‘Visiting the Lewis family would have been enough.’
‘Even with Denzel in prison?’
‘Once a gang member always a gang member. Being inside doesn’t stop them dealing drugs, waging turf wars.’
‘And you really think they could be capable of something like this?’
‘They’re capable of most things when they set their minds to it.’
‘But why Lizzie? What could she have done to upset them?’
‘If we knew that, Mr Gwynne, we’d be a long way to finding the person or persons responsible.’
Hugh hesitated, caught between his instinct for caution, his urge to help, and his reluctance to point Steadman in what might be the wrong direction. ‘There was talk of a witness,’ he said abruptly. ‘Someone who could give Denzel Lewis an alibi.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I thought it was just a rumour, but . . . well, it seems Lizzie might have been in touch with this person.’
Steadman gave his unblinking stare. ‘Chief Inspector Montgomery know about this?’
‘In theory anyway. Lizzie asked him about witness protection.’
This time there was a marked tension in Steadman’s silence. ‘When was this?’
‘At their meeting last week.’
Steadman turned his face towards the light while he digested the information. ‘And this witness, did she tell you his name?’
‘No.’
‘What about other people? Like the Lewis family? Did she tell them who this person was?’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘But they knew there was a witness?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyone else know?’
‘I couldn’t say.’
‘But your wife definitely talked to Montgomery about it?’
‘Yes.’
With a pensive nod, Steadman straightened his back. ‘Right, well, thanks for that, Mr Gwynne. I’ll look into it further.’
‘There’s another thing.’
Steadman lifted his head to the question.
‘My wife must have been unconscious.’
‘Why do you say that, Mr Gwynne?’
‘Because there was no other way this guy could have undressed her and folded her clothes and put her into bed. No other way he could have persuaded her to stay there once the fire started and the smoke alarm went off.’
Steadman took his time to consider this idea. ‘There’s nothing in the post-mortem to suggest she was unconscious.’
‘Yes, but what about date-rape drugs? They don’t show up, do they?’
Steadman took even longer over this thought. Finally he offered Hugh a mechanical smile. ‘I hear what you say, Mr Gwynne. I hear it loud and clear.’
Back in the house, Hugh gave Lizzie’s water-damaged notebooks to Slater for delivery to a specialist document restorer, then left for Oakhill to face the task of telling the children.
Gone out
, Lou’s note said.
Back later
. The message was so abrupt, so devoid of information that Hugh felt a beat of alarm.
She answered her mobile instantly. ‘Dad.’
‘Sweetheart. You okay?’
‘Can’t talk now. Waiting for a call.’
‘Anything the matter?’
‘It’s Charlie,’ she said in a tight voice. ‘He didn’t come home last night and he’s not answering his phone.’
It had only been a matter of time, Hugh thought wearily, though that didn’t prevent him from feeling a plunge of disappointment.
‘Where are you?’ he demanded. She seemed to be in a car, but it couldn’t be Lizzie’s because that was sitting outside in the drive.
‘We’ve just tried the place where Elk was meant to live, but he’s not here any more.’
‘Who’re you with?’
‘Sarah.’
His mind was a blank. ‘Sarah?’
‘Koenig. But Dad, I can’t talk now. I’m waiting for a call from Joel. He thinks he might be able to find out where Elk’s gone to.’
‘Lou – don’t expect too much.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean . . . if Charlie’s decided to start using again, then there’s nothing we can do about it. Believe me, darling – nothing.’
‘Well, if he
has
started again that’s all the more reason
not
to give up on him – not when he needs us,’ she declared emotionally. ‘And he needs us, I know he does! I’m going to be there for him – even if you’re not!’
‘Lou, I didn’t—’ But she’d rung off, and he didn’t call back. He’d wept for Charlie once on discovering he was into heavy drugs, and again the first time Charlie had relapsed after swearing faithfully, absolutely, cross-his-heart-hope-to-die that he’d given up, but at some point in the succeeding months his tears had dried up. The disappointment, which had seemed so acute a moment ago, had already faded, another fact to be absorbed and somehow lived with, like the fire and Lizzie’s death.
Heading upstairs, he pushed open Charlie’s door and surveyed the jumble of strewn clothes, cigarette stubs and half-drunk cans of Coke that littered the place. Only the computer table was relatively uncluttered. Wandering over, he saw Lizzie’s mobile phone lying face down with its back removed, and on a stack of papers next to it a handwritten list of names and phone numbers. From entries such as ‘Plumber Dave’ and ‘Electric Paul’ he realised it was a summary of Lizzie’s SIM card. This was what baffled him, how Charlie could make such a neat, methodical list when for so much of the time his mind, like this bedroom, seemed to be in a state of confusion. On the next sheet was a printed list of computer file names, perhaps fourteen or fifteen in number, which, according to Charlie’s handwritten note, had been modified in the last two weeks. In the pile beneath were printouts of the fifteen files. ‘Charlie . . .’ he murmured with a mixture of admiration and despair.
