by L M Krier
The solicitor indicated to her client to go ahead.
‘We’d had another big row. I was trying to tell her she might need to go into hospital or somewhere. Just for a bit, like. Until she got herself back on an even keel. But she took it that I were trying to split her and the boy up. To take him off her. But I would never do that. I only wanted her to get some proper care. So she’d be able to look after herself, and the lad, better than she was managing to do. That’s all I wanted.
‘She went hysterical. Screaming that she couldn’t take it any more. I tried to stop her but she ran past me, out the front door and onto the landing.’
‘And what did you understand her to mean by that? She couldn’t take what any more, do you think?’
‘Being like she was, I thought she meant. It were bloody hard for me to live with, when she got like that, but it must have been hell on wheels for her, I reckon.
‘I thought she were just going to run off down the stairs or summat. I don’t know where she would have gone, but that’s what I figured. Then I saw she was making for the bannisters. She started trying to climb on them so I ran up to her and tried to grab her.’
‘Can you remember which part of her you grabbed?’ Mike asked him.
‘No, I bloody can’t,’ he snapped, sounding angry for a moment. ‘I was concentrating on trying to do something – anything – to stop her from hurting herself.’
‘Are you right or left-handed?’
The solicitor held up her hand to her client at that point to indicate to him not to answer.
‘I really must stop you at this point, officer. I’m not prepared to allow my client to answer such a question until I’ve had time to read the PM report, which I presume is going to shed some light on its relevance.’
Ted’s quiet voice in Mike’s ear told him, ‘Offer her a break, to take instruction. Refreshments, the works. Full on good cop mode.’
‘I was about to suggest that, Ms Castle,’ Mike replied. ‘I’m quite happy for you to take a break now to talk to your client. Please take as long as you like. I could also arrange some refreshments for you, if you would like that?’
‘Some water would be a good idea,’ she told him, without bothering to consult her client. He looked as if water was the last thing on his mind, but he said nothing as Mike left them to it.
The drinks sorted, he went to find Ted.
‘What do you think to him, boss?’
‘He was quick to get angry when you pressed him. That would seem to fit with what we’ve been told about him at work. Possibly a low flashpoint. I may have been reading too much into his expression, but I also thought he didn’t look at all pleased when his solicitor asked for just water without even consulting him. It might indicate that he’s not a man used to women making decisions for him. I’ll certainly be interested to hear what the boy has to say about him, if we manage to get that far with him.
‘I’ll go and call DS Jenkins at Trafford, and DS Ramsay at Ashton, now, to see how things are going with them. Let me know when they’re ready to restart. I know his solicitor, Ms Castle, of old, so I thought I might come and sit in with you, if you don’t mind.’
Mike gave a chuckle. ‘Be my guest, boss. It sounds as if it might be a good spectator sport.’
‘Thanks for sending us Alan Burgess, Ted,’ Sarah Jenkins told him, to his surprise, as they spoke.
‘After a bit of basic house-training, he’s turning out not too bad at all. He had his little “Alpha male, twenty-five years on the job” moment when he first arrived. Once he found out it impressed nobody, especially me, he shut up a bit and got down to some work.
‘I put him on checking CCTV and he spotted our murder suspect walking towards the pub he claimed to have been in at that precise time, confirmed by all his mates. There’s no way he could have walked from where the camera shows him, with the timeline, to the pub. Even if he had somehow got there – maybe someone stopped and gave him a lift – it would still put him there much later than he said.
‘And remember our Neighbourhood Watch type next door neighbour who found the body and notified the emergency services? He’s a gem of a witness. He wears a step counter, with a clock and everything. He’s been advised to take plenty of walking exercise for his health conditions, and he’s got into the habit of checking it all the time. When he went in and found the woman dead, he looked at the time on the kitchen clock in the house, then checked it with his step counter. He said she clearly hadn’t been long dead when he found her, and that was confirmed by the paramedics who attended. So we have quite a big discrepancy in the husband’s version of events, compared to the footage.
‘We’re going to speak to our suspect again later today, when he comes in to report, before he goes off on his night shift. I’m going to interview him myself and he’s got a lot of explaining to do, in view of what we’ve found. I’ll contact him to come with his solicitor, for further questioning.
‘Meanwhile the rest of the team, including Alan now, are going out to talk to all the supposed alibis again and to remind them of the penalties for perjury, if they stick to their stories as far as trial. I reckon there’ll be a domino effect if even one of them starts to change their version.’
‘It sounds like you’ve made excellent progress. Any news about the boy? And the post-mortem?’
‘I’ve spoken to the lad myself, very briefly, with the agreement of Children’s Services, who had someone present, as well as his nan. Quiet little lad. Not much to say for himself. But he did say his dad got angry and shouted a lot and it made his mum cry. I’m going to sort out a strategy meeting to see if he could be a witness, and whether or not it would be in his best interests to do so.’
‘We’re at a similar stage with our own suspected domestic violence death. There’s just the young boy in ours, no other siblings. No eye witnesses to the actual death, as far as we know. But the boy was in the flat so he might be able to tell us what was going on before the incident.’
