Hope's Vengeance (21 page)

Breaking an egg into the hot fat, she remained as calm and serene as she ever was. “You’re innocent, though, and the truth will always prevail.”

Deflated, temper spent, he sank back into the seat, dragging a piece of toast onto his plate. His words were quiet, and Dorothy missed the insincerity in the tone. “Of course I’m innocent. You’re right.” He carefully buttered the toast, ensuring the fat reached each edge of the square, soaking into the heat of the bread. “But I can’t go back, not until this is sorted out.”

Her actions brusque, organised, she scooped the bacon and eggs onto a pre-warmed plate, dishing it before her husband. “Then today I will sort it out, because you can’t go on like this.”

Dorothy swept from the room, her efficient manner lost on Griffin, slouching in the seat, self-pitying himself dramatically. After a quick wash she dressed in the clothes that were designed for a woman much older than her forty eight years, and she tousled her equally ageing permed curls until they sat neatly against her head. She tugged a silk scarf about her hair, carefully knotting it below the chin, and donned her woollen Fearnought, the material heavy, weighing down her already sloping shoulders.

By the front door she slipped on the waiting Hush Puppies, her feet instantly warming, and took her basket, handbag, and umbrella. A tartan scarf with matching gloves, a resolute goodbye over her shoulder, and Dorothy Hall promptly left the rectory; she had a crisis to sort out.

The overnight snow had quickly turned to slush on the main road through Potton, but the pavements still glistened with the fluffy white, except for the well-worn central passageway, which was impacted by footsteps to ice, a hidden peril. Dorothy wound her ungainly figure from the side road and marched towards the bus stop, deftly stepping on snow, not ice, to avoid a fall. The bus, chugging along slower than normal, pulled up at the stop just as she did, and she exchanged tittle-tattle with the driver as she paid for her ticket, before seating herself near the front.

The bus, blowers pumping out hot air for the freezing passengers to bask in, rambled through the country roads, winding left, then right, and left again, the loud engine lulling Dorothy gently, her lazy eyelids drooping with the momentum. The possibility of falling asleep didn’t worry her, though, although the journey was only roughly eleven miles, she knew the bus would take the best part of an hour to arrive at her destination.

It was warmer in Bedford, the built up area retaining heat more than her small town could, and Dorothy removed her scarf, placing it in the wicker basket looped over her forearm. She’d dismounted in the suburb of Kempston, and the police station was nearby, she made her way towards the building. Once inside, the overzealous heating stifling her as she walked in, she marched purposefully to the desk sergeant, and began her complaint, concise and accurate. He listened with interest at first, his brow lightly furrowing as the story deepened.

“Mrs…?”

“Hall. Dorothy Hall.”

He tapped the end of his pen against the reception desk, eyes not meeting hers. “Mrs Hall, to be honest, I don’t see what we can do. You don’t know who the woman is, so we can’t have a word with her, and she’s not really issued any real threats, has she?”

Dorothy’s bristles were up, she’d expected more concern for her husband in his desperate hour. Checking the name badge. “Mr Adams…”

“Sergeant.” Ryan was beginning to find the old woman tedious, and his coffee was getting cold.

“I don’t know how familiar you are with Potton, young man, but it’s a small town, the parish is very close, and in a small town with a close parish gossip can get out of hand. My husband has been unable to work since this hussy threw her ridiculous allegations, because he is being hounded by his flock.”

Ryan stifled a snigger, deciding to drown his coffee regardless of her presence, he was thirsty. “In that case, the best thing you can do is see his superiors, explain the situation, and ask for them to maybe issue a notice of innocence, or something.”

Dorothy’s jaw dropped wide, her grey eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses, widened. “You mean to tell me, young man, that you have no intention of taking any action at all?”

He sighed, replacing the mug on the desk. “If you can find me the name of the girl who made the allegations, we can have a word with her, but without a name, we’re powerless.”

She shot him a glare and a tut, span on her low heels and stormed out. Relieved, Ryan took his mug to the kitchen, refilling the kettle and switching it on. His throat was marginally sore, and, with the thirst, he guessed he was going down with a cold. He prepared the coffee, watching from the doorway intermittently to see if anybody was waiting in reception. It was still empty when he returned to his seat.

