Unsafe Convictions (25 page)

Mr
McKenna, does anybody else need to know? The lady’s long dead, another grave I put flowers on from time to time, but her girl’s still alive, and trying to live a good life, even though she’s had her own terrible troubles. We all know each other, but don’t know that we do, if you see what I mean. Trisha was very friendly with the lady’s daughter, and Linda likes her as well, but she might feel different if she knew about me and her mother. The lady in question, and she was a lady, whatever you might think about somebody who lives the way she did, was Kathy Broadbent, Julie’s mother.

I
hope we’ll get to meet, but I’ve said what I really wanted to say, and I know you’ll respect my confidences as much as you can, not that I’d want to let them get in the way of your job. For what it’s worth, I’ve got my own doubts that the creature killed my Trisha, though I don’t know who else could have done, unless it was somebody we don’t know about. I don’t have any doubts about Barry, but I’m not trying to influence you. I’m simply saying what I think about him and, apart from anything else, he always loved his work too much to make a mess of things. Did you know he wanted to he a policeman right from when he was a boy? You’d often see him on a Saturday afternoon, on the coat-tails of the bobbies on the beat on the High Street, and he got to be a bit of nuisance at times, because I remember his dad telling me how Inspector Ryman had been to the house telling them to find another way of keeping Barry occupied at the weekends. Mind you, Ryman was a miserable sort, too full of himself for a town like this, especially after he joined the Lodge. I’m sure he’s much happier now he’s sitting behind a desk giving orders.

Anyway,
I’ll see you if I see you, as they say, and best wishes with the job — it can’t be easy.

Yours
sincerely

Fred
Jarvis

‘
What’s he got to say?’ Jack asked.

‘
Nothing very much,’ McKenna replied, ‘except that Ryman found Dugdale a pain in the rear, long before he joined up.’ He folded the letter, replaced it in the blue envelope, and put that in his briefcase. ‘I’m seeing Ryman this morning, so you’ll have to sort out the other interviews with Janet. The two girls who were pestering Fauvel must be traced and interviewed, but Bunty Smith’s your priority for now.’

‘
What about Holbrook ?’

‘
She’s to be charged with wasting police time, and bailed.’

‘
Is that all?’ asked Jack. ‘Bit of a damp squib after last night’s dramatic arrest.’

‘
I want her on the loose, and I want her to think she’s put one over on us, because I’m sure she’s up to something, and I want to know what that is.’ He smiled wolfishly. ‘Then we can throw the book at her. Attempting to pervert the course of justice will hopefully be the least of it.’

‘
Obviously,’ Jack said mildly, ‘you’ve taken against her. Shall we interview Lewis, if she’s well enough?’

‘
No. There are no assurances to give her, and she can’t have Pawsley back, but you
can
tell the Federation to get her another solicitor.’

‘
And this newspaper report?’

‘
Ignore it. The media’s out there, and until something new takes their attention they’ll be watching us, and what they don’t know they’ll make up, as usual.’

*

‘Father Barclay’s a sweetheart,’ Ellen said, as she put down the telephone. ‘I could really go for him if I wasn’t married.’

‘
You still couldn’t have him,’ Janet pointed out. ‘He’s taken a vow of chastity.’

‘
I think that’s an awful waste. He’d make a lovely husband and father.’

‘
But is he a good source of information,’ asked Jack irritably. ‘Does he remember the names of the girls with a crush on Fauvel?’

Ellen
nodded. ‘It was obviously a significant event in parish life.’

‘
Why? It’s not uncommon. Even you would be a priestly groupie, given the chance.’

‘
Julie could be another one pining with unrequited love for Fauvel,’ Janet mused. ‘And what Rene said about her being born at the Willows opens up all sorts of possibilities.’

‘
I don’t see how,’ Jack said. ‘I can’t see a single useful possibility about it, even by exercising my imagination.’

‘
I’d like to talk to her on my own,’ Janet decided. ‘D’you think Mr McKenna would mind?’

‘
You can ask him later,’ Ellen said. ‘We really should be on our way to see Bunty. Snow’s definitely forecast for today, and I don’t fancy being marooned in a ten-foot drift on the road between here and Sheffield.’

