Innocent Blood (27 page)

‘I have children too, Lawrence, a boy and a girl both of an age to be interesting to the Watkinses of this world. Looking at that stuff turns my stomach. Do you know what it is that helps me keep focused and not beat that bastard into a pulp?’

‘You’d be fired?’ It was a half-joke, sarcastic. Parks had seen what he thought was police brutality going unpunished too often.

‘No, it’s the desire to see men like Watkins taken off the streets and locked up where they can never cause a child to be hurt again. The only way to do that in my book is to make sure they’re dealt with fairly. I need you to represent him. That man has a right to a solicitor, to ensure he’s processed properly within the law. And his victims have a right to his incarceration.’

Lawrence Parks looked away.

‘Please, Lawrence. Don’t make me start all over. Between us,’ Fenwick looked up and down the corridor to enforce the intimacy of what he was saying, ‘I think he’s going to crack, make a confession. If he does, your job will be straightforward; no more confrontations with evidence; no need for you to take his side when your gut’s churning.’

Parks was a shrewd solicitor who’d been around the system.

‘Is there a deal on the table if he’s cooperative?’

‘We need the men higher up. There’s a well-organised, well-funded supply chain and we think their activities extend beyond the supply of pornography.’

‘Prostitution? Serial abuse?’

Fenwick shrugged, he was dealing with the opposition after all.

‘There would have to be a custodial sentence and treatment. We can’t allow him back on the streets. But, depending on what he gives us, we’d talk to the judge, tell him that Watkins has been helpful. It would still be the judge’s decision but information could help him.’

‘So, no promises?’

‘I wouldn’t give you them if I could.’

Lawrence Parks walked the length of the corridor and back. By the time he returned, he’d made his decision.

‘Very well. At least you’re straight. If you can do it, so can I. Let’s go back inside.’

‘Nathan Smith’, as William and many others in London and elsewhere in the UK would have called him, tossed the newspaper to one side with a loud curse. It was only ten o’clock but he stalked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff whisky over plenty of ice.

‘Bloody rag!’ he said and sat down heavily in one of the wing chairs beside an Adams fireplace, bright with an arrangement of late summer flowers. He’d forced himself to read the
Sunday Times
the previous day and it had stiffened his resolve before his meeting. Ball had been predictably volatile and there’d been some tricky moments before he’d finally calmed him down and sent him happily on his way. Nathan rubbed his wrist ruefully, careful not to disturb the plasters he’d applied over the scratches he’d suffered as a result of a stumble into the brambles as he’d sidestepped a punch from Ball.

Afterwards, back in the comfort of his study, with a reassuring glass of malt in his hand, he had managed to persuade himself that the Hill story would blow over, just like the coverage of Matthew Eagleton. The continuing speculation in the article on page three of
The Times
that morning had therefore upset him badly. When Maidment was first arrested for the murder of Paul Hill he’d had a few nights’ disturbed sleep but then, when the police didn’t arrive to bundle him into custody, he had started to relax again. Now the defence of Maidment’s innocence was daily news and he wondered what was going to happen next. There was no way that Maidment had blabbed, not after all this time and with what he had against him, but if the police were forced to dig deeper to prove their case there was no knowing what they would turn up. They might, and he drained his glass at the thought, even stumble on the truth despite the fact that it was so well buried.

No, he told himself, not after all this time. They’d have to be geniuses to work out what had really happened a quarter of a century before and he knew the police; they didn’t recruit high IQs. He was still safe.

Without warning his mind switched to last Friday night and his visit to William’s profitable but otherwise very average establishment. There were better places in London but they were rather more punctilious about the quality of their returned goods and inclined to become uppity if things got a little out of hand, even with him, whereas William could hardly evict the owner of the establishment. No, he saved the rougher nights for his own houses. It amazed him the way William was able to find delightful boys – there seemed to be no shortage of fresh flesh in the capital these days.

His memory conjured up a picture of Sam. What a lovely creature he was, almost perfect; almost a Paul. Could he think that? Paul had been exceptional; was Sam really that good or was his mind playing tricks? No matter. All he needed to know was that Sam was there, waiting for him, whenever he needed him.

