Chapter 18

The Screw

Thurstan dropped the file box on top of the others and declared, “Right, that’s it! The last of the historical write-offs is done!”

He stood up, stretched his back, hands on hips, declared he was getting old and added, “All we have left is the Blackthorn Street job and young Lennie to take care of.” He glanced at his watch. “I think an early dart’s in order, but before we do, let’s just recap on what we have.”

Gandalph ran through what he’d got. The ancestral tracing was in progress, Wilf advised it was a complex issue, using various databases. The Hillingdon side of things was proving productive, but tracing the descendants of Albert William Thompson was taking a bit longer because he’d been feeling out of sorts recently but was now, as he described it, ‘back on the case’, which Thurstan thought tended to show he was taking it all very seriously and still enthusiastic.

“The good news, Boss, is I reckon I’ve found this Tim Beck bloke. In fact, I'm almost certain it’s him, and this should be his address.” He handed his DCI an A4 sheet.

Thurstan browsed the information before him. “Well done, Stephen. How did you manage that?”

He got a little grin in return. “Like I said, I just hit social media, searched for the alternatives of Tim, Timothy and Timmy, whittled the possibles down by sex, race, age and country then worked my way through what was left. It was still a reasonably big list and I had to consider he might have emigrated, so America, Canada, Australia and New Zealand were favourites. I also put those called Timmy on the back burner. I didn’t think given his approximate age and former profession he’d be using that variation and concentrated on the others. Anyway, long story short, by cross-referencing the likely candidate’s posts with those on his friends list, all their photos, holiday snaps, that sort of stuff, I came up with these.” He passed over several pictures. “Then I went on Google maps, Street View, and kind of drove myself around until I found this one, which you’ll see matches the third one down. It’s a slightly different angle but it’s the same place. I got his mobile number off the internet as well. How did you do with Reg Barker and Freddy Walsh?”

“I found Freddy Walsh but Reg Barker’s fallen off the planet.”

“Dead?”

“No record. He’s just disappeared.”

“How did you do that then, Boss? You seem to have suddenly become very tech-savvy. I’m impressed.”

“Well, don’t be. My old Inspector, he’s retired now but we still meet from time to time. I asked him to use his contacts in Lancs County and see if they, in turn, could discreetly ask any people they knew in the personnel department for information. That came up blank but provided the interesting fact there was a fire there, early 1990s. They say it destroyed two cabinets of personal files which, conveniently, must have contained Barker’s and Walsh’s...”

Gandalph interrupted. “Hang on, Boss. Bs next to Ws. How could that be?”

Thurstan smiled. “It couldn’t. The Fire Brigade put it down to two simultaneous electrical shortages caused by bad wiring igniting paperwork which had fallen down the back of the cabinets.”

Gandalph stared at him, incredulously. “Doesn’t sound right.”

Thurstan shrugged. “It’s not but, somehow, it was accepted.”

“So, what about Walsh? How did you find him?”

“My old Inspector spoke to NARPO. They’ve got his current address as being a hospice in Blackpool and they’ve never heard of Barker.”

“Are we going visiting tomorrow, then?”

“You’re very astute, Stephen. Blackpool first, I think, just in case Walsh isn’t a member of staff. We’ve got an early start, lots to do.”

****

The following morning, as they prepared to leave, the phone rang.  Gandalph listened for a short while, asked who was calling then cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and, raising his eyebrows, said, “It’s for you. He’s very insistent. Refuses his name.”

Thurstan waggled his hand, indicating he’d take it. “Hello, this is DCI Baddeley. How may I help you?”

He listened intently then searched his desk drawer for a pen and began to hurriedly scribble on his desktop notepad. “OK. I’ll see you there.”

Gandalph didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was enough to generate a reply from Thurstan. “Change of plans, Stephen. You’ll have to go to Blackpool on your own. Use your car and I’ll sort you out with any mileage issues later. I have to go and meet with this chap. He won’t talk on the phone, all very mysterious, and he wants to meet in Liverpool.”

Gandalph nodded but said, “You sure you don’t want me to ride shotgun with you on this, Boss?”

Thurstan smiled. “I know you have a reputation for accuracy with a twanged elastic band but it’s best we split these enquiries. If Walsh is a patient at the hospice, he could be on his last legs and snuff it any day now. Plus, I don’t know when the Chief’s going to pull the plug on my sojourn here, so, get yourself up there and finesse the staff into letting you see him. I don’t want to give them forewarning because they’ll probably blab to him and give him time to think up some answers.”

****

Alongside the sign for George’s Pier Head, on the Canada Boulevard, ran a low long wall with small benches providing temporary respite for the weary tourist or traveller.

Set at a distance apart which encouraged conversation whilst at the same time seemingly discouraging it, Thurstan sat taking occasional sips from a coffee carton whilst he eyeballed the plaza in front of him in search of his mysterious stranger. He thought he’d identified him twice so was somewhat surprised when the man with a small black and white Bichon Havanese, which sported a gravy-stained chin, sat on the bench next to his and asked if he was DCI Baddeley. That’s where the introductions ended.

