Henry was already in the interview room when Maddie arrived shortly after eight. If she was condemned to circling, she’d damn well do it on her terms. From this moment on.
“Your papers, sir,” she said with a smile as she piled three newspapers onto the table. “And, to cut to the chase, not a word about you.”
Henry’s worried expression lightened. “And telly?”
“Nothing. Nix. Nada.” She grinned at him. “So far, so good. What time is the wedding?”
“Three this afternoon. Followed by photography in the park and the wedding reception after that. They should be on their way by about ten or eleven tonight, I suppose.”
“That probably means flying out tomorrow morning.” Her grin faded. Another twenty-four hours before the newlyweds were safely away.
He was obviously thinking the same. “Maybe she’ll be so excited, she won’t be noticing any of the news.” His face darkened again. “But if her mother has even a smell of what’s happening….”
“Walk me through yesterday, Henry, please.” She asked him as much to get his mind off his daughter as for the information she wanted to know.
“Got up, had breakfast, headed for Mr Bazir’s magazine shop in Kingston to pay my newspaper bill. I waited for the bus for a bit – the bus stop is just outside my flat – but I’d probably just missed one so decided to walk instead. I needed to get to Kingston, you see, because I intended buying a suit for the lunch with my daughter.”
“Buying a suit? Don’t you have suits from before you went to prison?”
“I had several. All donated to my favourite charity shop. They’ll fit a much larger man than me at my new slimmer weight. Of course, they fitted perfectly before I went away. Prison food had an unanticipated but welcome consequence.”
She smiled. “Got it. But why did you leave it so late? Shouldn’t you have done that sort of shopping earlier in the week?”
“I’ve been going into Kingston every chance I get, seeing what new stock the charity shops have acquired, almost buying but waiting in case anything better came in. I’d checked them all out yesterday except my fav charity shop, the hospice shop, near the underpass. That was the last chance for a suit with a good fit.”
“I know the shop.”
“I did try to buy a brand new suit. First, I’d checked out Marks and Sparks, the sales at John Lewis, that sort of thing. Needless to say, the High Street shops were way beyond my current budget. After that, I went several times to four local charity shops to look at the quality of the suits, whether any fitted me and their prices. I did find two almost good enough suits. But they were nothing like the one I ended up buying. At a pinch, either would have done, but neither excited me at all. Last shop to check was the one near the underpass. My fav charity shop, for sure. Where I’d donated my other suits.”
“If it had been me, I’d have gone there first.”
“I’ve been several times. In fact, I’d tried on a suit there earlier in the week. It fitted perfectly but was a bit old fashioned and it was brown. Not the greatest colour for lunching with my daughter. But a fit is a fit. Anyway, overnight, a new suit had come in. Charcoal grey with a hint of blue. Could have been tailored for me, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. A good buy?”
“Twelve quid. Then another two for the shirt and tie. Actually, Kathy threw in the tie.”
“Kathy?”
“She volunteers there. Also why I left that particular shop until she’d be there. She’s a pet, is Kathy.”
“Did you notice the time?”
“Not when I got there, but Fiona was picking me up at half eleven, early enough so we would have plenty of time to find a parking space. And enough time to walk to the restaurant for our reservations at noon. All the faffing around with Kathy and the suit probably took an hour, I suppose. Working back, Fiona picked me up on time. I had just finished my cup of coffee in the café across from the charity shop. So, maybe twenty minutes or so having coffee? That’s back to 11:10. An hour before that, I probably got to the hospice shop. That would be, say, 10:10. I wanted to time my arrival when Kathy was working and her hours are ten to four.”
Maddie was jotting it all down in a small notebook she carried everywhere in her handbag. “Sounds good. Lots of people would have seen you, presumably.”
“Didn’t notice, but I assume so. Okay, before that: I’d estimate walking from Mr Bazir’s shop to the charity shop was, say, five minutes or so – before that, about ten minutes with him as he fussed around, we chatted and I paid my paper bill. The walk into Kingston takes about half an hour. So, something before nine thirty when I was going into Mr Bazir’s? I’d waited for the bus a bit of time, though. Maybe ten minutes? I’d left the flat at half eight, maybe a bit later, so we only have about 20 minutes not accounted for. Something like that, anyway.”
“Unless the child was killed very early in the morning.”
“Yes.” His face clouded again.
He looked at her. “You’re helping, Mrs Brooks. Truly.”
