Cruel Tide Read online

  The man in the tight coat had been standing off to one side, but now he stepped into the light and Judith recognised him. Captain Edwards turned towards the man, ‘You know Sergeant Morrison, I expect,’ he said. ‘It might be useful for the police to find witnesses, so you’d better come in. I’ll call your editor to check, of course. I trust he’ll handle the details.’

  He pointed to a door and they went through a dark empty hallway into an office. Judith went in, and the sergeant followed her and stood with his back to the wall. Captain Edwards pulled out a chair for Judith but remained standing himself, in front of the fireplace.

  ‘We need to do everything we can to discover what happened to this poor lad,’ he said. ‘His name is Steven Stringer by the way, but of course that must remain between us. We’re doing our best to contact his family, but there’s no phone and it sometimes takes quite a while to track people down. Some families don’t want to be found, for various reasons. So the boy’s name cannot be released, as I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Judith.

  ‘Naturally we are all terribly distressed,’ he went on. ‘Our boys’ safety is so important to us, and nothing like this has ever happened here before. It’s a tragedy. Our matron, Mrs Robinson, is too distressed to see anyone. Dr Graham, one of our trustees, has come from Broughton, and he’s with her now. Sergeant Morrison is already here and I’m sure his constable…’ He hesitated and looked at Morrison.

  ‘DC Tognarelli,’ said Morrison.

  ‘Yes, the constable will be here soon. Perhaps you should come back later?’

  Judith was already thinking about catching the final edition of the paper, but she would have to work fast. She smiled at the captain. ‘I’m sure my editor would be pleased to get an appeal for witnesses into the afternoon edition, if we can gather just a few facts now, captain,’ she said. Captain Edwards looked over her head to Sergeant Morrison standing behind her.

  ‘While the sergeant is here,’ she said quickly, ‘perhaps we could talk to one or two of the boys, just to pin down a time when Steven might have gone missing? Of course, whatever we say at this stage would make no mention of any names, not until you’ve told the boy’s family. I understand that completely.’

  Judith was surprised when no further objection was raised.

  ‘I was just about to talk to them myself,’ said Captain Edwards. ‘Perhaps it would be useful to have you here. Some of the boys feel more comfortable with a woman, and poor Mrs Robinson is in no fit state. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.’

  Judith stood up as the captain left the room, and turned towards the sergeant who was still standing behind her.

  Morrison looked down at her. ‘I’m letting this happen because it might be useful,’ he said. ‘Don’t get any ideas. One step out of line and that editor of yours will confiscate your pencil. Got it?’

  Judith got it. She felt uncomfortable, as if the two men were using her, but she didn’t respond. The office door was pushed open by a thin-faced man with sparse hair, wearing grey trousers and a grey jumper. He held out his hand: it was cold. ‘Desmond Harries,’ he said. ‘I’m the padre here. This is a terrible day for us.’ He noticed Morrison and stopped.

  ‘This is Sergeant Morrison, from Barrow CID,’ said Judith. ‘I think he’s going to ask the boys a few questions, about what happened.’

  Desmond Harries looked at Morrison, and back to Judith, and then stepped back towards the door. ‘It’ll be too crowded in here,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you don’t need me.’ And he was gone.

  Captain Edwards came back into the room, pushing ahead of him a lad of about twelve, who seemed very reluctant to come in.

  ‘Come on, Leonard,’ Edwards said. ‘This is Miss Pharaoh. She’s trying to find out what Steven was doing out on his own last night.’

  The boy saw Morrison. ‘Who’s ’e?’

  ‘Never mind who I am, sonny,’ said Morrison quietly. ‘I’m just here to make sure you tell the truth.’

  Captain Edwards pointed to Judith. ‘This young lady is from the newspaper.’ Leonard stared at Judith, and she smiled reassuringly, but got no response. The captain stood back where he’d been before, and Leonard turned to look at him. ‘When did you last see Steven, Leonard? Was it last night or this morning?’

