A Dreadful Past, page 12
‘I’m pleased about that.’ Somerled Yellich smiled. ‘So you were able to bring her up?’
‘Yes, I was, but bring her up to what?’ Veronica Blackman glanced down and to her left, then to her right. ‘I never talked to her in the horrible way my mother talked to me but she’ll be out on the streets tonight anyway. I did that to her … some mother I was, some example for her to follow.’
‘Did you tell the police about the disabled man who called himself Simon?’ Yellich shifted uncomfortably in the armchair.
‘Yes, I did, of course I did. I told them everything I remembered but I don’t think they ever found him.’ Veronica Blackman lit the cigarette with a blue disposable lighter. ‘I mean, there never was a court case. Mind you, I saw nothing of the men who attacked me, just heard their voices, so what evidence was there?’
‘Anything unique about the voices?’ Webster asked. ‘Any distinct accent, for example?’
‘Not that I could detect.’ Veronica Blackman inhaled deeply and then exhaled through her nostrils. ‘Just local men … I seem to remember one might have had a different accent, but in the main I only heard the voice of the man who told Simon to clear off, and he was definitely a local man.’
‘So, tell us,’ Yellich asked, ‘where is it that you see Simon? Is it somewhere local?’
‘At the clinic just round the corner.’ Veronica Blackman glanced to her left. ‘He seems to live here in Chapel Fields where all the hard-luck cases come to live. I see him at the Rylat Place Clinic, here on the estate, over there.’ She pointed to her left.
‘Frequently?’ Yellich probed. ‘Do you see him about here very often?’
‘No … only about twice a year.’ Once again Veronica Blackman drew heavily on the cigarette and once again exhaled through her nostrils. ‘I saw him the first time about four – no, five years ago, and once every six months is all I want to see him, frankly. Even that’s too much; I still have a great urge to attack him. But he’s so sad, and now he’s overweight, hobbling about on his sticks, and I never see him in the street going to and fro so it’s like he’s a real stay-at-home, going out only when he has to. It’s possible that he didn’t know what was going to happen to me. I mean, fair play to him, he may not have known why he was asked to bring me into St Martin’s Lane that night. You’ve got to think that that might have been the case. You’ve got to be a Christian about these things.’
‘Well,’ Yellich stood gratefully, ‘we’ll be able to find him easily enough; we can ask him. We’ll see what he can tell us.’
‘Excuse me, I don’t like to ask …’ Veronica Blackman looked up appealingly at Yellich, ‘… but I’m not young any more … I have bills to pay.’
‘Of course.’ Yellich took a pristine twenty-pound note out of his leather wallet and handed it to Veronica Blackman.
‘Thank you, sir … thank you, thank you …’ Veronica Blackman gasped her thanks with genuine gratitude.
‘It finished me with driving taxis for my crust. It did that all right. I tell you, it was a taxi driver’s worst fears come true.’ Richard Bowes revealed himself to be a well-built man with a striking head of red hair and an equally striking red beard. Between the two was a pointed nose, at either side above which were piercing blue eyes. ‘I mean, you’re always very wary of who you pick up, especially at night … always … Especially groups, and very especially groups of youths. You see, the York cabbies have organized themselves and they have a code: if they’re wary of a fare they’ll radio “code six”.’
‘Code six?’ Carmen Pharoah echoed.
‘Yes. It means the cabbie has a dodgy fare. It was, in fact, the police who suggested they do that. He gives his location and any cab driver who is in the vicinity and who is free will drive to the assistance of the cab who’s radioed code six. I did it once or twice and you can have up to three cabs following you. It’s very reassuring.’
‘I can bet it is.’ Carmen Pharoah held eye contact with Richard Bowes.
‘Well … when you get cabbies attacked, even murdered … which has happened,’ Bowes opened his left palm, ‘I mean, then you need that sort of protection. We look out for each other. We, or they, have to, but like I said, after I was attacked I was done with the taxi driving … done with it for good.’
‘You didn’t radio a code six that night, Mr Bowes?’ Carmen Pharoah sat on the settee in the living room of Richard Bowes cluttered and untidy house in Sherburn-in-Elmet.
