Traces of Red, page 5
A house pertaining to the inquiry has been searched. Police have removed material and matter. A car – an unusual model – has been seized.
The scrutiny intensified. A teenager who was also in the shop where the CCTV footage was taken was interviewed on television. He was certain that the man he saw there looked exactly like photos he’d seen in the newspaper of Connor Bligh, kind of weird, you know? Frances Jennings appeared on This Week and spoke movingly of the effect this ‘dreadful tragedy’ had had on her and the family, especially her niece, Katy, who was ‘utterly traumatised, unable to leave the house some days’. At times Frances Jennings wept, at other times her face was vibrant and her voice animated as she spoke about her brother – everyone loved Rowan, he was easy-going, kind and forgiving – and of her nephew Sam, a talented boy with a bright future in front of him. Angela was a good mother. When she was asked about Connor Bligh and his relationship with Angela the camera moved in for a close shot as her face tightened.
‘They were very close and then everything changed between them. Angela never spoke about it but something happened. It must have.’
‘But before that she’d talk to you about Connor?’
Her voice is strained. ‘Angela often talked about Connor.’
‘And what sort of things would she say about him?’
‘How clever he was. How well he was doing. That sort of thing.’
‘And you have no idea, Frances, why that could have changed?’
‘No.’ She says it firmly.
‘What about your own dealings with Connor? Were you friends?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Was there any particular reason for that? Did you find him … unapproachable?’
‘I’d prefer not to talk about it.’ Her lips snap shut.
I can’t help smiling as I watch. Sally Jeffries has realised too late that she’s lost her subject. It’s one of the worst things that can happen in an interview, especially when it’s live. Generally Sally’s good, she’s a little plump and very smiley and she makes people feel comfy enough to give away information they later regret. But Frances Jennings has become prickly and taciturn.
I see Sally lean slightly forward and smile encouragingly. Her voice has audibly softened. ‘But you were friends with Angela?’
‘Of course.’
‘Frances, did the relationship between Angela and her brother ever concern you? I understand that Connor was very dependent on his sister.’
‘In my opinion Angela was much too kind to Connor.’
Sally is nodding sympathetically. ‘Would you say that, sometimes, that kindness to her brother was to the detriment of her husband and children?’
‘Angela always—’ Frances trips on a word, then hesitates and stops. ‘Well, I. I believe Connor was very manipulative.’
What had she meant to say? That Angela put Connor before her husband and children? That Angela cared most for Connor? What was it? I played it back, listening intently, but I couldn’t make it out.
Reporters assigned to the case seemed eager to follow the angle, which was basically a Connor Bligh character assassination. Antisocial nerds running amok and killing people are always amazingly newsworthy and there were plenty of people longing to emerge from the woodwork with their very own Connor Bligh revelation to confide to a voracious public. People remembered him from school as kind of a mad genius really. A receptionist who’d been on duty in A & E when a suicide case came in was positive the man she’d attended was Connor Bligh. In the end, she retracted her statement but still, the image of someone sick and unhinged was reinforced in the public eye.
Will Grahame from the Sunday Chronicle wrote an article pointing out that the journalism on the case had set up a situation of trial by media. He suggested that when a crime generates widespread emotion, any reporting must be approached responsibly to prevent trials in which those concerned, including the jury, are already prejudiced. He gave details followed by analysis of each piece of ‘evidence’ that had been fed to journalists. There was no certainty, he said, that the man captured on CCTV footage was the man seen in the neighbourhood and pictured in the identikit image. Neither was there any assurance that these images pointed to Connor Bligh being either of these persons. Nor was there any evidence which associated the men pictured with the murders other than that they were in the area at the time of the crimes.
Furthermore, there had been no evidence so far, he said, to imply that anything sinister or suspicious had been found, either in Connor Bligh’s house or his car. Furthermore, although there was support for the contention that Angela Dickson and Connor Bligh had not recently seen each other, there was no confirmation of an argument or a rift. All of the so-called evidence suggesting Connor Bligh had killed his sister and her family was pure speculation, grounded in hearsay and unfounded gossip.
He described the conditions which could possibly lead to wrongful convictions and that were of particular significance in the Dickson murders. One particular factor was where there was a high-profile case with public pressure demanding a conviction. Further, in such cases, he suggested, an ‘outsider’ or an unpopular character may assume the function of scapegoat to appease the public requirement for having someone ‘pay’ for the crime. These factors, he said, were patently evident in relation to the Dickson murders and if rationality and judicious journalism did not prevail, the country could experience the same shameful situation as in the wrongful convictions of Arthur Allan Thomas and David Dougherty.
Detective Inspector Strode was swift in responding. The Dickson inquiry was at a ‘sensitive point’, Will Grahame’s story contained material which could ‘seriously destabilise weeks of police investigation’. His actions were ‘contemptuous’ and displayed ‘entire disrespect for the investigative processes’. From then on he ignored Grahame’s questions during media briefings on the case. Subsequently Grahame was removed from the inquiry by his editors and replaced by another journalist.
