emotion, Dan remembered the story. When it became clear the police investigation was making no progress, Janet had spoken out in an attempt to bring witnesses forward.
Dan could recall very few reports on Wessex Tonight that were not his own. Most were fillers, of little consequence, forgotten in seconds. But some stood out. And for him, they were always the victims’ stories, the tales of lives ruined in a second’s viciousness or violence, stupidity or negligence. On the darker nights, lying sleepless in bed, those that Dan had himself covered often returned to taunt his restless mind.
Janet put on a little make-up to help her brave the camera and had just about got through the interview. That she kept breaking down only made it more moving. She described the life the couple were planning to lead together. Spoiling grandchildren by day, walks on the beach by night, just like when they first married almost 40 years ago.
“And now…” she’d stammered, “all he’s got… after all those years… all those hopes… is a living death.”
Martha and Brian Edwards were interviewed at length. He would say nothing at all, retained an unbreachable silence.
A note on the file read, Suspect Martha drilled it into him. Usual story. Say nothing and we’re safe. Psychologist believes he’s totally in her thrall. He was probably the one who did the actual beating, but on her orders. Evidence for this – as ever – none. Just another theory .
Martha said almost nothing. Only when she was told both siblings were being released had there been a brief exchange.
Martha Edwards – You bastards have been going on at me as if I’m a criminal. Where were you to investigate what happened to me?
Detective Sergeant Franks – That’s not what we’re talking about .
Martha – And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? No one’s ever talked about it. No one’s ever cared .
Franks – For the last time, do you have anything to say about Albert Fisher?
Martha – I’m sorry for what happened to him. But…
Franks – But what?
Martha – Who’s sorry for what happened to me?
Franks – About Albert Fisher?
Martha – He worked for the government. You work for the government. You make your choices and you take your chances. Fuck you all .
Franks – He was a 63-year-old man. Beaten as he lay helpless on the floor .
Martha – And I was a 5-year-old girl!
Franks – Is there anything you want to say about the attack on Albert Fisher?
Martha – Just let me out of here .
***
Adam finished reading. They drove on in silence. The rumbling of the car was the only companion to their wandering thoughts.
Finally, Adam said quietly, “No Robin Hoods. No lovable rogues with hearts of gold. Just criminals.”
The road turned down a hill. Ahead was an expanse of sea. They were approaching East Prawle, angles of roofs reaching above a line of trees.
Katrina drew up in a pub car park. The rest of the convoy followed. Police officers began clambering out of the vans and cars.
“Just one thing,” Dan said, as Adam opened the door. “What changed? To turn them from mockery to effectively murder?”
Adam hesitated, then said, “Later. It’s not what you need to hear when we may be about to face them.”
Chapter Fourteen
It began like a phoney war.
The procession of vans, cars and motorbikes moved slowly along the narrow road. There were no racing engines, no squealing tyres, no sirens. Only the silent intensity of pure concentration.
Every officer was watching. For a surreptitious or panicked movement. The guilty twitch of a curtain or hasty shutting of a door.
They would move into the centre of the village as furtively as possible. And from there they would storm outwards, a radius of motion, through houses, cottages, caravans, shops, sheds and barns.
A tattered old wooden sign welcomed them to East Prawle. A homely and embracing sight for generations of locals and holidaymakers, but surely never to have
Dan could recall very few reports on Wessex Tonight that were not his own. Most were fillers, of little consequence, forgotten in seconds. But some stood out. And for him, they were always the victims’ stories, the tales of lives ruined in a second’s viciousness or violence, stupidity or negligence. On the darker nights, lying sleepless in bed, those that Dan had himself covered often returned to taunt his restless mind.
Janet put on a little make-up to help her brave the camera and had just about got through the interview. That she kept breaking down only made it more moving. She described the life the couple were planning to lead together. Spoiling grandchildren by day, walks on the beach by night, just like when they first married almost 40 years ago.
“And now…” she’d stammered, “all he’s got… after all those years… all those hopes… is a living death.”
Martha and Brian Edwards were interviewed at length. He would say nothing at all, retained an unbreachable silence.
A note on the file read, Suspect Martha drilled it into him. Usual story. Say nothing and we’re safe. Psychologist believes he’s totally in her thrall. He was probably the one who did the actual beating, but on her orders. Evidence for this – as ever – none. Just another theory .
Martha said almost nothing. Only when she was told both siblings were being released had there been a brief exchange.
Martha Edwards – You bastards have been going on at me as if I’m a criminal. Where were you to investigate what happened to me?
Detective Sergeant Franks – That’s not what we’re talking about .
Martha – And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? No one’s ever talked about it. No one’s ever cared .
Franks – For the last time, do you have anything to say about Albert Fisher?
Martha – I’m sorry for what happened to him. But…
Franks – But what?
Martha – Who’s sorry for what happened to me?
Franks – About Albert Fisher?
Martha – He worked for the government. You work for the government. You make your choices and you take your chances. Fuck you all .
Franks – He was a 63-year-old man. Beaten as he lay helpless on the floor .
Martha – And I was a 5-year-old girl!
Franks – Is there anything you want to say about the attack on Albert Fisher?
Martha – Just let me out of here .
***
Adam finished reading. They drove on in silence. The rumbling of the car was the only companion to their wandering thoughts.
Finally, Adam said quietly, “No Robin Hoods. No lovable rogues with hearts of gold. Just criminals.”
The road turned down a hill. Ahead was an expanse of sea. They were approaching East Prawle, angles of roofs reaching above a line of trees.
Katrina drew up in a pub car park. The rest of the convoy followed. Police officers began clambering out of the vans and cars.
“Just one thing,” Dan said, as Adam opened the door. “What changed? To turn them from mockery to effectively murder?”
Adam hesitated, then said, “Later. It’s not what you need to hear when we may be about to face them.”
Chapter Fourteen
It began like a phoney war.
The procession of vans, cars and motorbikes moved slowly along the narrow road. There were no racing engines, no squealing tyres, no sirens. Only the silent intensity of pure concentration.
Every officer was watching. For a surreptitious or panicked movement. The guilty twitch of a curtain or hasty shutting of a door.
They would move into the centre of the village as furtively as possible. And from there they would storm outwards, a radius of motion, through houses, cottages, caravans, shops, sheds and barns.
A tattered old wooden sign welcomed them to East Prawle. A homely and embracing sight for generations of locals and holidaymakers, but surely never to have
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