In Guilty Night (22 page)

‘And how do we do that?’

‘Wait and see what turns up, apart from the word of a girl who’s not quite all there, and might well be romancing anyway.’

McKenna lit another cigarette.

‘You’re biased towards these youngsters.’ Griffiths coughed, waving away smoke from under his nostrils. ‘I wish you’d cut down on the cigarettes.’

‘Job stress. Others take to drink. How am I biased?’

‘You seem to believe every word they say, whereas it’s your job to keep an open mind,’ Griffiths said. ‘And I’m not sure you’d give the same consideration to the word of adults in similar circumstances.’

‘Offenders aren’t necessarily untruthful, except about owning for their crimes,’ McKenna said. ‘Prisoners are abused, as well. Human rights and justice must be universal, or there’s nothing for anyone.’

‘I said nothing about justice.’ Griffiths chewed his lip. ‘Have you thought of the implications? Hogg could complain about harassment, or even slander. And what about our reputation? Complaints against the force’ve already reached an all-time high.’

Jack pushed open the door of McKenna’s office, to find the room swirling with draughts from a wide-open window, McKenna lounging in his chair, and the raincoat, still patchy with damp, draped over the radiator.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back yet,’ Jack said. ‘I thought you were seeing the director of social services.’

‘The pleasure’s yet to come.’

‘Mandy’s been discharged from hospital to a foster home in Holyhead, so at least she’ll be out of Hogg’s way.’

‘You think? Have you located Tony yet?’

‘No.’ Jack sat down. ‘And Gary’s definitely gone to earth. What did Carol have to say?’

‘Tom Thomas apparently thought Arwel was romancing about something. Dewi can go and ask what,’ McKenna said. ‘And Carol’s pregnant.’

‘How lovely for everybody!’ Jack said. ‘Another deadleg.’

‘For all we know, the baby could be another Einstein.’

‘No, it won’t. It’ll be another cancer eating up society.’

‘Eifion Roberts would see even cancer as a miracle of life.’

‘Eifion Roberts is a bit of a crackpot, to put it kindly.’

‘The orthodox view isn’t necessarily better.’

‘And the majority opinion isn’t necessarily second-hand,’ Jack pointed out. ‘People do think for themselves.’ He stared gloomily at McKenna. ‘The twins do. Pity their thinking doesn’t relate to any known process.’

‘They’re expressing the orthodox view from Planet Teenager. Can’t you remember being that age?’ McKenna asked. ‘One minute up in the clouds and able to move the world with a breath, the next crashing to earth.’

‘I just remember people being stroppy with me, and being scared of going too far. Kids these days don’t know that sort of fear. They’ve no sense of guilt.’

‘You sound almost jealous of them.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘You’re redundant in the face of the next generation, and you don’t like knowing it.’ McKenna stood up to close the window. ‘It happens to us all, Jack. You should read more, broaden your understanding. The human condition never changes. We just surround ourselves with different artefacts.’

‘What should I study? The Scriptures?’

‘I’d suggest Goethe, but you might not find much comfort there, because he thought people had a “use by date”, so to speak. Mozart died young to leave music for others to write.’

‘Oh, bloody charming!’

‘It’s not a fundamental truth because Goethe thought of it.’

Jack sighed. ‘But folk like him influence others, don’t they?’

‘I’m very pleased to see you, Chief Inspector. May I offer you coffee? Tea?’

‘Nothing, thank you.’ McKenna faced the director of social services across a wide desk fashioned from smooth blond timbers. Vertical blinds, half-closed, shielded the windows of an airy spacious office.

‘I want to put this Blodwel business and these unfortunate allegations in proper perspective for you.’ The director smiled blandly. ‘Allegations such as you heard are an occupational hazard for staff in children’s homes. They’re sitting targets when children want revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

‘Staff represent society, and impose its expectations on the deviant child who’s rejected the authority of society, and who in turn, has been rejected by that society until its authority is accepted.’

‘Natural enemies.’

‘Exactly!’ The director smiled again, more warmly. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer refreshment?’

McKenna shook his head. ‘How often do children in your care allege brutality and abuse?’

‘We’ve no statistics, but, as I said, it’s a well-recognized phenomenon. I can recommend some literature if you’re interested.’

