Towers of Silence

Chapter Forty Six

Elizabeth Slinger police station is a large purpose built facility in Withington, near the hospital. I spoke to the desk sergeant who checked and told me the inspector who had been in charge of the police enquiry into Miriam’s death was on leave for Christmas. I then explained to two different people, at intervals of ten minutes, why I was there and that I had new information relating to that death, that I suspected foul play. After hemming and hawing and raised eyebrows and throat clearing and several suggestions that after the holiday would be better, they finally took me through to a small interview room where I could wait to see someone in the serious crimes section.

I rang Ray and told him I would be a while longer.

Detective Sergeant Elland made careful notes while I went through my story. I told him what I knew, what I’d heard and what I suspected. He checked some details and then asked me if I had spoken to anyone in Social Services regarding the alleged abuse.

“Not yet; I hope to as soon as possible,”

“We do try to work together on cases like this. Now, the suspicion of foul play, that wasn’t raised at the inquest?”

“No, although her family have said all along that her fear of heights would have made her incapable of jumping off that building. Plus she was sane and healthy that morning.”

“It’s not hard evidence, though.”

“I know,” I tried not to show my frustration. “But this man lied to the police about when he last saw the victim. He said he’d seen her at midday but he picked her up after two o’ clock.”

“According to the ex-husband?”

“Yes. And Miriam rang her friend and said he would punish her and send her to hospital.”

“She didn’t identify him by name.”

“No but together with the fact that he lied and the history he has…”

“Alleged history. He has no criminal record that you are aware of?”

“No. But the police never spoke to this friend that she called, or to the ex-husband; it’s new evidence. They never even checked all the CCTV tapes, they could have seen him driving in with her. They didn’t even ask for it, only the one for the top floor and that wasn’t working.”

“Well, if it appeared to be suicide…”

“And if it had been a white man, would any more effort have been put in? A rich white man, no hint of illness, well connected – what then?”

“We don’t work like that,” he said coldly.

“She was black.” I said. “She had a history of mental illness, she got second class treatment.”

“Look, I didn’t work the case and I haven’t got the papers here, but the facts at the time led to a suicide verdict. The coroner was satisfied.”

“The family weren’t. There weren’t enough facts.” I stressed the words. “No one contacted her friends, no efforts were made to establish how she got to town, she didn’t drive, she didn’t have a car. But no one bothered. Mad, black woman, jumped. End of story.”

Even I had been sure that they’d reached the right verdict when Connie had first hinted at other possibilities. But I hadn’t known then how token the official investigation had been.

“I can’t agree with you,” he said. “And I don’t think wild allegations about the conduct of the enquiry will help you get a fair hearing. As for this new information I’ll discuss it with my colleagues in the unit and a decision will be made as to whether any further enquiries need to be made.” His eyes were glazing over; he’d heard all he wanted to and now he wanted rid of me.

“And they might not be?”

“Hard to say. What you’ve got is pretty shaky. To be frank there is always a question of priorities and resources.”

“Murder must be a pretty high priority.”

“Oh, yes. But what you’ve got is barely grounds for reopening a case. If it was in my hands I’d want a word with this Mr Cliff again, particularly if he’s been giving false information. But it doesn’t follow that there’d be a fresh investigation launched. It may be that there’s more of a case to make on the sexual abuse allegations. I suggest you discuss it with social services as you planned and meanwhile I’ll have a word at this end.”

“When?”

His jaw tightened a fraction. “As soon as someone from the initial investigation is back from leave.”

“When will that be?”

“I’ll have to check.”

“Will you ring me, let me know what they say?” I was determined to hound them until I had a response.

He considered this.

“I’ll need to know if I’m talking to social services, won’t I?”

“You can ring here,” he said. “But I suggest you leave it till near the end of the week.”

“And who should I ask for?”

“You can ask for me,” he said crisply.

And that was it.

The clock would creep round slowly, the world would keep turning, Eddie Cliff would go about his business and at some point the police would consider their response. I’d wanted action, swift and decisive, vindication, recognition. But it doesn’t work like that. Not in those circumstances. And I was haunted by the notion that he might just get away with it all. That he could go on because he was too clever and those he hurt too afraid to stop him.

From the car I called Connie Johnstone.

“I was going to ring you,” she said. “I’d not heard anything.”

“Yes. I need to see you. Can you do it tomorrow, can you come to the office?”

“When?”

Laura and I were taking the kids out at some point. We’d promised. I’d been neglecting them at weekends. If we were to go anywhere the morning would be better for that. It would be dark early.

“About two?”

“Yes, Martina has a dance class so it would be just me and Patrick.”

