A Dreadful Past (18 page)

The detective constables grinned at Hennessey's dry humour.

‘But, as you know, the first twenty-four hours and all that … the murder last night has to take priority. I do not want to raise your hopes but in my waters I think last night's murder might, just might, be linked to the Middleton family case … but we cannot assume that. I'll be attending the post-mortem this morning. His clothes have been sent to the forensic science laboratory at Wetherby so we are unlikely to get an identification before midday. We have this morning still to work on the Middleton family and the other murders. We've made good progress on the “gang of four”. We can do a little more before we have to put that investigation to one side and focus on last night's murder. So … for action.' Hennessey paused. ‘Somerled and Reginald.'

‘Sir!' Yellich replied.

‘I'd like you two to go and quiz the landlord of the George and Dragon on Foss Islands Road, see what he might remember about the gang of four who drank in his pub twenty years ago, if it's the same man, of course. If not, find out where he is now if you can.'

‘Yes, sir.' Yellich nodded. ‘Understood.'

‘Carmen and Thompson.'

‘Sir?' Thompson replied for himself and Carmen Pharoah.

‘Go and pay a call on the disabled gentleman who appears to have been paid to lure the street girl into the ambush she was a victim of. You'll get his address from the clinic he is seen to attend.'

‘Yes, sir.' Thompson Ventnor reached for his coat. ‘Got that.'

‘Doctor Joseph, the forensic psychologist at the university whom I visited yesterday informed me that we might have a gang who found each other as psychopaths and who matured, as I reported yesterday. Once they matured they would each want to put their past a long way behind them and not want to associate with each other. So it is highly likely that the gang of four will have fragmented,' Hennessey informed them, ‘but they still might know where each other is, so we're closing down on them and, as I said yesterday, if we can build a case against them then we'll be the people giving the knock on their door which they have been living in fear of for the last two decades. So let's do as much as we can before we have to prioritize the murder which occurred last night. Frankly, within these four walls, the hairs on my old wooden leg tell me that there will be a link to this inquiry.'

Simon Crossley sat in the old and clearly well-worn armchair in his damp-smelling council house on the Chapel Fields Estate in east York. Carmen Pharoah and Thompson Ventnor stood on the carpet which stuck to the sole of their shoes when they tried to lift their feet. Carmen Pharoah glanced outside through the window and saw that the rear garden of Simon Crossley's house was as equally overgrown as the front garden which abutted the street.

‘Arthritis,' Crossley explained with a shrug. He had a strong Yorkshire accent. ‘It's a bit like cancer and it's also a bit like heart disease in that it's associated with old age but, like cancer and heart disease, it can take you at any time of life and it took me when I was twenty.'

‘I'm sorry,' Carmen Pharoah replied, ‘that's bad luck, very bad luck indeed.'

‘Yes, that's all you can say.' Crossley shrugged. ‘It's just bad luck … life's unfair and I got dealt a bad hand. I look at sports on television, especially athletics, and you know I think do those people, those young men and women with their perfect bodies, do they know, I mean, have they the slightest notion of just how fortunate they are? And here's me, twisted out of shape, bunged up with painkillers, little me. I don't have a mirror in my house – I couldn't bear to have one, but sometimes when I go out I catch a glimpse of my reflection … totally twisted out of shape, bent and gnarled like an old tree trunk and just as useless.' Simon Crossley sighed. ‘But I am determined to keep going although I often wonder what on earth is the point? I have my meals delivered and someone calls to clean my little house. They're supposed to do the garden but it seems that they have forgotten about me in that department. I can get to the clinic by myself, so a walk there and back every few months is a victory. Is that how you found me, from the records at the clinic? I suppose it is.'

‘Yes, it is.' Carmen Pharoah smiled. ‘We told them that it was in connection with a murder inquiry and that we only wanted to talk to you as a potential witness. We emphasized that you were not a suspect.'

‘We said we could get a warrant to oblige them to give us the information,' Ventnor added, ‘so they agreed to let us have your name and address, especially since you are a witness, not a suspect who is about to be arrested.'

Simon Crossley forced a smile. ‘Me a murder suspect? That's rich. That is one of the crimes I cannot be capable of; mind you, having said that, I suppose I could poison someone. I suppose I am capable of doing that, physically capable, I mean … If I knew how to get hold of poison, that is. If I knew where the arsenic shop was or if I could reach the cyanide bottles on the top shelf of the supermarket … if I could get as far as the supermarket, which I doubt I could manage to do.'