‘No, I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, what taxi driver would? The fare was a single young woman in her twenties. She wanted to go to an address in Rawcliffe. I was on the rank at the railway station and she walked past my cab and went to the cab which was standing in front of me so I saw her back view first. She was wearing a sweatshirt with a hood, and it had the logo of one of those American basketball teams, or football teams like … like … the Green Bay Packers or the Boston Red Sox, that sort of name, but I can’t remember which team it was,’ Richard Bowes added apologetically. ‘But it was a name like that.’
‘No matter.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled. ‘Go on, please.’
‘So anyway, the cab in front had just taken a fare, otherwise I dare say you’d be talking to him now and not to me and that I’d still be driving taxis for a living, which I quite liked … it wasn’t a bad way to make a living … And so he drove off and the girl walked back to me. I was the next taxi in line then, you see. She was light-haired, short, a squat sort of girl – square, really – not particularly feminine looking.’ Richard Bowes held eye contact with Carmen Pharoah, ‘And she walked with her arms hanging by her side and a bit behind her, sort of angled back like little boys do when they run around pretending to be jet aeroplanes. She put me in mind of a penguin out of water, to be honest.’
‘I get the picture.’ Carmen Pharoah looked out of the window of Richard Bowes’ living room across the flat, ploughed fields which surrounded his house. She felt it was exceedingly pleasant to get out of the city and into the country, albeit briefly, all too briefly.
‘So,’ Bowes continued, ‘she hires me to take her out to Rawcliffe and sits behind me … It turns out that there was a reason for that.’ Richard Bowes’ voice became lower and Carmen Pharoah detected a note of anger. ‘My cab was just an ordinary saloon car – it wasn’t like a London taxi with a protected driver’s compartment.’
‘I see.’ Carmen Pharoah nodded. ‘In fact, I was going to ask about that. But do go on.’
‘So … I run her out to Rawcliffe – single girl, good area, so I feel safe. I didn’t feel in no danger at all. I mean, who would? So we get to Rawcliffe,’ Bowes continued, ‘and she asks me to turn off Manor Lane down into a side road and then she asks me to stop, so I do. Still nothing to worry about, I’m still calm while she gets her purse out of her handbag and hands me the money. I give her the change and she opens the rear passenger door. Then the car gets surrounded; one guy reaches in through the open door and, quick as a flash, opens my door, while the fare – the woman – reaches forward between the two front seats, presses my seatbelt release and reaches further forward, turns the ignition off so I can’t sound the horn … then I’m dragged out on to the pavement by the two big guys and it’s fists, boots … I mean, no build up, no verbals – they waded straight in. Before I knew what was happening I was out cold … and I wake up in hospital.’
‘Yes,’ Carmen Pharoah replied, ‘so we read in the file. You were kept in for five days?’
‘Yes, and it finished me with taxi driving. After that I went on the buses till I retired. With taxis no two journeys are exactly the same but the buses … it’s just back and forwards all shift … same route all day.’ Bowes looked up at the ceiling of his living room. ‘I can tell you, you get some real idiot members of the public but the buses have a safe driver’s compartment like London taxis. No one can attack you and you can radio control for assistance.’ Bowes paused. ‘But that crew who attacked me, I probably saw them some years later.’
‘You did?’ Carmen Pharoah gasped.
‘Probably. Probably,’ Bowes repeated. ‘I can only say probably and then I only recognized the girl. I never saw who else attacked me that night, but anyway, I was in the George and Dragon pub on Foss Islands Road in the centre of York. I was standing at the bar and it was … probably still is, an L-shaped bar … early one evening, just a few punters having a quiet drink, which is when I like to have a beer, and there they were, the four of them. The girl I recognized by her jacket with the American sport’s team logo. I saw then that it was a blue jacket. So they were four: two big lads and one small lad and the girl. One of the big lads moved about a lot and was standing up. He put his pint of beer into his inside jacket pocket and lifted it to his lips by getting hold of the lapel of his jacket and raising the jacket and he said to the publican, “A new way of drinking it, Frank”. So he was on first-name terms with the publican of the George and Dragon but the publican didn’t like them in his pub – that was plain to see.’ Richard Bowes paused for a moment. ‘The other big lad – he was very good looking. I mean, he could have made a living as a male model. He really was very handsome and, unlike his mate, he just sat still, so still and so, so quiet. It was like he was carved in stone. The other male, the third man, was very small, only about five feet tall, and had a serious face. He wasn’t much to look at and he wore those type of shoes with very pointed toes. They used to be called “winkle-pickers”, so I believe.’
