‘Come and say hello,’ said Richard Jeffries.
Both children obediently got up from the floor and came towards us. I studied Stephen Jeffries carefully. He had the typical features of Down’s Syndrome children and, it appeared, just as Claudia Smith had told us, the typical affectionate nature.
The boy stared at Mellor and I nervously and after taking a few uncertain steps towards us went straight to his father, took his hand, and, his shyness now overcoming him, half hid behind Dr Jeffries who spoke to him soothingly and ruffled his spiky fair hair. The little girl, as if unwilling to let her brother have all the attention, also then went to her father and grasped him by the leg.
Jeffries, his face still pink from shock and anger, looked down at them both with fondness, and in turn the children looked up at him with what appeared to be complete adoration. Certainly it seemed to me that neither child showed any sign of awkwardness or unease with their father.
Abruptly Richard Jeffries crouched down and put an arm around each child hugging them to him. A gesture to which they responded eagerly.
‘Is this the problem, Detective Chief Inspector?’ he asked me. ‘Physical contact is particularly important to Down’s Syndrome children, perhaps you know that. I like to cuddle my children. Have we got to the stage where a man cannot do that any more? If so then I reckon we live in a pretty sick place.’
He was obviously very distressed. To be honest, at that stage I found his reactions to be quite understandable, and also almost exactly what I would expect from an innocent man accused of something so abhorrent. But you don’t take risks with child abuse.
‘It’s a little bit more than that, I’m afraid, Dr Jeffries,’ I said. Although I wasn’t entirely convinced.
He knew the ropes of course, knew as well as I did that the next stage was for his children to be interviewed by a police officer and a social worker on video in the victim suite at Lockleaze. I had never before dealt with a suspect accused of a crime which it was part of his job to try to prevent, and I rather hoped I wouldn’t have to do so again. Certainly I had no idea whether or not he would choose to co-operate. Fortunately he did, which I suppose I might have expected. After all Richard Jeffries would be well aware how lack of co-operation could rebound and possibly result in children being judged at risk and even taken into care at a much earlier stage than would otherwise happen during an investigation. He also knew the lengths which were gone to, even if sometimes this jeopardised the construction of a case, not to upset children in any way. He stood up, still holding Stephen by the hand.
‘All right, DCI Piper, talk to my children,’ he said coldly. ‘We have nothing to hide in this family.’
Elizabeth Jeffries had remained sitting on the sofa by the fire. She got up then, walked to her husband’s side, took his free hand, and began to speak for the first time.
‘I haven’t said anything before because I can barely trust myself,’ she announced. Her eyes were very dark now, her lips trembled as she spoke, yet her voice was controlled and even colder than her husband’s. ‘I just don’t believe that anyone could suspect Richard of such a terrible thing. He has devoted his life to children. He adores Stevie, look at the boy, just look at him...’
I did so. Little Anna had again grasped one of her father’s legs and Stephen appeared to be trying to climb up the other. He was laughing and giggling to himself, the picture of a happy contented child, although, picking up on his mother’s distress, he did glance at her anxiously.
‘It’s all right, darling, everything will be fine,’ said Richard Jeffries to his wife. ‘We must just keep things normal.’ He gestured down at Stephen and Anna. ‘Whatever we do, we mustn’t upset the children.’
Elizabeth Jeffries visibly pulled herself together then. ‘You’re right, of course, Richard,’ she said at once. Then, with some difficulty, she proceeded to extricate Stephen and Anna from their father’s legs. ‘Come along, you two,’ she instructed, leading them out of the room. ‘Let’s leave your father to talk to the nice lady and gentleman.’
I don’t suppose either Stephen or Anna detected the heavily laden sarcasm in her last phrase, but Mellor and I certainly did, which had no doubt been her intention.
It was nearly seven when we left the Jeffries’ Clifton home, having arranged for the two children to be interviewed at the victim suite at Lockleaze the next day. I went straight back to my own place not far away — one untidy rented room with kitchen area and its own small bathroom, somewhat laughably described as a studio flat.
My first four days back at work had been quite busy and fraught enough to keep any normal person’s mind occupied, and certainly, one would have thought, to stop any nonsensical fantasising about Robin Davey — a man quite clearly and literally otherwise engaged. And one with whom I had been seriously angry when I had finally left his island.
Nonetheless, during the week or so since I had returned from Abri, almost every time the phone rang, certainly at home, I had wondered fleetingly if the caller might be Robin Davey. Ridiculous. I gave myself a number of stern and rather cruel lectures, along the lines that I was behaving in a way the likes of Titmuss would consider quite typical of a childless emotionally battered old bag fast approaching middle age. However, I still couldn’t quite get Davey out of my thoughts — although I did cross Abri Island, much as I had loved the place, off my list of possible future holiday destinations.
The next day Elizabeth Jeffries accompanied young Stephen and Anna to Lockleaze as arranged. A woman detective constable in an unmarked car picked them up at their home, drove them to the station and escorted them in through the plain blue painted door, which faces the row of shops to one side of Gainsborough Square, and up a flight of stairs directly into the victim suite. The Lockleaze suite, used for interviewing adult victims of rape and other sexual offences as well as children, is converted from the old Inspector’s flat, dating from the days when district inspectors used to live over the shop, and its separate front door means that it can be accessed without having to enter the police station proper at all. Mellor and I and Freda Lewis, one of the most experienced and respected social workers in the district, greeted Mrs Jeffries and her children in the sitting room with its soothing blue and grey colour scheme, big squashy sofa and armchairs, and play area equipped with an inviting selection of toys. The room is designed to be unlike anything you would expect to find in a police station and as unintimidating as possible. Only the two video cameras bolted into a corner of the ceiling — one in a fixed position to give an overall view of the room and a second which can be manoeuvred by remote control from the technical room next door for close-ups and angle shots — give any indication that it is in any way different to a normal sitting room.
Stephen Jeffries homed straight in on a big plastic Thomas The Tank Engine, obviously a favourite of his, while his sister, after a little coaxing, found paper and wax crayons and began to draw, giving me chance to explain the procedure to their mother.
I told Elizabeth Jeffries that we would wish to interview each child separately, and that she could stay with the child being interviewed if she wished or wait with the second child in our family room where she could watch the interview on a monitor. Fortunately she opted for the family room which all of us in the CPT prefer, because children, even in perfectly innocent situations, tend to be far less forthcoming in the presence of their parents.