Ryan busied himself, checking the latest crime reports, scanning through the tedious thefts, burglaries, car crime, a couple of muggings, one stabbing, but the next report stood out. He read the report softly to himself. “Hope Brown, of Saxlingham Nethergate, reporting alleged childhood abuse by the Reverend Griffin Hall, of St Peter’s Church, Potton, Bedfordshire.”

He laid the other reports down, singling the form out, leant back on his chair, one leg over the other, and read the entire statement, slowly, ensuring he didn’t miss a single detail. The words he read were concise, conscientious, and horrific.

Griffin Gets a Visit

Sergeant Ryan Adams had no idea why he felt so compelled to attend when the Reverend was questioned by DI Horseferry, he just wanted to be part of the case, and had no further explanation to offer. Claudia had been happy to have him there, he was a good officer, and his colleague had been grateful to take desk duty instead of patrolling the freezing streets on foot.

They knocked on the oak door, admiring the ivy smothered entrance of the impressive, rambling cottage, and presently they were greeted by a tall man who introduced himself as the Reverend Griffin Hall when they requested to speak with him. He led them into his study, indicating for them to sit on the reproduction chaise-longue that rested against the taupe wall. Griffin sat behind the desk, subconsciously asserting a medium of authority.

Claudia Horseferry began, her manner efficient and businesslike. “Reverend Hall, we have received a complaint against you regarding the alleged sexual assault of a minor, twenty five years ago.”

Griffin rolled his eyes, his forearms slumping to the desk, resigned. “It’s a lie. I don’t know who she is, I don’t know why she’s doing it, I don’t know what she has against me, but, in God’s name, it’s a lie, I can assure you.”

“I still need to ask you some questions, we’re duty bound to investigate every complaint like this, regardless of how unlikely it is.” Ryan was impressed with his senior’s diplomatic approach. He knew she took the allegation very seriously, but she’d cleverly managed to put the man at ease, and, if he wasn’t being defensive, she was likely to glean more information from him. “Reverend Hall, have you ever worked at St Paul’s Church in Reading.”

“Yes, I trained to be a vicar there, twenty five, twenty six years or so ago.”

“Did you know of a family named Ferris?”

He shook his head slowly, contemplative. “No, I can’t say I recall the name. Sorry.”

Claudia suspected he was lying by the uncontrolled downwards glance to the left, and she despised being lied to, it brought out the relentless terrier in her. “Did you officiate at a children’s club called the Friendly Club on Tuesday nights?”

Griffin gave an affable smile, his eyes twinkling modestly. “Yes, yes, I felt it was very important for children to have somewhere safe to go in the evenings, and I was instrumental in setting it up.”

“Then you really should try harder to remember Hope Ferris, she attended the Friendly Club religiously, excuse the pun, for roughly a year.” Her manner had become harsher, and the innocuous smile waned from Griffin’s lips.

He put his head in his hands, muttering under his breath, and after a minute he settled his eyes on the officers once more. “Yes, I remember her. Timid little thing, shy, kept in the corners, didn’t say much or do much. Didn’t have much time for her, she was quite whiny, quite an irritation. I wasn’t displeased when she stopped coming.” Beautifully timed, the innocent smile was back.

“Did you ever spend time at the Ferris’s house.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, not at all.”

Claudia sighed silently, the man before her irritated her, cases like this irritated her, it was one person’s word against the other. It always had been, and it was unlikely anything would ever come of the investigation. “Reverend Hall, Ms Ferris has detailed a vivid account of a rape, followed by a serious sexual attack, when she was aged seven, and she alleges that you were the attacker.”

He waved his hands, eyes hurt, mouth sneering. “No, it’s rubbish. I tell you, I don’t know what this Hope woman has against me, but it’s all lies, it never happened. It’s in her imagination. For some bizarre reason she’s trying to ruin my life, and I don’t know why. In fact, I should be suing her for defamation of character. Or libel. Or slander. Whatever. Officer, I want to put in a counter complaint, I want to sue this woman for what she’s doing to me, for harassment.” Griffin stood up, agitated, he took a cigar, lighting it, inhaling deeply, the nicotine instantly relaxing his tense shoulders.

