The Gardens of the Dead (10 page)

On the
train to London, Anselm had read several times the witness statement of a girl
called Anji. She had recounted the confrontation with Riley:

‘Why do
you keep hanging around?’

‘Because
I’m frightened.’

‘What
of?’

‘Not
for myself.., for you lot.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes. Each
of you.’

‘Why?’

‘The
owner of the house is tired of waiting, and he wants his rent.’

‘You
said this house was yours.’

‘No I
didn’t, I said I had a house. It’s not mine. I’m just the rent collector… for
him.’

‘Who?’

‘The
Pieman.’

‘What?’

‘The
Pieman… that’s what he calls himself He has lots of houses and he likes his
rent. I let you use this one because I felt sorry for you. I thought that once
you got settled in you’d have the money and we could smooth things over. But
you’ve been slow and he’s found out. The Pieman’s not happy. That’s why I’m
worried.’

‘How
much does he want?’

‘What
he’s owed.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘Three
thousand three hundred.’

The
girls were stunned and angry. They swore and shouted. Riley said, ‘I’m here
whenever I can to hold him back if he turns up, but this can’t go on. The best
thing is to start making a contribution.’

They
said they were off, that they were paying nothing to no one. Riley told them, ‘I
wouldn’t do anything silly if I were you. The Pieman begins with those you
trust. First of all he takes it out on them. Then he comes for you. And he’s a
way of finding those who owe him. And I wouldn’t be standing out here, night
and day, if I wasn’t worried what he might do. The best thing is to get some
quick money, and in the meantime, I’ll calm him down.’

Anselm
gave the gist of Anji’s evidence to Roddy At its conclusion, Roddy asked, ‘Who,
pray was the Pieman?’

‘I said
it was a load of nonsense, but Elizabeth thought I was wrong. She said this
figure was very real for Riley, which was why he could make an abstraction so
terrifying.’

Roddy
opened his mouth as if to say ‘Ah,’ but nothing came out. Anselm continued with
his narrative.

‘One of
the girls ran off and turned up at the night shelter where George Bradshaw
worked. They got talking. She left but came back a week later with the others.
They told Bradshaw about Riley and the Pieman and he urged them to make a
complaint. If we are to believe Bradshaw, he appreciated that these girls would
have difficulty persuading a jury to believe them. They’d all committed
offences of dishonesty. Their credibility would be an issue. So Bradshaw
persuaded them to go back to Quilling Road. Only this time, he joined them when
Riley was due to collect the rent. It was a sort of sting: in the event, they
said they were leaving and that provoked Riley to make threats within Bradshaw’s
hearing.’

‘Where
was he?’

‘In one
of the bedrooms. Apparently Riley refused to go up the stairs… he wouldn’t
even go near the bottom step. He always made them come down to the hall.’

Roddy
chewed his pipe. ‘How peculiar.’

‘So
Riley was in deep trouble,’ continued Anselm. A witness of impeccable character
would corroborate the girls’ evidence. There was no reason to doubt him except
for one significant consideration: Riley, too, had no previous convictions.
Bradshaw was therefore of central importance.’

Another
match flared in Roddy’s hand.

‘When I
arrived for the conference, Elizabeth was already there with Riley She listened
while I went through the statements with him.’

Riley
came to Anselm with a flash: wiry limbs, the jaw chewing minutely ‘He was
calm, even though his defence was based on conjecture: that the girls had
framed him when he’d kicked them out for rent arrears; that Bradshaw had been
the pimp who’d lost out, which explained his involvement in the scam.

Roddy
examined the bowl of his pipe. ‘What did Elizabeth make of that?’

Anselm
had found a summary of Elizabeth’s words scribbled on the back of a witness
statement — made by himself at the time. ‘Words to the effect, “Mr Riley, I am
very familiar with people who pretend to be one thing when in fact they are
another; and with people who lie, and they rarely do it without very good
reason. If these witnesses did not know you, if by some marvel you received
remuneration arising from their work without them realising it, then perhaps we
might find a technical route off these charges. But since that does not apply,
in order to promote your defence we are going to need far more than ingenuity”’
Anselm paused, as if he were in the room again, stunned by her contempt. ‘It
was terrific.’

‘What
was his response?’

‘He was
smiling.’

‘Smiling?’

‘Yes,
and Elizabeth said, “If I may respectfully say so, you do not appear to
appreciate the gravity of the situation in which you find yourself” The smile
had gone from Riley’s face but he was simmering. He said, “You’re wrong there.
I know exactly what position I’m in.” If Elizabeth had thought he’d buckle and
plead, she was wrong. There was going to be a trial.’

Roddy
tapped his pipe upon an ashtray ‘He sounds like many of the gentlemen I’ve had
the honour to represent.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ll have to leave it
there. I must commandeer a few words to explain away a point-blank shooting.
Tell me the rest tomorrow.’

3

‘The case started all
right but then went badly, although it seems that the decline itself was a strategic
decision — because your mother was responsible.’ Mr Wyecliffe was lodged on one
side of a table in a public house near Saint Paul’s. His small head was sunk
into the collar of his overcoat. Nick leaned away from the encroaching
confidence. ‘The first witness was the youngest, a kid under sixteen. I saw her
in the corridor tattooes above each ear. But she ran off.’

‘Where?’

‘No
idea. But that meant that the first charge was in the bin: encouraging a minor
or something into the profession, if I might use that word.’ He sipped at his
pint. ‘That was bad news for the Crown and good news for us.

