went out first. Waters stopped, in half a mind to make some sort of apology. Instead he shrugged and offered her a smile. Then he said, ‘If you do remember anything useful about Michelle Simms, Mrs Donnelly, my name is Waters, Chris Waters, detective sergeant. You can ask for me directly.’

  He’d taken three or four steps when he heard her say, ‘Her phone, you know, her mobile phone.’

  He stopped and turned again.

  Elsie Donnelly said, ‘She was on her phone every few minutes, you know, like you all are nowadays.’

  ‘Right, thanks. Making calls, talking to someone?’

  ‘No. Tapping away on it, sending messages. Someone must have been interested in what she was doing. Or at least she thought they were.’

  Within minutes they were caught in queues of traffic as Barnsley stopped work for lunch. Terek read the messages on his phone and said that even though it might take them longer to get back to Kings Lake than it had to get to Barnsley, they would still be there before DCI Reeve and DC Butler – they were planning to interview Michaela Fletcher as well as Barry Simms and then to call at the hairdressing salon to see if any employees there had been in touch with Michelle while she was away.

  Then Terek said, ‘What did you make of Mr Donnelly? I thought he was hostile at times.’

  Waters’ reply to that was non-committal but he added that he thought between them the Donnellys had given a clear and convincing account of their movements and actions last Thursday evening. And Donnelly’s reason for wanting to be back in Barnsley before midday made sense. It was possible he hadn’t seen the police activity and taken fright – Donnelly had said they’d already packed their bags the night before.

  Terek said, ‘Fine. But you’re giving a lot of weight to Elsie Donnelly telling us the truth. She might habitually cover for him. Some wives will do so, either out of loyalty or fear. She could also, of course, be complicit. She would not be the first.’

  Keeping an open mind is vital. Waters had already witnessed the consequences of not doing so at Kings Lake Central, more than once. He tried to picture Elsie as being in some way involved in the attack on Michelle Simms but he couldn’t get past the china cups and saucers, and the tea-tray that said ‘Welcome To The Dales’. And as for a motive?

  He said, ‘We should be able to confirm that they went back to the caravan when they said. We can find out who was staying either side of them from the information we already have. If they did so, we’re then looking at one or both of them leaving the caravan again at eleven pm or later, finding Michelle Simms, killing her and taking her body into the dunes behind the woods.’

&
nbsp; Waters glanced at Terek and realised he was carefully considering the possibility. Waters went on, ‘If Sally Lonsdale’s hunch is correct, someone had to carry the body more than a hundred metres to hide it. I’m not sure Donnelly would be capable of that, not with such a back injury. I’d also say he has arthritis in his hands. Then we’re looking for a motive. I know we need to have it confirmed but Dr Robinson said he could find no evidence of a sexually-motivated attack. Donnelly is on the sex offenders register, so in a funny sort of way that makes it less likely he murdered Michelle Simms, doesn’t it? Sir.’

  As usual, the detective inspector didn’t reply immediately, and Waters had time to reflect that he might have said more than he needed to at this point. Was he doing his best to keep an open mind in the early stages of this investigation?

  Terek said, ‘You sound like the barrister for the defence.’

  Which was no surprise, really. This was how Smith had trained him – to look at the end-game first, imagining that the evidence you have compiled is about to be examined in open court by some smart-arse from the chambers of Fitchett and Royce, Lincolns Inn, or even, if you really want to frighten yourself, by Gloria Butterfield QC. Whether they’re black or white, the best players, Smith used to say, can see the board from both sides.

  Suddenly the traffic had dispersed and Waters could put his foot down and focus on the driving. He made a point of doing so, but Terek said, ‘Anyway, I think you should follow up on the next-door caravan and on Donnelly’s medical records.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘And let me know when you’ve done so.’

  Donnelly though, thought Waters as he eased the Audi out of the slip road and back onto the A635. What do you make of someone like William Sydney Donnelly? Just an ordinary bloke, couldn’t be more so, and yet he was a sex offender. Twice he had been charged with engaging or attempting to engage in sexual activity with a minor. With young teenage girls. Was he married to Elsie when the second offence took place, eight years ago? She was younger than Donnelly, Waters had noticed, a good ten years. Had she “stood by him” as people like to say, or did she represent a new and improved part of Donnelly’s life?