Common Murder

‘A pleasant one, I hope.’

‘I can’t think of a nicer one,’ said Deborah, sitting up. She pulled Lindsay close and hugged her. ‘Put the kettle on, there’s a love,’ she said, climbing out of bed. She disappeared into the shower and toilet cubicle in the corner of the van, leaving Lindsay to deal with the gas rings.

Lindsay thought gratefully how easy it was to be with Deborah. There was never any fuss, never any pressure. It was always the same since they had first been together. They slipped so easily into a comfortable routine, as if the time between their meetings had been a matter of hours rather than months or weeks. Lindsay always felt at home with Deborah, whether it was in a Fordham courtroom or a camper van.

Deborah reappeared, washed and dressed, towelling her wavy brown shoulder-length hair vigorously. She threw the towel aside and settled down with a mug of coffee. She glanced at Lindsay, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly.

‘You picked the right weekend to be here,’ she remarked.

Lindsay leaned back in her seat. ‘Why so?’ she asked, ‘Jane told me it was just a routine blockade of the main gate.’

‘We’re going in. Through the wire. We think it should be possible to get to the bunkers if we go in between gates three and four. The security’s not that wonderful over there. I suppose any five-mile perimeter has to have its weak spots. The only exposed bit is the ten yards between the edge of the wood and the fence. So there will be a diversion at the main gate to keep them occupied while the others get through the wire. And it just so happens that there’s a Channel 4 film crew coming down anyway today to do a documentary.’ Deborah grinned broadly and winked complicity at Lindsay.

‘Good planning, Debs. But aren’t you taking a hell of a risk with the assault case already hanging over you? Surely they’ll bang you up right away if they pick you up inside the fence?’

‘That’s exactly why we’ve decided that I’m not going in. I’m a very small part of the diversion. Which is why it’s good that you’re here. Left to my own devices, I’d probably find myself carried along with the flow. Before I knew it, I’d be back in clink again.’ Deborah smiled ruefully. ‘So, since I presume you’re also in the business of keeping a low profile, we’ll have to be each other’s minder. Okay?’

Lindsay lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before she replied. ‘Okay. I’d love to go along with the raiding party to do an “I” piece, but given my bosses’ views on peace women, I guess that’s right out of the question.’

‘You can help me sing,’ said Deborah. She leaned across the table to Lindsay, grasped her hand tightly and kissed her. ‘My, but it’s good to be with you, sister,’ she said softly.

Before Lindsay could reply, Cara’s dark blonde head and flushed cheeks suddenly appeared through the curtains. As soon as she realised who was there, she scrambled down the ladder to hurl herself on Lindsay, hugging her fiercely before turning to Deborah. ‘You didn’t tell me Lindsay was coming,’ she reproached her.

‘I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure myself and I didn’t want both of us to be disappointed if she couldn’t make it. Okay?’

The child nodded. ‘What are we having for breakfast? Have you brought bacon and eggs like you promised last time?’

‘I managed to smuggle them past the vegetarian checkpoint on the way in,’ Lindsay joked. ‘I know you’re like me, Cara, you love the things that everybody tells you are bad for you.’

‘You really are a reprobate, aren’t you,’ Deborah said, amused. ‘I know you like taking the piss out of all the vegetarian nonsmokers, but don’t forget that a lot of us are veggies from necessity as much as choice. I love the occasional fry-up, but beans are a hell of a lot cheaper than bacon. Not everyone has the same sense of humour about it as I do.’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Lindsay groaned. ‘Cordelia never stops telling me how people like me who love red meat are causing the distortion of world agriculture. Sometimes I feel personally responsible for every starving kid in the world.’

Impatient with the conversation, Cara interrupted. ‘Can we have breakfast, then?’

By the time they had eaten the bacon, eggs, sausages and mushrooms that Lindsay had brought, the camp had come to life again. Women were ferrying water from the standpipe by the road in big plastic jerry cans while others cooked, repaired benders or simply sat and talked. It was a cold, dry day with the sun struggling fitfully through a haze. Lindsay went off to see Jane and found her sitting on a crate, writing in a large exercise book. She looked tired and drawn.

