Traces of Red, page 6
‘It would be really helpful if you’d let me have a copy of the court transcripts. I could apply to get them but you know how long that takes.’
‘Consider it done.’
‘What do you think the chances are of getting him off?’
‘It depends very much on whether what we’ve got is accepted as new evidence by the Court of Appeal.’
‘What is it?’
He laughed again. ‘You know I’m not going to tell you that.’
13.
When David and I were growing up we were made aware that life is a business to which you give considerable attention. I don’t mean my family takes itself so dreadfully seriously we never laugh. What I do mean is my parents were hot on certain elements and made sure we were as well. Fairness. Open-mindedness. Honesty. God help me if I ever got caught telling lies.
Although my parents were quite happy for me to flit to and from new passions, they made sure I kept my head down when it came to education. I understand they were a little disappointed when neither David nor I took up law as a career since they’d both chosen it themselves, though Mum, rather than being a practising lawyer, teaches it at Victoria. David partially made up for that by presenting them with a lawyer as their daughter-in-law and, of course, they were full of pride when he got his PhD in Pols and landed a lectureship. Then when David became an MP they were ultra-proud. And I believe they’re pleased enough with me; they both express their admiration for the more serious programmes I’ve been involved in. Their opinion keeps me on my toes – they both find irresponsible reporting by the media repugnant.
Dad’s an old-fashioned lawyer. He believes utterly in the law and in traditional virtues of justice and honesty. Within the world in which he grew up, principles and morality were clearly defined. Both Mum and Dad come from families where social and political issues were imperative; Grandad – Dad’s father – is a Labour Party member, as his own father was, and has talked all his life about the family celebration the night that first Labour government got in.
I was ten years old. I can still hear those yells when the news came out over the radio. I was sitting on the floor in front of Dad and he reached down and put his hand on my head. ‘Mickey Savage’ll make sure this one gets an education.’
My mother’s family were also Labour supporters. As well as that they were pacifists. Mum’s dad was a conscientious objector who joined in Archie Barrington’s peace campaigns, got pelted with eggs and tomatoes and was sentenced to six months’ hard labour in Mt Crawford towards the end of the Second World War. I remember being incredulous as a child imagining my own Poppa having eggs thrown at him, my own Poppa being locked up in prison. Mum and Dad have a newspaper photograph of themselves in the second row of a protest against the war in Vietnam. They wear duffel coats, are holding hands, and both of them have long, straight hair and look absurdly young. Dad is carrying a placard which reads Eighteen Today Dead Tomorrow. Mum’s expression is zealous.
I remember Grandma coming to look after us when they joined the protest against the 1981 Springbok tour. I remember how she stood beside the door looking worried as they went down the steps. It could get bad, you will take care, won’t you? I was frightened. I started to cry and Mum ran back, took me out of Grandma’s arms and kissed me.
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of, darling. Mummy and Daddy have something important to do but we’ll be back before you know it.’
I grew up with the stories and the talk. I grew up also with the increasing awareness that people in authority can get things very badly wrong. Perhaps I was becoming so attracted to the Bligh case because of those factors. I remembered Dad telling me about Grandad’s intense anger when Arthur Allan Thomas was charged and found guilty. There’s an innocent man, rotting in prison with his life stolen away from him. Right now I’m ashamed to be a part of this bloody country. The police wanted a man for their crime and anyone would do.
While I’d worked on stories I considered important I knew many of them were simply trivial. Not only was this story my chance to prove myself professionally, it would also earn me a place of significance in my family. Grandad had cried when David was voted into Parliament. It was time for me to make my mark as well. Connor Bligh could be that innocent man, rotting in prison with his life stolen away from him.
Joe had the transcripts copied and dropped them in. ‘But you understand you didn’t get them from me,’ he said. ‘I know you could have got them anyway but, essentially, this is bypassing the rules.’
I sat down on a Friday evening with the 315 pages of transcript. The weekend was raw with a wind howling up from Cook Strait. The windows of my house that faced the sea were thick with spray and salt, making a gauzy shade between me and the outside world.
I sat in the window-seat reading, a pen in my hand, circling, underlining, writing comments in the margins. I slept and went back to it, occasionally making coffee and a sandwich.
I finished on Sunday around midnight. I put down the papers and stared out into the blackness. Yes. Other than Katy’s evidence, everything that the Crown had brought forward was circumstantial. But I could see how jury members might have become baffled. There was so much material, so many witnesses, and it would have been incredibly demanding to piece it all together: rather like being tossed one of those thousand-piece jigsaws without any picture to tell you what you were supposed to come up with. The Crown had put particular emphasis on the assertion that the image caught on CCTV and the ‘furtive-looking person smothered up in dark clothes’ recalled by a woman walking a dog that night were probably the same person.
‘That same person could be said to resemble Connor Bligh. Added to that was the sighting of the “oddly shaped light-coloured car” by four witnesses that night parked within metres of the Dickson house driveway which was, in all probability, Connor Bligh’s 1986 pale grey Peugeot 205. Those factors alongside Katy’s testimony present a strong likelihood of the accused being at the house that night.
