A Dreadful Past (26 page)

It was Saturday, 17.45 hours.

Somerled Yellich and Reginald Webster drove from York to what they both thought was the delightfully named Crook of Somerset, a small village clearly amid a farming community just five miles inland from Bridlington on the Yorkshire coast. Having obtained the address of the vicarage from the offices of the Diocese of York, they arrived at the village and sought directions from a postman attending to his ‘walk'. The directions, as perfect as one would expect from a postman, led the two officers to the vicarage, which revealed itself to be a substantial-looking, white-painted house set in a large, well-tended garden which stood next to the church of St Luke, a squat building with a low, square tower. Probably medieval, Yellich thought in passing.

Yellich parked the car on the road close to the gate of the vicarage. He and Webster left the car and walked up the gravel path to the front door. Yellich took the brass doorknocker, which he noted was shaped like a fish, and saw how it was polished with years of use. He rapped it on the metal plate four times.

The door was opened by a large, overweight man in his late forties who stood on the threshold. He wore a blue shirt and a clerical collar, black trousers and sandals over woollen socks on his feet. He had a round face and a stern countenance despite the widely opened door. ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?' he asked.

‘Police.' Yellich and Webster showed their ID cards. A large murder of crows squawked noisily from a nearby copse.

‘Ah …' The man relaxed. His attitude became warmer. ‘We rarely get the police here. How can I help you?'

‘We're looking for the Reverend Keith Hayes,' Yellich advised. ‘We were given this address by the Diocese of York.'

‘I see.' The clergyman smiled. ‘Well, you have found him,' the man replied in a rich Essex accent, pronouncing ‘found' as ‘fahned'. ‘It is I; I am the Reverend Keith Hayes. I hope none of my parishioners have been getting into trouble. The youth in our village can be a little unruly at times.'

‘Well, could we come in please, Reverend?' Yellich looked with annoyance at the crows. ‘This is quite a delicate matter, not for public consumption, you might say.'

‘Yes … yes …' The Reverend Hayes walked backwards, pushing the door of the vicarage fully open as he did so. ‘Do come in, please.' He stepped aside and allowed Yellich and Webster to egress the building.

Webster noted the vicarage to be clean and neatly kept, but without any scent of furniture polish or air freshener. He also found it a little cold but nonetheless quite bearable.

‘We'll go in my office.' The Reverend Hayes shut the door of the vicarage, gently so. ‘First door on the left,' he announced and Yellich, followed by Webster, followed his directions. In the office Reverend Hayes sat heavily, Yellich thought, in a swivel chair which stood by a writing bureau while he and Webster sat, as invited, in low-slung chairs placed against the wall beneath the study window. The study contained bookshelves, mostly of theological texts so far as Yellich could determine, and a single framed photograph hung on the wall showing a blonde woman with two small children in her arms.

‘Your family?' Yellich asked, indicating the photograph.

‘Yes.' Hayes smiled. ‘You might think that I am quite old to be a father of two-year-old twins, but that has been the pattern of my life. The good things have come late, but at least they have come. Both my marriage and my ordination were late occurrences.'

‘So you have not been a vicar for very long?' Yellich asked.

‘Priest,' Hayes smiled. ‘I am a parish priest, an Anglican parish priest. “Vicar” is actually a lay term and is unofficial, but the answer is no … not for very long for a man at my time of life, only about five years, in fact. I had a very sudden calling, a sudden epiphany, if you like. I was travelling … visiting Australia. I was driving down the Stuart Highway with Alice Springs behind me and about halfway to Adelaide. I was driving south, you see, so as to keep the sun behind me.'

‘Sensible,' Yellich commented.

‘Dare say it was just pragmatic really; if I had driven north I would have been squinting all the time and would have not seen much of the Australian Outback at all.' Hayes paused. ‘But it was when I was at that stage of my journey that I suddenly felt my calling. I pulled over to the side of the road and sat there in the car for an hour. Not one vehicle passed me in that time. Not one. It is difficult to describe the strength of the calling … only those who have also felt it can know its strength. I cut my holiday short, returned to the UK and made enquiries. The Church set quite a stiff test but I was accepted. I came to this parish upon completing my training. I married soon after arriving here. I am now well settled, my life is rich … Before I was directionless and a trifle wayward at times.'