‘Do you investigate allegations? Darren Pritchard’s, for instance?’

‘I decide on what course of action should be followed.’

‘You’re obliged to follow government regulations,’ McKenna said. ‘And request a police investigation. No other body has the necessary expertise in criminal matters.’

‘That’s correct, but I must first decided if a criminal offence is involved.’

‘You aren’t equipped to make that decision.’

‘Forgive my bluntness, Chief Inspector, but I must point out that our frames of reference are considerably broader than your own. Police have a wholly simplistic view of offending.’ The director smiled once more. ‘What you, from the outside, see in black and white terms as a crime, takes on a rainbow of new colours when viewed in its proper context.’

‘Your frames of reference could mislead you to see the colour of the crime in terms of the status of the perpetrator,’ McKenna said. ‘And they fail to account for events. It’s entirely possible you’re making accommodations with wickedness.’

‘Let’s stop hiding behind the jargon, shall we? I accommodate the wicked in our little society,’ the director said. ‘Whether
these children are born bad, or just go bad, you and I know they’ll graduate from children’s homes to prisons, and only ever make their stamp on the world by violence and dishonesty.’ He paused. ‘And quite frankly, I’m sick to death of subscribing to the victim culture. People must learn to be responsible for their actions, and the consequences.’

‘Why is Mandy Jones in care?’

‘Her mother went to prison for attacking a bunch of police officers. The child was in danger of following her example, because she had no other role model.’

‘So Mandy has no criminal record?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then bearing in mind she’s deprived rather than depraved, why should we disbelieve what she tells us?’

‘Because she learnt nothing but lying and cheating from her mother, and all she’ll have learned since is more lying and cheating.’ Frowning at his visitor, the director added, ‘Don’t bother saying her new role models are insufficiently influential. A lifetime of neglect and damage can’t be undone overnight. It pervades every aspect of a child’s functioning like poison. That’s why Blodwel’s observation and assessment processes examine the whole child. We can then identify the resources necessary to proper development.’

‘So Blodwel’s a modern version of Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon prison?’ McKenna asked. ‘Didn’t he believe people knowingly under constant surveillance will eventually relinquish wrongdoing, because light’s stronger than steel?’

‘I believe so.’ The director nodded. ‘External controls applied by staff are eventually internalized.’

‘But do your staff understand the implications of all the theories they apply? Mr Hogg told us about the difficulties of finding the right people for the work.’ McKenna smiled briefly. ‘There are moral and social implications in separating one group of people from the rest. Devising special systems for these children acknowledges their power, and breeds fear and mistrust on both sides. Is it any wonder some of the staff can only cope by making underdogs of their charges?’

The director leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘In my view, which you may call jaundiced, the so-called disadvantaged of society are like fleas looking for a dog to infest, and in taking on the needs of all these people, society makes itself as weak and prone to excitability as a flea-ridden dog.’ He paused again. ‘And I’m surprised to find someone in your position still
able to subscribe to such sentimental views about people.’

‘I subscribe to the view that most of us respond to expectations others have of us. I also believe no one is immune to the depredations of others. You should bear that in mind.’

‘David Fellows is having his cremation tomorrow,’ Dewi offered. ‘His germs’ll be incinerated, so Mr Tuttle can stop worrying. He keeps looking in the mirror in the bogs for black spots on his neck, and he’s coughing and sneezing all over the place.’

Eifion Roberts chuckled. ‘Go away, little boy, and hush your mischief.’ As Dewi shut the door, he put his mug of tea on McKenna’s desk, glancing through the window. ‘It’s blowing up a storm, isn’t it? Did you know high winds make folk irresponsible and homicidal?’

‘They’re like that whatever the weather,’ McKenna said. ‘And don’t confuse our prevailing westerlies with the Mistral or Sirocco.’

‘They’re all wind. Hot air, like what you heard off Hogg’s boss, I imagine.’

‘He likes you to share his points of view.’

‘What psychology calls a
fuehrer
personality, like Herr Grofaz at Blodwel.’ Roberts grinned. ‘Grofaz is an undercover name for Hitler, an acronym of “
grosser Feldherr aller Zeiten
”, which means “the greatest strategist of all time”. I came across it in a blood and guts war book when I was a kid, and it’s always stuck in my mind.’