‘Our PM’s tomorrow morning, so I’ll keep you posted with what it can tell us. I’ll let you know the preliminary findings, at least. It’s all a bit circumstantial at the moment. Even if he lied about the timings, for whatever reason, we might still struggle to place him at the scene at exactly the right time, or to prove intent to kill.’
Ted’s next call to DS Ramsay at Ashton was equally as encouraging.
‘Graham Winters has been a big help, sir, thank you. I had my eye a bit off the ball, and it showed. I think we’re back on track now.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. How did the interview go with your suspect?’
‘Denied everything from the start. Then we showed him the CCTV footage which puts him in an area he’d previously said he didn’t know, had never been to. Then he suddenly remembered he might possibly have been somewhere in that area but definitely not for the purposes of robbing or assaulting anyone. And he, of course, had no explanation at all as to why some of the property our victim reported as stolen could possibly have ended up in his flat, where it was recovered when it was searched.’
‘What’s your next move?’ Ted asked him.
‘I want to see if our victim can pick him out from photos first, then if he does, we’ll take it from there.’
‘Good. Keep me informed, please. It looks as if you might get a good result on this one. How is DI Collier doing?’
‘She phones me most days. Still in a lot of pain, but mostly climbing the walls at the inactivity. Sir,’ he went on hesitantly, ‘will you be mentioning to her about me and the others being in the pub? Only we really were on the alcohol-free.’
‘We’re not at school, DS Ramsay,’ Ted told him. ‘If I have a problem with you or any of your team, I’ll deal with it. I wouldn’t dream of bothering your DI, especially while she’s off sick. Just make sure you build a good solid case against your suspect so you can give her some good news. That should cheer her up a bit.’
* * *
‘You’ve managed to
get through an entire day without hurting yourself, then? Wonders will never cease.’
Compared to some of the greetings she was used to from him, it wasn’t too bad. Hopefully he’d had a reasonably good day at work. He made a token show of pecking her on the cheek. A gesture devoid of any warmth, with more of a sense of duty than anything. If he even noticed the efforts she had made with her hair, or the delicate touch of perfume about her, he made no comment.
She was trying to gauge his mood. There was something she wanted to talk to him about. She’d been trying to pluck up the courage all day. For several days, in fact. She was afraid of his reaction, as always, but it was important. Everything to do with her son’s future was important to her. If she could only manage to start the conversation without provoking him.
She’d been practising what to say, over and over. She’d even stood in front of the bathroom mirror to try it out loud. She’d been horrified by the mousey, anxious face looking back at her from the glass. No wonder he found her so unattractive.
And then there was her voice. He was always telling her how whiny she sounded and he was right. She was ashamed when she listened to herself.
‘Pathetic,’ she told the image in front of herself. ‘That’s what you are. Pathetic.’
She mocked herself as she stood there, using the snivelling voice he put on when he made fun of her.
‘Please. Please. Please don’t hurt me. Listen to yourself, for goodness sake. No wonder it annoys him. Just talk in a normal voice. Ask him what it is you want from him without all the cringing. Grovelling like that is enough to make anyone angry. Especially someone with a lot of responsibility, and when he’s had a hard shift. You’re an utter disgrace. You’d make a saint lose his temper with you. Do it again.’
She picked up a brush and ran it through the dry, brittle hair which hung round her face. Hideous. That’s what she was. Enough to turn anyone off. Why had she let herself get into such a state? How long had she been looking like that? It was a wonder he bothered coming home to her at all. Perhaps if she made more of an effort, things might slowly start to get back to how they had once been between them. When they’d first got together.
She straightened up. Gathered her hair up in one hand and held it up, instead of letting it hang round her face like a protective curtain to hide behind.
‘I wanted to ask you something ...’ she tried experimentally, trying to make her voice firmer.
‘I would really like to go with you when ...’
No, that sounded too much like asking for permission. Perhaps if she could be a bit more assertive. Try to hide the fear which always bubbled just below the surface.
‘I want to come with you when ...’
‘I want to come with you when you go to the school to talk about his future,’ she said now, to his face. ‘They already know me there, so I’m not going to spoil his chances there because he’ll be leaving soon.’
She’d had a shower earlier using the gel her son had bought her for Christmas. She’d shampooed her hair and used enough conditioner so that for once it felt softer than an old pan scrub, which was its usual texture. Then she’d pulled it up at the back, securing it with a claw clip.
She’d made an effort with what she wore, too. Not exactly dressed up, but still a bit better than the usual shapeless layers of baggy trousers and dowdy cardigans she wrapped round herself in a protective layer.
As soon as he turned his head to study her, as if fully noticing her for the first time, she felt her courage start to fail.
‘Well, what have we got here? Mutton dressed as lamb? What have you got yourself all tarted up for? Gagging for it, are you?’
She willed herself not to react. To stick to what she’d practised in front of the mirror. Assertive. That’s what you were supposed to be, faced with a bully. And that’s what he was. A bully.
‘No, I just want to go with you to the school tomorrow. To the parents’ evening. He’s my son, too. I have rights.’
