cup of tea?”
“No, thank you, Mrs Deverill.” Mallory looked around him a second time. “I haven’t seen very much,” he went on, “but it seems obvious to me that living conditions on this farm are entirely inadequate for Matthew’s needs-”
“We were examined before he came,” Mrs Deverill interrupted.
“And frankly I’m appalled by Matthew’s physical condition. He looks as if he’s been worked to the bone. You’ve actually broken the law by keeping him out of school.”
“The boy’s been perfectly happy here. Haven’t you, Matthew!”
“No.” Matt was glad he’d been given a chance to speak. “I hate it here. I hate this farm. I hate you, most of all.”
“Well, that’s gratitude!” Mrs Deverill snapped.
“I’m going back to London,” Mallory said. “And I want you to know that I’ll be contacting the LEAF committee the moment I arrive. I’ll be recommending that Matthew is removed from your care with immediate effect.”
Mrs Deverill’s face darkened. Her eyes were like razors. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Are you threatening me, Mrs Deverill?”
There was a long pause.
“No. Why would I want to do that? I’m a law-abiding person. And if you really think that Matthew would be better off locked up in some sort of juvenile institution, that’s your business. Nevertheless you aren’t meant to be here, Mr Mallory. You weren’t invited, and this visit of yours is a violation of our agreement. You make your report, if you want to. But you’ll be the one who ends up with the red face.”
She turned on her heels and walked back into the farmhouse. Matt watched her go with a sense of elation. Mallory had defeated her. For the first time, he could see an end to his ordeal.
Mallory leant towards him. “Listen to me, Matt,” he said. “I’d put you in the car and take you with me if I could-”
“I wish you would,” Matt said.
“But I can’t. I don’t have any right and technically I’d be breaking the law. Mrs Deverill could even say I’d abducted you and in the long run I might be doing more harm than good. But give me twenty-four hours and I’ll be back. And then we’ll get you out of this dump. OK?”
“Sure.” Matt nodded. “Thanks.”
Mallory sighed. “If you want the honest truth, I was always against the LEAF Project,” he said. “It’s just a gimmick… another bit of government spin. They don’t really want to help kids like you. They’re only interested in massaging the figures, reducing the number of children behind bars.” He walked over to his car and opened the door. “Well, as soon as I’ve put in my report, they’ll have to listen to what I say. And whatever happens, I promise you Mrs Deverill will never get custody of anyone ever again.”
Matt watched him go. Then he turned and looked at the farmhouse. Mrs Deverill was standing in the doorway. She had taken off the apron and was now dressed all in black. She too had seen the detective leave, but said nothing. She stepped back, disappearing into the house. The door slammed shut behind her.
It was dark by the time Stephen Mallory reached the motorway and the fast route back to Ipswich. He was deep in thought as he steered his Honda Estate into the outside lane.
He hadn’t told Matt the whole truth. There never had been any conference in Harrogate.
Stephen Mallory specialized in juvenile crime. He had met many young delinquents, some only ten or eleven years old, and, like so many of them, it seemed to him that Matt wasn’t so much a criminal as a victim. He had already spoken to Kelvin, who was in a remand centre awaiting trial. He had met with Gwenda Davis and her partner Brian. He had read all the reports. But even so, he felt that there was something missing. The boy he had met was nothing like the one he’d been reading about.
And so, immediately after he had handed Matt over to Mrs Deverill, he had decided to see if he could fill in the missing pieces. He was in London anyway. Nobody would know, or care, how he spent the afternoon.
He had taken a taxi to a police records office in south London. Everything he needed was there in a cardboard box, one of about a hundred, filed away with a reference number and a name: FREEMAN M.J. There were articles cut out of the local newspaper in Ipswich, reports from both the local and the metropolitan police, a post-mortem report and a psychiatric assessment from a doctor who had been attached to the case. The story was exactly as he had been told. A road accident. The parents killed. An eight-year-old boy left behind. Adoption by an aunt in Ipswich. Mallory had read all of it before. But then, at the very bottom of the box, he had stumbled on a witness report that he hadn’t seen. It changed everything.
It was a signed statement by the woman who had been living next door to Matthew at the time of the accident; she had in fact been looking after him when it happened. Her name was Rosemary Green. Mallory read it twice, then ordered a taxi to take him to Dulwich. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. He doubted she would be in.
But he had been in luck. Rosemary Green was a teacher and arrived home just as he stepped out of the cab. He talked to her outside her small Victorian house with pink and white honeysuckle trailing all the way up the front wall. It was strange to think that Matthew Freeman had once played in the garden next door. It couldn’t have been a more different world from the one he would later inhabit in Ipswich.
Mrs Green didn’t have much to add to what she had already said. Yes, she agreed that her story didn’t seem likely, but it was true. She had explained it to the police at the time and she stood by it now, six years later.
Mallory had drunk two miniature bottles of whisky on the train back to Ipswich. A copy of Matthew’s file was on the table in front of him, as well as the late edition of the Evening Standard. The newspaper belonged to one of the passengers sitting opposite him. Mallory had almost snatched it out of the man’s hand when he saw the story on the front page.
A bizarre suicide in Holborn. A twenty-year-old criminal called Will Scott had been found dead in a street close to Lincoln’s Inn Fields. The cause of death was a knife wound to the heart, which police believed to be self- inflicted. Scott had a record for aggravated burglary and assault, and was a known drug dealer. Three witnesses had seen him following a middle-aged woman, dressed in a grey suit with a silver brooch shaped like a lizard. Police were urging her to come forward.
A coincidence?
Mallory remembered the brooch Mrs Deverill had been wearing. She had arrived late to the meeting, and she might well have come through Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He felt certain she must be the woman referred to in the article, although he had no idea how she could have been involved in Will Scott’s death. But from that moment on Mallory had been worried. He had found himself thinking more and more about Matthew and he was certain that the boy shouldn’t be in her care.
Then, only a few days later, he had intercepted a routine transmission from a police station in York: something about another death, one that had been reported by a fourteen-year-old boy from the LEAF Project. It had been enough for Mallory. He had cleared a space in his diary and headed north.
Now, driving back from Lesser Malling, he was very glad he’d done it. What he had seen had been a disgrace. The boy looked ill. More than that, he looked traumatized. And Mallory had quickly noticed the welts on his arm. Well, he would soon put a stop to it. He would hand in his own report the very next day.
He checked his speedometer. He was doing exactly seventy miles an hour. He had moved into the central lane and cars were speeding past him on both sides, all of them breaking the speed limit. He watched the red tail lights blur into the distance. It was raining again, tiny drops splattering against the windscreen. Was it his imagination or had it become very cold inside the car? He turned on the heater. Air pumped out of the ventilation grilles in the dashboard, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. He switched on the windscreen wipers. The road ahead shimmered and bent as the water swept over the glass.
Mallory glanced at the clock. It was half past nine. He was at least another two hours away from Ipswich – it would be midnight before he was home. He turned on the radio to listen to the news. The voices would help keep him awake.
The radio was tuned to BBC Radio 4 but there was no news. At first Mallory thought there was nothing on the radio at all and wondered if it had broken… like the heating. It really was very cold. Perhaps one of the fuses had blown. He would have to take the car into the garage when he got back. But then it came on. There was a burst of static and, behind it, something else.
A faint whispering.