William had better bloody well stick by his promise to keep the boy exclusive, but come to think of it, it was unlikely that the boy would be up to much for the next few days anyway. Things had got a little out of hand again. He’d have to remember to go easy on the booze beforehand. It wasn’t as if he was a violent man, far from it, it was the whisky that made him angry and Sam was too good for the usual rough stuff.

An unbidden memory of the boy as he’d left him the last time engulfed his mind and he thrust it away in denial. Despite his obsession with young teenage boys of a certain look, and his addiction to violent sex, Nathan didn’t think of himself as either a paedophile or a sadist. If forced to describe his sexual predilections he would have done so in artistic, even loving, language. His self-deception was complete. It made him a very, very dangerous man.

The major was treating prison as an endurance test and on the surface appeared to be coping well but inside he was prey to his troubled conscience. It was wearing him down in a way that physical challenge and fear never had.

His demeanour in front of the other inmates remained the same; cordial, firm and detached, and they still respected him. Nobody thought him guilty except the guards, and when word of the coverage on BBC News and in the
Sunday Times
circulated through the prison, despite the governor’s attempts to suppress it, even the guards’ attitude softened towards him. Bill tracked him down in the library, where he was trying to distract himself by reading a teach-yourself book on Spanish.

‘Got a minute, Major?’

‘Yes, Bill, what is it?’

‘Me ’n’ the boys have bin having a natter, about your predicament so’s to speak. If we was to find the geezer who really killed that lad, you’d be out of here in a flash, see? We’ve got mates outside who could put the word about – do a bit of sniffing for you if y’ like. No bother and nothing owed – our pleasure.’

Maidment was horrified. It was bad enough that the police and media were raking over old ground but to have men from what he thought of as the underworld pushing their noses in would lead to disaster. Yet, if he declined, it might create doubt about his innocence, despite what was being reported. He decided to use his reputation as a law-abiding citizen as cover.

‘That’s very good of you, Bill, but I need to think about your offer very carefully. You see, it has always been my custom to trust our police.’

‘Look where that’s got you.’

‘Indeed, but no system of justice is foolproof and I still expect to be released in due course.’

Bill stood up and patted him on the shoulder, rather like a priest who is fond, but despairs, of a persistent sinner in his flock.

‘The offer’s open. You just say the word.’

Maidment watched him strut off and wished life were that simple.

Miss Pennysmith was ready ten minutes early and waiting for the volunteer transport that would take her to the day centre. Normally, she’d be looking forward to some company but the gossip was bound to cover that piece in the
Sunday Times
and she would be asked her opinion. Of course, she would have to tell the truth.

When she entered the lounge she was confronted by Abigail Jones with an armful of photograph albums.

‘My great-niece Michelle’s wedding photos!’ Abigail said joyfully. Miss Pennysmith suppressed a sigh.

When Abigail finished it was the turn of Jeff and Pam Seabright to show off their holiday snaps. Miss Pennysmith composed her face into an expression of polite interest. She learnt quickly that any comment would be interpreted as a request for more information and kept silent until the bell rang for lunch. Her joints had stiffened and it took her some moments to rise so there was no choice of where to sit by the time she moved through to the dining room towards the vacant place next to Jasper.

Jasper was eighty-three and boasted that he was six foot tall, though Miss Pennysmith could almost look him in the eye. He considered himself a ladies’ man and enjoyed the advantage of a male/female ratio that, from his perspective, improved with age. When he saw her coming he stood up, pulled out the empty chair with an elaborate flourish and gave what was meant to be, and in his mind still was, a gallant bow.

‘Ah, the delightful Margaret Pennysmith is going to grace us with her presence. And you’re looking particularly charming today, if I may say so, my dear.’

The delightful Margaret glanced down at her grey and white striped dress and summoned a smile as soup was served. It was French onion, a favourite of many if eaten in the privacy of one’s own home but a significant challenge for good manners and dentures when in public. Only after she had negotiated her way around the cheese topping did she pause to take in her table companions.

A sprightly-looking woman called Bettie sat on her right. On her left was Jasper. To Jasper’s left sat Judy, a pleasant retired teacher with whom one could talk sensibly about books and films. Then there was Trudy, who hardly ever spoke except about her grandchildren. George Stevens sat next to her and was at that moment engaged in conversation across the table with Jasper about England’s cricket performance. And, making full circle, next to Bettie sat a very elderly woman whom she’d never seen before. As if she could sense eyes on her the woman abandoned her soup and looked up. She smiled at Miss Pennysmith, creating a network of lines across her face.

