The Witness at the Wedding

Forty

Robert Coleman’s eyes opened, and took a moment to focus on the tall man with a gun who faced him. “What are you going to do, Mick? Kill me?” The question was almost a sneer.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. Often, over the last thirty years. And don’t think I’m not tempted now.”

He pointed the gun at the heart of the crumpled man on the woodland floor. Carole saw the finger whiten as it tensed against the trigger, and she could feel Michael Brewer’s desire for the purgation that this death would bring.

A long moment elapsed. Then, his inner demon vanquished, he lowered the gun. “But no. I want you to be punished as I was punished.”

Half an hour later, Carole and Michael Brewer stood in the petrol-reeking clearing. Robert Coleman was safely tied up in the old cellar, with the metal lid firmly closed on him. It was nearly dark. Through the gaps in the trees they could see the daylight dwindling over the Downs.

“So what do we do now?” asked Carole. “Call the police?”

His response was an automatic and distinctive “No!”

“But this is a police matter. We’re both witnesses to what Robert tried to do to us. He should be in custody.”

“I’m not questioning that, but I’m not going to let a policeman get near me.”

Carole tried to soothe the paranoia she saw in his eyes. “Michael – Mick, it’s all right now. Your nightmare’s over. We know the truth. And we can tell the truth. At last justice can be done.”

“I’m still not going near the police,” he insisted doggedly.

“Mick, the police are on your side. On the side of justice.”

He barked out a bitter laugh. “You dare tell me that? I had my bellyful of the police thirty years ago. On the side of justice? They didn’t listen to me. They believed what was easiest to believe. The police stitched me up.”

“It was Robert Coleman who stitched you up.”

“The police helped. They wanted me sent down. They were part of the conspiracy with all the other authorities: the judges and banisters who convicted me; the judges who rejected my appeals; the prison officers who made my life hell. I’m never again going to get close enough to the police for them to arrest me. Because experience has taught me that, with my record, that’s the first thing they would do.”

Carole wanted to argue, but she knew that the long build-up of distrust would not easily be shifted. And, insome ways, she could not help feeling sympathy for his view. Given what had happened in his life – spending thirty years under a brutal prison regime for a crime he did not commit – Michael Brewer was entitled to be paranoid.

“That’s presumably why you didn’t approach the police after Howard’s murder? You must have known Robert had done it.”

“Of course I did, but there was no way I was going to put myself at risk. Robert’s framed me once, and he’s quite capable of framing me again. Come on, if it came to a choice between him and me, who would the police go for? Ex-copper and bloody Justice of the Peace? Or the lag who’s just done a thirty-year stretch for murder?”

Carole could see his logic, and part of the reason for his instinct to hide himself away. She felt enormous pity for the man, the way his trust in everything had been destroyed. “Listen,” she said, “what you need is legal representation.”

“Oh yes? A fat lot of good that’s done me in the past. The lawyers are all part of it. They’re all in it together.”

“Mick, I used to work for the Home Office – ”

“So you’re part of the conspiracy too, are you?”

“No. But I did make some useful contacts while I was there. In particular, a solicitor called Jerome Clancy. Have you heard of him?”

An abrupt shake of the head.

“Well, he’s got quite a reputation for taking on cases of miscarriage of justice. Given what we’ve now got on Robert Coleman, I’m sure he’d take you on. With Jerome Clancy behind you, you wouldn’t need to worry about the police.”

“I’m still afraid. If they get me alone in a police station, they’ll charge me with something. I’ll never get out of there.” The eyes flickered with fear.

“You will, Mick. I know you’ve had a lousy deal in the past. But believe me, your life is about to change.”

“Huh.”

He did, however, finally agree that she should ring Jerome Clancy in the morning, and try to arrange a meeting. And Carole agreed that she would stay another night in Leper’s Copse, because the police were probably on the lookout for her too, and might force her to lead them to Michael Brewer.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll stay. But I have to make one phone call first.”

“Not to the police?”

“Nothing to do with the police, I promise. In fact, it might well take the police pressure off, stop them searching for me as well as you. I’ve just got to call a friend to tell her I’m all right.”

Jude was in the hotel in Villeneuve-sur-Lot, just getting ready for bed, when her mobile rang.

“Carole.”

“Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Well, this is just to say I’m fine.”

“Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you that. All be clear tomorrow, I promise.”

“But, Carole…”

“I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Oh. All right, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. Listen, shall I ring Inspector Pollard? He said I should get in touch the minute I heard anything from you.”

“No. Under no circumstances tell Inspector Pollard you’ve heard from me.”

“What about Gaby and Stephen? They’re desperately worried about you too.”

Which was rather gratifying, really, Carole thought. “Tell them I’m OK, but don’t tell them anything else.”