Collecting up the printouts, he took them to his bedroom and put them on the side table while he went into the bathroom and splashed his face repeatedly in cold water. Then, lying on the bed, propped up on the pillows, he began to go through
them, skimming over Lizzie’s Citizens Advice cases, reading the remaining files in more detail. Coming to the file marked ‘Denzel Lewis Campaign’ he skipped to the end to see if she’d had time to write up her meeting with Montgomery, but there was nothing. It was only when he leafed backwards that he found a paragraph headed ‘Meeting with DCI Montgomery’, with notes on the witness protection scheme. The date was some weeks back, which surprised him. Or had he simply got the timescale wrong?
Reaching the second-to-last document, there it was suddenly. A file entitled ‘Statement’ kept in a folder labelled ‘W’. The heading read:
Summary of conversations with W
.
August 1, 6:
W first tells me he’s frightened of the gangs because of something he’s seen. Clams up when I ask him for details.
August 13, 20, 27, Sept 1:
Steady progress in winning W’s trust. He seems genuinely terrified of consequences of having seen ‘bad’ thing. Says ‘they’ would get him if they knew. Tells me ‘they’ are local gang, but won’t say which. I passed all this on to Dr S for information. She said it could be an attempt to rationalise his fear of the outside world, i.e. a fabrication.
Sept. 18:
On my return from holiday W is wary and withdrawn, as if to punish me for my absence, but then begins to respond. I feel I’m regaining his trust. I think he’s missed my visits.
Sept. 23:
W told me it was a knifing he saw. I didn’t press him. I feel he’ll tell me more as and when he’s ready.
Sept. 28:
Most positive talk yet re practical issues in his life: occupational training, getting fit, etc. W excited at my idea of theme park outing for his birthday. Something to aim at, if nothing else.
Oct. 1:
Another positive visit, though W still needs a lot of reassurance, encouragement etc. Towards the end, JE dropped by. As he, G and I talked, W became agitated, then aggressive & withdrawn. Reaction
made no sense till I worked out only thing that could have upset him was talk of Denzel Lewis campaign.
Oct. 2:
Reassure W. Swear formally on the family Bible that I would never break his trust, that whatever he tells me will always remain confidential. I then ask him straight out if it was the killing of Jason Jackson he saw. His reaction says yes. After a lot more reassurance it all comes out. To the best of my recollection, this is what he told me:
Three years ago, on the night in question, W had been to the sports centre to watch basketball practice with a view to taking up the sport. He was walking home sometime after nine o’clock. There was a kid ahead of him, also walking home from basketball practice. He knew this kid by sight only; not well enough to walk with him. A distinctive red Ford XR3 with spoilers and white metal wheels went by, then reappeared and stopped alongside the other kid. At first there was some sort of talk between the kid and the people in the car. Then two white guys got out of the car and surrounded the kid. There was a shout, then the guys stabbed the kid. At this point one of the white guys saw W and shouted something, and W ran away in the opposite direction. Hearing the car coming up behind, he dived down an alleyway and made his escape through some back gardens.
When I questioned W further, he said
1) | He was in no doubt the two guys stabbed the kid. (He mimed the stabbing movements for me.) |
2) | The two guys were definitely white. He saw them clearly. |
3) | He was certain about his description of the car because he loves cars and always notices them. He said the car belonged to a white gang from the adjoining estate. |
4) | W couldn’t name the exact date of the attack, only that he’d just turned fifteen, which tallies with the murder of Jason Jackson. |
Oct. 3, 5:
W is relieved to have told me, but also very defensive re Denzel being in prison for something he didn’t do.
Oct. 8:
W tells me he recognised one of Jason’s attackers as one of the Forbes brothers, well-known racists and gang members. I talk
about witness protection, a new home in another city, but he’s scared stiff.
Oct. 10:
No progress on idea of witness protection.
Oct. 12:
Same.
Oct. 15:
Same.
Oct. 17:
We talk about God and faith and bravery. Could be the way forward.
Woken by the buzz of the doorbell, Hugh opened his eyes to the featureless neutrals of the Oakhill decor and saw it was one o’clock; he had slept for almost forty minutes, and now Isabel had arrived, precisely on time. He got to his feet, scattering papers over the floor, and hurried downstairs. Swinging the front door open, the smile he’d mustered for Isabel died on his lips as he saw Ray standing at her side. From Isabel’s expression it was obvious that Ray’s presence wasn’t her idea.
‘What brings you here?’ Hugh said, suppressing his irritation.
Leading the way in, Ray hauled off his coat. ‘Just a couple of things to clear with you, old fellow. Thought it would be easier to make it into a visit. And then Isabel told me she was coming, so . . . well, here we are.’
Isabel threw Hugh a helpless look.
Hugh said, ‘Well, there are things I need to discuss with Isabel.’
‘Fine. No problem. But how’s it going, old fellow?’ Ray asked, with a doleful expression. ‘You’ve seen the police—’
‘You came in the same car?’ Hugh cut in.
‘What? Well, yes. Didn’t seem much point in bringing two.’
‘Then you’ll have to amuse yourself while Isabel and I have our meeting.’