‘Yes, I know the type.’ Carmen Pharoah once again glanced out to the fields outside Richard Bowes’ house. ‘Winkle-pickers,’ she repeated.
‘So … I saw then how they worked,’ Richard Bowes said. ‘I could just see the two big ones putting their target on the deck and wading in with fists and feet to make sure he stayed down and then stepping back to let the girl and the third little guy get a few in. The small guy with his shoes with pointed toes, he could do a lot of damage with that sort of footwear. Even a small bloke like him, he could do some real damage.’
‘Yes,’ Carmen Pharoah nodded, ‘we know the type of shoes and we have seen the damage they can do. Some real damage, as you say.’
‘So they left the pub and the loudmouthed big one said, “We’ll beat someone up on the way home tonight.” The two big ones led the way out and the two little ones followed, both looking down as they walked and both looking resentful at the hand life had dealt them. It was like they were hanging on to the big ones because they wanted a victim. I just caught that image as they left the pub. That was the impression I had, but it was a very clear impression.’
‘You didn’t report it to the police?’ Ventnor asked as Carmen Pharoah wrote on her notepad. ‘I mean, that you saw them and recognized the girl?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Bowes replied defensively. ‘To be honest with you I just felt sick, really, really sick. I waited for a few minutes then left my beer and the pub. I just wanted to get home and I knew that they hadn’t left any clues about themselves on me or my taxi. But you should ask the publican of the George and Dragon. He looked youngish then, so he might still be there … He was, and maybe still is, called Frank. If he’s moved on the brewery will let you know where he is, I’m sure. I remember that my daughter had just got married a month or two earlier, so it was seventeen years ago this summer that I saw them, about three years after they attacked me. But I am sure it was them … that girl and the jacket she wore … I am sure it was them.’
‘That really was a very good afternoon’s work; I am well pleased.’ George Hennessey glanced out of the window of the detective constables’ room at the backs of the houses at the top of Blossom Street and let his eye rest on the solid nineteenth-century terraced development. ‘Well pleased.’ He turned again and looked at his team, Carmen Pharoah sitting at her desk, Reginald Webster at his, Thompson Ventnor sitting half on his desktop with one foot dangling in the air and the other planted firmly on the brown hessian carpet, and Somerled Yellich smiling and looking content stood beside and a little behind Hennessey. ‘Even if we were only able to interview two of the people who were victims of the five attacks we identified, and the surviving relative of a third victim … the other two having left the area or untraceable, we have still learnt a lot. We have made significant progress. We have learned that the gang probably consisted of three men and a woman; we have learned that the two larger members were the clear leaders; the woman and the third, smaller man were both clearly hangers-on. We have also learned that the gang did not hunt for their victims; they appeared to wait in a pre-selected place and lured their victims to them. They were very calculating. They were evidently well-planned attacks, even if only an hour or two in the planning, but that is still pre-meditation. The elderly lady was lured by a girl who seemed dim-witted and lost and when, at the age of sixty-eight, she went out of her way to put the dim-witted girl on the right path to her destination, she was attacked. The taxi driver was lured to where his attackers were waiting by a young female fare, probably the same girl, and he went there quite willingly because he didn’t feel in any danger. A female fare, going out to the suburbs … who would have seen danger there?’ Hennessey asked. ‘The street girl was lured into her ambush by a disabled man, who again did not seem to be a likely source of danger to her.’
‘That’s a link,’ Yellich observed. ‘That’s a consistent MO. They didn’t hunt for a victim as would a marauding gang; they laid in wait and lured their victims. All the attacks are linked in that way.’
‘Like coyotes.’ Reginald Webster clasped both hands behind his head. ‘Coyotes do that. Apparently. So I once read.’