As the plates were cleared the conversational groupings changed. She had almost finished her roast beef and she was starting to relax, when the conversation veered off in the direction she had feared. Judith was defending the role of public broadcasting and the need for an ‘independent voice’, when Jasper retorted, with some vehemence, ‘Nonsense! You mean we should pay them to broadcast news like that rubbish on Saturday night. A waste of licence payers’ money that was.’

It was as if the whole table had been waiting for the subject to be raised. Everyone chimed in with a comment, everyone that is except the old woman next to Bettie and Margaret herself.

Opinion quickly polarised along the lines of those who believed in the major’s guilt and those who did not. Miss Pennysmith kept quiet and concentrated on cutting the remaining slice of beef on her plate into tiny pieces to eat slowly. She hoped fervently that the conversation would pass her by but of course it was inevitable that her opinion would be sought.

‘So, what do you think, Margaret – you knew him quite well, didn’t you?’ It was Jasper who directed attention towards her.

Miss Pennysmith picked up her glass of water and took a sip, then another, despite the growing silence about her. She put the glass down and looked up at nobody in particular.

‘I think him innocent,’ she said simply and heard at least one intake of breath.

‘How can you say that?’ Jasper was astonished.

‘It was a crime against a child,’ said Trudy, disgust resonating in her tone.

‘I think you’ve got some nerve saying that in front of Hannah.’ Bettie put her hand lightly on the old woman’s arm.

‘Hannah?’ Miss Pennysmith asked, turning towards the old lady.

‘I’m Hannah Hill,’ the old lady extended a brown hand. ‘How do you do?’

Miss Pennysmith took it automatically, noting that it felt like a worn leather bag of dried sticks, before her brain had a chance to process the significance of the woman’s name. When it did, she felt her cheeks flood with shame.

‘Oh, Mrs Hill, I had no idea who you were. We shouldn’t be having this conversation in front of you; it’s quite thoughtless.’

‘That’s quite all right, my dear. I’m ninety-seven and I’ve had to live with speculation about Paul’s disappearance for more than twenty-five years. I can assure you that I’ve heard all that can be said on the matter. And anyway, I agree with you. I don’t think Major Maidment’s guilty either. In fact, I’m certain of it.’ With that she returned her attention to the last of her Yorkshire pudding.

The conversation died abruptly; the tasty cheesecake was eaten in virtual silence but by the time tea was served a sense of normality had returned. When they rose Miss Pennysmith sought out Mrs Hill.

‘Forgive me for raising the subject again but I should like to know why you said what you did.’

‘About the major?’

Hannah Hill had astonishing blue eyes that still sparkled when she smiled. She put her scrawny brown hand on Miss Pennysmith’s arm and gestured to the terrace where smoking was still tolerated.

‘Let’s find a quiet corner, shall we? Then I’ll tell you all about it.’

They chose two padded chairs where sunlight filtered through a rose trellis. Hannah Hill lit up gratefully.

‘As I said, I’m ninety-seven. My Clem was ninety when he passed away and we’d been married for sixty-nine years and two months. Clem started out as a boot boy at the Savoy, doing the shoes overnight. “My word,” he used to say, “the state of some of those shoes – and no excuse neither.”’

Miss Pennysmith didn’t mind the chatter. She recognised in Mrs Hill a mind that was still sharp so she would get to her point in time.

‘We married and had two boys, then Clem went and joined up and got himself caught – daft bugger. For almost two years I didn’t know whether he was dead or alive. Anyway, when he got home and was demobbed he’d changed; he had something more about him. One of his mates in the camp gave him a loan to set up in business. Guess what it was?’

‘I don’t know.’

Hannah Hill started laughing.

‘A cobbler’s of course. He’d still got friends at the hotel and they sent him the overnight repairs. From that he started to get the odd commission and then, before we knew it, he was shoemaker to half the gentry in west London! My, those were exciting times.’ Her eyes misted over. ‘I helped out where I could, though raising six boys – yes six, we made up for lost time when he came home! – was hard work in itself.

‘Gordon, Paul’s father, was the youngest, a bit of an afterthought really. He was a lovely lad, a real gentleman. By then, we were doing very well. Gordon went to the local public school, then university. That’s where he met her.’ Hannah scowled.