‘Hi, Doc. Everything fine with you?’

Jane shrugged. ‘So so. I think I’m getting too close to all this now. I’m getting so wrapped up in the logistics of the camp I’m forgetting why I’m here. I think I’m going to have to get away for a few days to put it back into perspective.’

‘There’s always a bed at our place if you need a break.’ Jane nodded as Lindsay went on, ‘Debs says you can fill me in with the details of today’s invasion plan.’

Jane outlined the intended arrangements. Nicky was leading a raiding party of a dozen women armed with bolt-cutters. They would be waiting in the woods for a signal from the lookout post that the diversion at the main gate was attracting enough attention from camp security to allow them to reach the fence and cut through the wire. What followed their entry into the base would be a matter for their own judgment but it was hoped that they’d make it to the missile silos. The diversion was timed for noon, the main attraction for fifteen minutes later.

‘You should keep out of the front line,’ she concluded. ‘Help Deborah with the singing. Keep an eye on her too. We don’t want her to get arrested again. It would be just like her to get carried away and do something out of order. I imagine that a few of the local coppers know perfectly well who she is and wouldn’t mind the chance to pick her up and give her a hard time. Crabtree is pretty buddy-buddy with the local police hierarchy according to Judith. Understandably enough, I suppose. So do us all a favour unless you desperately want to take on Cara full-time – keep the lid on Deborah.’

By late morning there was an air of suppressed excitement around the camp. The television crew had arrived and were shooting some interviews and stock background shots around the benders. It wasn’t hard for Lindsay to suppress her journalistic instincts and avoid them. She was, after all, off duty, and since the Clarion had no Sunday edition, she felt no guilt about ignoring the story. She noticed Jane and a couple of other longstanding peace campers having a discreet word with the crew, which had included a couple of unmistakable gestures towards the long bunkers that dominated the skyline.

At about midday, Deborah came looking for her. Leaving Cara and three other children in the van with Josy, one of the other mothers living at the camp, they joined the steady surge of women making for the main gate. About forty women were gathered round. A group of half a dozen marched boldly up to the sentry boxes on either side of the gate and started to unwind the balls of wool they carried with them. They wove the wool around the impassive soldiers and their sentry boxes, swiftly creating a complex web. Other women moved to the gates themselves and began to weave wool strands in and out of the heavy steel mesh to seal them shut. Deborah climbed on top of a large concrete litter bin just outside the gates and hauled Lindsay up beside her. Together they started to sing one of the songs that had grown up with the camp and soon all the women had joined in.

Inside the camp the RAF police and behind them the USAF guards came running towards the gate. On the women’s side, civil police started to appear at the trot to augment the pair permanently on duty at the main gate. The film crew were busy recording it all.

It looked utterly chaotic. Then one of the women let out an excited whoop and pointed to the silos. There, silhouetted against the grey March sky, women could be seen dancing and waving. Alerted by her cries, the film crew ran off round the perimeter fence, filming all the while. Inside the wire, the military turned and raced across the scrubby grass to the bunkers constructed to house the coming missiles.

Outside the base the women calmly dispersed, to the frustration of the police who were just getting into the swing of making arrests. Lindsay, feeling as high as if she’d just smoked a couple of joints, jumped down from the litter bin and swung Deborah down into her arms. Like the other women around them they hugged each other and jumped around on the spot, then they bounced away from the fence and back towards the main road. A tall man stood at the end of the camp road. On the end of a lead was a fox-terrier. A sneer of scorn spoiled his newly healed features.

‘Enjoy yourself while you can. Miss Patterson. It won’t be long before I have you put some place where there won’t be much to rejoice over.’ His threat uttered, Crabtree marched on down the main road away from the camp. Lindsay looked in dismay at Deborah’s stunned face.

‘Sadistic bastard. He can’t resist having a go every time he sees me,’ said Deborah. ‘He seems to go out of his way to engineer these little encounters. But I’m not going to let him get the better of me. Not on a day like today.’