  ‘Last night, sir –’e said he was going to see ’is mam. She wanted ’im back and ’e said someone would come for ’im and take ’im ’ome.’

  Morrison’s voice spoke from behind Judith’s chair. ‘Who was going to come for him?’

  Leonard didn’t look round. ‘Didn’t say, did ’e?’

  Captain Edwards looked carefully at Leonard. ‘When did Steven first say that someone was coming to fetch him?’

  ‘Monday, sir. That’s when we ’ave a bath.’

  ‘That was three days ago, Leonard,’ said the captain. ‘Why didn’t you mention this to me, or to Mrs Robinson?’

  ‘E said we ’adn’t got to tell, sir, so we didn’t.’

  ‘Steven told other boys as well?’

  ‘There were a group of us – me, Spud, Mikey, couple of others.’

  ‘And do you know when Steven actually went away?’

  ‘His roomie said ’e was there when ’e went to sleep and gone when ’e woke up.’

  ‘When did he wake up?’ said Morrison.

  ‘Sir,’ said Leonard, without turning to face him, ’dunno sir. It was light, ’e said.’

  Captain Edwards looked over Judith’s head again before he went on. ‘Is there anything else you need to tell us, Leonard?’

  The boy looked at him. ‘What ’appened to ’im, sir?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ said the captain. ‘And we don’t want any gossip or rumours, Leonard, do you understand? You and the other older boys have to set an example for the younger ones.’ He looked down at the boy and raised his chin with his fingers. ‘Understand, Leonard? How old are you now?’

  ‘Thirteen, sir,’ Leonard mumbled, his eyes averted.

  ‘Old enough to set an example,’ said the captain, releasing the boy’s chin. ‘Off you go, now.’

  Leonard scratched his head. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘Thank you, miss.’ He shuffled out of the door and they heard his shoes heavy on the staircase.

  ‘Where does Steven’s mother live?’ Judith asked, seeing the story in all its pathos stretching into next week. Morrison came round her to stand by the door. ‘No more information about the lad until we’ve found the family. If the boy is Stringer, then we have tragic news that must come from us, not from you. If the boy isn’t Stringer, then that’s a different matter.’

  ‘Are you not sure?’ she asked.

  ‘No formal identification has been made yet, although I’m sure that won’t be long. I’ll take Captain Edwards to the morgue when we hear the body has arrived. Until then, watch your step, Miss Pharaoh.’

  Judith nodded, realising there was nothing more she would get from him or the captain, who was steering her towards the door. ‘That’s all we can do for now, Miss Pharaoh,’ he said.

  Judith was halfway down the drive, guiding the scooter round a patch of mud, when the glossy leaves of a rhododendron bush close by moved suddenly and a face appeared. She put her foot down to steady the scooter. There was no one around, except the owner of the pale adolescent face, cheeks sprinkled with small red spots, eyes wide and checking nervously around.

  ‘Are you the woman from the paper?’

  Judith nodded.

  ‘Len saw you in the office. We want to tell you summat. Stevie’s mam lives in Morecambe – ’e said something’d ’appened and ’e ’ad to go ’ome.’

  ‘Is that where he was going?’ Judith asked. ‘And what’s your name?’

  ‘Mikey, miss. One of ’is mates. Stevie said someone would take him back ’ome to ’is mam.‘

  ‘Did he say who was going to come for him?’

  Mikey shook his head. ‘No, miss,’

  ‘And what about school? Do you know what sch
ool he went to?’

  ‘School? He said summat about Holy Joe’s but ’e hated school. We all did, miss.’

  They heard voices from the direction of the house. Mikey’s eyes widened. Judith knew she was running out of time.

  ‘We can’t talk here, Mikey,’ she whispered, ‘but I’d like to talk some more. Where could I meet you?’

  ‘They don’t want us talking, miss.’

  ‘I know that, but you’re a big lad, sensible, aren’t you?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘So you’re not going to tell me anything that isn’t true, are you?’

  ‘Me, miss? No, miss.’

  ‘So is there anywhere we could talk, just you and me. I’d love to know more about Stevie.’

