Apportionment of Blame (31 page)

“Sit down, Doug” Ilse said, and it sounded strange to hear her giving him instructions. But he sat as requested, but I stayed on my feet.

“OK,” I said, determined to get to the bottom of at least one thing. “Doug. Can you persuade yourself to be honest with us? Ilse is terrified at the thought that you did something really stupid on the night Helen came here. I know about you and stupidity from London. So now is your chance to tell Ilse she needn't worry anymore.”

He looked from me to Ilse and then let his head drop.

“I came on my motorbike,” he said in a low voice to Ilse. “I was just getting off when I saw this girl come down your garden. I knew she'd been to see you, and I knew why. And I guessed you would have told her about......well, you know.”

“My father?”

“Yes. I watched her and she walked down that lane across the road, so I followed her. I didn't do anything.”

“You followed her,” I said, “but you didn't do anything?”

“Yes.”

“So why did you follow her?”

“I suppose I had some idea about shutting her up, or threatening her, but I didn't get the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was with somebody else, down by the railway.”

“Who?”

“I don't know, do I? It was dark.”

“You have no idea at all?”

“No. They were just like shapes. But I could see they were arguing. Then I heard a dog bark, and there was a scream and I heard the train's brakes squealing.”

“What did you do?”

“I went back to the bike and rode off. I wasn't going to get involved in anything like that.”

“So you abandoned her.”

“There wasn't anything I could do.”

“Yes there was. You could have helped. At least by doing that we might have discovered by now who the other person was. As it is you ran off. Cowardly. Stupid.”

“Don't call me stupid.”

“He's right, Doug. You could have helped.”

“You can't blame me for what happened to her.”

“We can blame you for running off and not finding out what had happened. And for not seeing if there was any way you could help. In a sense you are to blame for all the mystery. For all the pain and agony that Helen's parents and sister have been through, and are still going through, not knowing the truth of what happened.”

“It wasn't my fault. You can't blame me.”

“I'm not sure Helen's parents would agree with that. And I would guess the police might want to ask some awkward questions.”

“Keep the police out of this.”

“I'm not sure we can do that. They have this down as an open verdict, meaning no one is sure what happened. You can tell them there was someone else involved, and a dog.”

“You have to tell the police,” Ilse said quietly. “It's only right.”

“But I didn't do anything.”

“That's the whole point,” I told him. “And there was a lot you could have done.”

His head fell forward again.

“All those stupid threats in London. And just because you didn't want Ilse to tell me about her father. I hate to think what you might have done if you had caused Helen's death.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, it just so happens that I'm almost sure who the other person was. The dog just about clinches it. So I have to work out how to bring that other person to justice, but that will involve telling the police, and you will need to tell them your story. There's no getting out of that.”

Silence from Doug, but Ilse was becoming more firm with him now.

“Doug, you have no choice. It's the only way to get this settled.”

Doug grunted and I took his grunt for assent, but it made no difference. I would have given his name to the police anyway.

It was Ilse who gave me Doug's details after he had left, still sounding very disgruntled.

“The police will come to talk to you, you know,” I told her. “They need to know the details of what led Helen to be in this area in the first place.”

“I know.”

“Will you be able to manage that?”

“I shall have to.”

I figured if I could convince the police about Ilse's brother's story, they might be persuaded to reopen the case. At that moment that seemed far from certain, but I had to tell them what I knew.

When I left Ilse I felt a huge sense of relief. Most of the questions were answered, but I didn't feel it was my doing entirely. In the end everything had come together in a way I could never have expected.

I had hoped that if I could solve a case as complicated as this, it would prove I could make it as a detective. As it was, I felt no more like a detective than I had before Joyce first called me.

Chapter 17

T
he
approach to Colchester Police Station involved a short journey round a one-way system, but this gave me the chance to work out what to say.

“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”

The desk officer looked tired, although he greeted me civilly enough.

“I have some information about the death of Helen Hetherington. Are you familiar with the case? It was October, this year.”

“Yes. I remember that. Sad case.” “Yes, it was. Very sad, for all concerned.”

He looked at me as if I was one of a series of nutters who came in off the street to confess to crimes they had not committed.

“And who might you be, sir?”

I felt that his politeness had become a little more forced.

“My name is Greg Mason. I'm a friend of the family.”

“Which family would that be, sir?”

“The Hetheringtons.”

“I see.” He still seemed unconvinced that I was worth taking seriously.

“Could I speak to the officer in charge of the investigation?”

“As far as my memory serves,” he said, “there is no ongoing investigation.”

“But didn't the coroner return an Open Verdict? Doesn't that mean he wasn't sure what happened?”

“I suppose you could interpret it like that.”

“How else could you interpret it? If he'd thought it was suicide, he would have said so. Similarly with an accident. Why should the case be closed if it is not clear how Helen died?”