4

The women had gathered in the big bender that they used for meeting and talking as a group. Lindsay still couldn’t get used to the way they struggled to avoid hierarchies by refusing to run their meetings according to traditional structures. Instead, they sat in a big circle and each spoke in turn, supposedly without interruption. The euphoria of the day’s action was tangible. The film crew were still around, and not even the news that the dozen women who had made it to the silos had been charged with criminal damage and trespass could diminish the high that had infected everyone.

But there was a change in attitude since Lindsay had first encountered the peace women. It was noticeable that far more women were advocating stronger and more direct action against what they perceived as the forces of evil. She could see that Jane and several other women who’d been with the camp for a long time were having a struggle to impress upon others like the headstrong Nicky the need to keep all action nonviolent and to minimise the criminal element in what they did. Eventually, the meeting was adjourned without a decision till the following afternoon.

The rest of the day passed quickly for Lindsay who spent her time walking the perimeter fence and picking up on her new friendships with women like Jackie. Lindsay appreciated the different perspectives the women gave her on life in Thatcher’s Britain. It was a valuable contrast with the cynical world of newspapers and the comfortably well-off life she shared with Cordelia. Jackie and her lover Willow, both from Birmingham, explained to Lindsay for the first time how good they felt at the camp because there was none of the constant pressure of racial prejudice that had made it so difficult for them to make anything of their lives at home. By the time Lindsay had eaten dinner with Cara and Deborah, she knew she had made a firm decision to stay. By unspoken consent, Deborah took Cara off to spend the rest of the night with her best friend Christy in the bender she shared with her mother Josy. When she returned, she found Lindsay curled up in a corner with a tumbler of whisky.

‘Help yourself,’ said Lindsay.

Deborah sensed the tension in Lindsay. Carefully she poured herself a small drink from the bottle on the table and sat down beside her. She placed a cautious hand on her thigh. I’m really glad to be with you again,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s been a long time since we had the chance to talk.’

Lindsay took a gulp of whisky and lit a cigarette. ‘I can’t sleep with you,’ she burst out. ‘I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’

Deborah hadn’t forgotten the knowledge of Lindsay that six hectic months had given her. She smiled. ‘You haven’t changed, have you? What makes you think I wanted to jump into bed with you again?’ Her voice was teasing. ‘That old arrogance hasn’t deserted you.’

Outrage chased incredulity across Lindsay’s face. Then her sense of humour caught up with her and she smiled. ‘Touché. You never did let me get away with anything, did you?’

‘Too bloody true I didn’t. Give you an inch and you were always half-way to the next town. Listen, I didn’t expect a night of mad, passionate lovemaking. I know your relationship with Cordelia is the big thing in your life. Just as Cara is the most important thing in my life now. I don’t take risks with that, and I don’t expect you to take risks with your life either.’

Lindsay looked sheepish. ‘I really wanted to make love with you. I thought it would help me sort out my feelings. But when you took Cara off, I suddenly felt that I was contemplating something dishonest. You know? Something that devalued what there is between you and me.’

Deborah put her arm round Lindsay’s tense shoulders. ‘You mean, you’d have been using me to prove something to yourself about you and Cordelia?’

‘Something like that. I guess I just feel confused about what’s happening between me and her. It started off so well – she made me feel so special. I was happy as a pig. Okay, it was frustrating that I was living in Glasgow and she was in London. But there wasn’t a week when we didn’t spend at least two nights together, often more, once I’d got a job sorted out.

‘We seemed to have so much in common – we liked going to the same films, loved the theatre, liked the same books, all that stuff. She even started coming hill-walking with me, though I drew the line at going jogging with her. But it was all those things that kind of underpinned the fact that I was crazy about her and the sex was just amazing.

‘Then I moved to London and it seemed like everything changed. I realised how much of her life I just hadn’t been a part of. All the time she spent alone in London was filled with people I’ve got the square root of sod all in common with. They patronise the hell out of me because they think that being a tabloid hack is the lowest form of pond life.

‘They treat me like I’m some brainless bimbo that Cordelia has picked up. And Cordelia just tells me to ignore it, they don’t count. Yet she still spends great chunks of her time with them. She doesn’t enjoy being with the people I work with, so she just opts out of anything I’ve got arranged with other hacks. And the few friends I’ve got outside the business go back to Oxford days; they go down well with Cordelia and her crowd, but I want more of my life than that. And it never seems the right time to talk about it.