‘Yes.' Yellich held eye contact with the Reverend Hayes. ‘It's actually your trifle waywardness that we are here in respect of.'

‘Oh …' Hayes paled. ‘So it isn't about one of my flock? Not about one of my parishioners?'

‘No, no, it's not,' Yellich replied. ‘It's about Veronica Blackman,' Yellich continued, ‘and a lady called Hindmarsh, Mrs Hindmarsh.'

‘Veronica Blackman … Mrs Hindmarsh?' The Reverend Hayes looked nervously at Yellich and then at Webster. ‘I'm afraid that those names mean nothing to me. Should they? And what waywardness on my part do you refer? I confess I am intrigued.'

‘They should mean something to you, sir … and they will explain the waywardness on your part which we are interested in,' Yellich replied coldly. ‘You see, Veronica Blackman, who is still with us and now in her forties was, about twenty years ago, a working girl in York and one night a young man, who was badly infected with arthritis and which he had had since he was quite young, lured her into an alley without knowing why or without knowing what he was luring her towards. Once in the alley she was set on by four thugs, two well-built and tall and two short. Three males and one female. Veronica Blackman was left unconscious. Mrs Hindmarsh, on the other hand, is no longer with us because twenty years ago she was attacked in her pensioner's flat and died soon afterwards. She never really recovered from the attack, you see.'

‘We'd also like to talk to you about the Middleton family. I am sure you remember them – the father, mother and their blind daughter who were murdered in their home, also about twenty years ago, in an attack which was staged to look like a burglary which had been interrupted,' Webster added, equally coldly. ‘And we have a few questions to ask about Gerald Womack who was murdered last week and wherein plans to set his body alight seem to have been frustrated by the unexpected arrival of a group of youths.'

A silence fell upon the three men. The Reverend Hayes seemed, to Yellich and Webster, to be wishing that he was many, many miles away.

‘I imagine that you are feeling the urge to run,' Yellich broke the silence, ‘but I strongly advise you to resist it. If you run you won't escape us and we'll be bringing you down in the street, in the middle of the village among people who know you … imagine the spectacle.'

Hayes remained silent and put his hand up to his forehead. The colour had drained from his face.

‘Gerald Womack's housemate didn't get a good look at the two men who took Womack away but nonetheless he has agreed to take part in an identity parade, and if he picks you and German out …' Yellich continued to speak coldly, ‘then you have some explaining to do, especially since he said that Womack knew you and went with you willingly. We'll be examining your car and Cornelius German's car, looking for Womack's fingerprints. German is being arrested as we speak, by the way, but if Womack's prints are in either vehicle, the owner of whichever vehicle will be answering questions of a most searching nature.'

‘Most searching,' Webster echoed. ‘It was the landlord of the George and Dragon who put us on to German. He remembers German as being one of a group of four who used to drink in the pub and boast about beating people up. He recognized him as a probation officer when he, the landlord, was called for jury service. Twenty years ago the police didn't link the attacks, but with the advantage of all that hindsight we saw the links very easily … the regularity of the attacks and the different victim profile MO over a period of three years. It came together quite easily really.'

Keith Hayes continued to look as though he wished he was on the other side of the planet. Then he said, ‘“Thy sin will find thee out.”'

‘A biblical quote?' Yellich asked.

‘Numbers 32:23.' Hayes cast a longing glance at the photograph of his family, then he fell silent. ‘“Be sure thy sin will find thee out.” I had a dreadful past and it has found me out.'

