Towers of Silence (24 page)

“You employ people here, that’s part of your job?”

“The committee as a whole, yes. Plus policy, planning, training, health and safety, you name it.”

“So if anyone had a complaint who would they talk to?”

Her brow creased, she looked at me sharply, alarm in her eyes.

“To me in the first instance.”

I felt in my bag and fished out a card and pen, ready to take her number.

“Touting for business?” Eddie Cliff walked towards us, still in his red and white robes.

My stomach tightened. “Every bit helps,” I joked. I passed Mrs Wood my card. “So yes,” I said. “Tell your friend to give me a ring, it’s completely confidential.” I prayed she’d cotton on and not say anything to Eddie. She looked slightly unsure but took my card. I struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.

Eddie Cliff looked at me brightly, inquisitive ultramarine eyes, then at Mrs Wood.

“It suits you,” she said drily.

“I’d better go,” I said and fled with my skin crawling.

I knew Ray was expecting me back so he could go shopping but I needed to straighten my thoughts. I drove the car round to nearby Plattfields and parked on the roadside. I concentrated.

Eddie Cliff and Melody Gervase had been alone in the office when Jane burnt herself. He was probably well out of order leaving the group unattended but I bet no mention of that was made in any accident report. So, Jane got burnt and Miriam hurried to get Eddie. She walks in on them. A big shock all round. Eddie has to see to Jane, apply first aid and calm her down and meanwhile Miriam and Melody go to the toilets, the only place he’s not allowed. Melody is distressed (at being caught out? At something Eddie has said?) and Miriam promises to help. Melody maybe asks her not to say anything. She’s very frightened.
Don’t tell, don’t tell
. She never goes back to the Craft Club after that. She heard about Miriam’s death.
A sign
, she said.
She promised to help
. She died. Look what happens. Never dared go back. Waited, not knowing if her withdrawal would be enough to spare her. She must have been terrified when I showed up at the sewing circle asking questions.

So, the group leave. Melody and Miriam are supposed to clear up. Then what? Does Eddie make more threats? Underplay it? Pretend it never happened? He could probably rely on his threats keeping Melody quiet. But Miriam, who had stumbled upon the abuse? There were no sweet promises or soft kisses to bind her to him. When Miriam rang Hattie Jacobs, she had talked of being put in hospital if she told them, that it was awful and he would punish her. Eddie’s threats?

Why then had she let him in, gone in his car? She was scared, she knew what he was doing. Why hadn’t she just locked her door and refused to come out? He hadn’t physically forced her into the car or Horace Johnstone would have said so.

And then what?

One way or another, Eddie Cliff had driven Miriam Johnstone to her death.

I couldn’t carry it on my own another day.

I went to the police.

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.”