‘Paul’s mother?’

‘Sarah Jane Anderson. She was older than Gordon, studying drama. We didn’t like her from day one. Oh, there was
something
about her. Gordon thought it was dramatic potential but we weren’t so sure, felt more like histrionics to us. Whenever she visited the whole household walked on eggshells. Still, they went ahead and married and they got the same gift from us as all my other boys, £5,000.’

‘My word, that was a lot of money in those days, still is.’

‘So you and I would say but Miss Sarah didn’t think so. We could’ve offered more but Clem thought, and he was probably right, that too much easy money would spoil Gordon.

‘Anyway, I can see they’re setting out the card tables so I’d better hurry up.’ She took a long drag on her cigarette and held the smoke deep in her lungs before exhaling with relish. ‘All the other boys put down a deposit on a house and did nicely over the years but not Gordon. He went into partnership with a so-called friend from school and lost the whole lot when the business went bankrupt.

‘He and Sarah were living in a flat in London that was well beyond their means. They had such grand ways it annoyed Clem. He refused to give them more capital and it got so that Sarah wouldn’t speak to him.

‘Then she had her miscarriage, the first of several as it turned out. Now, I wouldn’t wish that misery on any woman. I’d had my own share of that sadness and I felt for the lass. I’d go round and look after her because she really was poorly, and against all the odds, we became quite close.’ Hannah heaved a sigh. ‘But as soon as she was well she was off out again partying, auditioning, back to her old ways.

‘Gordon got some sort of job with Lloyds of London through another friend. It paid well but I could tell he hated the work. They moved to a small house – a tiny place in a good location but with a huge mortgage. It terrified Clem and me how much they owed the bank.

‘Sarah had two more miscarriages in a year and they almost destroyed her, not just physically either. She’d always been highly strung but I could see it was becoming more than that. She shut herself away and refused to see anyone but me and Gordon. Then she started saying she was being poisoned and that’s why she’d lost the babies.

‘She wouldn’t drink water from the tap, it had to be boiled first; then she’d only eat from new packets and tins that she’d opened herself. Eventually we persuaded her to see a doctor and he gave her some pills. They calmed her down but she was never the same.

‘Gordon decided country air would be good for her so he sold up and borrowed money from another friend to buy a farm.

‘To our surprise it went quite well at first. Sarah became pregnant and Paul was born. I was so pleased for her. He was a beautiful baby. I’m not just saying that because he’s my grandson; complete strangers would stop us in the street to say so.

‘I’d go and help out for weeks at a time because Sarah tired easily. Paul grew up on the farm until he was seven then something went wrong. Gordon’s friend needed his money because of problems of his own and the bank wouldn’t back him. Of course Gordon went to Clem for the financing but it was too much. Clem told me it was into seven figures and we didn’t have that sort of capital as we’d passed the business on to our second and third sons to run and they were halfway through a big expansion. Well, when Clem said no that was it. Sarah came round and the things she said! It still makes me flush to think of it; it ended with her refusing to allow us to see Paul ever again.’ Hannah paused and wiped her eyes.

‘I have other grandchildren and I love them all dearly but he was my little lad. We’d seen such a lot of each other since he was a tiny baby and were very close.

‘Anyway, enough of that… Yes, yes, Bettie, we’ll be with you in two shakes.

‘So, where were we? They had to move to some awful house in Harlden. I never saw it but I felt for Paul, going from the farm to that. If we hadn’t fallen out I’m sure Clem would’ve helped them for Paul’s sake but they never asked again and he never offered.

‘Gordon would call me occasionally. That’s how I found out he was studying to be a teacher. When Paul was ten Gordon started supply teaching. It was obvious that he’d found his niche and I was happy for him.

‘Then the most extraordinary thing happened. About a year before he disappeared Paul turned up on my front doorstep in London. It was the 27
^th
July, 1981. I opened the door and I knew at once that it was him. He was still such a beautiful child. We both burst into tears and I hugged him until I thought he’d break.

‘He’d had a terrible row at home and run away. He’d found out where we lived and taken the train. Of course I had to let his parents know even though he begged me not to. Gordon answered the phone, thank goodness, not her, and he agreed that Paul could stay for a couple of days until things calmed down.