‘Hogg’s strategy depends on oppression of the disruptive elements, and his boss implies there’s no other option.’

‘Human nature being what it is, he might be right. Benevolent rule and effective rule are mutually exclusive states.’

Dewi pushed open the door. ‘Apologies, sir, but I’ve just taken a call from Holyhead. Mandy’s legged it from the foster home, and they want us to look out for her.’

‘Lucky for her Wales isn’t an Islamic state.’

‘Why’s that, Dr Roberts?’

‘Don’t you read the papers, Dewi? At a certain point, Islam believes in separating a body from its anti-social tendencies. Mandy would’ve had her feet lopped off by now.’

Seated at the kitchen-table, McKenna ate fish and chips bought on the way home, reading mail accumulated in the past few days. The cat sat by his feet, waiting for the fish cooling on a
plate, rubbing her head against his leg from time to time, reminding him of her presence.

‘Do you know, little one, if you wrecked Bangor, no one could do anything about it?’ She mewled. ‘And when King Hywel Dda ruled Wales, a good mouser like you was worth tuppence. See how priorities change?’ She purred, and nudged his leg. He picked up her plate, and she reared against him as he bent to the floor.

The front doorbell pealed while he was still elbow deep in washing-up water. He went upstairs, weariness dragging at his legs like the cat’s claws, to find Jack’s twin daughters outside, clad in the padded silk jackets which had briefly graced Denise’s figure last winter until their novelty frayed.

‘Have you run away again?’

‘Mummy said we could come out.’

‘She told us to get out of sight.’

‘And what did Daddy say?’ McKenna askd, shutting the door behind them.

‘He didn’t say anything. Mummy did all the talking.’

‘She was shouting.’

‘I’m surprised your parents don’t do a runner,’ McKenna said, moving the cat from the chesterfield. ‘If you belonged to me, I’d be long gone.’

‘Can we have a drink, please? We’ve walked all the way here.’

‘You know where the kitchen is. I’ll have tea. You can finish the dishes while the kettle boils.’

The cat followed the girls to the kitchen. He heard them petting her, cooing over her, cadences of sound like the tide rippling over sand and shingle. They moved quietly, almost as stealthy as the cat, two girls functioning as one, and he wondered if they thought the same thoughts and dreamed the same dreams, and the thought he might die childless came like a blow to the heart.

‘We didn’t sugar your tea because you’re sweet enough!’ They sat on the floor at his feet, shielding his legs from the heat of the fire. He looked down at the two faces gravely regarding his, and prayed for God to offer these girls a gentle life, whether or not they took the gift.

‘What can I do for you? I must go out again soon.’

‘Daddy’s gone out again, to get away from Mummy, he said. He’s looking for Gary, ’cos he’s worried about him.’

‘We all are,’ McKenna said. ‘This is no weather to live rough.
Mandy Minx legged it from her new foster home in Holyhead. Absconding seems to be in with your age group, doesn’t it?’

‘Mandy’ll probably be with Tracey.’

‘And where does Tracey hang out?’

‘She lives in a council house. Dewi Prys knows where.’

‘Tracey left home a while back.’ McKenna reached for his cigarettes. ‘Her mam neither knows nor cares where she’s gone.’

‘She works nights at Morfa chippy, but nobody’s supposed to know because she’s fiddling the dole.’

McKenna drew on the cigarette. ‘Anything else you could’ve told me before?’

‘We just might know where Gary could be.’

‘We tried to tell Daddy, but he won’t listen. He won’t talk about Gary. He goes up the wall if you mention his name.’

‘That’s because one of you is carrying a torch for the lad.’

‘We’re old enough for boyfriends. Why does Daddy think we’ll do something stupid?’

‘Your parents are scared of all the bad things lurking round the corners of this life.’ McKenna sipped the scalding tea. ‘In your father’s eyes, no young man will ever be good enough for either of you, and if you accept that now, you’ll be able to walk the tightrope between not upsetting him too much, and having the independence you’ve a right to expect. He’ll learn, given time, but don’t grab that independence before you can cope with it.’

‘You’re OK for someone your age, aren’t you?’ The smiles were as heart-stoppingly sweet as Carol’s.

‘That’s because you’re not my children,’ McKenna said. ‘Now tell me about Gary.’