A Certain Justice (53 page)

The door closed behind him. The minutes slowly passed. Kate got up and began pacing the room. She said: “I suppose he’s ringing the County Solicitor to make sure he’s in the clear.”

“Well you can’t wonder. Bloody awful job. I wouldn’t have it for a million a year. No thanks if things go right and plenty of stick if they go wrong.”

Kate said: “Which they often do. It’s no use trying to make me feel sorry for social workers. I’ve seen too many of them. I’m prejudiced. And where the hell is Pender? It can’t take more than ten minutes to type out a dozen names.”

But it was a quarter of an hour before he returned and said apologetically: “Sorry it took so long but I’ve been trying to find out if we have an address for Michael Cole. No luck, I’m afraid. It’s some years ago now, and he didn’t give an address when he left Banyard Court. No reason why he should, really. He resigned, he wasn’t sacked. As I said, the home’s closed now, but I’ve given you the address of the last headmaster. He may be able to help.”

Once in the car, Kate said: “We’d better phone half these names through to the Suffolk searchers. We’ll take the headmaster. I’ve a feeling Cole is probably the only one who’ll be able to help.”

The rest of the day, and the morning and afternoon of the next, were frustrating. They drove from foster parent to foster parent, following with increasing despair Ashe’s self-destructive trail. Some were as helpful as they were able to be; others only needed to hear the name Ashe before making it only too plain that they wished the police away. Some foster parents had moved and couldn’t be located.

The schoolmaster was at work, but his wife was at home. She refused to speak about Ashe except to say that he had sexually assaulted their daughter Angela, and that his name was never mentioned in the house. She would be grateful if the police did not return that evening. Angela would be home and mention of Ashe would bring it all back. She had no idea where Ashe could be now. The family had gone on outings when he was with them, but it was to places of educational interest. None of them could possibly have provided a hiding-place. That was all she was prepared to say.

The address they had been given for the former headmaster of Banyard Court was on the outskirts of Ipswich. They had tried there first but got no reply to their ringing. They kept returning throughout the day, but it wasn’t until after six o’clock that they were successful in finding someone at home. This was his widow, returned from a day in London. A tired, harassed-looking woman in late middle age, she told them that her husband had died of a heart attack two years earlier, then welcomed them in — the first person who had done so — and offered them tea and cake. But there wasn’t time to stop. It was information they desperately needed, not food.

She explained: “I worked at Banyard Court myself as a kind of relief under-matron. I’m not a social worker. I knew Michael Cole, of course. He was a good man and wonderful with the boys. He never told us that he and Ashe went off together when he had a day’s leave, but I don’t think it was other than completely innocent. Coley would never have hurt a child or young person, never. He was devoted to Ashe.”

“And you’ve no idea where they went?”

“None at all. I don’t think it can have been too far from Banyard Court, because they bicycled and Ashe was always back before dark.”

“And you don’t know where Michael Cole went when he left Banyard Court?”

“I can’t give you the address, I’m afraid, but I think he went to a sister. I have a feeling that her name was Page — yes, I’m sure it was. And I think she was a nurse. If she’s still working you may be able to trace her through the hospital — that is, if she’s still living in the area.”

It seemed a small chance but they thanked her and went on their way. It was now half past six.

And this time they were lucky. They telephoned three hospitals in the district. The fourth, a small geriatric unit, said that they had a Mrs. Page on their staff but that she had taken a week’s leave because one of her children was sick. They made no difficulty about giving out her address.

T
hey found Mrs. Page in a semi-detached house on a modern estate of red-brick-and-concrete houses outside Framsdown Village, a development typical of the not uncommon intrusion of suburbia into what had been unspoilt, if not particularly beautiful, countryside. At the entrance to the cul-de-sac the garish street lamps shone down on a small deserted playground with swings, a slide and a climbing-frame. There were no garages, but every house and flat seemed to have a car or caravan, parked in the roadway or on hard-standing where front gardens had been paved over. There were lights behind the drawn curtains, but no sign of life.

The bell at Number II set up a musical jingle and almost at once the door was opened. Outlined against the hall light stood a black woman with a child on her hip. Without waiting for Kate or Piers to show a warrant card, she said: “I know who you are. The hospital phoned. Come in.”