‘
It’s physically impossible for ten feet of snow to fall in a day,’ Jack commented, gathering papers and notebooks.

‘
Not when it’s blizzarding in a north-easterly gale,’ Ellen argued. ‘Listen to that wind howling outside. What d’you think it’s like up on the moors?’

Chapter Three

Their talons hooked around the wildly threshing branches, the rooks in the churchyard trees watched them leave, cawing throatily, then fluttered out of the trees to eddy around the steeple.

The
road to Sheffield climbed to almost two thousand feet as it snaked across Bleak Moor, then ran straight for a few miles before plunging into the forestry plantations lining the shores of a massive reservoir. The landscape was white with frost, the waters at the edge of the reservoir sharded with ice that glittered and tumbled and pointed as the wind tore over the surface. Dark-grey cloud lay low and heavy on the moorland peaks, shredded wisps of paler grey filling crevices and snagging in the tree-tops.

In
the back seat, Ellen stared through the car window, puzzled to find this land alien and alarming when she rejoiced in the bleak and unforgiving aspects of the Welsh mountains. ‘I couldn’t live round here,’ she said. ‘Everything’s the wrong colour. I don’t know how, but it is. Even the sheep look sort of dirty, although I suppose they could just be a different breed from our sheep.’

‘
It’s more likely the Sheffield pollution,’ suggested Jack, as they emerged from a deep gulch in the hillside to see the city sprawling below, uniformly drab beneath the darkening sky.

He
parked below the block where Bluebell Way, Primrose Walk and, right under the sky, Daffodil Close housed the city’s elderly. ‘Is it me, or is there something very wrong about putting old folk in a high-rise?’

‘
It’s not really a high-rise,’ Ellen said.
‘Those
are high-rises.’ She pointed to the other side of the valley, where multi-storey tower blocks and rampart-like structures destroyed both human and natural proportion.

A
uniformed policewoman came to the door of seventy-seven. ‘Can I leave now, sir?’ she asked, when Jack introduced himself. ‘I’ve been here since midnight, and Mrs Smith isn’t best pleased about it.’

Another
figure loomed behind her, a rotund shape with sharp dark eyes. ‘Fancy thinking Bunty’d do a bunk,’ Ida said in some disgust. ‘What d’you take us for?’

‘
It was simply to protect Mrs Smith.’ Jack tried to summon a smile.

‘
What from?’

‘
Reporters and suchlike.’

‘
Even
they
don’t come knocking on folks’ doors in the middle of the night,’ Ida commented. ‘It’s the kids and the junkies do that, and where are the coppers then, I ask you? Nowhere!’

‘
Yes, well you never know.’ Dismissing the policewoman, Jack put Ellen’s machines on the table by the window, then searched the gloomy room in vain for Bunty Smith.

‘
She’s in the toilet,’ Ida told him. ‘The cold gets on her kidneys, not to mention all this worry.’

‘
We heard she’s not very well,’ Ellen said with a sympathetic smile, looking for electrical sockets in the skirtings.

‘
Who said that?’ Ida’s voice was sharp.

‘
I really couldn’t say. We’ve talked to an awful lot of people.’

‘
Well, you can’t have talked to many about Bunty, because nobody knows about her, except that snotty little bitch of a reporter.’ Standing four-square in front of the fire, Ida demanded to know: ‘What did she say? And don’t plug those things in until we’ve finished with the electric kettle and turned the fire down a bit. You’ll blow every fuse in the block.’

‘
I’ll get the battery pack out of the car,’ Jack mumbled, and disappeared.

Ida
continued to glare at the two women and, when Bunty eventually emerged from the toilet and crept downstairs towards the kitchen, she called: ‘I’ll brew the tea. You come in here.’

Bunty
looked almost as wispy as the torn moorland clouds, Janet thought, as the old woman drifted into the room, eyes averted from her visitors. Ellen took her hand, introduced herself and Janet, and said that Inspector Tuttle would be back in a moment.