“Helping?”
“Easing my mind. Going over my morning like this. And I know I didn’t murder any young girl. But when we list what I did yesterday, it was pretty much full. And I can say that with confidence now.”
“It eases my mind too, of course,” Maddie said. She tucked the notebook away. “I have to get into work.” She rose.
“Could I ask a big favour?”
“Ask. If I can, I’ll help.”
“Fiona and I were going straight to the restaurant so I dressed in the suit and tie with no time to nip home. I had to leave the clothes I was wearing with Kathy at the charity shop. If I don’t pick them up, they might get added to the gear they’re selling in the shop and I’ve lost them. I told her I’d pick them up today.”
“No problem,” Maddie said. “I’ll pop over later and collect them.”
Which she did. After an interminable meeting Romania had organised to write a mission statement for their office. A mission statement. Who said they were missionaries…?
During her lunch break, Maddie walked to the hospice shop which took her fifteen minutes or so. She strode out, feeling how good it felt to stretch her legs and breathe some fresh air.
The shop had a tiny frontage but expanded into a spacious shop behind. How different these modern charity shops were to the horrible and smelly second-hand shops of yore. She asked the elderly woman manning the till if a ‘Kathy’ was working today.
“In the back. I’ll just get her.”
Maddie moved over to look at the jewellery. She noticed an amber coloured necklace. Two pounds. Probably plastic. Nice colours, though. Each bead subtly different. Did that mean they could be the real deal?
The elderly woman reappeared with a middle aged woman behind, smiling at her uncertainly.
“You’re Kathy?” Maddie asked, then noticing a large name tag above her left breast.
“Kathy Milhouse. Can I help?”
“I’m here to pick up the clothes Henry Macgregor left here yesterday morning. He’s indisposed today and is afraid his gear will become mixed up with donations.”
“Henry? Henry Who?”
“He bought a beautiful suit, shirt and tie yesterday to take his daughter out to lunch.”
“My goodness, of course. I’m not sure he ever told me his name. Yes, he left his clothes under the payment desk. I’ll just pop them into a bag for you.” She refolded each item and placed them into a large paper bag. “He’s not unwell, is he?”
“He’ll be fine. But he was worried about losing his clothes.”
As Maddie walked back, her mood had lightened. Henry’s story held. And, somehow, she knew it would. She’d have to let DI de Roque know a witness existed for a decent chunk of the morning, and that Henry left the shop already dressed in the suit and tie he’d just purchased. Also, it occurred to her his other clothes could be of interest, perhaps, in any police inquiry. If they were as clean as they appeared to be, they’d also be vital to his defence.
At the end of the day, she called into the police station to tell Henry she had his clothes. It was just before five and she was allowed down to the cells.
“Nothing in the news?”
“Nothing.” She smiled at him.
“They’ll be having cocktails now, at the reception.”
“And having a grand time.”
He smiled. “My fingers and toes are all still crossed.”
After seeing Henry, Maddie popped into DI de Roque’s office. “He says he was buying those fancy clothes in a charity shop yesterday morning. I can confirm it. I talked to the volunteer saleswoman. He left his other clothes there and I’ve now got them.”
“I’ll take them.”
“Fine.” She scrutinised his face. Passive. “Or do you want me to keep them for him?”
“He’s still a person of interest, Madeleine. And remember to call me Ethan.”
“Sorry. Ethan. Will you test the clothes?”
He just looked at her.
“Okay. I’ll fetch them from my car.”
When Maddie returned to work, a well-stuffed A4 envelope had been delivered. She emptied it out on her desk. Sheaves of paper about one person, Lawrence Reilly.
She read the accompanying letter and skimmed the medical reports. He had been unconscious for over three months, as he had claimed. Many of the reports concerned his rehabilitation which took over a year. But he was finally pronounced fit to return to work. Early on, his boss had informed the family that Lawrence’s job was awaiting his recovery. His word was good and Lawrence started half time, gradually increasing to full time as a labourer in the wood-yard. The last report was seven years ago.
Her phone rang.
Romania.
“Bring in those reports.”
Maddie was startled. “Pardon me?”
“Do I have to repeat myself? Come here with those reports.”
Maddie picked up the rehabilitation reports, shoving them into the brown manila envelope. The covering letter and medical summaries went into her drawer. No way was she losing those. But the reports? She’d show her boss those.
