CHAPTER 61
We had opted for the breakfast, which was decent enough as it went, and with it being midweek the place was almost empty as we ate. Jon was very quiet.

“You OK, mate?”

He chewed a mouthful of toast as he considered his reply.

“Di?”

“Yeah?”

“He bloody terrified me”

“So he should, mate. Nothing to be ashamed of there”

“Yes, but he’s a victim as well”

I used my tea to give myself a few seconds before answering.

“Yes, he is. It doesn’t excuse what he did. It certainly doesn’t explain it. All it does is set it in context. I know what you’re thinking, and it goes like this: would he have done what he did without what was done to him as a kid. Am I right?”

“Sort of, I suppose”

“Well, that’s moot. He did it, he got caught, he’s unlikely to get out. What is the role of prison, DC Philips?”

“Er, punishment, deterrent, public safety and rehabilitation”

I nodded. “That bit about punishment, though, is not about retribution, vengeance, is it? It’s really supposed to be part of the deterrent part. That Prison Officer, Colin? He understands that bit, and the rest of it as well”

“You think he’s trying to rehabilitate Bowles?”

“Fuck, no. I think that bus left years ago. What I suspect is that he’s simply trying to protect him, show someone a bit of humanity. I don’t know about rehabilitation, but, well, stranger things have happened with other offenders. No; Colin’s nursing Bowles. Decent man, him”

“I, you know, I couldn’t do that, not with what he did”

I gave him yet another shrug.

“Not many people can, mate. That is what makes proper old-school PO’s like him so valuable. I think they will have real problems with Bowles when Colin retires. Anyway, as I said, the rest will be easier now he’s out of the way. Get that eaten, and we’ll get back to the nick”

So it proved over the next month or so, as the team worked its way through a list of low-order offenders and the occasional addict before finally arriving at the last name on the list, one Benjamin Nicol, now resident in Southport. That one meant a complicated train ride, as it was more than a little drive, and while Jon had handled his end well at Long Lartin I really didn’t want him faced with a mammoth drive if Nicol proved to be as disturbing as Bowles.

What a complicated bloody trip! Cardiff Central to Manchester Piccadilly and then on to Southport meant an hour sitting in Manchester, but the alternatives involved change after change, and I really couldn’t be arsed with that faff. I made sure I had enough on my e-reader to fill the time, and packed an overnight bag. Our management booked us into another Premier Inn place out by the seafront, and I resigned myself to another night without hubby, who had drawn an interview in Manchester itself, so at least we got to ride up together, along with his own fresh meat, Abby. The cheeky sod had popped down to the old place the night before, though, and cadged a packed lunch for us from Mam, and in an inspired diversion on the way home he had stopped to say hello to Gemma. The box of pastries he brought back was a simple and unconnected coincidence, Your Honour.

They left Jon and myself in the depressing place that is Manchester Piccadilly, where we slumped in a couple of uncomfortable seats with a coffee each before our train was finally called for boarding. It wasn’t a comfortable one.

My mood wasn’t improved by Southport, which simply did not appeal. We had come through delightful places like Wigan, but Southport looked brittle. We walked from the station alongside a lot of the usual shops, and came out by a monument of some kind, with various colonnades near it. All very civic-pride, but the people hanging around certainly didn’t match the ambitions.

Down another street and over a main road took us to a more traditionally ‘seaside’ area, with ‘attractions’ and ‘wonderlands’ and the start of Southport Pier, complete with electric train, and as we turned away from it Jon directed us to a bridge over what was marked as ‘Marine Lake’. There was a blocky building ahead, in a wasteland of car parking, and my boy shook his head.

“That is our hotel, Di. We are really living the jet-set dream, aren’t we?”

We arrived, checked in, and went to see the sea. That turned out to be an interminable wasteland of mud and dead seaweed, flocks of birds here and there and the pier going out to ‘sea’ for what seemed like half a lifetime’s walk. No wonder they had a train on it.

The wind cut like a knife, and for an instant I wished I had pushed Jon onto the train with Abby and kept Blake. I knew where I wasn’t coming for my honeymoon. Jon stood beside me, eyes damp from the wind, and suddenly grinned.

“You’re going to hate me, Di!”

“What are you thinking, fresh meat of mine? Better be good!”

“Um, just how much this place reminds me of Barry”

“Oh you sod, Philips! What you got there?”

“Bins, Di. Bird-watching for the use of. And then that thing over there, of course”

“Eh?”

“Look up the coast. No, that way. North. Use these”

Blackpool Tower was what he meant, and I decided that if that place was anything like Southport, I had seen all I needed of it. We ate that evening in one of the block of food outlets opposite the hotel, a place called something like ‘Genghis Khan’s Stomach Invaders’ or ‘Kung Fu Eat Till You Puke Oriental Buffet’, and it was as shit as it sounded. I spent the night dry-mouthed and sweaty, and while the breakfast was as adequate as it had been at Evesham, I wasn’t in the best of moods when we made our way to Leicester Street, which seemed to be filled with guest houses and small hotels. The Nicol place was a ground-floor flat in a large converted house, and the speed with which the door was answered made me realise how nervous the old man must be.

He was fastidious in appearance, with a tie and blazer along with a neatly-trimmed moustache giving just an air of the Fawlty Towers Major, but his manner was much softer.

“Detective Constable Owens? Do come in”

The flat was spotless, and while I am not a fan of ‘pastel’, that was the only word that fitted. A tray of tea was waiting on a coffee table, and sat behind it was another older man, as neat as Nicol. He rose to shake our hands, with a slight frown.