‘Your biggest problem and our biggest asset is that we found Silcock before you and German did. She has turned Queen's evidence and made a full confession, telling us about murders in other cities, like Hull and Leeds … twelve murders, all told,' Yellich advised. He then stood, advanced towards Hayes and put his hand on Hayes's shoulder. ‘Keith Hayes, I am arresting you in connection with the murder of Gerald Womack. You do not have to say anything but it will harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you may later rely on in court. All right, Keith, that will do for now – there will be more charges once we get to the bottom of all this. We'll do that at the police station over the next few days. If you come quietly … no fuss … nice and calmly, it will just be three men walking out of the vicarage, then we'll wait until we're in the car before we put the handcuffs on you. Your parishioners out there,' Yellich continued, ‘well, they'll find out very soon about all this but they do not have to find out today, unless we have to take you by force. It's your call. You can phone your wife from the police station to let her know where you are.'

Keith Hayes took a deep breath and stood. ‘“Thy sin will find thee out,”' he repeated.

It was Monday, 11.20 hours.

V
eronica Blackman handed Simon Crossley a mug of hot tea which he held with difficulty with his two badly gnarled hands.

‘I can't tell you how grateful I am for your visits, Veronica, really grateful.' Crossley put the mug down on the arm of his chair. ‘My life goes from Friday to Friday. It's your Friday visits which keep me going.'

‘I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be here.' Veronica Blackman glanced out of the window of Simon Crossley's front room at the grey sky and the black, leafless trees. ‘Autumn is practically over. Christmas will be upon us … always a difficult time is Christmas, if you don't have any family.'

‘Yes,' Simon Crossley replied softly, ‘yes, it is. You just have to battle through it. It's all you can do. There's no cure for Christmas if you're on your own.'

‘Life has not been good to you, Simon.' Veronica Blackman returned her attention to Simon Crossley. ‘The arthritis from such a young age … it's so unfair and you're such a lovely man inside.'

Simon Crossley forced a smile. ‘You know, Veronica, I once met a man. He was a man of some life experience. He'd been around the block a few times and said to me that if he was given the choice of being stranded on a desert island with a lady magistrate or a working girl he'd take the working girl every time because working girls have hearts of gold. I know what he means. I really do.'

On the same day that Veronica Blackman handed Simon Crossley a mug of hot, steaming tea, though a matter of hours later and some eighty miles to the north-west, a man and a woman entered a hotel bedroom, each carrying a suitcase.

‘I do love Fridays.' The woman put her suitcase down, sat on the bed and eased her shoes off her feet. ‘I especially love Fridays if I can get away early for the weekend. And it's so rare that we can both manage to get away for the weekend.'

‘Lovely view of Windermere,' the man commented, having crossed the floor to look out of the window but still holding his suitcase. ‘The trees have pretty well all lost their foliage but it's excellent walking weather – cool but not cold, and dry.' He turned to face the woman. ‘But yes, as you say, Fridays, if you can get away early, then Fridays are lovely and as you say it is so rare that we can both get away early at the same time.'

‘So … I assume that you are pleased with the outcome of the trial?' The woman began to massage her feet.

‘Pleased?' The man put his suitcase down and shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘Pleased? Well you know it was always going to be a foregone conclusion … all three going “G”, as my son would say, to four serious assaults and twelve premeditated murders. The two men, the prime movers, were always going to get life without possibility of parole … the whole life tariff. “Mad Molly” Silcock was the only one to benefit. She came clean and was arrested and placed in custody before German and Hayes could silence her, so she escaped with her life. The Crown Prosecution Service dropped the charges against her daughter – a sort of tit-for-tat, you scratch our back and we'll scratch yours arrangement – and she escaped the whole life tariff because her barrister painted a picture of her being a hanger-on, a second fiddle. She'll be eligible for parole after twenty-five years, by which time she'll be pushing three score and ten, so she'll most likely breathe free air again. German and Hayes never will, and poor old vicious little Womack won't be breathing any more air at all. So, it's still only three o'clock,' George Hennessey continued. ‘We have time for a gentle five-miler before it gets dark; it'll loosen us up for the fifteen-miler tomorrow, then back to the hotel for dinner and an early night. Shall we?'

‘Yes.' Louise D'Acre smiled at Hennessey. ‘Yes,' she said warmly, ‘that sounds ideal … just the ticket … just what the doctor ordered.'