She walked into Romania’s presence. Romania was looking at her screen. Without looking at Maddie, she held out one hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“Would you like to know what this is about?”
“I’m sure it will be self-explanatory.”
Maddie’s brain galloped from one possibility to another. Someone must have said she’d received a stuffed envelope. And Romania used the word ‘report’ generically. Pure nosiness. Micro-managing everything Maddie was doing. No trust at all in Maddie’s abilities.
Maddie stood, quietly seething, while Romania transferred her attention from her screen to the envelope. She skim-read the top report – speech therapy, if Maddie remembered correctly. Romania then flicked from one report to another.
“Physiotherapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy,” Maddie said. “He must have had quite an injury.”
“No psychological report?”
“It’s there somewhere.” She hoped so. Of course, it could be in the lot inside her drawer.
“Look, get the psych report. It’s Erin’s domain. And this is junk.” She impatiently jammed the papers back into the envelope. “Don’t waste any time on it.”
Maddie took that as a dismissal and scooted out the door. When she was on the other side, she tugged her forelock. One of the Service Officers saw her.
“Jes’ obeyin’ orders,” Maddie said.
“As one should,” the young woman said, then winked.
They all knew Romania by now.
“Erin in?”
“At the mo. But she’s on duty at the prison this afternoon and she’ll be leaving soon.”
Maddie hurried to the psychologist’s small office. At least she had an office to herself. She knocked. “Erin?”
“Hi Maddie – look, I’m just off. Almost late.”
“This will take seconds. Lawrence Reilly?”
“Getting nowhere with him. All he talks about…”
“I know. Same, same. But I’ve just found out he survived a massive head injury. Got the details. The obsessions didn’t start until afterwards.”
“Wow,” she said. She was young. Fully trained and, with a few years of experience, she’d be quite good one day.
“I’ll fill you in when you have some time.”
“Perfect,” Erin said. “Thanks.”
“Can I use your office this afternoon?”
“Be my guest.” And she was away.
Maddie sat in glorious isolation, reading through the rehab reports with interest. A slow recovery, with several setbacks, but eventually he made it. Obviously the therapists were all fond of him and going the extra mile to see him right. No psych report.
After she heard Romania’s voice – she did have a voice that carried – telling the office she was required in court, Maddie scuttled back to her own desk to get the rest of the papers.
She re-read the covering letter. From the neurologist. Worried that they had lost track of Lawrence. Now this notification from Probation meant he had been in trouble. Could Maddie see that Lawrence came into the clinic next week? He’d appreciate it. Maddie made a note to contact Lawrence to see if he could get time off work. And she decided to make sure he got to the appointment.
Next she read the first of the medical reports. Horrific reading. Lawrence, working outside in a noisy wood-yard, had been struck from behind by a load swung by a crane. They got him into hospital quickly where a team operated, removing blood clots from in and around his brain and eventually sewing up his scalp.
She read about the decision-making about the turning off of his life support. The consultations with what the neurologist described as a ‘loving family’. All were agreed. The machines turned off. But Lawrence breathed on, much to the amazement of everyone. He remained unconscious, eventually being transferred to a long term facility. When he first showed signs of consciousness returning, the neurologist was hesitant. Told the family there may be deep and permanent brain damage. Difficulty doing things, even walking. Probable intellectual damage. Most likely personality changes. In other words, not the man they’d known and loved.
Intellectual? Maddie skipped back. What position did Lawrence hold before the accident? She found it in the occupational therapist’s report: supervisor. So there had been intellectual damage. Maddie had noticed Lawrence occasionally used vocabulary that surprised her. Such as never utilising euphemisms for his erection, but always calling it as such. Talking about having an excess of testosterone, used and pronounced correctly. Remnants of his past intelligence.
Pity welled up inside her. This man had been in the corrections system for years and years without anyone doing anything. Misjudging him. Something must be done.
Dinnertime was quiet. Maddie had objected to Jade having her ear buds in, resulting in compliance with a thunderous face. Wayne kept out of it, just shovelling her tasty chicken cacciatore into his maw without comment or appreciation.
“Are we a family or random people eating at a fast food joint?” Her exasperation spilled into the tone of her words. She remembered the meals they used to have. Before Jade’s Goth period, before Olivia was married. Good conversation. Scintillating at times. Both girls participating. Wayne sometimes yelling in excitement while getting his ideas across. How long since that had occurred?