‘
Oh, for God’s sake!’ Ida snapped. ‘Stop treating her like she’s a moron. We had enough of that off that bitch of a reporter.’

‘
If you can’t stop interfering, Mrs Sheridan,’ Ellen told her, ‘you can go back to your own place.’

‘
Bunty wants me here!’ Ida’s face reddened.

‘
Then please keep quiet,’ Ellen replied. ‘She doesn’t need a guard dog.’

‘
If you’re going to squabble,’ Bunty said suddenly, her voice croaking, ‘you can all go away. I can’t stand arguments.’

‘
That’s right!’ Ida agreed. ‘She can’t, ’cos she put up with too many off that son of hers.’

‘
And you can’t make me talk if I don’t want to,’ Bunty added. ‘I haven’t done
nothing
!’

Chapter Four

As she signed her release papers and took the bailee instruction sheet from the custody officer at Haughton police station, Gaynor doubted if McKenna would let her off with only this minor charge of wasting police time. She knew she had provoked him too far, and expected trouble. She checked the SIM card in her mobile telephone and, item by item, the contents of her confiscated Louis Vuitton bag, then signed another paper, retrieved her car keys, and strode out into the biting wind, determined to find something, if not to bargain with, to neutralise McKenna.

She
was not to know that Davidson was so worried by the turn of events that he had instructed the newspaper’s lawyers to write to Linda Newton offering an unreserved apology and, without prejudice, the sum of £10,000.

Chapter Five

When McKenna was shown into the superintendent’s office at Ravensdale police headquarters, Ryman rose to meet him, offering an uneasy smile, and a Masonic handshake. The handshake, to his chagrin, went unacknowledged.

‘
Do sit down, and let me apologise for the somewhat abrupt tone of our conversation last night,’ he said. He was a tall, heavy-set man, with a thatch of almost pure white hair, and handled himself confidently. ‘You must appreciate that we’re very concerned about the welfare of Dugdale and his colleagues, and when we heard of Sergeant Lewis’s overdose, it was a nasty shock.’ He seated himself in a padded leather chair behind the desk. ‘I, for one, never imagined she’d do anything like that. I thought she was made of sterner stuff.’

‘
It was purely an attention-seeking gesture,’ McKenna replied. ‘She was in no danger of killing herself, which she well knew.’

‘
Can we be sure about that, though?’ He stroked his chin. ‘She’s in an extraordinarily stressful situation, after all.’

‘
All the more reason for the Federation to insist on her having solicitor representation.’

‘
I understand Miss Pawsley’s a family friend of considerable long-standing,’ Ryman said. ‘Isn’t there a way she could be allowed back on the scene? It would solve the problems.’

‘
She deliberately attempted to subvert my investigation, Mr Ryman, so no, there’s no way I’m going to give her another opportunity.’

‘
I must say, Mr McKenna, I hadn’t realised your investigation would be either as far-reaching or as —well, ruthless is the only word which springs to mind.’

‘
Is there any reason why you should? It doesn’t concern you.’

‘
These are my officers!’

‘
They are officers of this force, like yourself,’ McKenna pointed out.

Ryman
surveyed him, eyebrows drawn together. ‘Are you implying that I’m under investigation now? You’ve rather changed your tune since our meeting last week, haven’t you? That was wholly amicable, as I recollect.’

‘
I have certain questions to put to you, on issues which have arisen since. At present, they appear to be fairly general queries, but you will appreciate that I can give no assurances for the future.’

‘
Does the chief constable know about this?’

‘
He’s been informed.’

Drumming
his fingers on the desk, Ryman asked: ‘Is this interview to be under caution?’

‘
I was hoping for your co-operation.’

‘
I see.’

‘
It’s your decision, of course,’ McKenna added, ‘but you must accept that your reluctance to co-operate will be assessed accordingly.’

‘
All you’re supposed to do is find out who framed Smith.’

‘
Firstly, Mr Ryman, I must be sure that Smith
was
framed.’

‘
Don’t be ridiculous! He was in church when it happened. You surely can’t gainsay a Roman Catholic priest, who knew nothing about it and had no involvement with any of the principals.’