‘Yes, but . . . well, it’s the Deacon case you’re discussing, isn’t it?’ Ray asked, looking from Hugh to Isabel and back again. ‘I’d be glad to sit in. You know, throw in some ideas.’
‘Thanks, but it’s not practical.’
Ray lowered his voice confidentially. ‘Look, I do actually know the shit’s hit the fan, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Isabel widened her eyes to confirm it.
‘Oh?’ said Hugh.
‘Desmond Riley told me about the, er . . . awkward discrepancy in Deacon’s story. ’
‘How did that come about?’ Hugh said with deliberate calm.
‘Sorry?’
‘That you spoke to Desmond?’
‘Ah . . . well, you see, he wanted to talk to whoever was standing in for you and so the switchboard put him through to me.’
Hugh exchanged another glance with Isabel. ‘I tell you, it’s not practical. We haven’t got time to go through the back story.’
‘Well, I could—’
‘It wouldn’t work,’ Hugh insisted.
‘Well . . . fine,’ Ray said, baffled and a little hurt. ‘I’ll take a turn round the garden . . . or whatever.’
Isabel held up a carrier bag. ‘I’ve brought some lunch.’
Hugh delved into his pocket for money. ‘Here . . . let me . . .’
‘Raymond paid for it,’ she said.
For some reason this rekindled Hugh’s irritation. ‘Bung it on my expenses, will you, Ray?’
‘Don’t be idiotic, man,’ Ray said, following Hugh into the kitchen. ‘But how did it go this morning?’ he asked urgently. ‘The police getting moving at last?’
Scooping up some water glasses, Hugh almost bumped into Ray, hovering at his elbow. ‘Looks like it, yes.’
‘They’re setting up a proper criminal investigation?’
‘Yes.’
Ray raised his eyes heavenward and gave an exaggerated
sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that! About time too! Your expert came up with the evidence, did he?’
‘Yup.’ Hugh grabbed some mineral water and took it to the table where Isabel was distributing sandwiches. He sat down briskly. ‘So what’s up, Ray?’
Sitting down next to him, Ray gave another sigh. ‘I still can’t believe it, you know. I can’t—’ He gulped, as if to suppress a sudden upwelling of emotion. ‘I can’t believe anyone could start a fire
deliberately
, knowing what—’
‘Water?’ Hugh interrupted, holding up the bottle to Isabel.
‘Please,’ she said.
‘So what is it, Ray?’ Hugh demanded as he filled the glasses.
Reading his mood at last, Ray said in a steadier tone, ‘Um . . . well, with everything that’s happening I wasn’t sure if you’d had time to think about the press. Because the moment they get to hear about the police investigation they’ll be down here in droves. I wondered if you wanted me to fend them off – so far as possible anyway.’
‘The police have sealed the house off.’
‘That won’t stop them coming here, though, will it?’
‘They’re not going to bother with us.’
Ray’s expression suggested he wasn’t so sure. ‘What about keeping the gate shut?’
‘Then we’d have to get out of the car to open it. I tell you, it won’t be a big media thing. Why on earth should it be?’ Hugh was beginning to regret his impulsive decision to ask Ray to stand by on the legal side; it was a request Ray was always going to interpret liberally.
‘Well, let me know if you’re getting any hassle, won’t you?’ said Ray.
Hugh tore the wrapping off his sandwich. ‘Anything else?’
‘Um . . . yeah. One thing . . .’ Ray was nervous, he was having trouble looking Hugh in the eye. ‘It was just that – in view of what you told me – I thought I’d better check the position vis-à-vis the police and the second post-mortem—’
‘The second post-mortem’s got nothing to do with the police.’
‘Well . . . yes and no,’ Ray offered gingerly, as if negotiating a minefield. ‘You see, it occurred to me that . . . well, in view of the fact the police are mounting a criminal investigation . . . they might order their own second post-mortem. In which case we could be in danger of, well . . . getting our wires crossed. So . . .’ Ray gave a terrible smile. ‘I spoke to the coroner’s office and they confirmed what I thought, that now it’s a criminal investigation the police could well order a second post-mortem . . . using a forensic pathologist of their own. In which case their request would . . . well, take precedence . . .’
Hugh argued, ‘But it’s all arranged with – what’s his name, Isabel?’
‘Professor Alan Ritchie.’
‘Professor Ritchie.’ To Isabel again: ‘And he’s doing it when?’
Isabel hesitated because he’d specifically asked her not to tell him when it was going to take place. ‘Um . . . tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow when?’
‘Morning.’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ Hugh declared. ‘So what are you saying, for Christ’s sake? That they’re going to withdraw permission at the last minute?’
Ray raised a calming hand. ‘No. I mean . . . Apparently the normal practice in such circumstances is for the family’s pathologist to attend as an observer. You know – sort of sit in. So—’
‘You’re saying they’re going to stop it going ahead?’
‘Well, um . . . like I said . . . the coroner’s office are going to find out from the police if they might want a second PM, and they’ll let us know either way by the end of the day. It would only be a question of postponing for a day or so at the most . . .’