‘So …' Carmen Pharoah focused the discussion. ‘Twenty years ago … we are going back as far as we can.'

‘Yes, we can go back that far.' Simon Crossley held eye contact with Carmen Pharoah. ‘My memory is still good; I can recall details. I sit here all day thinking back and I do remember a lot of details. Twenty years ago I was twenty-seven. I had been hobbling about on my aluminium sticks for seven years by then and I had become quite good at it. I mean, you've got to be. We've all got to be good at something and by then I was good at getting about using my sticks. Really expert at it.'

‘It's easy for me to say, Simon,' Carmen Pharoah spoke softly, ‘but for your own sake try not to be so embittered.'

‘As you say, it's easy for you,' Crossley snorted. ‘But carry on – what do you want to know?'

‘All right, thank you,' Carmen Pharoah continued. ‘Twenty years ago, winter time … dark nights … You were in the centre of York one evening and someone gave you some money to ask a working girl to go into an alley with you …'

Crossley groaned. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. How can I forget that incident? Just off Micklegate, wasn't it? She got jumped by four guys except one turned out to be a female.'

‘Yes, that's the incident,' Carmen Pharoah confirmed. ‘That's what we need to know about.'

‘The poor girl. I didn't know what was going to happen to her – I promise I didn't.' Simon Crossley appealed to the two officers. ‘I promise you that.'

‘Yes, we believe you,' Carmen Pharoah replied reassuringly. ‘That is not in doubt, don't worry, but let me ask you: did the person who paid you to do that ask you to approach a specific girl or was it the case that any girl would do?'

‘The latter. Any girl,' Simon Crossley replied firmly and clearly, once again holding eye contact with Carmen Pharoah. ‘Definitely any girl and I can also tell you that I had to ask two or three girls before I found one who'd go with me. The first ones said things like, “Sorry, darling, I don't care how much you're offering. Even girls like me need their boat floating and you're not even close”. Then I find one girl who was kind-hearted enough to go with me into the alley and what does she get?' Simon Crossley looked down at the floor. ‘That's also so unfair. She was a good girl. She had a good heart to go with the likes of me. She didn't deserve that to happen to her.'

‘That's interesting.' Carmen Pharoah and Thompson Ventnor glanced at each other. ‘That's useful to know … a random victim. What did they tell you to say to this girl?'

‘Well, they made it worth my while,' Simon Crossley explained. ‘One guy did – a small, weedy-looking guy. What I remember about this geezer was his shoes … pointed toes. I think they used to be called winkle-pickers. So he gave me fifty pounds. I mean, twenty years ago that was some wedge. Even today it's my food for two weeks if I could cook for myself and if I economized. So twenty years ago it was a very good wedge and I was unemployed, of course, classed as permanently disabled and on invalidity benefit … I still am and that hasn't gone up with the cost of living.' Simon Crossley sighed once more. ‘That expression, “what goes up must come down” – it doesn't apply to prices. They all go one way – I can tell you that for nothing.'

‘Yes,' Carmen Pharoah replied, ‘I won't argue there … but please, carry on. What did this geezer with the pointy-toed shoes tell you to do?'

‘He told me to say something like, “I can't get a lot of action, can you help me?”' Crossley forced a smile. ‘I mean, that was true, I didn't get a lot of action before I went down with arthritis and none afterwards; I didn't have to act that bit. So I thought, why not? I thought, it's fifty quid. She only asked me for twenty so I was set to make a clear thirty that would have come in very handy. So we walked down the alley and I felt thrilled – a woman was walking beside me. Even if I was paying her I still had female company. It was not something I was used to. It only lasted a few seconds but I remember those seconds of female company like it happened yesterday. I bet that sounds so pathetic to you two guys.'