“You said on the phone you had some information about Leonard Turner which would be of interest to me. Why the secrecy?”

“I used to be a Prison Officer at Risley when young Lennie was there. He was on the wing I worked on.”

“And?”

“Things were going on there I thought you should know about. They weren’t part of my direct knowledge. I heard rumours but it turned out a couple of the blokes I worked with knew much more than I did. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t involved but they knew there was substance in what was going around. At the centre of the issue was the warder who ran the kitchens and the like-minded clique he controlled. After Lennie hung himself there was the inquiry, obviously, but it generated something else; a Prison Service internal investigation.”

Thurstan casually sipped his coffee before answering. “Did this involve bullying or something more serious?”

“There was bullying going on but it’s always an issue in places like Risley where the stronger, meaner inmates, can almost smell weakness on others. During our shift, we did our best to prevent it. No, this was worse.”

“Sexual molestation?”

The man nodded. “Some of the inmates on kitchen duties made allegations on the back of Lennie’s suicide. It’s an easy thing to do, make allegations, but a couple of my colleagues decided it was time to do something. They told me the accusations were true and they felt the time was right to bring the truth to light, especially as a new Governor had just been appointed. The old one was never very ‘hands-on’. The only time he ever came out of his office was to use the toilet or to go home.”

“How did this sexual exploitation ring work, do you know?”

“I was told they had their favourites who they recommended for duties in the kitchen, made sure their situations improved, sorted out whoever was bullying them, extra rations and benefits, better accommodation, that sort of thing. They got them transferred onto the wings where the ring members were dominant. In return, they were required to provide sexual services. Those who were reluctant were left without protection from the bullies until they learned the error of their ways.”

“Was Lennie being bullied?”

“When he first arrived, there were those who had a go. It was obvious to me and a couple of others he should never have been there in the first place. Risley wasn’t the place for a lad like Lennie and that’s why we got Leroy to take him under his wing.”

“Leroy?”

“Yeah. Black lad, reputed to work for the biggest crime gang in Liverpool. I knew him from a previous spell he’d had there, and we got on fine. He kept the gobshites in check. He arrived on remand for a burglary at a warehouse or something, the week after Lennie came in. It solved the initial problem, but I was never aware until much later there was another.”

He leaned down and fed the dog a treat before continuing. “Apparently, the kitchen crew had their eyes on young Lennie. I never knew until a few years later. I’d left the Prison Service by then. Couldn’t keep doing it, the atmosphere was too toxic. Anyway, I bumped into Leroy on a night out. We had a pint together and he mentioned it to me. He’d got bail a couple of days before Lennie hung himself – went to court and didn’t come back – but he said he left a message for me with one of the other warders telling me to keep a close eye on the lad and if I told him Leroy said it was OK, Lennie would tell me what was happening. I never got the message. The next day I came down with a bad case of the flu, spent the week in bed.”

“What was the result of the internal inquiry?”

“The main instigator and a couple of others were allowed to retire, the others were shipped out to other prisons, as were the inmates who made the complaints, and my two colleagues were put under posting to the far reaches of the country. You know, the standard treatment for whistleblowers. They threatened to go to the press and were then offered big redundancy payoffs. They knew it was all over for them in the prison service, so they accepted.”

“Where’d you get my name from?”

“Ted Latimer. I was on duty when he’d visited Lennie. I could tell he was worried. I told him I was keeping an eye on the lad. Anyway, we’ve kept in touch, off and on. He mentioned you to me.”

He fell silent, briefly, then, with a sigh, said, “You see, Mr Baddeley, I know we let that boy down. I’ve had to live with it for years and don’t think I haven’t thought about it often. My colleagues who stood up and stuck their heads above the parapet didn’t walk away with light hearts. They’d known much more than me. One had walked in on them when they had a boy naked in a storeroom at the back of the kitchens. They threatened him, said they could stitch him up and to be careful crossing the road, that sort of thing. But both my colleagues remembered they were there not just to incarcerate young men but to protect them as well. And though they dillied and dallied, they eventually found the courage to do the right thing. They’ve suffered the consequences; word gets around and job opportunities become scarcer.”

He locked eyes with the DCI. “Just like I don’t want to become personally involved in where you’re going with this one, I don’t want you to involve those men in anything either. They’ve paid the price already. Ted reckoned I could trust you to make the right decisions. Don’t prove him wrong.” He stood up, conversation over.

Thurstan looked down at the dog. “What’s its name?”

“Lily.” The man answered but recognised Thurstan’s intentions. “I wouldn’t try to do that if I was you, not if you’re fond of your fingers. She’s very cute but her problem is she’s absolutely, completely convinced she’s a Rottweiler.”