Disordered Minds

'I asked her if she believed they'd caught the right man,' she went on after a moment, 'and she said no. Others were persuaded by his confession and the evidence, but she wasn't.' She placed a hand on the folder. 'She was one of the witnesses who came forward to say she'd seen Howard on the day of the murder, but she wasn't called at trial. At the time she was relieved, because she'd never been in court before and she'd found the police questioning intimidating. Afterward she questioned why her evidence had been excluded. She even wrote to her MP about it, although she never received an answer.' She pulled a face. 'It's not atypical, but considering what she had to say it should have been taken up.' She fell silent again.

'What was it?'

'That she'd seen Howard's arrival and not his departure. She was cleaning her sitting-room window when she watched him let himself into his grandmother's house with his key. She had the radio on and she was listening to the lunchtime news on the Home Service. The presenter signed off just after Howard closed the door.' George smiled impatiently at his lack of understanding. 'In 1970 Radio 4 was called the Home Service, and the lunchtime news finished at two o'clock. It was followed by The Archers, and my father tuned in every day.' She rapped her knuckles on the edge of the table. 'There really is no way that Howard could have done everything he was accused of in half an hour.'

Jonathan felt a stirring of excitement. 'Did this woman make a statement?'

'Yes. I used my contacts on the police committee to try to get hold of the original, but we didn't have any success. If the file's still in existence, no one knows where it is-the best guess is that it was destroyed after Howard died. However, I do have a copy that my neighbor dictated to me from memory in 1997. It won't be exactly the same, of course, but she signed it and we had it officially notarized.' She heaved a sigh. 'Poor woman. She died shortly afterward, riddled with guilt that she hadn't made more of an effort to keep him out of prison.'

He dropped ash onto his plate. 'Why didn't she?'

'Because she was a humble little person who had absolute faith in the police. Before the trial she assumed her evidence wasn't important enough to call her as a witness; afterward she started to worry about it. She said she spoke to the local bobby, and he told her it was done and dusted. She made an attempt to contact Wynne, but Wynne had already been rehoused because of the furor ... then Howard hanged himself.'

'And she gave up?'

'Yes.'

'When did she write to the MP?'

'Three days before Howard died. She assumed that's why she never had a reply. Then I came along and stirred her up again.' She paused. 'I still don't know if it was the right thing to do. She'd managed to persuade herself he wouldn't have confessed if he hadn't done it, and her conscience would have been easier if she could have gone on believing that.'

'You can't blame yourself.'

She gave a small laugh. 'You'd be surprised what I can blame myself for, Dr. Hughes. At the moment I'm beating myself up because the car wouldn't start. They say a good beginning makes a good ending, so the reverse must be equally true ... start badly and it goes downhill from then on.'

Jonathan ignored the comment. From his perspective, things had improved considerably since she'd started taking the meeting seriously, and he wondered how long she intended to make excuses. It was a peculiarly English characteristic to keep worrying at the vomit. He took a notepad and pen from his briefcase. 'What was your neighbor's name?'

Her blue eyes searched his black ones for a moment before, with obvious regret, she screwed her face into pained apology. 'Oh dear, this is where we hit the buffers at the bottom of the slope. I'm afraid I'm not going to tell you, Dr. Hughes, nor will I allow you to read my notes. I've made free with one piece of information that points to Howard's innocence because I'm embarrassed to have brought you all the way down here only to send you away empty-handed. However, if you want to write this book, then you'll have to put in the hours yourself-as I have done.'

He stared at her with contempt, saying nothing, and she wiggled her shoulders uncomfortably. 'I'm sure you'll believe it's a racist thing, but it isn't. I've spent fifteen years researching Howard's case, the last ten trying to bring it to public attention. I was so optimistic when I heard your interview on Radio 4 and read your book, but now...' She broke off with a shake of her head.

He gave a cynical laugh. 'But now that you know Disordered Minds has raised the interest to a commercial level,' he finished for her, 'you'll try to write the book yourself. Have you ever written anything before, Miss Gardener? It's not easy, you know.'

She tucked the folder back into its carrier bag and stood up, reaching for her coat. 'You misunderstood me. The reason I won't share my information with you, Dr. Hughes, is because I don't like you.' She shrugged. 'You exploit your color to intimidate people, and in my book that's a form of abuse. You might not have treated me like dirt if I'd been better dressed or hadn't arrived late, but I doubt it. As my father was fond of saying, what can you expect from a pig but a grunt?'

*6*

There was no sign of George when Jonathan followed her downstairs five minutes later, but her Mini was still parked where she'd left it in the yard, with a wire trailing from a battery charger under the hood to a plug inside the kitchen. The sleet had turned to rain and he stood irresolutely by the back door, wondering what to do. Leave? Seek her out to apologize? If so, what for? He didn't understand the accusation of abuse at all. He'd taken Roy's slights, even accepted his apology with the best grace he could muster. What more could he have done? He certainly hadn't inflicted his color on George over lunch.

Nevertheless, he'd clearly said something to make her angry, although he had no idea what it was. It certainly wasn't his reference to her writing the book, because she'd made up her mind by then. Nor had he challenged any of her theories-which was the reason his colleagues usually took umbrage. Perhaps she'd been offended that the flaring pain in his gut had prevented him eating Trent's lard-filled hotpot? His natural inclination was to pin her down and argue the logic of her position. If she wanted publicity for Howard, then whether she liked Jonathan or not was