  ‘Next Wednesday, miss, we ’ave digging. Just next door,’ he jerked his head, ‘that way, there’s lots of spuds and stuff in t’field and a shed. We do all the work and Harries just sits in there reading the paper.’

  ‘So if I come back then, we might talk?’

  ‘Other lads’ll keep lookout, miss. Come about ten. Hide the scooter and stand by the bushes. I’ll find you. Gotta go.’

  And he was gone. Like the Cheshire Cat, thought Judith, as she rode her Vespa back along the coast road for the second time that morning.

  CHAPTER 3

  The newsroom was quiet, and the air not as heavy with cigarette smoke as it usually was. Judith could hear Thornhill on the phone in his office, and Hattie’s typewriter was rattling away. No sign of Cunningham in his cubbyhole, which was always a relief. Ever since she’d started work there she felt his eyes on her, infecting the small space like a virus.

  She was hungry. It was well past her normal lunchtime and the pasty she’d bought on the way home was one of yesterday’s by the look of it, the last one that no one else wanted. She took a bite but the pastry was greasy and tough and she threw it away. I need some decent food, she thought, and remembered where she might get some. Time to visit Elspeth, something to look forward to at the end of the day.

  The most urgent task for now was to sort out all the notes she’d been making, and write something to go in the final edition. She checked the time; a couple of hours at most to get something written, subbed, and away. There were some loose ends to check first. The phone to the mortuary rang for a long time, but she knew how long it took for someone to get to it with clean hands, if they could be bothered at all, and persistence was rewarded when a familiar voice said, ‘Mortuary, Hayward.’

  ‘Identification?’ he responded to her question. ‘Aye, they’ve been and gone. Steven Clifford Stringer. Aged eleven apparently. Underweight for his age.’

  ‘Who came from the home?’ Judith asked.

  ‘Captain Edwards himself,’ he paused, ‘and a Mrs Robinson. She couldn’t speak, she was so upset. Just nodded.’

  ‘She’s the matron,’ said Judith. ‘Too distressed to see me when I was there.’

  ‘Are you putting anything in the paper today?’ he asked.

  ‘Working on that now. Can’t mention the kid’s name of course, but just saying that a body was found et cetera and asking for anyone with information to contact the police.’

  ‘Have they found the family yet?’

  ‘Doubt it. Sounds like they may not want to be found, although the lad told his mates he had to go home for some reason.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Sorry, doc, can’t reveal my sources.’

  ‘Spoken like a real hack, Judith.’

  ‘Date for the PM yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Where are we now? Friday today, two bodies in the queue. Could be Wednesday.’

  ‘Can you not jump the queue for this, doc? If we find the family, they need to know what happened. He was just a kid.’

  There was silence for a moment. ‘Monday. Tell Bill Skelly the police will have my report by the end of Monday if he wants to check.’

  Judith looked up to see Hattie go into the editor’s office and close the door. ‘I’m reporting direct to Thornhill on this one,’ she whispered into the phone. ‘Skelly’s not happy and he’s probably said so.’

  ‘My report goes to the police anyway, not to the press,’ said Dr Hayward. ‘Monday. ’Bye now.’

  Judith thought for a while, made a few notes and then wrote a short piece with the barest details and an appeal for anyone with information to contact the police at Barrow. When Hattie emerged from the inner office, Judith took her chance. Alan Thornhill read what she’d written, took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at her. ‘Is this all you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s all we can say for the time being. We know the kid’s name but have to hold it until they’ve found the family. And I have some feelers out.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The family, what the kid was up to, that kind of stuff. Apparently he was trying to get home to Morecambe. Could have thought the sands was the quickest way.’

  Thornhill groaned. ‘How many people have been lost out there over the years? Must be hundreds. What with the tide and the quicksands it’s like setting off through a minefield.’

  ‘He was just a kid,’ she said. ‘Awful way to go. PM on Monday. If it’s accidental death the funeral might be next week.’

  ‘Is Cunningham back yet?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Two o’clock. Lunch seems to be getting longer and longer. If he’s not back by half-past I’ll sub it myself.’