‘About once a fortnight at the moment I seriously feel like packing my bags and moving out. Then I remember all the good things about her and stay.

Lindsay stopped abruptly and leaned over to refill her glass. She took another long drink and shivered as the spirit hit her. Deborah slowly massaged the knotted muscles at the back of her neck. ‘Poor Lin,’ she said. ‘You do feel hard done by, don’t you? You never did understand how compromise can be a show of strength, did you?’

Lindsay frowned. ‘It’s not that. It just seems like me that’s made all the compromises – or sacrifices, more like.’

‘But she has too. Suddenly, after years of living alone, doing the one job where you really need your own space, she’s got this iconoclast driving a coach and horses through her routines, coming in at all hours of the day and night, thanks to her wonderful shift patterns, and hating the people she has to be nice to in order to keep a nice high profile in the literary world. It can’t be exactly easy for her either. It seems to me that she’s got the right idea – she’s doing what she needs to keep herself together.’

Lindsay looked hurt. ‘I never thought I’d hear you taking Cordelia’s side.’

I’m not taking sides. And that reaction says it all, Lin,’ Deborah said, a note of sharpness creeping into her voice. I’m trying to make you see things from her side. Listen, I saw you when the two of you had only been together six months, and I saw you looking happier than I’d ever seen you. I love you like a sister, Lin, and I want to see you with that glow back. You’re not going to get it by whingeing about Cordelia. Talk to her about it. At least you’re still communicating in bed – build on that, for starters. Stop expecting her to be psychic. If she loves you, she won’t throw you out just because you tell her you’re not getting what you need from her.’

Lindsay sighed. ‘Easier said than done.’

‘I know that. But you’ve got to try. It’s obviously not too late. If you were diving into bed with me to prove you still have enough autonomy to do it, I’d say you were in deep shit. But at least you’re not that far down the road. Now, come on, drink up and let’s get to bed. You can have Cara’s bunk if you can’t cope with sharing a bed with me and keeping your hands to yourself.’

‘Now who’s being arrogant?’

Lindsay stood by the kettle waiting for it to boil, gazing at Deborah who lay languidly in a shaft of morning sunlight staring into the middle distance. After a night’s sleep, the clarity she had felt after the conversation with Deborah had grown fuzzy round the edges. But she knew deep down she wanted to put things right between her and Cordelia, and Deborah had helped her feel that was a possibility.

She made the coffee, and brought it over to Deborah. Lindsay sat on the top of the bed and put her arms round her friend. Lindsay felt at peace for the first time in months. ‘If things go wrong when it comes to court, I’d like to take care of Cara, if you’ll let me,’ she murmured.

Deborah drew back, still holding Lindsay’s shoulders. ‘But how could you manage that? With work and Cordelia and everything?’

‘We’ve got a crèche for newspaper workers’ kids from nine till six every day. I can swap most of my shifts round to be on days and I’m damn sure Cordelia will help if I need her to.’

Deborah shook her head disbelievingly. ‘Lindsay, you’re incredible. Sometimes I think you just don’t listen to the words that come out of your mouth. Last night, you were busily angst-ing about how to get your relationship with Cordelia back on an even keel. Now today you’re calmly talking about dumping your ex-lover’s child on her. What a recipe for disaster that would be! Look, it’s lovely of you to offer, and I know she’d be happy with you, but I hope that won’t be necessary. We’ll look at the possibilities nearer the time and I’ll keep it in mind. What counts is what’s going to be best for her. Now, let’s go and get Cara, eh? She’ll be wondering where I am.’ They found Cara with Jane, and after a bread and cheese lunch the four of them went for a walk along the perimeter fence. Lindsay and Cara played tig and hide-and-seek among the trees while Jane and Deborah walked slowly behind, wrangling about the business of peace and the problems of living at Brownlow.