‘What?’ Hennessey glanced at Webster. ‘What do you mean, like coyotes?’
‘In the American Midwest,’ Webster explained, ‘a female coyote on heat will walk around the streets of a small town and any dog which is not chained up or inside a house or is a stray will follow the coyote because no dog can resist a bitch on heat. When the coyote has a number of dogs following her she will lead them out of the town to where a pack of coyotes are waiting in ambush. No dog escapes. It’s a very messy business … it’s a totally one-sided bloodbath. So, like coyotes in the sense the gang are similar to a pack of coyotes. That’s what I meant, sir.’
‘I see.’ Hennessey spoke calmly and softly, yet with a serious edge to his voice. ‘Well, they’re certainly a pack of animals. To continue, I was correct in my assumption: Doctor Joseph at the university indicated that if two persons like Hindley and Brady, responsible for the Moors Murders, or Duffy and Mulcahy, who did the Railway Murders, can find each other and go out together on a killing spree, then there is no reason why four people can’t do the same. Doctor Joseph believes that the great likelihood is that they stopped because they matured, because they no longer felt the thrill of it. They are likely not to be in contact now; whatever was driving them suddenly left them. It left all four of them at the same time, most probably after the murders of the Middleton family. They will probably want to put their violence behind them, Doctor Joseph believes, a long way behind them, and may now be responsible citizens with productive jobs. So we’re likely going to be that knock on the door they have been dreading for the last twenty years.’ Hennessey paused. ‘And we might even have a name. They were heard to address the publican of the George and Dragon on Foss Islands Road by his first name, so he might also know their first names if he is still the publican there. But after twenty years, I think that can wait until tomorrow. So have a good evening. You deserve it.’
Carmen Pharoah walked slowly and calmly from Micklegate Bar Police Station to Bootham Bar, strolling along the walls, having discovered, as any native of York knows, that by far the best way to traverse the city centre is to ‘walk the walls’. She turned left upon joining the walls and walked to Lendal Bridge. She walked over the bridge and turned left up St Leonard’s Place to Bootham Bar and her compact and neatly kept flat. In her flat she showered and then changed into casual clothing and went out again, this time to the bus station where she waited for and then took a cream-and-red York Rider out as far as Escrick, about, she guessed, five miles south of the city. She alighted at Escrick and began a steady walk back to York following the route the bus had taken, ensuring that she walked facing oncoming traffic. She had found that walking in this manner stilled her mind, and as she walked she enjoyed the country air, the flat landscape given over to agricultural usage with the occasional copse to break up the monotony of the land use. Above was blue sky with white clouds of early May, with the ever-present threat, or promise, of rain which did not that day materialize.
As she walked her mind turned unbidden to why she had come to York. She had been a detective constable in the Metropolitan Police, her husband had been an accountant with the police and both were from the West Indies. Her father-in-law had said to them upon their marriage, ‘You are both black. It means that you have to be ten times better just to be equal.’ It had, she had found, proved to be very good advice, and she and her husband had begun to lay some very solid foundations for their future.
Then there had been that dreadful night, the knock on her door, her detective inspector standing there looking ashen-faced, the awkward mumbling of, ‘I’m sorry, Carmen, but something dreadful has happened. The driver was drunk … we’ll throw the book at him. Your husband died instantly; he would have known nothing …’
She had, after the funeral, felt she had to go north for some reason she did not understand, but the north beckoned her with its harsh winters and even harsher landscape. It was as though she felt that she had to pay some penalty for being alive when her husband was not. She would return to London, to Leytonstone, at some point in the future, but not until she had felt her penalty had been paid.
The walk from Escrick took her one-and-a-half hours. She ate alone, at home, and retired early but sleep evaded her. She lay in bed listening to the sounds of the night – the rumble of heavy goods’ trains passing slowly through the railway station, each one seeming endless and moving at night when passenger traffic is at its least busy. She heard the occasional two-tone siren of an emergency vehicle responding to an incident and the sounds of drunkenly joyful homeward-bound youth. It was not until close to midnight that sleep enfolded her into its arms.