“That would be better actually.”

“Have you managed to find out any more?” I heard the anticipation in her voice.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was impossible to say anything else without launching into a full blown account.

I rang Roland on his mobile and told him I’d be seeing Connie and Patrick the following afternoon.

“And you’re gonna tell them about my dad?”

“Yes.”

He was quiet.,

“It’ll be okay,” I said, “There’s a lot of other stuff going on, Roland. The thing with your dad, it’s not going to be that important really.”

I finished the call and sat for a few moments, my heart leaden in my chest. I thought of Miriam getting into Eddie’s car, the drive to Cannon Street. Why there? Driving up the ramps to the top floor. Miriam beside him, quiet or crying or talking, perhaps trying to make sense of it all. Eddie opening the car door, her door, pulling her, lifting her, Miriam clutching her handbag, rendered senseless by her crippling fear of heights, twisting to get away but not enough strength, like a dream, running in sand…

I rubbed at my face, shook my head in an effort to clear the images. I took a couple of slow breaths and then started the car and drove to my office. Harry had sent me an email and a pile of attachments. I opened these in turn and speed-read them. They were cuttings from newspapers, most of them. References to a Cliff Edwards, manager of a residential home in Exeter, and a Clive Edmonds, project worker at a new arts centre for people with learning difficulties in Shrewsbury, a picture showed ‘Clive’ and three clients holding pottery they had made. There were also several items on Eddie Cliff, who was a minor golfing celebrity in the eighties and bore no resemblance to the man I knew and lastly a feature on Clifford Eddy receiving a civic award for work in the community from Bristol City Council. The same man, variations on a name, a list of jobs each giving him access to vulnerable girls and women, putting him in a position of trust and of power.

If the police did nothing and social services were willing to begin an inquiry I could give them this lot to start with.

While Ray went shopping I got the Christmas decorations and the cast iron tree stand out from the cellar. The children helped me sort through what we had, we threw away some broken ornaments. The fairy lights still worked. I cleared a space for the tree in the corner of the lounge.

My mobile began to tweet.

“Sal Kilkenny.”

“This is Mrs Wood. You wished to talk to me.”

My pulse quickened. “Yes. In confidence.”

“Of course. You mentioned a complaint?” She didn’t sound happy about it.

“Yes.”

“Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin’s run away…”

“Shush,” I hissed at the children and pointed to the play room.

“Sorry,” I went on, “I’m afraid it’s very serious and I don’t want to speak out of turn but it involves Eddie Cliff. I’ve actually been to the police about it this afternoon though it might also be an issue for social services. I wanted to get your details, as chair of the management, so that I can pass them on to the authorities. It’s out of my hands now.”

“Good grief,” she said. “What’s going on?”

I took a deep breath. “There may have been some incidents of sexual abuse.”

“Surely not,” she said sharply. “Eddie! Have you any proof?”

“It’s hearsay at the moment,” I admitted. “I’m convinced there’s substance behind it and I realise how important it is that it’s dealt with properly. There have been allegations in the past.”

“In the past?”

“There were similar incidents at Horizons in Hull where he worked.”

“But they gave us references.”

“He forged them.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“I’ve spoken to his former employer. Yes.”

“This is awful,” she said.

“I know. And there’s more… other… suspicions that I’ve asked the police to look into.”

“What?”

“Eddie Cliff lied to the police when they were investigating Miriam Johnstone’s death.”

“The lady who committed suicide?”

“That’s right. The police may want to speak to him again. They haven’t decided yet.”

“Why would he lie? Exactly what are you suggesting?” she demanded.

“Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer,” the kids began, their voices carrying and becoming louder; they were out of sight so I couldn’t gesture to them to shut up. I bent down trying to shield the phone with my body.

“He may have had some involvement. It’s possible.”

“What sort of involvement?”

I didn’t want to spell it out. Until there was solid evidence against him I sensed she would be protective of him. “I think he may know more about what happened than he is saying. He was the last person to see Miriam alive.”

“You think he was a witness?”

Worse. “Yes,” I said.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, “any of it. Of all the people I’ve worked with in my time… there’s never been any concerns expressed. Quite the reverse and then this.”

“… had a very shiny nose, like a lamp post…”

She exhaled then became businesslike. “Well, we obviously need to get to the bottom of it. If you’re making some terrible mistake I would want to quash any rumours before they take hold. Who else knows about all this? You say you’ve spoken to the police already?”

“Yes. I hope to talk to social services after the holiday. And the police have said they will be considering whether they intend to take any further action. I’ll give them your details so they can liaise with you as his employer. Social services will know the proper procedures and everything.”