“Sorry,” Wayne said. “Head otherwise engaged.”
Jade flicked her eyes up, sighed, and bent down over her food again.
“Look, I’m sure we have each had something that happened today that will be of interest to one or the other of us. Surely.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Wayne said, frowning. “Me first. My mixer is hopelessly out of date. I went online to see what I could get to replace it. Lots of good stuff available. Pricey, of course. But everything in the music field is pricey.” He snatched a look at Maddie.
She concentrated on not reacting. Hinting he needed yet another piece of equipment? He always wanted to replace what he had. Always with something better. But she put on a smile. “Fun stuff, looking at potential, isn’t it.”
“I’ll put it on my Christmas Wish List,” he said, having caught the underlying message.
“Jade?” Maddie asked.
“Nothing.”
“Anything, Jade. Just a small contribution, thirty seconds only … no, even ten seconds will do.”
Jade sighed with as much exaggeration as she could muster. “Freya forgot to do her English homework; Miss Jenkins had an epi. Said she’d tell on her to Freya’s dad. Freya said for her to go ahead.”
Maddie searched for a non-preachy reaction. “She’ll be in trouble at home?”
Jade shrugged. “Probably not. Jenks has the hots for Donald. He basks in the attention. Probably the whole thing was an excuse for Jenks to have a cosy little chat with him.”
Maddie glanced at Wayne who was studying his forkful of food.
“Yes, well, interesting. I’m not sure you should be calling Mr Dymock ‘Donald’, though.”
“He told me to. At home, of course.” Head down again.
“What if you forget at school?”
“Come on, Mum. As if.”
Maddie took a deep breath. “My turn. Mine was a small thing too. But curious and could be important. Maybe.” She glanced at them both. And had the satisfaction of momentary, at least, glances back. “I have a client in jail right now accused of something rather horrible. But I checked and a vital part of his alibi has been corroborated.”
“Like, how?” Jade asked.
“He said he was in a second-hand shop and the person who served him remembered him well. Such a relief.”
Jade looked at her dad. “As if we don’t know what horrible crime the guy was accused of, eh, Dad?”
“Don’t have a clue,” Wayne muttered.
Jade sniffed. “The murder. Of course. The girl from Year 7 who got killed. Nothing else has happened that you’d think was horrible.”
“Don’t expect me to confirm it,” Maddie said, annoyed she’d given enough away that Jade clued in directly. “And keep your speculations to yourself, okay?”
At that Wayne’s head shot up. “Your mother’s in hot water at work. So, no blabbing. We don’t want her losing her job.”
“All right, already,” Jade said. She turned to her mother. “I actually think it’s cool you did that for him.”
“Cool. Yes, good word,” Maddie said, with a flash of affection for this difficult daughter of hers.
That evening, Maddie looked over the new introductions to the four
reports. Three were acceptable and Agatha had gone on to re-write
her entire report, now shrunk to almost half the size of her first
attempt.
Maddie tweaked the two introductions written by the other two Service Officers using track changes so they could see clearly what she was altering and emailed them back with a ‘well done!’ and asked them to have an attempt at using the same technique for the rest of the report. She then concentrated on Agatha’s report, made a few amendments, also using track changes, and emailed it back congratulating her on this version and giving her permission to submit it. The fourth, however, was a headache.
Time was running out, so she buckled down to do the hated re-write of the report.
Once finished, she emailed, “Hi Daniella – I have rewritten your original report this time. For the next, would you please consult with Agatha before starting it? Maybe you could suggest writing your reports together. As she will tell you, court reports have to be short and concise using specific language. Good luck.”
Her theory was that Agatha was still learning and thus not so far above Daniella’s level to be daunting. But she’d have to talk to Agatha, maybe persuade her.
The next morning, Maddie had a message from Ethan that Henry Macgregor had been transferred back to prison. Wandsworth, this time. She sent an email to Henry there, telling him she would send him any news by email if she felt he needed to know anything. She ended it with, ‘Keep smiling.’ Difficult to know what to say to someone returned to prison on the basis of suspicion although, so far, no evidence. She knew not to expect an answer back. Prisoners can receive messages, not reply.
At least the transfer had been routine. Hopefully, the newlyweds were out of the country by now.
Her new determination to do what she felt was best had persisted. It still felt good.
If it got her fired, so be it.