Jack smiled as he started again. ‘I hear you work wonders with the kids. I spoke to a colleague in Manchester and she was certainly impressed.’
Another silence. Julia waited.
‘I could have been in that system,’ said Jack. ‘But I was lucky enough to be placed relatively quickly. I was 5.’
And with that one sentence the atmosphere changed completely. Ten minutes later, he was drinking tea and listening to Julia talk about how, to date, she’d helped more than 370 troubled or unwanted children.
‘We go to West Kirby near the Wirral every month and, once a year, we head a bit further north to Formby beach and nature reserve. The kids love it — some pretend not to, of course, but that’s just to save face. Tough men can’t enjoy donkey rides.’
Jack spotted one photo on the windowsill of a young girl, maybe 9 or 10, jumping a small fence on horseback. He made a comment about that child progressing far beyond donkeys on the beach.
‘That’s me.’ Julia spoke with a long-forgotten pride. ‘I hardly recognise her now. Horses are such trusting beasts — they teach children respect and kindness.’
Jack used this casual memory to segue into the reason for his visit.
‘The Grange would have been a wonderful place for a kids’ home, then.’
Julia looked directly at Jack. ‘Is that why you’re here...? Good God! That was a lifetime ago.’ She didn’t seem unsettled by the change of topic. ‘The problem you’ve got, DC Warr, is that I was using back then. I may not be able to help you, not because I don’t want to but because it’s all a bit of a blur.’
As Julia began talking, she repeated much of what Jack had already heard. That they were a group of women brought together by Ester Freeman to welcome Dolly Rawlins back into the real world. Then the children’s home idea raised its head and they all decided to stay on and help Dolly with that. They were ex-cons with nowhere else to be, so they jumped on the back of her ambition and went along for the ride.
‘It doesn’t take long at all to get into your blood. Dolly disappeared from my life in the blink of an eye, but the kids’ home idea... that refused to leave. I would like to have seen The Grange come to fruition, horses and all.’ Jack asked whether Julia had known their nearest neighbour, Norma Walker. ‘Vaguely. She kept retired police mounts. Now, they’re amazing animals. Country horses can get skittish at a leaf falling, but police horses... nerves of steel. I’m sure you know.’
‘I’ve seen them work. They’re trained to remain calm around loud noises and crowds, all that sort of thing. I’ve never even been on one, if I’m honest. They scare the life out of me.’
Julia smiled a sweet, understanding smile. ‘Once you make friends with a horse, you’ll never be scared of them again.’ She glanced into the chaotic garden. ‘Friendship’s so important. I think Dolly would have liked this place. She was the strongest person I’ve ever met. I asked her once if anything ever scared her and she told me about the night she shot Harry, her husband. She said that after doing that, nothing scared her. She said, “I’m not like my husband. I’m better. I always was. I was just clever at making sure he never knew it.” How ballsy is that?’
‘Can you tell me about the night Dolly was shot?’
‘It was ridiculous! Craigh was standing right next to her! Ester rushes in and, no hesitation, she pulls the trigger. What the fuck she thought she was doing, I will never know. We were all arrested, kept overnight, then Craigh let us go the next morning. Ester’s got a screw loose. Have you met her? I assume you’re speaking to all of us?’
‘I have met Ester, yes. And Connie.’
‘Now she’s a nice girl. Haven’t seen her since the shooting. Thick, mind you. I don’t suppose that’s changed.’
Jack gave no indication of his opinion on Connie or Ester.
‘Three houses knocked into one,’ he said, sounding impressed. ‘That must have cost a bit.’
‘I don’t own this place, I just run it. Dolly once said, “If you’ve got money, Julia, you can be whatever you want.” Money meant a lot to her. She liked people to see that she was someone. But I always thought there was something missing from her life that no amount of money could buy. Something fundamental. Kids, I suspect.’ Julia glanced out of the conservatory at the children playing in the garden. ‘Most of these will never know where they’re from, so it’s vital for them to know where they’re going. Do you know where you’re from?’
Jack liked Julia, and talking about the subject of childhood with someone experienced actually felt quite therapeutic.
‘As I say, I was lucky.’ And then he lied. ‘I never felt the drive to find my real parents because I don’t need them. I know who I am and I know where I’m from. My foster parents taught me.’
The way Julia looked at Jack made a deeply buried memory pop right into the front of his mind. He suddenly recalled a moment when he was about six. He’d stolen the last of Charlie’s diabetic chocolate brownies and, when Penny asked him about it, he’d lied straight to her face, even though he had chocolate-covered hands and lips. He’d just done the same to Julia and she saw right through him, just as Penny had done.
‘But the kids here,’ he concluded, ‘are very lucky to have you.’
‘I’m lucky to have them. I need to be needed, you see. Always have. I think that’s why I became a doctor all those years ago, before I royally fucked it all up. I’m a recovering addict and I’m weak, especially when I’m on my own. I have to have someone to live for and the kids give me that. But every day I walk a tightrope between success and failure. I’m only ever one step away from falling off the wagon and ending up dead. That’s what would happen if I took drugs again... I’d die.’
Ridley could see Superintendent Maxine Raeburn sitting at her desk through the wall of glass that separated her from the corridor. She was on the phone, nodding and humming in all the right places. Max had seen and acknowledged Ridley, but he had to wait outside regardless — he guessed that the call she was on was above his pay grade. Max Raeburn was one of the best superintendents Ridley had ever worked under, a quiet, patient, but surprisingly intimidating woman. She was so slight, she looked as if she could be knocked down by a feather, but she’d be nipping at your ankles the moment she hit the floor. When she was promoted, she’d refused the big office on the top floor and insisted on being in this huge office next door to Ridley. She wanted her officers to see her daily; she wanted them to know that she was first in and last out; she wanted them to know where she was at all times; and she wanted them to feel free to knock on her door. Not many people did, of course, on account of the chain of command. CID officers knocked on Ridley’s door (even when it was open), Ridley knocked on her door — that’s the way it was.
When Ridley was eventually allowed in, he held up the DNA results in his hand.
‘It is Mike Withey.’
Raeburn couldn’t hide her bemusement. ‘So, Mike Withey, an ex-police officer from this station, was murdered and then disposed of in an arson attack at Rose Cottage, surrounded by an estimated one point eight million in burnt fivers and tenners, less than one mile from the biggest train robbery in UK history. Have I forgotten anything?’
‘Rose Cottage was rented by Norma Walker, who was also an ex-cop. Mounted division.’
‘I don’t need to tell you how delicate this is. I know I can trust your team, as I trust you, but bloody hell, Simon, remind them, and then remind them again, that this cannot get out.’
Ridley nodded his understanding.
‘Right,’ Raeburn continued, ‘how can I help?’
Ridley explained, in his usual to-the-letter way, exactly what he was going to do and in what order. It was only when he mentioned the possible angle of Norma and Mike being ‘privately known to each other’ back in 1995 that Raeburn held her hand up.