Peter Robinson - Aftermath

“Only two. William and Pauline.” She nodded toward a photograph of two children that stood on the mantelpiece: smiling in a playground. “Anyway, I’m intrigued. Why are you here? You didn’t tell me very much over the telephone.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to be mysterious, honestly. I’m here about the Alderthorpe Seven. I understand you were involved?”

“How could I forget. Why do you want to know? It was all over ten years ago.”

“Nothing’s ever ‘all over’ in my line of work,” said Jenny. She had debated how much to tell Elizabeth and had even spoken with Banks on the phone about this. Useful as ever, he had said, “As much as you have to, and as little as you need to.” Jenny had already asked Mr. and Mrs. Liversedge not to reveal Lucy’s true origins or name to reporters, but it wouldn’t be long before some bright spark came across a slip of paper or recognized a photo from the newspaper’s morgue. She knew that she and Banks had a very narrow window of opportunity in which to operate before trainloads of media people got off at York and Hull, and even found their way to sleepy little Alderthorpe. She took a risk that Elizabeth Bell wasn’t likely to tip them off, either.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

Elizabeth looked up from the shirt she was ironing. “If I have to. I have done before.”

“The person I’m interested in is Lucy Payne.”

“Lucy Payne?”

“Yes.”

“That name is familiar, but I’m afraid you’ll have to jog my memory.”

“It’s been in the news a lot recently. She was married to Terence Payne, the schoolteacher the police believe was responsible for the murder of six young girls.”

“Of course. Yes, I did see a mention in the paper, but I must admit that I don’t follow such things.”

“Understandable. Anyway, Lucy’s parents, Clive and Hilary Liversedge, turn out to be foster parents. Lucy was one of the Alderthorpe Seven. You’d probably remember her as Linda Godwin.”

“Good heavens.” Elizabeth paused, holding the iron in midair, as if traveling back in her memory. “Little Linda Godwin. The poor wee thing.”

“Perhaps now you can see why I asked you about keeping secrets?”

“The press would have a field day.”

“Indeed they would. Probably will, eventually.”

“They won’t find out anything from me.”

A worthwhile risk, then. “Good,” said Jenny.

“I think I’d better sit down.” Elizabeth propped the iron on its end and sat opposite Jenny. “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you can tell me. How did it all begin, for a start?”

“It was a local schoolteacher who tipped us off,” said Elizabeth. “Maureen Nesbitt. She’d been suspicious about the state of some of the children for some time, and some of the things they said when they thought no one could overhear them. Then, when young Kathleen didn’t show up for school for a week and nobody had a reasonable explanation-”

“That would be Kathleen Murray?”

“You know about her?”

“I just did a bit of background research among old newspapers at the library. I know that Kathleen Murray was the one who died.”

“Was murdered. Should have been the Alderthorpe Six , as one of them was already dead by the time the whole thing blew up.”

“Where did Kathleen fit in?”

“There were two families involved: Oliver and Geraldine Murray, and Michael and Pamela Godwin. The Murrays had four children, ranging from Keith, age eleven, to Susan, age eight. The two in the middle were Dianne and Kathleen, age ten and nine respectively. The Godwins had three children: Linda, at twelve, was the eldest, then came Tom, who was ten, and Laura, nine.”

“Good Lord, it sounds complicated.”

Elizabeth grinned. “It gets worse. Oliver Murray and Pamela Godwin were brother and sister, and nobody was quite sure exactly who fathered whom. Extended-family abuse. It’s not as uncommon as it should be, especially in small, isolated communities. The families lived next door to one another in two semis in Alderthorpe, just far enough away from the other houses in the village to be guaranteed their privacy. It’s a remote enough part of the world to begin with. Have you ever been there?”

“Not yet.”

“You should. Just to get the feel of the place. It’s creepy.”

“I intend to. Were they true, then? The allegations.”

“The police would be able to tell you more about that. I was mostly responsible for separating the children and making sure they were cared for, getting them examined, and for fostering them, too, of course.”

“All of them?”

“I didn’t do it all on my own, but I was in overall charge, yes.”

“Did any of them ever go back to their parents?”

“No. Oliver and Geraldine Murray were charged with Kathleen’s murder and are still in jail, as far as I know. Michael Godwin committed suicide two days before the trial and his wife was declared unfit to stand trial. I believe she’s still in care. A mental institution, I mean.”

“There’s no doubt about who did what, then?”

“As I said, the police would know more about that than me, but… If ever I’ve come face-to-face with evil in my life, it was there, that morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened , it was just… I don’t know… the aura around the place.”

“Did you go inside?”

“No. The police wouldn’t let us. They said we’d only contaminate the scene. We had a van, a heated van, and they brought the children out to us.”

“What about the satanic angle? I understand it didn’t come up in court.”

“Wasn’t necessary, the lawyers said. Would only confuse things.”

“Was there any evidence?”

“Oh, yes, but if you ask me, it was nothing but a load of mumbo jumbo to justify drinking, drug-taking and abusing the children. The police found cocaine and marijuana in both houses, you know, along with some LSD, ketamine and Ecstasy.”

“Is that case why you gave up social work?”

Elizabeth paused before answering. “Partly, yes. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, if you like. But I was already close to burning out long before that. It takes it out of you, it does, dealing with ill-treated kids all the time. You lose sight of the humanity, the dignity of life. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Jenny. “Spending too much time with criminals has a similar effect.”

“But these were children. They had no choice .”

“I see what you mean.”

“You meet some proper losers down at the benefits office, believe me, but it’s not like child care.”

“What state was Lucy in?”

“Same as the rest. Dirty, hungry, bruised.”

“Sexually abused?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“What was she like?”

“Linda? Or I suppose I’d better start calling her Lucy from now on, hadn’t I? She was a sweet little thing. Shy and scared. Standing there with a blanket around her and that look on her face like a grubby little angel. She hardly said a word.”

“ Could she speak?”

“Oh, yes. One of the children, Susan, I think, lost the use of her voice, but not Lucy. She’d been abused in just about every way imaginable, yet she was surprisingly resilient. She’d speak if she wanted to, but I never once saw her cry. In fact, she seemed to have assumed the role of caregiver to the younger ones, though she wasn’t in a position to offer much in the way of care. She was the eldest, at least, so maybe she could offer them some comfort. You’d know more about this than I do, but I guessed she was repressing the full horror of what she’d been through, holding it back. I often wondered what would become of her. I never suspected anything like this.”