Claudia rose, swiftly followed by Ryan. “Thank you, Reverend Hall, we’ll be in touch. We’ll see ourselves out.” Ryan followed his superior from the room, confused to why she’d stopped the interview so hastily. It wasn’t until they had left the house that she offered an explanation, unprompted. “I know what you’re thinking, but I promise you, we were going to get nothing out of him in that kind of mood. Look, when we get back to the station I want you to contact Norwich, see if they can get the girl to do a videoed interview, at least that way we can see her and her body language. Tell them we need some proof, like a birthmark about his body, or a witness to him visiting, as much as possible. Tell them my gut feeling is guilty, and I want to hammer the guy.”

Griffin Gets a Letter

He didn’t recognise the postmark stamped on the envelope, but Griffin received a great deal of unexpected post within his capacity as Reverend, so he opened it without regard. The quality, crisp, white paper was headed with the address, contact details, and logo of the Rumbourne Hotel in Thetford, and Griffin was curious, beginning the letter avidly.

‘Dear Reverend Hall, I have read about your recent troubles in the newspaper, and the accusations have really shocked me. I am an American, currently staying in England for a year while I study English culture, and in my travels I have stayed at Potton, and gratefully attended your sermon on the Sundays. I have always found you to be a wonderful Reverend, man, and leader, and I hereby offer you my total support as long as this despicable situation continues to raise it’s ugly head. Yours sincerely, Eva Brunel.’

Griffin grinned, pleased that he had a supporter, and such a well-spoken and polite one, too. He was fed up with the whole business, eager to put it behind him. His superiors had arranged for a flyer to be placed on the church notice board, advocating his innocence in what was suspected to be a revenge attack by an unhinged individual, and pleading that the parishioners revoke the accusations and accept their Reverend back at the church with no recriminations. He was due to preach for the first time since midnight mass the following Sunday.

He set the letter on the desk, straightening it firmly, unsure whether to just file it away, or to reply. He resolved to take some time away from the study to think through his decision.

Griffin Replies

He’d been pottering around, finding tasks to keep him busy, for a couple of hours. Amongst other mindless jobs, he’d taken dinner, had a short nap, and fed the birds with the bacon fat and toast crumbs from that morning’s breakfast. The unexpected letter voicing support continued to burn away at him, and after some deliberation, his decision was made: it would be polite to reply, to thank the mysterious Eva for her support. After all, his parishioners hadn’t shown such avid faith.

In the dim light of the desk light, the room otherwise dark now night had settled, he sat behind the heavy, mahogany desk. A blank piece of quality writing paper lay before him, resting on the burgundy leather blotter, and Griffin held the Parker fountain pen poised. Scrambling the words he wanted to say in his head, he eventually phrased them in a way he felt suitable:

‘Dear Miss Brunel, I hope this letter will find you, as I have no indication of your address but for that of the Rumbourne Hotel. I wanted to thank you wholeheartedly for your support in this matter. I have to admit that the past couple of weeks have been harrowing, with many I thought of as friends shunning me regardless of the truth. However, I have received a visit from the police, and they are satisfied of my innocence. It was, indeed, lovely to hear from you. Yours sincerely, Reverend Griffin Hall.’

It wasn’t until he was tugging on his pyjama bottoms that he realised he’d not seen an article in the local newspaper about the events on Christmas Eve, and certainly not anything about the police visit. And it was far too mediocre a matter to be of interest to the national newspapers. He resolved to speak to a few of his more trustworthy parishioners the next day, see if anybody recalled the coverage, suspecting Dorothy had probably hidden it from him to spare his feelings. He glanced at her hefty form in the single bed under the window, and a rare moment of tenderness tugged at his heart. He watched her, lightly snoring, for a few seconds, before changing his top and settling into his own single bed.

The Video of Her Version

The procedure had been explained beautifully to Hope, and now all she had to do was give her own account of the crime she had been a victim of at such a tender age. The room was empty, except for Hope, and DI Jackie Goodman, a waiting camcorder on standby.