“I can’t tell them anything else, you’re being so cagey. Ooh, and what about David?”

“What about David?”

“Stephen says he’s been terribly worried about you. Can Stephen tell him you’re all right?”

“Yes,” said Carole, somewhat surprised, “I suppose he can. One other thing…”

“What?”

“Gulliver. That poor dog has been stuck in High Tor since – ”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“What?”

“A local policeman checked on your house because Inspector Pollard was worried about you. Gulliver is apparently living it up as a guest of Fethering Police Station.”

After she finished the call, Carole grinned at Michael Brewer. “Probably as well I’m lying low. Apparently the police have taken my dog in for questioning.”

Their next task was to try to clean themselves up and get out of their petrol-soaked clothes. Michael Brewer proved to have quite sophisticated domestic arrangements in his primitive hideaway. He had a tank of water for washing in, and an array of soaps and detergents.

He also found some clean clothes. “Be a bit big for you, I’m afraid. And perhaps a bit masculine. I’ve only got one dress” – he looked wistful – “and that’s been here for over thirty years.”

“Marie’s?”

He nodded. “Little disco dress she wore. Her mother didn’t know about it. I’d pick her up in some sedate little number her mother approved of, then bring her out here to change.”

“Did Marie often come here?”

He nodded briefly, as if the recollection were painful. “Marie and I loved each other,” he said.

Carole had had some prudish qualms about washing and changing down in the cellar with Robert Coleman there, but he appeared to be asleep, trussed up against his chair. Perhaps he was concussed after Michael Brewer’s smashing him into the tree. Anyway, his eyes were closed, and he twitched and mumbled, as though in troubled dreams. And given what he’d done, Carole thought tartly, his dreams deserved to be troubled.

She managed a fairly effective basic toilette. Keeping on her underwear, to which the petrol did notseem to have penetrated, she dressed in the T-shirt, knitted jumper and jeans Michael Brewer had looked out for her. The jeans needed a lot of rolling up, giving her the look of an American bobbysoxer. Very definitely not Carole Seddon’s usual style.

In spite of assiduous washing and fresh clothes, the smell of petrol still lingered around her. She didn’t think she’d ever be free of the smell of petrol. And, as for the Renault…

She vacated the cellar for Michael Brewer to do his own cleaning-up process, and went for a little walk around Leper’s Copse as she tried to settle her mind. In the hollow of a field a little way away, she found a small blue Peugeot, presumably the car in which Robert Coleman had arrived.

When Michael Brewer emerged in his change of clothes, he suggested cooking a meal for them. To her surprise, Carole realized that she was suddenly very hungry, and accepted the offer.

Neither of them wanted to eat down in the cellar. The space felt contaminated by the presence of Robert Coleman. So Michael Brewer brought plates of hot sausages and beans out into Leper’s Copse. He said he’d offered food to Robert, who hadn’t wanted any. “Have to be humane to prisoners,” said Brewer with a trace of humour. “At least I know all about that.”

They ate their food on the edge of the copse, as far away from the smell of petrol as possible. As on the previous evening – which to Carole now seemed a lifetime away – her eyes soon adjusted to the darkness and she was aware of the greying contours of the surrounding Downs. It was a beautiful area, which kept its secrets.

Among his stores, Michael Brewer had managed to find a bottle of wine, and their little dinner â deux – the Home Office retiree and the former lifer – felt surprisingly cosy.

After they had finished eating, Carole asked, “How long have you known that Gaby was your daughter?”

He sighed. “I suppose I always suspected it…hoped it was true – hoped that there might be one positive thing salvaged from the wreck of my life. But I didn’t know for sure until Marie wrote to me in Parkhurst.”

“When was that?”

“Seven, eight years ago.”

Just round the time of Gaby’s panic about bowel cancer, thought Carole, and Michael Brewer’s next words confirmed her conjecture.

“Marie said she had wanted to keep the truth from Gaby all her life, but for some reason she’d had to tell her that Howard wasn’t her real father. She hadn’t told Gaby who her father was, but there was a lot of stuff in the press around that time about adopted children tracing their birth parents. Marie was worried Gaby might have a go at that. And I had been around at the right time, so, in case Gaby made the connection, Marie thought I should be prepared for some kind of contact from her.”

“And did Gaby contact you?”

He shook his head. “I doubt if it ever occurred to her that I might be involved. Doubt if she even knewof my existence. But, obviously, once I knew for certain she was my daughter, I wanted to make contact with her. But I couldn’t write or anything, because I didn’t know what the set-up was with Howard. I didn’t want to put Marie in an impossible situation inside her family, so…I knew I’d have to wait till I was released.”

“Why did you vanish when you were released? Why didn’t you go to your appointments with your probation officer?”

