‘An accident I might have prevented, ‘I said. And I didn’t feel very wise at all.
I buried myself in my work more relentlessly than ever.
The Stephen Jeffries investigations continued to take us nowhere fast. In addition to our so far fruitless enquiries into Richard Jeffries we also looked for other suspects who may have had both opportunity and inclination to abuse the boy, but to no avail. I was vaguely aware that for all kinds of reasons I was becoming perhaps just a little lukewarm in my efforts personally.
One way and another both the Social Services and the CPT made little or no progress. Eventually we interviewed Stephen again, but this time he seemed even more guarded than before. He was clearly nervous and uncomfortable and remained so however much Mellor and Freda Lewis tried to put him at his ease. Both Richard and Elizabeth Jeffries told us they would object strongly to any further interviews with their son, and, to be honest, I didn’t entirely blame them, and felt myself that we could not justify talking to either of the Jeffries children again without substantial new evidence.
Eventually, at the beginning of March, I called a formal Information Sharing Meeting where all of us involved gathered to discuss the outcome of our investigations and decide on whether or not any additional action should be taken.
Claudia Smith and Freda Lewis were among those invited. Claudia Smith remained disconcertingly certain that her initial judgement had been right.
‘Stephen’s behaviour is still odd,’ she insisted. ‘He’s all over the other children.’
She admitted that there had been no further incidences of behaviour which could be specifically regarded as sexual. Nonetheless she felt that not only should Stephen Jeffries and his sister not be taken off the At Risk register, but maintained, as indeed she had done from the beginning, that the children ought to be put into care while yet more enquiries were made.
Freda Lewis said that although her own department’s investigations had proved fruitless she had the utmost respect for the opinions of a professional like Claudia who had known and worked with Stephen for a substantial period of time. However Freda admitted that she really had nothing conclusive to offer.
Peter Mellor said that he didn’t think we should take such a substantial step as taking the children into care on so little evidence, but that there was a case for keeping the two children on the At Risk register and continuing investigations.
I listened carefully to the three of them, but I had been coming to believe that we were devoting much more time to the case than we would have done had Richard Jeffries not been who he was. I knew only too well that one of the characteristics of child abusers is that they are invariably plausible. However I was beginning to feel that by giving the questionable Stephen Jeffries case such high priority Mellor and I and everybody else in Bristol CPT were in danger of neglecting other cases involving seriously disturbed children who were without question at risk. Like any other business, sooner or later in police work you have to consider your resources. I was a manager, that was my job.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told them eventually. ‘But I cannot see how we have a chance of proving anything.’
I decided that I could not allow myself to be influenced by any irrational niggling doubts. After all we had been unable even to prove that there had been any abuse at all. Almost without doubt it would be more trouble than it was ever going to be worth to try to take the case much further.
‘I’m afraid there is not even enough evidence to keep the children on the At Risk register,’ I went on. ‘Certainly the police investigation will have to be ended now.’
Eventually it was agreed that while Social Services would continue to take a low-level interest in the family, our Joint Investigation would be formally closed. We suggested to Claudia Smith that she should continue to keep an eye on Stephen.
‘I don’t quite see the point,’ she said rather huffily, which, from her point of view, could only be regarded as fair comment.
I was, however, as sure as one can ever be that we had made the right decision.
I informed Dr Jeffries personally about the results of the investigation and he shook me warmly by the hand.
‘I want to thank you, Detective Chief Inspector,’ he said.
‘For what?’ I asked.
‘For not allowing an emotive response to get in the way of good solid police work,’ he replied. ‘And most of all for not having my children taken away from me.’
Jeffries seemed to have tears in his eyes. He was the one being emotional. In spite of myself I was impressed that a man who had faced the undoubted wreckage of his career and the destruction of his not inconsiderable social standing in one fell swoop should appear even now to think about nothing other than his children.
I studied him carefully, this plausible controlled man. Was he too controlled? Was he being too reasonable? For just an instant I reflected on my earlier doubts about him, but I at once put them out of my mind because I knew there was no logic behind them. There really had been no alternative to the decision I had encouraged, I told myself. For a start neither Stephen nor Anna Jeffries had given us any indication that they were anything other than well-loved and well-cared-for children.
I vowed not to even think about the Abri Island case again until I had to, and although I somehow couldn’t quite keep that vow I did not actively interfere again.
Now that I was no longer personally heading a high priority investigation, I moved, with very mixed feelings, back to headquarters at Portishead. Two months passed, much of which I spent on a special project — compiling a report on the adverse psychological effect of Child Protection Work on police officers and how this can be combated. Titmuss, who had probably never had a genuine emotional response to anything in his entire life, had been asked to put this together following the realisation that the incidents of breakdowns and emotional collapse among CPT officers greatly exceeded any other area of policing — as I had told Julia some time ago. He deputed the task to me, which at least got me out of his hair, I suppose. I was then put on yet another management course at the Avon and Somerset’s own training school at Portishead, learning even more skills which considerably exceeded what I needed to know at my rank and with my level of responsibility.
The way things were going with my career at the time I reckoned I was destined to end up the most highly qualified DCI in the country. I had always been regarded as a high flier and to have reached my present rank as young as I did was still unusual, but the relationship I currently had with my seniors in the force, particularly Chief Superintendent Titmuss, left me in little doubt that it could be a bloody long time before I made Superintendent. The courses and the special projects — I was also asked to put together a report on the extra difficulties of dealing with handicapped children in child abuse cases — were a kind of sop, I felt, to keep me occupied and make me feel I was doing something useful and constructive while at the same time effectively removing me from mainstream policing. Quite extraordinary really that an officer of my rank should be used, or rather not used, in such a way, particularly as I was still supposed to be deputy head of the CPT. But my case was in no way unique.
At least being sidelined in this way meant that I had rather more ordered working hours and considerably more spare time than had I been involved with a major case. I spent most of my free time searching for a new home. The so-called studio flat seemed to become more and more squalid by the minute.
Once I’d properly put my mind to the task I quite quickly found myself a small but smart one-bedroomed apartment in the old docks. I liked the area because it was central and stylish, and I liked the apartment because it was ultra modern, with clean uncluttered lines — which I promised myself I would not destroy with my usual level of mess — and because it had virtually no character. I was feeling pretty soulless at the time, and 6 Harbour Court effectively suited my mood.