I became more and more certain that this was the story to propel me into the status I now needed, that of an independent and noteworthy journalist. Besides that, the research filled up weekends and evenings that had become a little empty. Increasingly my friends were acquiring lovers, husbands and babies. They could spare me a few hours for a shopping trip, a coffee, sometimes a meal and a film. But at the end of it they would scuttle off home.
Every advice column in every women’s magazine, every self-help book, every woman you know, will tell you you’d be crazy to get into a relationship with a married man.
The reasons are all clearly evident before you dive in, which you do on the grounds that ‘this is different because you Love Each Other’. The resulting problems are so boringly clichéd and provide such constant reminders of how hopeless and pathetic the situation is that they’re regular prompts telling you how stupid you are to stay in it. As well, they wring out your heart.
You can’t phone him unless it’s by arrangement and if you do it’s likely he’ll sound curt and indifferent and hang up in your ear as soon as he possibly can without attracting questions from his business associates or his PA or friends or his listening wife and/or children.
You can’t see him unless by painstaking arrangements which will, more often than not, be changed or cancelled. You can’t make plans with him or rely on him for anything other than infrequent interludes usually filled up with falling onto the nearest bed.
You can’t have dinners or lunches in public. You can’t spend Christmas together. He can’t take you out on your birthday and you can’t go on holidays. When you’re invited to a wedding or a dinner party you go alone.
You can’t have his children.
Three years ago Mum and Dad had their once-a-year party. Their parties are Events. Everybody there, great food and wine, heaps of flowers and candles, the whole house humming with the sound of people talking flat-out either inside or out in the courtyard where the garden is specially lit up. They have the same three-piece band there every year – bass, piano, clarinet – and some people dance and there’s the odd two or three who get a bit pissed and try to sing.
I was having a good time. I was into my second year on the programme and I felt great; I liked what I was doing, how I was looking. I liked being recognised, liked that people swivelled around for a second, slightly startled and definitely admiring, stare.
I started talking to Joe Fahey. He’s a barrister and a partner in Dad’s law firm. He said he’d been impressed by a recent feature we’d done on people who’d been evacuated from Britain to New Zealand as children. He asked what I was working on and I told him about a proposal to do something on Irish migrants. He said his grandfather had come here as an assisted migrant and told me a little about his family. It sounded interesting. I asked if he’d consider allowing us to use the information and maybe even interview him. He gave me his card.
We had coffee a week or so later, followed by another coffee then another. We had lunch, more lunches. The subsequent story followed what I imagine to be the usual course. I knew all the reasons why I shouldn’t become involved and still I went ahead. Why do perfectly rational and intelligent women do this? The general verdict on women involved with married men is they’re callous wreckers of the sanctity of marriage. Married men who have affairs are, depending on the perspective, unscrupulous bastards or roguish lechers.
All I know is I’m no home-wrecker and Joe is not unscrupulous and that it is possible to become so caught up in a rush of attraction and longing that rationality doesn’t come into it. It isn’t as if Joe doesn’t love, respect and admire Michelle. The difficulty is he loves me as well and I love him too intensely to stop being with him.
For the past three years we’ve seen each other when we can. We’ve had the odd anxious and glorious weekend away together. We talk, we laugh, we make love, just like anyone else. The difference is he always has to leave. When he leaves I have to gather myself up, and get on with things. There’s no point in crying and shrieking; there’s no one there to listen and to put their arms around me. I can’t tell anyone. He’s a prominent lawyer; most people know who I am and the media would love it.
He’s forty-seven. He’s had his children and in a few years, no doubt, he’ll be a grandparent. I grew up in the kind of family I long to replicate. I see Anna and David with their children and I want that so much my heart aches. But I love Joe. I can’t imagine being without him, can’t imagine loving someone else. That’s the way it is. Checkmate.
And, just to add to the complications, he is acting for Connor Bligh.
He knocked on the door on Sunday morning. He had a bag of croissants in his hand. ‘Thought you might like breakfast.’
We never speak of the arrangements Joe makes so he can be with me. I manage, though with great difficulty, to refrain from asking about his family and domestic arrangements. Sometimes he tells me odd little bits. Sarah has a new job, Pip passed her exams, Simon is off skiing. He rarely speaks of Michelle.
We went to bed then I made coffee and we sat on the deck eating croissants spread with butter and strawberry jam. We talked about a film we’d both gone to, though separately, and about a novel he’d lent me, not so good as her last one. We reviewed our separate weeks.
‘Tell me about Connor Bligh,’ I said.
He looked up quickly, his eyebrows raised. ‘Why are you interested?’
‘David was talking about the case. He’s had a petition sent to him wanting Bligh’s release. It was signed by a lot of people.’
‘He’s got quite a network behind him now. I’ve had a few letters myself, some of them offering to donate funds.’
‘I’ve been looking through old news reports. He was made out to be a fairly unlikeable character.’
‘You know what the media’s like.’