‘
We’re fairly sure Father Barclay has told the truth, but there are any number of other people involved in this matter who have not, or who are only telling half the truth.’ Noticing an ashtray on the desk, McKenna lit a cigarette. ‘Smith and Beryl could have arranged elaborate alibis, while a paid villain did the job for them. Beryl has a stake in this, as well as her husband.’

‘
I can see that,’ agreed Ryman. ‘But it doesn’t solve the problem of Barclay’s letter. Either Dugdale’s a liar, or Father Brett is and, with the best will in the world, I can’t see why Father Brett should lie.’

‘
Dugdale made regular reports to you throughout the murder investigation. How much
real
effort was put into checking the alibi Smith claimed to have?’ When Ryman began to frown again, McKenna went on: ‘I’ve read the statements Dugdale and his team took from various members of the congregation, but such documents only present half the picture. Why did no one see Smith at the church? Why did no one mention Father Barclay as a potential witness? He wasn’t long gone at that time.’

‘
I don’t know why! But I do know they were as thorough as they could be, and if you recall, when the women who were in the church that day were re-interviewed for the appeal hearing, not one of them could say that it was definitely that particular day when they saw Smith in church. Hardly any of them knew him, anyway, because he’d only recently finished his conversion, so he wasn’t a regular.’

‘
And Father Barclay?’

‘
Out of sight, out of mind, probably. He was a very junior priest, anyway, and they’re so used to priests coming for a few months, then going off again, he wouldn’t have had time to make a mark.’ Ryman paused, frowning. ‘And I don’t know why you’re digging over this particular ground again. You know what lousy witnesses most people make, when they’re willing to be witnesses at all, that is. I could go outside, chuck a brick through a shop window, and if you asked ten people what I looked like, you’d get ten very different descriptions, and even if I was standing right in front of them most of them wouldn’t recognise me.’

‘
I’m aware of that,’ McKenna conceded.

‘
And I suppose the next thing you’ll ask is whether Dugdale told me he’d had the letter, and I told him to bin it?’

‘
Did he? Did you?’

‘
No, and no!’ Ryman’s irritation, and anxiety, were increasing.

‘
You’ve known Dugdale a long time, haven’t you?’

‘
Since he took it into his head he wanted to be copper, and made a thorough nuisance of himself “learning the job”. He was about twelve then. In the end, I had to tell his parents to warn him off.’

‘
Was that provoked by a particular incident?’

‘
At one time, we didn’t bother locking the cars when they were parked in the yard, so we could make a quick get-away if the need arose. Dugdale, of course, cottoned on to this, so he’d slip into one when no one was looking, and curl up on the floor behind the front seats. God knows how many jaunts he had, before someone found him when they went to put a prisoner in the back.’

‘
Very enterprising,’ McKenna commented. ‘Was there any come-back for you?’

Ryman
flushed. ‘I was in charge of the station.’

‘
Of course.’ McKenna nodded. ‘Do you feel resentment towards him? Potentially, he has a hold over you, however small.’

‘
He wouldn’t have got on so well if I had.’

‘
Surely progress or otherwise depends on merit?’

‘
Stop laying traps, Mr McKenna. I won’t fall into them.’

‘
There are implications in that comment, you know, but we’ll leave them aside for now.’ Stubbing out his cigarette, McKenna said: ‘Why did you feel the need to tell me about Dugdale’s long ago associations with Julie Broadbent and Linda Newton?’

‘
I thought they might be relevant.’

‘
Why? What reasons do you have?’

‘
Where Newton’s concerned, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘
That implies you believe he either conspired with her to frame Smith, or framed Smith out of regard for her.’

‘
I’ve already told you I can’t question Father Brett’s integrity.’

‘
So where does Broadbent fit into that scene?’

‘
People were pretty scandalised when Dugdale took up with her. Getting involved with a girl like that says a lot about him. His judgement, and his disregard for convention, at the very least.’

‘
Come on!’ McKenna chided. ‘They were teenagers. I’m sure you, like the rest of us, at least kissed a few girls your mother would have turned her back on.’