“I’ve told you!” The light of paranoia was back in his eye. “I had to get away from authority. I knew that lot would re-arrest me as easy as blinking.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Well, I’m not. And I’ve had a lot more experience of that kind of world than you have, Carole.”

That was unarguable. “So what Gaby interpreted as you stalking her was just you trying to make contact?”

“Yes. But it was difficult. I needed to see her on her own. I needed to find out whether she knew anything about me.”

“Which was why you broke into her flat…Was it her birth certificate you wanted to see?”

“Yes, that kind of thing. Just to check whether there was any acknowledgement of my existence in my daughter’s life.”

“And was there?”

He shook his head bitterly. “Nothing. Father’s name on the birth certificate was Howard Martin.”

“And abducting me? What was all that about?”

“It was a way of getting to Gaby. She wouldn’t respond if I contacted her, but if you did…”

“Well, why on earth didn’t you tell me that? Why did you have to go through all the strong-arm routine?”

“In my experience, violence – or the threat of violence – is the only way you can get anything done.”

Carole was about to argue with this, and then she thought about what his recent experience had been. In a prison environment, the principle he had just outlined might well be the only viable one. Michael Brewer’s faith in his fellow human beings was not going to be easily re-established. So she contented herself with saying, somewhat huffily, “I still don’t see why you had to take me away from High Tor.”

“The police were looking for me – are looking for me. I had to get both of us somewhere safe.”

“Huh. Well, you could have said.”

There was a silence. It was much darker now. Carole could sense rather than see the curves of the Downs in front of her.

“There’s one thing, Mick…”

“Hm?”

“You had a lot of information. I know some of it you got from Gaby’s flat – like her mobile number, for instance. But there’s other stuff you couldn’t have known unless someone told you. For example, how did you know where Gaby’s flat was?”

He was silent for so long that she didn’t think she was going to get an answer. Then, slowly, he said, “Marie.”

“You talked to Marie?”

“Yes. After she wrote to me that first time in Parkhurst, we wrote quite a lot of letters. Couldn’t say much in them, of course, because of the prison authorities my end, and Howard at her end. But…we re-established contact. And then, when I was released…I got her phone number and rang a few times. We found it easy to talk. Marie and I always found it easy to talk.”

“But weren’t you worried about Howard answering the phone?”

“He never did. His deafness made using the phone difficult for him. He could use it, but he preferred not to.”

“So was it Marie who set up the meeting you were going to have with Howard – you know, the day after he died?”

“No. I didn’t want her to know about that. I rang Howard to fix it at a time I knew Marie would be out.”

“And of course the meeting never happened.”

“No. Wouldn’t have happened even if Howard hadn’t been killed. As soon as I discovered that Robert knew about it, there was no way I was going to turn up.”

“But how did you discover that Robert knew about it?”

“Marie told me. I rang her that night after the engagement party.”

“You did? Where did you ring her from? Were you in Essex?”

“No. I was planning to go up the following morning. I was down here.”

Carole’s eyes sparkled in the gloom. “Mick, do you realize what that means?”

“What?”

“It means you’ve got an alibi for the time of Howard’s murder. Your call to Marie in Harlow. The police can trace where the mobile was being used from. If you were down here talking on the phone, there’s no way you could have been in Epping Forest, strangling Howard Martin.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said softly.

“And if Marie had told the police about your call, then that would have removed the suspicion from you straightaway. Why didn’t she?”

“I think she wanted to protect me. She thought that if the police knew I’d been in touch with her, it would make it easier for them to track me down.”

Carole wondered if that was the real reason. She reckoned that Marie Martin’s secretive nature, encouraged by her control-freak of a brother, had stopped her from saying a lot of important things over the years. Some of which would definitely have prevented murders.

Neither of them slept much that night. The weather was so mild that they didn’t feel the need to go back down to the cellar. They talked intermittently, half-dozing through long silences. And, as the June dawn rose over the Downs, Carole Seddon realized that she had spent the night talking to the father of her prospective daughter-in-law.

And they hadn’t discussed wedding plans at all.

Michael Brewer made them some breakfast, and Robert ate a little too. Then, at nine o’clock, the time when Jerome Clancy always arrived at his office, Carole rang through to him. Like so many from her Home Office days, his number was etched into the address book of her brain.

Jerome Clancy remembered her well, and was very interested in the story she had to tell about the miscarriage of justice against Michael Brewer. More than interested, excited. He asked how soon they could get up to his office in High Holborn.

They went all the way up to London in Robert’s Peugeot, Carole driving. On public transport there was still a risk of Michael Brewer being recognized.

Jerome Clancy was delighted to see them. They talked for two hours, and he took copious notes. As the conversation developed, he grew increasingly gleeful. This was exactly the sort of case he relished.

That afternoon, acting on information received, the police arrived at Leper’s Copse, and arrested Robert Coleman.