‘And why was he there? To deliberately and brutally murder his nephew, his brother-in-law and the sister of whom he was so obsessively jealous.’
Could be said.
In all probability.
A strong likelihood.
How was it that the jury didn’t see through such obvious qualifiers? As well as that, why didn’t they take into account the two factors the Crown put such strong emphasis on: Bligh’s ‘atypical’ intelligence and the meticulous planning of the murders. Was it likely that he’d call into the local shop before or after killing his family? Wouldn’t he have made a bit more effort to park his car further away?
Nobody had definitely identified Connor Bligh in or near the neighbourhood that evening or had been able to absolutely verify that it was his car parked nearby. Nor had the neighbours in either of the adjoining houses seen anyone visiting or heard anything unusual. Lynne Struthers had heard both Angela’s and Rowan’s cars pull into the drive sometime after five-thirty and, after that, nothing more.
Then there was the ‘evidence’ of the estrangement between Connor and Angela. One witness described this as ‘unusual’ since Angela and Connor had been ‘very close’, a ‘closeness’ which was called into question time and time again by the prosecution.
‘Mrs Edwards, would you describe the relationship between you and the deceased persons.’
‘My husband worked with Rowan Dickson and we became family friends.’
‘Approximately how long did you know the family?’
‘I’d say … around five years.’
‘You visited the family regularly?’
‘Yes. The kids got on well. We had barbecues together. That sort of thing.’
‘Did you have the opportunity to observe the relationship between the Dicksons and the accused?’
‘Yes.’
‘So then. Could you describe to the court what you observed in regards to this relationship?’
‘Angela and Connor always appeared close.’
‘Yes, and how did this closeness manifest?’
‘Well, they were … he was often there when we were visiting and Connor, from what I understand, went on family holidays with them. Angela and Connor talked to each other a lot, they seemed to … well, they seemed to understand each other.’
‘They seemed to understand each other?’
‘Yes.’
‘From what you observed, was this closeness harmonious?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You didn’t observe any strains in the relationship between the accused and Angela Dickson?’
‘Oh. Uh, no. Never between Angela and Connor.’
‘And did Mr Bligh also appear to be on good terms with Angela’s family?’
‘Mainly. Sometimes, though, I thought there could have been a bit of tension.’
‘Would you explain that, please?’
‘Well, the relationship between Angela and Connor. They were so close, you see. It’s hard to explain but when Connor was there anyone else around might have felt … might have felt … excluded.’
‘Are you suggesting the accused and Mrs Dickson’s relationship was unusually close?’
‘Look, I’m not suggesting anything strange but Connor, well, he kind of took Angela over.’
‘He took her over?’
‘He was quite demanding of Angela’s time. He never seemed to want to talk to anyone else. It was … it was a bit embarrassing.’
‘Embarrassing?’
‘I found it embarrassing. He was like a child, always had to have his own way. Rowan never said anything but you could tell he was sometimes uncomfortable about it.’
‘Would you say that this kind of behaviour from the accused resulted in what you describe as tension within the family?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, according to your statement to the police, you say the relationship between the accused and Angela Dickson underwent a change?’
‘Connor seemed to have stopped visiting. Anyway, he was never there any more when we called around. I asked Angela—’
‘You asked Angela?’
‘I asked after Connor and she said he’d been busy. But she was upset. I could tell that something was wrong.’
Despite all the witnesses, all the forensic evidence related to fingerprints, weapons, blood types and times of death, what it came down to were two unverified sightings and the slim possibility that Bligh’s car had been near the Dickson house. That and Katy Dickson.
I found a photograph of her in a Dom Post news report. She’s pictured outside the court with Frances Jennings, who appears almost to be supporting her body before they get into a waiting car. Katy is pale, slight and beautiful. She has a fine-boned face and her shadowed eyes with those dark smudges below them call to mind the ghosts she carries with her. A jury could not help but feel compassion.
But what about her actual evidence? She told the court she phoned home from her friend’s house at about 6:30. Telecom confirmed that a call between the numbers had been made at 6:34. She had, she said, phoned to ‘check in’ as was always expected by her parents and spoke briefly to her mother. Her mother had sounded ‘fine’ but at the end of the call said she had to go and sounded distracted. Katy had heard her say ‘Con’ before the call was disconnected.
She was good under cross-examination: she stuck absolutely to her story. She was certain of what she’d had heard. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother had said ‘Con’ as she hung up the phone. She’d been surprised because Uncle Connor hadn’t been around for a while.
Had she been aware of any difficulty between her mother and uncle? Yes she had but she didn’t know what it had been about because her mother didn’t talk about it.
Had her mother appeared upset around this time? Katy thought she had been, she was sometimes quiet, sometimes looked like she’d been crying.
How did Katy get on with her uncle? Mostly fine.
‘Mostly fine?’