“False allegations are not unheard of,” she said. “As his employers, the committee will have to make sure that he gets treated fairly at the same time as we ensure that there’s no risk to any of the people who use the centre. But if there is gross misconduct going on I can tell you now we will act swiftly and decisively. If this is just hearsay, though…”

“… called him names, like tomato face…”

“Yes,” I interrupted her. “As yet, no one has been prepared to speak openly about what he’s done, either here or in his previous place of work. If social services or the police can’t get anyone to testify, I don’t know what will happen. And, like I said, the police will have to decide whether he has further questions to answer about Miriam Johnstone.”

“Good grief,” she said again, the realisation of crisis rocking her formal efficiency. “I hope you’re wrong.”

I said nothing.

“…in any reindeer games, like Monopoly…”

“If I could have your number?”

She gave me her work and home phone numbers. Exchanged terse goodbyes.

I put my phone down and went into the playroom. “I was on the phone,” I said. “I couldn’t hear.”

They looked at me as though I was speaking Mandarin then went on with their game.

As I went through to the kitchen I heard strange sounds coming from the cellar; rustling noises. The door was ajar and I switched the light on at the top of the stairs and went down. The sounds were coming from the little room underneath the front of the house. We use it for storing stuff. I felt a stir of unease. Something was in there. Rats attack if they’re cornered. Oh, God. I went into Ray’s workshop and selected a long piece of doweling. I went slowly back and used it to pull aside the curtain we had tacked up there in place of a door.

Digger was crouched over gnawing away at part of a body. I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat and shock charge through me. “No, Digger!” I yelled.

He peered up at me and stole out of the room and past me. I heard the kids coming, alerted by my shout.

It was the turkey, just the sodding turkey. Relief made my legs shake. I let the curtain fall back.

“What is it,” Maddie said. Tom behind her eyes alight with interest.

“Nothing, it’s all right. Digger was after the turkey.”

“Where is it?”

“In there,” I pointed.

“Let’s see,” said Tom.

I obliged.

Digger had chewed away most of one thigh but the rest looked intact.

“Gross!” Maddie said.

“It’s all spotty,” said Tom.

“Like goose bumps,” I agreed, “but those are turkey bumps.”

“I’m not eating any of that,” Maggie announced.

Neither was I.

“It’ll be fine; we’ll give it a wipe and once it’s cooked you can decide.”

“But Digger’s licked it and everything.”

Tom chortled. “And he licks his bum.”

“Well, you can always have a veggie Christmas dinner with me.”

“That’s worse,” she said.

Reluctantly I picked the thing up and took it to wash off the grime from the kitchen floor. I put it back on a shelf in the same room but way out of Digger’s reach.

Ray arrived back not long after with several boxes of provisions and a big, bushy spruce. The children related with glee the story of Digger and the turkey. I reassured Ray that not much damage had been done. The four of us dressed the tree together, sharing out the baubles and tinsel equally between the children who kept squabbling.

I thought of the Reeves family. What sort of Christmas awaited them? And the family in York – when would the bombshell hit them? Would Ken be spending Christmas in either household? Or in a B&B somewhere getting drunk in his room and missing his children? How long would it take the police to move and begin proceedings against him? What a hopeless mess. It had been a peculiar case. From a professional point of view I’d done a good job. I’d been successful in getting to the root of what was behind Adam’s troubled behaviour but the outcome had been devastating rather than satisfying. The best that could come of it was that Adam would settle again, rediscover his direction in life and that Susan would be able to hold the family together, help them adjust to a new life.

And the Johnstones. The first Christmas without their mother. Still grieving and tomorrow I had to tell them that I thought Miriam had been killed. That she had not chosen to leave them, that she’d not been so distressed that death seemed the safest place but that she had been taken from them, forcibly, that it was murder. And almost worse than this I had no real, solid proof. So the chance of being able to pursue justice was by no means guaranteed. The police may or may not review the case. It would be in their hands and they had hardly given their all the first time round. I had to tell them the truth as I saw it. But it wasn’t some gleaming, bright clear thing but a weight; sordid and slippery and hard to bear.

I climbed on the chair to put the star on top and the tree was done. We turned off the light and plugged in the fairy lights. It was lovely, the tiny lights glowing and twinkling, the scent of pine filling the room.

“I can’t wait till Christmas,” Maddie said, “I just can’t wait. Are you excited, Mummy?”

“Mmm,” I said.

But all I felt, burdened by the dirty truth, was apprehension, drumming its fingers on my heart, clutching at my belly; a tense tattoo of dread to accompany me onward to what lurked ahead.