other woman, by the table in the window bay where Ellen had her machinery primed, was, Janet suspected, playing the part written for the occasion. At least fifteen years older than her client, Frances Pawsley wore a thick tweed suit with the jacket buttoned tight over a well-corseted torso, thick stockings, heavy brown brogues, and the uncomfortable, overheated appearance of post-menopausal womanhood. The greying hair above her florid face was clipped almost as short as a man’s. Her over-stuffed fingers meddled with the shiny red apples and freckled bananas in a green glass fruit bowl, pushed it aside, then began to nudge an inquisitive spider towards the open jaws of a Venus flytrap, in various stages of banqueting, rearing from a terracotta pot. Fleetingly, Janet wondered if Miss Pawsley and her client had other than a professional relationship, but could not decipher the many tantalisingly surreptitious looks that passed between them.
Tape-recorder buzzing and Ellen’s fingers poised over the keyboard of her laptop, Janet completed the formalities of interview, then said: ‘Now you’ve had the opportunity to reread your statements, Sergeant Lewis, is there anything you wish to amend or alter?’
‘ No.’
‘ Is there anything in the report which Inspector Dugdale submitted to the Crown Prosecution Service with which you disagree?’
‘ No.’
‘ Anything you feel was omitted?’
‘ No.’
‘ Do you have any reservations whatsoever about the investigation?’
‘ No.’
‘ Or about Smith’s arrest?’
‘No.’
‘ Are you then stating that you were, and are, perfectly happy with the conduct of the investigation, the conduct and motivations of the officers concerned, and the outcome?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ Prior to the appeal, did you have any knowledge of the letter that Father Fauvel apparently received from Father Barclay and allegedly handed to Inspector Dugdale?’
‘ No. I’d never even heard about it before the appeal papers were disclosed.’
‘ Do you know Father Fauvel?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ In what capacity?’
‘ As the Roman Catholic parish priest.’
‘ Have you ever spoken to him?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ How often?’
‘ I don’t know.’ Wendy reached for the cigarette packet lying on the kerb of the hearth, and fumbled inside. ‘Lots of times. We’re RC, and Mother went to Mass regularly.’ Cigarette extracted, she pushed it between her lips, and struck a match, the flame wavering in the draught. ‘I couldn’t go as often as I should because of work, but he was a great comfort to me when Mother died so suddenly.’
Watching tears swell in the bloodshot eyes, Janet asked: ‘On the basis of your own knowledge of the investigation, have you reached a conclusion, tentative or otherwise, about what might have happened to Father Barclay’s letter?’
Before she could respond, Frances intervened. ‘Superintendent McKenna’s whole investigation really depends on a hypothesis, doesn’t it? After all, no one’s ever seen this famous letter.’
‘ But we do have Father Barclay’s sworn testimony for the appeal, which satisfied three highly experienced judges,’ Janet reminded her. ‘We must assume he sent the letter.’
Frances smiled. ‘As long as you don’t forget that assumptions are always dangerous.’ To Wendy, she said: ‘You may answer, dear. We’ve already discussed what you’ll say.’
Her agonised features betraying the conflict between faith and professional loyalty, Wendy drew a deep breath. ‘I can’t believe Father Brett would lie. I believe he handed over the letter, like he said. Why would he lie about it? He had nothing to gain. He wasn’t even involved.’
‘ And you still maintain you don’t wish to amend your statements?’ asked Janet.
Frances stepped in once more. ‘DC Evans wants to know why didn’t you voice your doubts before the appeal, or when you were interviewed prior to suspension.’
‘ I couldn’t think straight! I
Tape-recorder buzzing and Ellen’s fingers poised over the keyboard of her laptop, Janet completed the formalities of interview, then said: ‘Now you’ve had the opportunity to reread your statements, Sergeant Lewis, is there anything you wish to amend or alter?’
‘ No.’
‘ Is there anything in the report which Inspector Dugdale submitted to the Crown Prosecution Service with which you disagree?’
‘ No.’
‘ Anything you feel was omitted?’
‘ No.’
‘ Do you have any reservations whatsoever about the investigation?’
‘ No.’
‘ Or about Smith’s arrest?’
‘No.’
‘ Are you then stating that you were, and are, perfectly happy with the conduct of the investigation, the conduct and motivations of the officers concerned, and the outcome?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ Prior to the appeal, did you have any knowledge of the letter that Father Fauvel apparently received from Father Barclay and allegedly handed to Inspector Dugdale?’
‘ No. I’d never even heard about it before the appeal papers were disclosed.’
‘ Do you know Father Fauvel?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ In what capacity?’
‘ As the Roman Catholic parish priest.’
‘ Have you ever spoken to him?’
‘ Yes.’
‘ How often?’
‘ I don’t know.’ Wendy reached for the cigarette packet lying on the kerb of the hearth, and fumbled inside. ‘Lots of times. We’re RC, and Mother went to Mass regularly.’ Cigarette extracted, she pushed it between her lips, and struck a match, the flame wavering in the draught. ‘I couldn’t go as often as I should because of work, but he was a great comfort to me when Mother died so suddenly.’
Watching tears swell in the bloodshot eyes, Janet asked: ‘On the basis of your own knowledge of the investigation, have you reached a conclusion, tentative or otherwise, about what might have happened to Father Barclay’s letter?’
Before she could respond, Frances intervened. ‘Superintendent McKenna’s whole investigation really depends on a hypothesis, doesn’t it? After all, no one’s ever seen this famous letter.’
‘ But we do have Father Barclay’s sworn testimony for the appeal, which satisfied three highly experienced judges,’ Janet reminded her. ‘We must assume he sent the letter.’
Frances smiled. ‘As long as you don’t forget that assumptions are always dangerous.’ To Wendy, she said: ‘You may answer, dear. We’ve already discussed what you’ll say.’
Her agonised features betraying the conflict between faith and professional loyalty, Wendy drew a deep breath. ‘I can’t believe Father Brett would lie. I believe he handed over the letter, like he said. Why would he lie about it? He had nothing to gain. He wasn’t even involved.’
‘ And you still maintain you don’t wish to amend your statements?’ asked Janet.
Frances stepped in once more. ‘DC Evans wants to know why didn’t you voice your doubts before the appeal, or when you were interviewed prior to suspension.’
‘ I couldn’t think straight! I
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