‘It does,' Carmen Pharoah replied gently, ‘but not in the way you think, Simon. It sounds pathetic in the correct and the highest meaning of the word. But go on …'

‘All right, thank you for saying that.' Crossley paused before continuing. ‘So we're in the alley when suddenly four guys come out of nowhere – two big ones, two small ones – but one of the small ones was the guy who had given me the money, the geezer with the shoes with the pointy toes and the other small guy turned out to be a female, dressed like a man … heavy jacket, jeans, boots – you know the sort of getup. One of the big guys smacked the woman I was with so hard she went down with hardly a sound and then he punched her again. The other big guy also kneels over her and punches her in the face quite a few times, then the two little ones attack using their feet, the little guy with his pointy toes and the woman with her boots … really viciously – both were like they had a chip on their shoulder about something and they needed a victim. It was like they were not bothered if they killed her. I just stood there, like I was rooted to the spot, and all the while the two little ones were putting the boot in. Then one of the big ones said to me, “All right, you … clear the pitch and you didn't see anything. We can easily find you so you didn't see a thing. Go … Go … Go”.' Simon Crossley glanced to his left. ‘So I cleared the pitch as fast as I could and I didn't look back. The next day I read about the attack in the evening paper. I read it wasn't fatal so I kept quiet. I mean, wouldn't you? When I saw what those thugs were capable of … I'm a marked man with these.' He tapped his aluminium walking sticks. ‘I was then and I am now, so I kept quiet. I had enough to cope with. I didn't want to be put in a wheelchair.'

‘What did you do with the money?' Ventnor asked, speaking for the first time.

‘I threw it in the river. It was blood money. Well, it was as good as blood money. She lived so strictly speaking it wasn't blood money.' Simon Crossley sat forward, his head bowed slightly. ‘I couldn't enjoy spending it. It was immoral money. I didn't want it, so it went in the river.'

‘Good for you.' Carmen Pharoah smiled warmly. ‘Good for you. Tell us, if you can, do you think you'd recognize any of the gang again?'

‘I'll help all I can,' Simon Crossley looked up, ‘but I reckon a good defence lawyer will tear my witness testimony to shreds. I mean, what do you think? Twenty years ago, a dark, poorly lit alley … and it was all over in a few seconds. I doubt it will be of use even if I could pick them out of an ID parade like the ones you see on the television. But if it will help, I will do so, even if it doesn't get to court.'

‘Thanks.' Carmen Pharoah smiled once again. ‘Even that could be useful. We might take you up on that.'

‘That girl,' Simon Crossley asked, ‘what happened to her? Is she all right? What is she doing these days? I would like to say how sorry I am. I never knew that was going to happen to her. I would like to tell her that, if I can.'

‘Well … we might be able to help you there,' Carmen Pharoah offered.

‘You might?' Crossley looked up at her with a hopeful expression.

‘Yes,' Thompson Ventnor confirmed. ‘You see, it was that lady who told us where to find you. She sees you at the clinic from time to time. You don't recognize her but she recognizes you. She doesn't know whether you deliberately lured her into the trap or not.'

‘She lives in Chapel Fields?' A note of optimism entered Simon Crossley's voice. ‘She lives on this estate, same as me?'

‘Yes, she does,' Carmen Pharoah added. ‘If you like, we can let her have your address and tell her your version. It isn't really the job of the police to put people in touch with each other but in your case, and in her case, I think we can make an exception. We'll let her know where you live. It is up to her then to make contact with you. She might want to talk to you about it.'

‘Yes … yes …' Simon Crossley nodded. ‘Please do that. I would appreciate that greatly.'

George Hennessey stood against the wall of the pathology laboratory in York District Hospital. He wore the required green paper coveralls, including matching head and foot covering, and stood completely still and silent, observing for the police. The laboratory was brilliantly illuminated by a series of filament bulbs in the ceiling which shimmered behind opaque Perspex screens. The room smelled strongly of formaldehyde. Five stainless-steel dissecting tables stood in a row in the room. Upon one such table lay the body of the deceased which had earlier that morning been found by a lady walking her springer spaniel. Hennessey pondered the body on the dissecting table and saw a pale, emaciated body, short in terms of stature, whose genitals had been covered by a starched white towel. Dr Louise D'Acre, who was also dressed in green paper coveralls, stood at the far end of the table to Hennessey, at the end where the head lay. Eric Filey, the short, rotund pathology laboratory assistant, who Hennessey had always found to be warm-hearted and of jovial disposition, unlike so many of his calling, stood behind and beside Dr D'Acre. Behind Eric Filey, on the opposite wall to where George Hennessey stood, ran a bench, beneath which were a line of drawers containing instruments which might be required during any post-mortem examination.