Too late, she realised she’d gone too far. That’s not what she’d planned to say. Looking at the way his eyes darkened and narrowed, it was completely the wrong thing to have said. But there was no taking it back now. She’d said it.
‘And I have rights too, you bitch,’ he spat, half under his breath. ‘Rights I’m about to exercise. Brace yourself.’
He grabbed her by the arm. Called out to the boy, ‘Get on with your homework, lad, I’ll be in to check up on you in a minute. Your mother and I need to talk about something for a bit. We shouldn’t be too long.’
Then he dragged her to the stairs, bypassing the living room where the boy was working, hauling her up them and into their bedroom. He shut the door firmly and turned the key.
She bit her lips so hard she tasted blood but she couldn’t stop the cries of pain which escaped her.
Please don’t let the boy hear this.
Please.
Chapter Fourteen
Mike Hallam gave a time check as he restarted the recording, once the solicitor had finished her consultation.
‘Interview resumed. For the recording, also now present is Detective Chief Inspector Darling.’
‘Ms Castle,’ Ted said to the solicitor, as he took his seat opposite her.
‘Chief Inspector,’ she acknowledged.
If she was surprised by his promotion, she was too professional to show it. It had been some time since they had last met. Back when Ted was a newly appointed Detective Sergeant, on his first murder case. He’d been a large factor in getting a conviction against her client on that occasion. Doggedly ploughing on with the interview in the face of her constant attempts to stop him.
‘I hope you have now had chance to go through the report, both of you,’ Mike Hallam continued. ‘If so, you will have seen that the pathologist has noted that the deceased had signs of a handprint to her throat, apparently made by a right hand.
‘So I’d like to repeat my earlier question,’ Mike looked directly at the suspect as he said it, ‘and ask again if you are right or left-handed?’
The man looked to his solicitor to check. When she gave a slight nod, he replied, ‘Right-handed.’
‘And could that handprint have been yours?’
Once again he looked for confirmation before he continued.
‘It could have been,’ he said grudgingly. ‘When the wife flipped, she really totally lost it. She’d attack me sometimes. Never the lad. Like I said, she worshipped him. But she’d go for me in a big way. Vicious, like. I sometimes had to fight her off any way I could. I might have grabbed her neck, trying to stop her going out of the flat when I could see she were in no fit state to be going anywhere.’
Ted spoke again at that point. His tone was always calm, reasonable. Nothing to arouse the suspicions of whoever he was interviewing.
‘The handprint suggests a hand round the throat, though. Not the neck. Applied with some degree of pressure in order to have left marks. From the front, based on the person being right-handed, which you have already indicated that you are. That would seem to be a rather extreme form of restraint.’
He was looking directly at the man as he spoke. Sizing him up. Noting in particular the thick neck, broad chest, powerful arms.
‘You’re quite a lot bigger than your late partner, going on the details from the post-mortem report. Stronger too, I would imagine. Would it not have been possible to restrain her simply by holding her arms, for instance? Rather than grabbing her throat, which she might have perceived as a threat to herself and struggled hard against?’
Again, Ted detected a spark of anger in the man’s eyes, directed at him. Another indication that he might be someone with a low flashpoint.
‘You don’t know what she could be like when she went mental. She’d attack me. I had to try to hold her off any way I could so she couldn’t do me no harm. Without hurting her, if I could, of course.’
‘I see,’ Ted told him levelly. ‘So you’re saying that your partner was sometimes vi
olent towards you? And that you were acting in self defence, using minimum force?’
He looked from the man to his solicitor as he posed the questions. She was visibly bristling as she snapped, ‘You’re attempting to put words into my client’s mouth, Chief Inspector.’
‘Not intentionally, Ms Castle, I assure you. I’m simply trying to establish whether your client is putting forward a defence to any charge we may bring against him that he was seeking to protect himself from assault by his partner.’
Ted was deliberately sticking to the term partner. He would normally have used wife, since the man had already stated a preference for it. He was looking to see what reaction pushing the man’s buttons might have on his seemingly short temper.
‘Wife. I’ve already said. She were the wife to me.’
His tone, in reply, confirmed what Ted was looking for.
‘Wife. Excuse me. So you’re saying your wife could show violent behaviour towards you? Was this a regular thing?’
The solicitor moved as if to intervene but Ted cut across her, polite as ever.
‘Ms Castle, please excuse me, but if your client is putting this explanation forward as part of his defence, should it become necessary, you must understand that we need to explore this avenue now.
‘For example, you are quite welcome, of course, to produce your own medical report, but we would also reserve the right to get our own examination carried out. To look for signs of injuries on your client. And that would need to be done soon. Preferably today.
‘Time is clearly of the essence here, because if your client was attacked by his wife on the day in question, there may still be some marks on him which could help to corroborate his version of events. The longer we leave it, the more likely it is that any such marks would disappear.’
The man started to speak, blustering. Ted turned to him to reply.
‘You must see how important this is, though, in terms of any future defence? If this incident was provoked by violent assault on you by your wife, then we need to get you examined by the police doctor, and to get photographs of any marks, defensive or otherwise, we might find on your body.’
