The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (16 page)

“They disposed of the bodies; they were too badly beaten to be left in the sea.”

The younger man spoke.”But they’d be missed by their units.”

“The islanders stuck together, just like they’d always done, just like they have done now. They denied all knowledge that the Americans had even arrived.”

“But surely they must have told someone?”

The older man took a drink from an almost still lemonade that sat on the table between them. It had been nursed and fingered and pawed for twenty minutes.

“Of course they had. They had to inform the captain of the company where they were going every time they went on leave, but of course the Brotherhood claimed they’d never arrived.”

“And?”

“And old Captain Yankee decided to pay a visit to the island. In fact, he brought a delegation with him and swore he wouldn’t leave until they found out the truth. The Government in Whitehall got involved too. Even then the Government knelt down to the Yanks, gave them everything they wanted.”

The older man laughed. “It seems that things haven’t really changed. Whitehall ordered an enquiry, placed old Cap’n Yankee in charge, gave him the freedom of Northumberland, so to speak. The local constabulary at Berwick were instructed to cooperate without question, even flew two top detectives up from London. At one point they were sure fucking Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson would be crossing the causeway.”

Another laugh – another grin – another token sip at the now warm lemonade.

“The Brotherhood were worried; their darkest hour. Thirteen hundred years protecting the island from the undesirables, all hanging by a thread.”

The young man sat captivated, taking in every detail, every fact and yet knowing the outcome of the tale would be a satisfactory one.

Satisfactory for the Brotherhood.

“The Brotherhood sent out a secret plea. Every banker, copper, politician, local dignitary, sleeping or otherwise was somehow notified of the consequences should the investigation continue.”

He fixed a grin on his young colleague.

“And then someone came forward with just the information they were looking for. The American unit were stationed up at Lossiemouth in Scotland. A doctor seconded to the unit picked up the telephone. It appears Captain Yankee had contracted a dose of syphilis, after all too frequent encounters with the local whores. In fact it got even better. He’d been spending more on the whores than he had been receiving in monthly salary. A bank manager came forward too, confirmed he was deep in debt. I really honestly didn’t think there were so many islanders dispersed so far and wide.”

“So they blackmailed him?”

The older man shook his head.

“Good heavens, no, blackmail is dangerous. We much prefer a bribe, much safer. The Brotherhood hierarchy called a meeting. Called a meeting with an invitation to the captain. They said they had some important information. The captain turned up smoking a big fat cigar, waiting to hear the news of his missing troops.

“The Brotherhood explained how much they wanted to help the Americans and how grateful they were for their efforts in winning the war. The fat captain sat and absorbed the praise and then asked what the important news was. The Master of the Brotherhood said some important medical information had been forthcoming from the unit’s doctor up at Lossiemouth. Both men had contracted syphilis. Both were in the secondary stages and had been very late in seeking medical attention.”

“I don’t understand, sir, syphilis isn’t terminal, is it?”

“It can be but that’s not the point. The point was that both men were married with family back home in the States. The point was that they could not be cured; they would always carry the syphilis bacteria.

“The Brotherhood suggested a bizarre suicide pact and produced one of the men’s dog tags that had been found snared on the causeway. The Brotherhood placed the ball firmly in the court of our fat captain. They asked if he wanted the doctor at Lossiemouth to come down to the island and help with the investigation; perhaps he might uncover some more information about the men and the unit. The captain turned ghostly white at the thought. Then they pounded in the final nail. They explained that the publicity was bad for the island, they wanted a quick conclusion to the matter and wanted to build up the tourist industry that had been badly affected during the war. The Brothers offered the fat captain twenty-five thousand pounds in used five-pound notes that they suggested he could distribute as he saw fit for the benefit of the company and the men’s families.”

“Brilliant… absolutely brilliant, sir. How could he refuse?”

“Exactly. Twenty-five thousand pounds was equivalent to ten years’ wages in those days. How could our captain refuse.”

“That combined with a potential sex scandal.”

The man drained the final dregs of his lemonade. His young colleague waited in anticipation for the conclusion of the story. “The captain spouted on for a full five minutes about how the money would be directed to the soldiers’ families in the US. He told the Brothers that the money would help to ease the pain

and suffering and, the more he thought about it, the more a suicide pact was the likely outcome.

“The Brothers made it clear that the money would only be handed over if the captain exonerated the islanders and convinced all and sundry that the investigation had been concluded.”

“He took the money?”

“You bet he took the fucking money. He took the money and ran. Only the poor families of the soldiers would never seen a dime. Our bank manager confirmed that the captain’s overdraft was cleared and the rest of the money changed into US dollars and transferred to his personal bank account in Oregon. The captain was as good as his word though. The missing soldiers were never mentioned again.”

They sat in a small café two blocks away from the court buildings in Middlesbrough city centre.

“I’m frightened, Ashley. It’s as if I’ve been wanting to find out the truth all along but now someone official has actually said something untoward has happened, I’m not sure if I really want to know the details.”

“You have to find out the truth, Kate, you… we need to find out for Tom’s sake, you heard what the coroner said: foul play. You’d suspected that from the outset.”

Her tear-filled eyes had remained that way ever since the pathologist dropped his bombshell. Ashley had ordered two freshly baked tuna baguettes and two coffees. The coffees had been drained long ago, the two baguettes remained untouched.

“What happens next, Ashley? You’re the policeman.”

Ashley raked his fingers through his hair.

“A policeman, Kate, not a lawyer. I really don’t what’s going to happen when we get in there.”

“But you must have an idea?”