They made their way back to the camp, where the adults settled down in the meeting bender for a long session. Three hours later, it had been agreed that the women charged the day before should, if they were willing, opt for prison for the sake of publicity and that a picket should be set up at the gate of Holloway in their support. Jane offered to organise the picket. Lindsay thought gratefully that at least that way her friend could make a small escape without offending her conscience. It had been a stormy meeting and Lindsay was glad when it was over. Even though she had by now experienced many of these talking-shops, she never failed to become slightly disillusioned at the destructive way women could fight against each other in spite of their common cause.

Deborah went off to collect Cara and put her to bed and Lindsay joined Willow and Jackie and their friends in their bender. There were a couple of guitars and soon the women were singing an assortment of peace songs, love songs and nostalgic pop hits. Deborah joined them and they sat close. Lindsay felt she couldn’t bear to wrench herself away from the sisterhood she felt round her. Sentimental fool, she thought to herself as she joined in the chorus of ‘I Only Want To Be With You.’

Just after ten the jam session began to break up. Most of the women left for their own benders. Lindsay and Deborah followed. I’m going to have a word with Jane about the Holloway picket,’ said Lindsay. ‘You coming?’

‘No, I’ll see you at the van.’

‘Okay, I’ll not be long.’

Deborah vanished into the darkness beyond the ring of benders to where the van was parked near the road. Lindsay headed for Jane’s makeshift surgery and found the harassed doctor sorting through a cardboard box of pharmaceutical samples that a sympathetic GP had dropped off that evening. She stopped at once, pleased to see Lindsay in spite of her tiredness, and began to explain the picket plans. Although Lindsay was itching to get back to Deborah, it was after eleven when she finally set off to walk the fifty yards to the van.

The first thing that caught her eye as she moved beyond the polythene tents was bright lights. Now that the army had cleared the ground round the perimeter fence, it was possible to see the temporary arc lights from quite a distance. That in itself wasn’t extraordinary as workmen occasionally sneaked in a night shift to avoid the picketing women.

She stopped dead as she caught sight of three figures approaching the camp, silhouetted against the dim glow from the barracks inside the fence. Two were uniformed policemen, no prizes for spotting that. The third was a tall, blond man she had noticed in the area a couple of times before. Her journalistic instinct had put him down as Special Branch. She was gratified to find that instinct vindicated. She glanced around, but the only other women in sight were far off by a camp-fire. Most of them had already gone to bed.

Lindsay had no idea what was going on, but she wanted to find out. The best way to do that was to stay out of sight, watch and listen. She crouched down against the bender nearest her and slowly worked her way round the encampment, trying to outflank the trio who were between her and the lights. When she reached the outer ring of tents, she squatted close to the ground while the three men passed her and headed for Jane’s bender with its distinctive red cross. Lindsay straightened up and headed for the lights, keeping close to the fringes of woodland that surrounded the base. As she neared the lights, she was able to pick out details. There were a couple of police Landrovers pulled up on the edge of the wood. Near by, illuminated by their headlamps and the arc lights, were a cluster of green canvas screens. Beyond the Landrovers were three unremarkable saloon cars. A handful of uniformed officers stood around. Several people in civilian clothes moved about the scene, vanishing behind the screens from time to time.

Lindsay moved out of the shelter of the trees and approached the activity. She had only gone a few yards when two uniformed constables moved to cut off her progress. Her hand automatically moved to her hip pocket and she pulled out the laminated yellow Press Card which in theory granted her their co-operation. She flashed it at the young policemen and made to put it away.

‘Just a minute, miss,’ said one of them. ‘Let’s have a closer look if you don’t mind.’

Reluctantly, she handed the card over. He scrutinised it carefully; then he showed it to his colleague who looked her up and down, noting her expensive Barbour jacket, corduroy trousers and muddy walking boots. He nodded and said, ‘Looks okay to me.’

‘I’m here writing a feature about the camp,’ she said. ‘When I saw the lights, I thought something might be doing. What’s the score?’

The first constable smiled. ‘Sorry to be so suspicious. We get all sorts here, you know. You want to know what’s happening, you best see the superintendent. He’s over by the Landrover nearest to us. I’ll take you across in a minute, when he’s finished talking to the bloke who found the body.’

‘Body?’ Lindsay demanded anxiously. ‘What is it? Accident, murder? And who’s dead?