‘Hey.’ I grinned and poked him across the table. ‘Remember I’m a part of it. Anyway, what do you think? Did he do it?’
Joe poured more coffee into his cup, added milk and stirred it with a teaspoon. When he looked at me again he wasn’t smiling back.
‘Bligh says he didn’t and almost all the evidence against him was circumstantial. It seems to be one of those cases of, if he didn’t do it then who else did?’
‘Hardly grounds for finding him guilty.’
‘This sort of thing happens. If there’s not an obvious offender in a high-profile case the police start casting around for the most likely one. In the odd case they get it wrong.’
‘Do you think they may have this time?’
He shook his head. ‘I really don’t know. It’s a case that’s bothered me, in fact bothered me quite a lot.’
‘What d’you make of him?’
‘He’s always courteous and he answers any questions readily enough but he’s very reserved, he doesn’t give a lot away. He never says much about it but it must be appallingly difficult for him to be locked up in there. He had a successful academic career ahead of him before all this happened.’
‘From what I can work out, Angus Strode saw him as a suspect from the start but he didn’t charge him until July. Strode’s main comment up to that time was there were no suspects and that the people who’d been spoken to were only witnesses. What was that all about?’
He frowned slightly. ‘What do you think it was all about?’
‘Was it because he didn’t have enough of a case? Except what puzzles me about that possibility is that everything they had against Bligh must have been gathered up in the first few weeks after the Dicksons died. Do you think Strode was waiting for more concrete evidence to turn up?’
‘It could have been that. The police would have had his place bugged and been keeping a close eye on him so they could have been waiting for him to slip up and let something out. Either that or—’
‘Or what?’
‘Think about what happened in those months after the bodies were found.’
‘All the hype, you mean? Are you saying Strode deliberately waited for the media to get into it so that it’d be almost impossible to conduct an impartial trial?’
‘The media knew Strode was after Bligh the minute it was leaked that he’d been linked to the CCTV footage and the identikit image. Once they knew that it was open slather, so long as Bligh wasn’t charged.’
‘But that’s not fair.’ I stood up and leaned back against the balustrade, staring down at him. ‘That’s just not fair.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you this but things like this rarely are fair. It’s all a bit of a game, I’m afraid.’
‘You think it’s all right that the police can get away with crap like this?’
‘I don’t think it’s right,’ he said, coming to stand beside me and gently taking my hand. ‘I don’t think it’s right at all, but you have to work with things the way they are.’
‘But what you’re suggesting is that Strode had to find someone to charge so he chose some vulnerable person and played games so he had the best chance of making sure he got a conviction?’
Joe leaned against the railing, his face turned towards the harbour. ‘It’s what’s known as “noble cause corruption”. That is, basically, there’s a sense of certainty that someone is responsible for a crime and, as a result, investigators are prepared to use crooked methods to make sure he’s found guilty. Strode was satisfied Bligh did it and he did everything in his power to make sure he ended up behind bars. I’d say unequivocally that Strode remains convinced that he got the right man and that his methods were reasonable under the circumstances.’
‘But it’s not right. The law is such shit.’
He held up his hands. ‘Guilty as charged.’
‘What’s Connor Bligh like? Describe him for me.’
‘What’s he like?’ He grins. ‘You know me, I’m not good at answering that sort of question.’
‘Try.’
‘Physically he’s tallish, very slim. You don’t often say this about a man but his face is quite … well, beautiful. Prominent cheekbones and very blue eyes which he always fixes on you as you’re speaking. He certainly has an intense presence.’
‘I was thinking of doing a feature on him.’
‘I thought that may be the case.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Could be interesting.’ He took my hand again and gently kneaded the palm with his thumb. ‘You may be wise to be tread warily, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a case that’s raised a lot of interest. It’s also been a source of division. There’s strong emotion attached to it. Not only because of the savagery of the murders and that feeling that this was an ordinary middle-class family, which makes it seem quite extraordinary and disturbing; but because of Connor Bligh himself. The persona presented to the public appears to have polarised people. There are those who see him as an abnormally brilliant psychopath who’s a threat to ordinary people and should be locked away for life – and they mean for life. On the other hand, his supporters see a victim who’s received very harsh and unfair treatment.’
‘I can’t help feeling that way myself. Especially when I look at photographs of him.’
‘There you are then.’
‘Where do you stand?’
‘In the absolute middle of the fence and I’d strongly advise you to join me there.’
‘Why?’
‘If you put together a programme that indicates a bias either way regarding Bligh getting out, you’ll alienate at least fifty percent of your viewers. If you show you’re sympathetic to his cause you’ll have the police against you and the indications are that Angus Strode isn’t a good enemy to have. If you’re going to do this you need to be seen as impartial.’
‘Make it kind of like you be the jury?’
‘Yes. You can believe whatever you like but just don’t tell everyone.’
I moved closer, resting my head against his shoulder, fitting my hip against his thigh. ‘Darling?’
He laughed. ‘I understand you’re about to make a request.’