“Hello. DC Owens? Philips? I am Ben’s husband, Peter Nicol-Clements. Ben has told me a little of what you wish to speak of, but I am unsure if it is a good idea, given, well; given the issues involved. Please feel free to do what our American cousins would call making your pitch, and we will consider it. Oh, do sit. Ben, love? Their coats?”

Nicol bustled around us, tells off the scale with nerves as his other half poured, and then we settled back with a welcome and warm cuppa. I opened the batting.

“Mr Nicol…”

“ben, please, and this curmudgeon is Peter”

“Thank you. Di and Jon for our part. Are you happy discussing this matter before your husband?”

“Everything is always done with or beside my husband, Di. Ever since we met. This matter will be no different”

I turned to the other man.

“How much has Ben told you?”

“Everything”

Ben took his hand.

“Not everything, my dear. Not everything”

Peter looked worried at that last comment.

“And we have police officers here with us? Is it something that you did, love? Something else they locked you up for?”

There was hatred there, not for his husband, but something and someone else was being triggered. To my surprise, it was Jon who interrupted, and I noticed how he was letting himself slip into a slightly camper pattern of speech. Nothing at all like Chris and his rainbow explosion of a personality, but just enough to be read.

“No, Peter, it is nothing that Ben has done, nothing like that. We are aware of what he was charged with, of course, but trust us, that matter is closed”

Peter snarled back, “That matter, as you call it, was a travesty. That little bastard was lying and how it ever got to court, never mind a conviction…”

H stopped, breathing deeply, and I took my chance.

“Mersey View, Ben. That is what we want to ask you about”

Peter looked up, eyes narrowed.

“That was the foster home you mentioned, love. Why are they asking about that?”

Jon flashed me a look, and it was a clear one: Ben had obviously not told his husband anything, never mind ‘everything’. My boy turned back to the couple.

“I see we might have opened up a wound, Ben. We can leave it there if you wish”

Ben stared at his hands and drew a long, slow breath.

“No. Thank you, but no. This is something I should have been open about from the beginning”

Jon looked hard at the second man.

“I need to make it very clear that Ben has done absolutely nothing wrong here. This is a criminal investigation, but he is a victim, nothing more”

Ben shook his head.

“Let me tell it, please. Peter?”

“Yes?”

“You know I was in care for a couple of years?”

“Of course”

“Well, Mersey View was the place I was sent to. There were other places of a similar kind”

“Go on”

“Kincora. Bryn Estyn”

“Oh god. Not… You should have told me, love!”

“It’s not an easy thing to admit, my darling. Being shop-soiled, yes? Damaged goods…”

I jerked at those words, the same ones I had used to beat myself up with, and Ben looked hard at me, at my shudder.

“Ah. You too, young lady? I see now why you were chosen. And was it a deliberate choice to send another such as us to accompany you? Yes, Jon, we can both see. Our compliments to your superiors for their sensitivity. The police were never like that in my previous experiences of their kind attention to my life. Peter, this will be a long day, so please, be patient. It will be a rough ride for all of us, I feel”

He turned back to me.

“I know that Mr and Mrs Parsons are both dead. What has stirred the pot, my dear?”

“We are a unit dedicated to reviewing old cases, and this one has arisen as…”

Fuck Police, Professional, just for once.

“My own assault opened up a can of worms that led to a large number of arrests for other rapes and assaults. We have a collection of utter bastards locked up now, but it still hurts. It hurts me, personally, less to know the men involved are going to see their own lives go to waste as they wasted so much of my own life. Partly as a result of our investigations, the subject of Mersey View came up, and there are people we have met that we would like to offer a similar release to. Jon and I have spoken to several other victims already, though we can’t name them, obviously. The problem is that matters didn’t end with the closure of Mersey View. Some of the staff moved on”

Ben’s eyes opened wide.

“Who?”

“Charlie Cooper and Don Hamilton”

I was used to that reaction by now, but it was never an easy one to take.

Ben shuddered. “Peter, my love, you understand now what went on there. Yes, like that place in Wales. Charlie and Don were… They were exactly what you might assume them to have been. Where did they go to, Di?”

“Carlisle”

This time, it was Peter whose head jerked.

“Please tell me it wasn’t to a place called Castle something or other”

“Castle Keep, yes. I am afraid so. You know about it?”

“Oh yes. I followed the reports I had a couple of friends from London who knew about it. Benny, love, no shame, no fear, but we clear this mess up now. Today, if we can, if you have the strength. Jon, my dear, you mentioned two names?”

“Er, yes. Sorry; used to being sort of second fiddle to di”

“Your time will come, I am sure. Now, these two men?”

“Um… Hamilton is deceased, but Cooper is in Carlisle prison”

He looked across at me, and grinned.

“My companion here says she wants to make sure he loses sleep big-time”

Peter looked across the settee and took his husband’s hand.

“Then, Benny my love, shall we do just that? What Roger told me about that other place, well, there are ghosts that need laying. You have a recorder, Jon?”

We left Ben and Peter to console each other afterwards, and splashed out on a taxi back to the station, where the long ride back to Cardiff awaited. Jon was pensive.

“Penny for them, mate?”

He shook his head.

“Ah, just a silly thought, Di. I want to see that bastard, want to watch him squirm, isn’t it? But I just wish we could let him meet Ben, or Deb, or any of the others. Let them see their demon for what he really is. A nothing. That’s what I know we’ll see when we get to him, yeah? Just another sad little shit with no future, but a fucking nasty past”

He looked over towards the departure boards.

“Can I get pissed on your stag night, hen night, whatever? I have had more than enough of this case”