She stood aside and they passed her into the hall. She was wearing tight black slacks with a grey short-sleeved top. Kate saw that she was beautiful. Her graceful neck rose to a proudly held head capped by shorn hair. Her nose was straight and fairly narrow; the lips were strongly curved, the eyes large and full-lidded, but clouded now with anxiety.

The front room into which she led them was clean but untidy, the new furniture already showing signs of the depredations of small sticky hands and vigorous play. There was a play-pen in the corner caging an older child who was engaged in pulling herself up to reach the row of coloured bells fixed along the top rail. At their entrance she flopped down and, grasping the bars, gazed at them with immense eyes, grinning a welcome. Kate went over to her and held out a finger. It was immediately grasped with remarkable strength.

The two women, Mrs. Page still holding the younger child, sat down on the sofa with Piers in the chair opposite.

He said: “We’re looking for your brother, Mr. Michael Cole. I expect you know that Garry Ashe is wanted for questioning. We’re hoping that Mr. Cole may have some idea where he could be hiding.”

“Michael isn’t here.” They could hear the anxiety in her voice. “He left early this morning on his bicycle — at least the cycle isn’t in the shed now. He didn’t say where he was going but he left a note. It’s here.”

She struggled up and took it from behind a small toby jug on the top of the television. Kate read: “I’ll be away for the whole day. Don’t worry, I’ll be back by six o’clock for supper. Please ring the supermarket and say I’ll be in for the night shift.”

Kate asked: “When exactly did he leave, do you know?”

“After the eight o’clock news. I was awake then and could hear it from my room.”

“And he hasn’t rung?”

“No. I waited for the meal until seven, and then ate on my own.”

Piers asked: “When did you begin to get worried?”

“Soon after six. Michael’s so reliable about time. I was going to ring round the hospitals and then the police if he wasn’t back by tomorrow morning. But it’s not as if he’s a child. He’s a grown man. I didn’t think the police would take it seriously if I rang too soon. I’m getting really worried now. I was glad when the hospital rang to say you were looking for him.”

Kate asked: “And you’ve no idea where he could have gone?”

Mrs. Page shook her head.

Kate asked her about her brother’s relationship with Ashe. “We know that Ashe lied about his relationship with your brother. We don’t know why. Is there anything you can tell us about their friendship? Where they went together, the sort of things they liked to do? We feel that Ashe is likely to be hiding in a place he knows.”

Mrs. Page shifted the child in her lap and for a moment bent her head low over the tight curls in a gesture maternal and protective. Then she said: “Michael was working at Banyard Court as a care assistant when Ashe was admitted. Michael was fond of him. He told me something about Ashe’s past, how he’d been rejected by his mother and the man she was living with. He’d been beaten and generally ill-treated by one or both of them before he was taken into care. The police wanted to prosecute but each adult blamed the other and they couldn’t get enough evidence. Michael thought he could help Ashe. He believed that everyone is redeemable. He couldn’t help, of course. Perhaps God can redeem Ashe, a human being can’t. You can’t help people who are born evil.”

Piers said: “I’m not sure what that word means.”

The great eyes turned on him. “Aren’t you? And you a police officer.”

Kate’s voice was persuasive. “Think very hard, Mrs. Page. You know your brother. Where would he be likely to go? What did he and Ashe enjoy doing?”

She thought for a moment before answering, then said: “It was on Michael’s rest days. He’d go off on his cycle and meet Ashe somewhere on the road. I don’t know where they went but Michael was always back before dark. He took food and his camping stove. And water, of course. I think he’d have gone to open country. He doesn’t like dense woodland. He likes wide spaces and a great expanse of sky.”

“And he would tell you nothing?”

“Only that he’d had a good day. I think he’d promised Ashe that the place would be their secret. He’d come back full of happiness, full of hope. He loved Ashe, but not in the way they said. There was an inquiry. They exonerated Michael because there wasn’t any real evidence, and they knew how Ashe lied. But these things don’t get forgotten. He won’t get another job with children. I don’t think he’d want one. He’s lost confidence. Something died in him after what Ashe did, the accusations, the inquiry. He works at the supermarket in Ipswich now, doing night work, stocking the shelves. We manage with his wage and mine. We’re not unhappy. I hope he’s all right. We all want him back. My husband was killed last year in a road accident. The children need Michael. He’s wonderful with them.”

