Cath Staincliffe - Towers of Silence

“Eddie wasn’t there?”

“He was in his office, he had to get a letter for Melody to fill in. Miriam ran to get him and you know what he said? Only a little burn. I was on fire, it felt like. Really hurt. I said take me to the hospital.”

“Where was Melody when you got burnt?”

“In the office,” she laughed as if I was stupid, “getting the form.”

I nodded.

“You said she was upset?”

“She was crying in here. After they put the dressing on me I saw her. Miriam was looking after her. She had a row at home.”

Two women came into the washroom. I changed the subject. “Are you going to buy anything else?” I asked Jane.

“I’m going to see Father Christmas.” She shrieked with laughter. “Have you seen him? It’s Eddie dressed up. Last year I got nail varnish and some stickers.”

I went out with her into the melee and had a look round some of the stalls. I bought two trinkets for our tree. Sharon, sporting a holly head-dress was at the entrance in conversation with a tall, smartly dressed Afro-Carribean woman.

“This is Mrs Wood,” Sharon said. “Chair of our Management Committee. Sal’s been helping us out.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Wood said.

“Sal’s a private eye,” Sharon said.

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose and fell. “That sounds intriguing.”

“Can be. This is very successful,” I nodded to the hall.

“Yes. The whole project has done extremely well. Immense amount of work though, not just today but week in week out. Sharon,” she turned to her. “I’ll stay here for a while, you go see to Chantelle.”

“Great.” Sharon left us.

“You employ people here, that’s part of your job?”

“The committee as a whole, yes. Plus policy, planning, training, health and safety, you name it.”

“So if anyone had a complaint who would they talk to?”

Her brow creased, she looked at me sharply, alarm in her eyes.

“To me in the first instance.”

I felt in my bag and fished out a card and pen, ready to take her number.

“Touting for business?” Eddie Cliff walked towards us, still in his red and white robes.

My stomach tightened. “Every bit helps,” I joked. I passed Mrs Wood my card. “So yes,” I said. “Tell your friend to give me a ring, it’s completely confidential.” I prayed she’d cotton on and not say anything to Eddie. She looked slightly unsure but took my card. I struggled to maintain some semblance of calm.

Eddie Cliff looked at me brightly, inquisitive ultramarine eyes, then at Mrs Wood.

“It suits you,” she said drily.

“I’d better go,” I said and fled with my skin crawling.

I knew Ray was expecting me back so he could go shopping but I needed to straighten my thoughts. I drove the car round to nearby Plattfields and parked on the roadside. I concentrated.

Eddie Cliff and Melody Gervase had been alone in the office when Jane burnt herself. He was probably well out of order leaving the group unattended but I bet no mention of that was made in any accident report. So, Jane got burnt and Miriam hurried to get Eddie. She walks in on them. A big shock all round. Eddie has to see to Jane, apply first aid and calm her down and meanwhile Miriam and Melody go to the toilets, the only place he’s not allowed. Melody is distressed (at being caught out? At something Eddie has said?) and Miriam promises to help. Melody maybe asks her not to say anything. She’s very frightened. Don’t tell, don’t tell . She never goes back to the Craft Club after that. She heard about Miriam’s death. A sign , she said. She promised to help . She died. Look what happens. Never dared go back. Waited, not knowing if her withdrawal would be enough to spare her. She must have been terrified when I showed up at the sewing circle asking questions.

So, the group leave. Melody and Miriam are supposed to clear up. Then what? Does Eddie make more threats? Underplay it? Pretend it never happened? He could probably rely on his threats keeping Melody quiet. But Miriam, who had stumbled upon the abuse? There were no sweet promises or soft kisses to bind her to him. When Miriam rang Hattie Jacobs, she had talked of being put in hospital if she told them, that it was awful and he would punish her. Eddie’s threats?

Why then had she let him in, gone in his car? She was scared, she knew what he was doing. Why hadn’t she just locked her door and refused to come out? He hadn’t physically forced her into the car or Horace Johnstone would have said so.

And then what?

One way or another, Eddie Cliff had driven Miriam Johnstone to her death.

I couldn’t carry it on my own another day.

I went to the police.

Elizabeth Slinger police station is a large purpose built facility in Withington, near the hospital. I spoke to the desk sergeant who checked and told me the inspector who had been in charge of the police enquiry into Miriam’s death was on leave for Christmas. I then explained to two different people, at intervals of ten minutes, why I was there and that I had new information relating to that death, that I suspected foul play. After hemming and hawing and raised eyebrows and throat clearing and several suggestions that after the holiday would be better, they finally took me through to a small interview room where I could wait to see someone in the serious crimes section.

I rang Ray and told him I would be a while longer.

Detective Sergeant Elland made careful notes while I went through my story. I told him what I knew, what I’d heard and what I suspected. He checked some details and then asked me if I had spoken to anyone in Social Services regarding the alleged abuse.

“Not yet; I hope to as soon as possible,”

“We do try to work together on cases like this. Now, the suspicion of foul play, that wasn’t raised at the inquest?”

“No, although her family have said all along that her fear of heights would have made her incapable of jumping off that building. Plus she was sane and healthy that morning.”

“It’s not hard evidence, though.”

“I know,” I tried not to show my frustration. “But this man lied to the police about when he last saw the victim. He said he’d seen her at midday but he picked her up after two o’ clock.”

“According to the ex-husband?”

“Yes. And Miriam rang her friend and said he would punish her and send her to hospital.”

“She didn’t identify him by name.”

“No but together with the fact that he lied and the history he has…”

“Alleged history. He has no criminal record that you are aware of?”

“No. But the police never spoke to this friend that she called, or to the ex-husband; it’s new evidence. They never even checked all the CCTV tapes, they could have seen him driving in with her. They didn’t even ask for it, only the one for the top floor and that wasn’t working.”

“Well, if it appeared to be suicide…”

“And if it had been a white man, would any more effort have been put in? A rich white man, no hint of illness, well connected – what then?”

“We don’t work like that,” he said coldly.

“She was black.” I said. “She had a history of mental illness, she got second class treatment.”

“Look, I didn’t work the case and I haven’t got the papers here, but the facts at the time led to a suicide verdict. The coroner was satisfied.”

“The family weren’t. There weren’t enough facts.” I stressed the words. “No one contacted her friends, no efforts were made to establish how she got to town, she didn’t drive, she didn’t have a car. But no one bothered. Mad, black woman, jumped. End of story.”

Even I had been sure that they’d reached the right verdict when Connie had first hinted at other possibilities. But I hadn’t known then how token the official investigation had been.