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Judith had just got back to her desk when Ed Cunningham returned, smelling strongly of tobacco and alcohol. Judith tried to avoid him on boozy afternoons but today she had no choice. He was slumped in his chair, surrounded by the clutter of what he called his office, which was actually no more than a cupboard without a door, deep enough for the chair to be out of sight. She took a deep breath before she knocked on the wall.

  He turned the chair round and smiled when he saw her.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘The editor’s pet of the week. Come into my lair, dear, and tell me everything.’ He stretched out his hand towards her and she stepped back, as she had done many times before when he reached for her.

  ‘I have to get something in the final edition, about the body on the sands this morning. We’re appealing for information, so it has to go out tonight. Just two-fifty words, not much to say at this stage.’

  ‘Give me your deathless prose,’ he slurred his words a little, taking the paper that she held out for him. ‘If it’s as bad as that piece you did on the stolen boat, it’ll go on the spike.’

  ‘The editor wants it to go out tonight. He’s seen it already.’

  He looked at her. ‘You little crawler,’ he sneered, turning back to his desk. ‘It’ll do, once I’ve tidied it up.’ A moment later he turned towards her and leaned back in the chair, his hands behind his head, adding the smell of stale sweat to the mix. ‘I could be helpful to you, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘with just a wee bit of encouragement. Nothing much, just a smile, maybe a little hug and a squeeze every now and then, just like you’d give your dear old dad.’

  ‘You’re nothing like my dear old dad,’ said Judith. She wanted to get away but knew he could keep her story out of the paper for as long as he chose.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘just let me touch your hair, feel it in my fingers. Like this.’ He pushed himself up out of the creaking chair and stretched out his hand. Judith stepped back out of his reach. ‘Get off,’ she said. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  Cunningham fell back into the battered chair in mock horror, holding up both hands. ‘Just a bit of fun, dear. You a lessie or something? Can’t fool me. I know what you want. And don’t think about telling anyone. I’ll just say it was your idea. Don’t forget who decides what happens to your copy, no matter what the boss says. That’s a big spike on my desk. If all your stuff ends up there, it’ll be back to the weddings and parish councils for you, girlie.’

  He laughed and coughed, taking another cigarette from the packet on his desk.
‘Don’t touch me,’ he mimicked in a whining voice.

  Hattie looked up as Judith went back to her desk, pointed mutely towards Cunningham’s cubbyhole and mimed a vomit, which made Judith smile. It also made her yearn for someone to confide in.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The move from Lancaster to Barrow six months before had left Judith without a friend she could talk to, not just on the phone or in scribbled notes, but a real talk, face to face. Her little flat in Cannon Street was actually the upstairs of a small terraced house just off Abbey Road. Abbey Road was impressive but Cannon Street was not, and Judith’s three rooms were cramped and shabby. The downstairs flat was empty. Even before the tenant had moved out to a job further north at Sellafield, he’d been so quiet that it was like having the house to herself. The owner of the house lived miles away. ’Tenants are just a nuisance,’ he’d said when he showed Judith round. ‘But I’m too busy to sell the place.’

  Charming, Judith had thought. Hello and welcome to you, too.

  It had been a shock to realise that there was no one in her life closer to her than her stepfather. It was her own fault, she knew that. John was the only man she really trusted, her mother was either easily shocked or pretended to be so, and the girls she’d known at school and university had drifted away, embroiled in family and children. She felt the girls were judging her, ‘Poor Judith, left on the shelf.’ And then she’d met Elspeth.

  One unusually hot day in August when there’d been nothing happening in the newsroom, Judith had gone out to Bruciani’s for a cold drink and noticed a young woman there with a child of seven or so with a shock of golden hair. The child was pestering her for something and the woman caught Judith’s eye, not impatient or embarrassed by the child’s behaviour but with a laugh in her eyes if not in her mouth.

  ‘I promised him an ice cream,’ she said, ‘but we seem to have forgotten about his side of the deal.’