The Sentence Is Death

‘That’s right. You’ve got there ahead of me. He’d been to Oxford University when he was nineteen and he made two good friends there . . . Richard Pryce and Charlie Richardson. Dicky and Tricky, he used to call them. They used to go caving together – that was how they met – and it became a sort of ritual, all the boys together. My Greg used to look forward to seeing them. It was the high point of the year. Most often they stayed in England but there were times they went to Europe and even to South America. And here’s the thing. They knew he couldn’t afford exotic holidays. But when they went long haul, they’d put their hands in their pockets just to help him out a little. None of them ever said as much and Greg didn’t like to talk about it – he was a Yorkshireman and he had his pride – but he would never have been able to do it without them.

‘That all came to an end when Charlie died at the Long Way Hole back in 2007. Richard was here for the inquest but he and Greg never saw each other after that. Maybe it was that they both felt guilty about what had happened and couldn’t look each other in the eye, although there was no reason for that as they were both exonerated. Dave here was a witness and he was the first person to tell them that no one had done anything wrong. It was just one of those things. An accident.’

Gallivan had been watching her intently as she spoke, but, hearing his name, he turned away. It was as if he didn’t want to be involved.

‘It was me who persuaded Greg to go down to London and talk to Richard,’ she went on. ‘Richard had done all right for himself as a high-class lawyer. He had houses in London and in the country. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to give all the money but if he put his hand in his pocket he could get us started and somehow the two of us would find a way to raise the rest. Crowdfunding or something like that. Greg didn’t like the idea. He thought it was over as far as he and Richard were concerned. They hadn’t spoken for six years.’

‘He went down on the Saturday,’ Hawthorne said.

‘That’s right. I drove him to the station myself. I’d told Greg in no uncertain terms – I’d divorce him if he didn’t get on that train. And I’d get Richard Pryce to represent me in court. He laughed at that even though it was hurting him to laugh by then. That was the last time I saw him, first thing in the morning, on the platform at Ribblehead. He was only going to be in London a few hours. I expected him home for tea.’

‘Richard Pryce refused to help,’ I said.

I was quite sure that was what she would tell us. It was the only way this made any sense. Richard hadn’t wanted to provide the money. Greg had thrown himself under a train. And Susan had been in London the following day. Maybe she was the one who had killed Richard.

‘That’s what you’d expect – but you couldn’t be more wrong,’ Susan replied, tartly. ‘He was a good man, Richard Pryce. Maybe he blamed himself for what had happened at Long Way Hole. Like I told you, my Greg blamed himself too. But they had never blamed each other. They made the decision to get out of there together and everyone agreed it was the right decision.’

She looked to Dave Gallivan for confirmation but he was still looking away.

‘Greg had arranged to see him at his home up in Hampstead,’ she continued. ‘That would have been about lunchtime. Richard had said he’d be on his own. Well, I don’t know the long and the short of it, but he took Greg in like the six years had never happened and they were the best of friends again. He listened to what Greg had to say and he agreed not just to pay £20,000 or £50,000 but to put his hand in his pocket for the whole lot. That was the sort of man he was. He was a saint.’

‘How do you know this, Mrs Taylor?’ Hawthorne asked.

‘Greg telephoned me.’ She looked him straight in the eye, at the same time rummaging in her pocket. Finally, she took out a mobile phone and laid it on the table. ‘I was driving when he called. I take June to her dance class on Saturday afternoons. He should have remembered that. So he left a message.’

She reached out and touched a couple of buttons. We had seen the dead man’s picture. Now we heard his voice.

‘Hello, love. I’ve just left. Richard was fantastic. I can’t believe it. He took me into his house – you should have seen it, by the way – and we had a cup of tea and . . . anyway, he says he may be able to pay for the whole thing. All of it. Can you believe it? It’s like he wants to make up for what happened all those years ago. I told him how much it was going to cost but he says his company has a fund for just this sort of thing and—’ The voice broke off. ‘I’m heading back to King’s Cross now. I’ll call you when I’m on the train or you try me. Let’s go out Sunday night. Over to the Marton Arms. We’ve actually got something to celebrate. I’ll talk to you later. All right? I love you.’

There was a faint click and silence.