Suddenly she was crying. The beautiful face didn’t alter but two large tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down over her cheeks. Kate had an impulse to move along the sofa and enfold mother and child in her arms, but resisted it. The action might be resented, even repulsed. How difficult it was, she thought, to make a simple response to distress.

She said: “Try not to worry, we’ll find him.”

“But you think he could be with Ashe, don’t you? You think that’s where he’s gone.”

“We don’t know. It’s possible. But we will find him.”

She went with them to the door. She said: “I don’t want Ashe here. I don’t want him near my children.”

Kate said: “He won’t be. Why should he come here? But keep the door on the chain, and if he does get in touch, ring us at once. Here’s the number.”

She stood looking after them, child on hip, as the car moved away.

In the car Piers said: “So you think Cole has really gone to look for Ashe, without telling anyone, without ringing the police?”

“Oh yes, that’s where he’s gone. He heard about Ashe on the eight o’clock news and then left. He’s gone to try a little private redemption again, God help him.”

They stopped outside the village and Kate rang to report to Dalgliesh. He said: “Hold on a moment.” She heard the rustle of a map being opened. “Banyard Court was just north of Ottley Village, wasn’t it? So he and Ashe started out from there or nearabouts. Assume that they cycled between twenty and thirty miles to get to their special place. Up to four hours cycling, coming and going. Tough, but it’s possible. Better take a thirty-mile radius. There isn’t much wooded country except for Rendlesham and Tunstall forests. If his sister’s right and he didn’t like enclosed spaces, he’d probably head for the coast. Stretches of it are desolate enough. Start the helicopter search at first light and concentrate on the coast. I’ll see you at the hotel by ten tonight.”

Kate told Piers: “He’s coming down.”

“Why, for God’s sake? Suffolk’s being co-operative. We’ve got it all organized.”

“I suppose he wants to be there at the end.”

“If there is an end.”

“Oh there’ll be an end. The question is what and where.”

T
hat morning they slept late, each cocooned in a sleeping-bag, side by side but not touching. Ashe woke first. He was at once instantly alert. He could hear beside him her soft regular breathing, broken by low mutters and little snorts. He imagined that he could smell her, her body, her breath. There came into his mind the thought that he could release his arm and stretch over to clamp a hand over that half-open mouth and silence it for ever. He indulged the fantasy for a few minutes, then lay rigid, waiting for the first light. It came at last and she stirred and turned her face towards him.

“Is it morning?”

“Yes, it’s morning. I’ll get the breakfast.”

She wriggled out of her sleeping-bag and stretched.

“I’m hungry. Doesn’t the morning smell wonderful here! The air never smells like this in London. Look, I’ll get breakfast. You’ve done all the work so far.”

She was trying to sound happy, but there was something false in her over-bright voice.

“No,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

There must have been an insistence in his voice for she didn’t persevere. He lit two candles and then the stove, then opened a tin of tomatoes and one of sausages. He was aware of her eyes, anxious and questioning, following his every move. They would eat and then he must get away from her. He would go to his own place among the reeds. Even Coley had never followed him there. He had to be alone. He had to think. They spoke little during the meal; afterwards she helped him wash the plates and mugs in the water. Then he said, “Don’t follow me. I won’t be long,” and went out through the kitchen door.

He pushed his way through the bushes to the familiar path leading towards the distant sea. The track was narrower even than the first. He had almost to grope his way, pushing the reeds apart, feeling them stiff and cold against his palms. The ridge wound as he remembered it, now firm and lumpy, now grassy and starred with a few daisies, now squelchy under his feet so that he was afraid it wouldn’t hold his weight. But at last it ended. Here was the grassy knoll he remembered. There was just room for him to sit, knees bent against his chest, arms tight around them, an inviolable ball. He closed his eyes and listened to the familiar sounds, his own breathing, the eternal whispering of the reeds, the far-off rhythmic moaning of the sea. For a few minutes he sat absolutely still, his eyes closed, letting the tumult which possessed his mind and body subside into what he thought of as peace. But now he had to think.