‘I don’t
follow’

‘It was
the easiest allegation to make out because they didn’t have to prove
procurement or intimidation. Encouragement is enough. The Crown was on the back
foot, so to speak, and it was then that your mother seemed — I stress “seemed”
— to help their case. The witness in question had, shall we say, a complicated
past: not one that would promote trust in her word. But if I wasn’t familiar
with forensic technique, I’d have thought that your mother reviewed it to evoke
sympathy Take a look yourself. These are my notes of her cross-examination.’
He opened his notebook and passed it over. Nick read the surprisingly neat transcription,
almost hearing his mother’s voice, her reluctance and her understanding.

‘Anji,
you’re seventeen?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ve
been very brave this morning, telling the court how you came to work on the
street — I hope you don’t mind if I use that phrase.’

‘You
can call it what you like.’

‘Thank
you. I’d like to ask you a little about what happened before you came to
London.’

‘Eh?’

About
Leeds.’

‘Whatever.’

‘You
ran away?’

‘So
what?’

‘You
ran away from Lambert House, a care home?’

A
prison.’

Anji, I’m
not going to rake over what happened. This court understands that the places
which ought to protect children sometimes fail. Your honour, let me make it
plain that__’

Mr
Wyecliffe coughed. ‘Do you see that bit about Lambert House?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well,
the place was eventually closed down because of its moral failings. Now, the
prosecution would have been saving that information about the witness for after
the defence cross-examination. That way the jury’s last memory of the girl
would be sympathetic — because it gave a handle on the running, the lying and
the thieving that was to come. But your mother spiked that by getting it in
first. It showed she was being fair even as she was stealing the prosecution’s
only card. Do you see?’

Nick
drew his chair away from the table and continued reading.

Afterwards
you ran away from the Amberly Unit?’

‘Yeh?’

‘And
then Elstham Place?’

‘And?’

‘Anji,
there are nine other projects from which you absconded, aren’t there?’

‘I
never counted.’

Nick
let the notebook fall. Mr Wyecliffe was examining his beer glass. ‘Tastes mild
this stuff but the specific gravity is 5.6. You have to be careful.’

‘Why
would my mother…
seem
to evoke sympathy?’

‘Because
she didn’t want to alienate the jury.’ He wiped froth off his moustache. ‘The
bedside manner would draw them on side.’

‘How do
you know it wasn’t genuine?’

‘As a
woman, as a human being, of course she felt for the kid,’ said Mr Wyecliffe,
with mock impatience, ‘but as a lawyer that sort of thing becomes part of how
you handle a trial. She could make it serve another purpose — to help the
client.’

Nick
hadn’t quite appreciated that this was the sort of manoeuvring his mother had
been obliged to perform if she was to win a case. He turned over the page and
his attention latched on to an exchange that Mr Wyecliffe had marked with an
asterisk:

‘Anji,
you told the court that Mr Riley said, “The one to fear is the Pieman. I’m just
the rent collector.” What does the Pieman look like?’

‘I’ve
never seen him.’

‘Do you
know where he lives?’

‘Nah.’

‘Well,
is he in London, or far off?’

‘He’s
just round the corner, like, keeping an eye on us all the time.

‘What
makes you think that?’

‘Mr
Riley says so.

‘Have
you heard his voice?’

‘Nah.’

‘Why
are you frightened of someone you’ve neither seen nor heard?’

‘Cos of
what he’ll do if he catches us.

‘What’s
that?’

‘He
says that when you’re asleep, lying there, with your head all still, the Pieman
comes up with a poker.’

‘A
poker?’

‘Yeah,
and he’ll bash you, just once.’

‘He’s
after you, is he?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re
in the care of social services at the moment, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re
safe, aren’t you?’

‘Nah,
cos he knows how to find you, no matter where you are, and he always comes at
night, after you’ve closed your eyes. You can’t be looked after all the time,
you know. He just watches, like, waiting for your eyes to drop, and when no one’s
looking and it’s really dark, that’s when he comes.’

‘Through
a window?’

‘Maybes.
Wherever there’s an opening. He doesn’t need no keys or nothing.’

‘Anji,
from what you’ve said, it’s as though the Pieman is like a bad dream. Is that
right?’

‘Yeah,
but it’s real.’

‘Thank
you, Anji, you’ve been very helpful.’

Nick
closed the notebook and handed it back to Mr Wyecliffe. His mother’s work had
always been a remote activity: the facts were usually interesting, but it remained
on a neutral platform where she’d ‘represented’ someone in ‘a trial’ with ‘evidential
difficulties’. Reading the actual questions and answers within their context
removed the staging. Each move was determined by one objective: to win.
Nothing was sacred, save the rules of the contest. Even compassion was a tool.
Nick said, ‘Do you know what happened to George Bradshaw?’

‘I do
not.’

‘Do you
know what happened to his son?’

‘I do.’

‘How
did you find out?’

‘The
matter was reported in several newspapers.

‘Who
showed you?’

Mr
Wyecliffe eyed his beer, admiring the question. ‘Can’t say much,’ he said. ‘Client
confidentiality.’

They
were back to where they’d started from when Nick had first taken a seat in that
dim, stifling office.

On the pavement Mr Wyecliffe
whistled at the cold. It came funnelling down Newgate Street from the direction
of the Old Bailey. The office blocks were slabs of grey with occasional squares
of dim light. ‘I suppose you know Mr Kemble?’

‘Yes.’

‘In a
class of his own.

‘Yes.’
Nick, however, thought of his mother and father holding hands upon Skomer. The
sea was often wild and the wind could make you shake. It was a world away.