“That's not for me to say.”

A brick wall would have been more forthcoming.

“Let me try again. Could I please speak with an officer who was dealing with the case at the time?”

“I shall have to ask my superior.”

“Fine. Ask away.”

He picked up a phone and pressed a button.

“Guv. There is someone here who claims to have information pertaining to the Hetherington death in October. Can someone speak to him?”

We watched each other as he spoke. He wouldn't have trusted me less if I was a mass murderer revving a chain saw.

“Yes, guv. He says he's a friend of the family.”

Long pause while he listened.

“Right, guv.”

Do all lower ranks call their superiors ‘guv'? It never sounded appropriate to me. I couldn't imagine a corporal in the army calling his sergeant major ‘guv' and getting away with it. He put down the phone without taking his eyes off me.

“A sergeant will be coming along to take your statement. You can wait over there.”

He pointed to a bank of wooden chairs at the entrance to a doorway.

“Thank you.”

I held his gaze for a moment, then slowly moved towards the chairs. What was it they used to tell children? If you ever have a problem, you can always ask a policeman. I wondered if children were trusted anymore than I appeared to be.

It wasn't long before a plain clothes officer came briskly through the door, carrying a cardboard file.

“You here about the Hetherington case?”

“Yes.”

“Come with me, please.”

He led me along a sterile corridor to an even more sterile interview room, the like of which I had seen many times in television drama. There was a bare table and three chairs of moulded plastic. A small, barred window let in just enough light. The officer offered me a chair and then sat opposite me, placing his file, a pad and pen on the table.

“Name?”

I told him.

“Address?”

I told him that, too.

“Haven't you been here before?”

“Yes. About a fortnight ago.”

“And someone told you then that we have no new information about the case?”

“I know. But this time I have some information for you.”

“Have you now?” I had caught his interest at last. “What can you tell me?”

“I've been investigating what happened for the Hetherington family.”

“Yes it says in the file. Some sort of private eye are you?”

“Some sort, yes.”

It would be good to be taken seriously. Perhaps that will come.

“I've spoken to a woman who lives near the scene, and from what she's told me, I think Helen's death was not an accident. I'm not sure I would call it murder, but I think there was someone else involved.”

“I see.” He was writing it all down. “So who is this other person who lives near the scene?”

I gave him Ilse's name and address.

“I hope you will go and interview her. Could I ask you to go gently, though. She is rather highly strung, and it's her adoptive brother who was a witness to what happened. She's upset about the whole situation, particularly as Helen had been to visit her immediately before the incident.”

He stopped writing and looked up at me.

“Let me get this straight, the girl,” he looked down at the file in front of him, “Helen, was visiting someone near the scene, and this person's brother saw what happened later.”

“That's it, yes. He's her adoptive brother, but otherwise, that is what happened.”

“So why didn't he come forward at the time?”

“Because he doesn't live locally. And his sister wasn't aware that he saw anything until very recently.”

“He hadn't told her?”

“No.”

He wrote some more.

“As I recall,” he said, “we found no evidence of anyone else being at the scene.”

“I know, but the ground was frozen hard, so therefore there were no footprints. Added to which it was dark.”

“Both true enough.”

“What he saw was very vague, because it was so dark, but he did make out figures. I hope you'll agree, when you've spoken to his sister, and to him, that there is now sufficient circumstantial evidence to merit making further enquiries.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why hasn't the witness himself come forward?”

“I don't think he is very keen to talk to the force. Perhaps he has some previous, I don't know. It wouldn't surprise me.” “You don't sound very impressed with this man.” “I'm not particularly, he's a bit stupid and impetuous perhaps, but I believe his story.”

More writing, then he looked up at me again.

“We interviewed all the local people on the evening of the incident. Why was nothing said then?”

“As I said, his sister, Ilse, was not aware anything had happened at all until your colleagues called making enquiries.”

“She didn't mention that the girl,” he looked down again. Poor memory, I thought, or was it lack of interest. “Helen, had been to visit her that evening.”

“You can put that down to her being highly strung. But there is no way she could have known for sure that the girl who died was the girl who had visited her.”

“Interesting.” He had written everything down now.

“So do you happen to know where this brother can be found?”

I gave him Doug's name and address and he wrote them down.

“And your interest in the case?”

“As I said, I've been looking into things for the Hetheringtons. I've been a family friend for a long time.”

“I see. Well this is all very interesting. Thank you for coming in. I shall speak to my DI, and I think it likely that we will be going out to speak to this,” he consulted his pad again, “Ilse Lamont.”

“Thank you. That's all I wanted.”

“Good.”

He pushed back his chair and I rose to follow him from the room. The two of us retraced our steps to the desk officer and he left me at the door.

“Thanks again for coming in.”