‘
I have never consorted with a prostitute!’ Ryman seethed. ‘Or with the daughter of one, before you make any more smart remarks.’

‘
None of us can know what people do in their secret lives,’ replied McKenna and, with Fred Jarvis’s poignant disclosures in mind, added: ‘Women like Kathy Broadbent often fulfil a genuine need. We have no right to condemn her out of hand.’

‘
So you’re happy to fly in the face of two thousand years of Christian morality, are you?’

‘
On the subject of Christians,’ McKenna remarked, ‘Father Fauvel talked of magic circles around the police, the legal profession, and Freemasonry, implying that the truth was bound to remain locked inside. Might your loyalty to him be misplaced?’

‘
We all need someone to look up to in this world, and a priest is a more certain example than most,’ Ryman argued. ‘And he was probably just trying to tell you that Dugdale’s corrupt, without actually saying so.’

‘
In your regard for a Papist, you’re a most unusual Anglican,’ McKenna said. ‘And an even more unusual Mason, but that’s irrelevant, I imagine. Tell me, what do you know about Broadbent’s accident?’

‘
That it
was
an accident,’ Ryman said flatly. ‘And entirely her fault. In my opinion, she was lucky the Church didn’t have her put away, instead of paying out thousands for plastic surgery.’

‘
Why should the Church pay for treatment that was freely available on the NHS?’

‘
They wanted her to have the best.’

‘
Which would be available on the NHS,’ insisted McKenna. ‘Do you know for a fact that the church actually paid out a penny? Or was all that a smoke-screen to hide the truth? According to some sources, her injuries were the result of criminal negligence.’

‘
She’s still putting
that
story about, is she?’ Ryman stared at him, eyes narrowed. ‘You want to be very careful with her. She’s cunning, manipulative, dishonest, and downright dangerous. And the kindest thing anyone could say is that life has brought her so much pain she wants to give others the benefits of her experience.’

‘
I didn’t realise you knew her so well.’

‘
You know perfectly well her delinquencies came to our attention when she was younger and, to be frank, I shudder to think what she’s up to these days. Like mother, like daughter, in my view.’

‘
She’s doing an important job and trying to rebuild her life,’ McKenna said.

‘
I wouldn’t even let her work in a dog’s home. Father Brett must have a hell of a lot of faith in human nature to risk giving her a job, but I expect he keeps an eye on her. He’s no fool.’

‘
Mr Ryman, you are aware of the statutory responsibility for child protection that falls upon the police, aren’t you?’

‘
Of course, I am!’

‘
Then why did you fail Broadbent? Why didn’t you involve the social services department? Why did everyone deny the child a fighting chance?’ McKenna stared at the other man’s stony face. ‘You never even cautioned Kathy Broadbent over her activities, let alone prosecuted. In fact, you
condoned
her life-style, and abdicated your responsibilities not only to her child, but to the community you were paid to serve.’

‘
What was I supposed to do? Prosecuting the woman would have brought shame on upstanding men, and destroyed families and marriages. And for what? D’you really think it would have made an ounce of difference?’ His face was dark with anger. ‘There’s an old saying in these parts, Superintendent. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and believe me, Julie Broadbent’s more like a sow’s backside. You can scrub off the filth, but she’ll wallow again at the first opportunity.’ He smiled then, quite savagely. ‘Has it occurred to you that
she
might have killed Trisha Smith? No one knows where she was that day, and she can’t
prove
she was in the Willows.’

‘
Please answer my question about Kathy Broadbent,’ McKenna told him. ‘Did you condone her activities because some of these “upstanding men” you talk about were police officers?’

‘
How
dare
you suggest that!’ Ryman was white with rage.

‘
Or were they perhaps the town worthies who might be useful to your own advancement?’ McKenna went on. ‘There’s nothing like a small town for back-scratching, is there?’

‘
Listen to me,’ Ryman snarled, ‘and listen good! We couldn’t do anything to that woman because we never caught her at it. She didn’t walk the streets, and she didn’t solicit in public. Her reputation went by word of mouth.’

‘
And where did she carry out her trade? In her home, in front of her child?’