“For what it’s worth, I’d take a guess that the coroner is meeting with the Chief Superintendent of Northumbria and Cleveland police, though I might be wrong. I’d take a guess that the three of them are chatting the case over, discussing the pathologist’s report and the coroner will be thinking about what verdict he’s going to bring in and I think that these two guys can probably influence it.”

“The verdict, Ashley.” She smiled, and again the smile brushed Ashley’s heart.”Take a guess, I won’t hold it against you. What do you… guess the verdict will be.”

Ashley remembered back to the inquests he’d had to attend during his long police career. He’d had an uncanny knack of predicting all but one of the outcomes. Most were fairly straightforward. This case was heading for death by misadventure. The coroner would have no alternative. A respected pathologist had confirmed that Tom had been beaten before drowning. He all but suggested that the aggressors had thrown the body into the sea. The only thing that hadn’t come out was where he’d been thrown in. Strange, he thought to himself, why no mention of the island.

Murder. Plain and simple.

The case would be reopened and the publicity surrounding the verdict would ensure that, at last, Tom’s killers would be investigated thoroughly. Ashley took a deep breath and delivered his opinion to Kate who sat ashen-faced and silent throughout. As they walked out of the café and into the gloomy, grey, smoggy Middlesbrough day, he reached for her hand offering the only gesture of support he could think of. She smiled a sad smile and slipped her hand in his, interlocking their fingers, the way lovers do.

* * *

Ashley looked around the court and in particular over to the throngs of people packed into the public gallery.

The Press!

Word had filtered through that this case was no longer the normal suicide or accidental death. The ‘M’ word had been whispered through countless mobile phones during the long recess. Colleagues and old pals had clogged up the grapevine and those that were working on the more mundane ‘kitten up a tree’ and ‘Aunt Nelly reaches a hundred’ had dropped everything to attend the final session at Number Two Court in Middlesbrough Crown Court, Russell Street.

Still holding Kate’s hand he studied the various members of the uniformed constabulary, the Berwick policemen, the Chief Constable and another uniform from Middlesbrough, but in particular Chief Superintendent Roddam.

Roddam looked slightly nervous. He fiddled with some notes and kept looking around the courtroom. At last, Ashley thought, perhaps now Holy John would take this seriously. This was Rod dam’s chance to speak out, to explain that Tom Wilkinson had definitely been on the island. He’d been beaten up on the island prior to being thrown in the sea. What more proof did they need to reopen the case? Roddam had the written statement from Kate and the bank statement from Tom’s flat. It was his duty to at least mention them.

Ashley glared at Roddam. He sat bolt upright, his uniform immaculate and each button polished for the occasion. His tie, freshly pressed that morning and hanging straight as a die with a gold and silver tie pin, the coat of arms of Northumbria Police.

He exuded confidence, a slight smile seemed etched permanently on to his face, and the look of his former boss made Ashley just a little uncomfortable.

The door on the far side of the courtroom eased open and a court official announced the coroner and then, “Court, stand.”

As instructed, everyone in the building stood. The coroner sat down and took thirty seconds or so to compile his notes. He didn’t beat about the bush and called straight away for the Chief Constable of Middlesbrough.

After completing the formalities he asked the high-ranking policeman various questions about where and when the body was found. He asked him to detail the enquiries made by his force and seemed satisfied with the policeman’s replies. Finally the policeman confirmed to the coroner that, in his opinion, given the condition of the body he was absolutely certain the deceased had been in the water a considerable time and therefore due to tidal patterns it was unlikely that the body had entered the sea where it was washed up.

“You may stand down, Chief Constable,” the coroner commanded in his deep voice. He glanced at his notes again.

“Could Chief Superintendent Roddam of Northumbria Police please take the stand.”

Roddam stood bold upright, gave a cursory nod in the direction of the coroner and, without losing a shred of composure, made his way to the stand. He confirmed his name and rank, swore on the bible and faced the coroner solemnly. “Chief Superintendent Roddam, I won’t stand on ceremony,” the coroner explained. He studied the large wad of paperwork on the desk in front of him. “It has been suggested on more than one occasion that the deceased’s final hours were spent on Holy Island which, as we know, is under the jurisdiction of Northumbria Police. Could you explain please what efforts your force has made to establish this fact? Given what the pathologist explained earlier today it may be quite significant.”

“Bingo,” muttered Ashley under his breath, “wriggle out of that one.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Roddam politely. “We investigated the possibility of the deceased visiting Holy Island prior to his disappearance. We investigated it not once but twice, at the insistence of the deceased’s friends and family.”

The coroner peered over his glasses

“Twice, Chief Superintendent Roddam?”

“Yes, sir. On the first occasion we sent an officer from Berwick upon-Tweed. He knows the island and the islanders very well. He spent the best part of a week trying to ascertain whether the deceased had been on the island.”

“And you found no evidence, Chief Superintendent Roddam. That’s why you investigated a second time?”

“Correct, sir.”

“Why then, Chief Superintendent Roddam, did you investigate the matter again?”

Chief Superintendent Roddam looked at the notes he had made in a small black book. He looked back at the coroner.

“Well, sir, according to my notes, Detective Constable John Markham had liaised with friends and family of the deceased and had uncovered some more information that allegedly placed the deceased on Holy Island prior to his death.”

“Good old Holy John,” Ashley muttered again.

“Let me get this right, Chief Superintendent Roddam,” the coroner said again, “you investigated not once but twice.”

“Yes, sir,” repeated Chief Superintendent Roddam.

The coroner glanced at the Chief Superintendent and then to the public gallery looking at no one in particular.