‘Sometimes Uncle Connor seemed to just want Mum on her own, he didn’t really like me and Sam and Dad taking up Mum’s time when he was there.’
‘Did he appear, in fact, to resent the rest of the family?’
‘Well, sometimes. Dad told me—’
‘Yes? Take your time, Katy. What was it your dad told you?’
‘He said Mum had to look after Uncle Connor when they were children. He said she still felt responsible for him.’
‘And, Katy, what did you feel about your uncle? Did you feel comfortable with him?’
‘He was at our place a lot so I was used to him. But sometimes I felt a bit scared around him.’
‘A bit scared? Why would you feel scared around your uncle?’
‘Look, I loved him and all that, he was my uncle, but he was different, you know? And just every now and then he seemed, well, he seemed a bit creepy.’
‘Different and creepy. Now, Katy, for the last time, I want you to tell the court what you heard before you hung up the phone that night, May the fifteenth.’
‘I heard Mum say “Con”.’
‘And you’re absolutely convinced that was what you heard?’
‘I know what I heard. It was the last thing I ever heard Mum say.’
The last thing I ever heard Mum say. If anything would ever get to a jury it would be that.
The Crown summed up. Connor Bligh had an unnaturally close relationship with his sister and was unusually dependent on her. He was odd, he was a loner, he was disliked by the people he worked with. His father had disinherited him and his own niece found him, in her own words, creepy.
The only person he had ever had a close relationship with was his sister and when that was broken for whatever reason, the pressure of resentment built until he snapped and killed both her and her family. He has been placed in the area, his fingerprints were in the house, there is a very strong chance the blood found in his car was from Angela.
And he had the motive.
Then it was the defence’s turn. Joe said there was no definite proof that Connor Bligh was in the area. There was a reasonable ratio of doubt as to whether blood found in his car had been Angela’s but even if it was that could be reasonably explained. Fingerprints belonging to Connor Bligh were found in the Dickson house but again with an entirely reasonable explanation. There had been witnesses who had disagreed with the portrayal of Connor Bligh as an odd and unlikeable character and who had, in fact, described him as hard-working and polite. Evidence given that Connor Bligh was envious and resentful of Angela Dickson’s inheritance from their father was proven false by the fact that Angela had chosen to share her inheritance with her brother. Any lessening of the time he spent with his sister before the tragedy could be explained by demands on her time and the escalating requirements of Bligh’s career. If there were changes within the relationship these were natural changes: Connor Bligh was drawing away from his sister as would be expected of a young adult man.
There was no motive. There was no proof. The premise that Connor Bligh would murder his sister and her family, people whom he clearly loved, was preposterous.
But he was a nerd, freak, a loner and this man in front of the jury with his oddly attractive, almost girlish face and wearing those weird shirts looked exactly the type to deviously plan then execute the vicious slaughter of an innocent family.
What you do with crazies like that is put them away.
I was hooked.
14.
Yes, I was hooked. By the challenge and, of course, the recognition the story could bring me – but also by an increasing fascination with Bligh.
I got into the daily habit of googling his name to see any updates and to look again at his photograph there on the screen.
Joe advised caution. Take care. Don’t start believing he didn’t do it. Hell, I don’t even know that and in your job you can’t risk alienating people.
At the same time he was willing to tell me those things you can’t learn from websites and newspaper articles. Connor Bligh played guitar, played it well, had been a mean volleyball player at school, had continued to play for varsity. So he is a team player. He liked to tell jokes; he had a huge repertoire and told them well, drawing on a variety of admirably executed accents when required. Connor Bligh is not cold and humourless. As for his background, the information was sparse. His father had brought up both him and Angela alone on the farmlet at Foxton Beach.
I mulled over any gleaned information after Joe left. I pictured this sensitive, super-bright kid on a farm. Probably Dick Bligh had expected to turn him into a farmer. Maybe that was why he’d cut him out of his will.
Farms to me were dismal places, filled with cowering animals, awful sights and smells. Farm houses were old and cold and uncomfortable. The Connor Bligh I imagined would not happily fit in with muck and cows.
Bligh became the main topic of conversation for Joe and me. When you first fall in love with someone who’s married, apart from the secrecy, it’s pretty much as it is with anyone else. You devour him: you want to know everything, every minute detail. In those small spaces between bouts of intense sexual activity you’re busy either handing out slices of your own history or sifting obsessively through his offerings. In an ordinary relationship, after that first ferocious greed for knowledge and bodies, you tend to look outwards and towards the future. You make plans, even if it’s only for the coming week. You meet friends and talk about friends, you go to films, plays and concerts. You eat together; from time to time you go away for weekends.
With someone who’s married you don’t make ordinary plans and the conversations you have gradually become limited. You don’t share each other’s social worlds, and talk of the future can lead into areas where neither of you wish to venture. A relationship is a bit like the bones of a story. If you don’t have anything to flesh it out then it remains a pared-down skeleton without depth or life. Still, you keep returning to it; you’ve got this frame of something good, maybe even wonderful. It’s all there except somehow you just can’t do it.
