by J. R. Ellis
Without a word, Andy rushed past the woman and shot through the house, following Newman through the back door into a scrubby garden.
‘Hey, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t just barge in like this!’ the woman said.
‘I think we can, madam,’ said Oldroyd, brandishing his ID. ‘We’re detectives investigating two murders, and we need to ask Mr Newman some questions.’
‘Why? He hasn’t done nothing.’ She stood defiantly in the doorway.
‘Then can you explain why he made a run for it when he saw us? I think you need to let me in.’
Sullenly she stood aside, shut the dog in the living room and followed Oldroyd back into the kitchen, from where muffled barks and occasional scratchings on the door to the living room could be heard.
Andy was ushering Newman back into the house. ‘Got him as he was trying to climb over the fence at the back, sir.’
‘Yeah, and you’ve torn me bloody shirt,’ said Newman as he sat down at the orange pine table and examined the torn sleeve.
Oldroyd and Andy also sat at the table, while the woman remained standing by the door.
‘Running away from the police is never a good idea,’ said Oldroyd. ‘It suggests to us that you have something to hide.’
Newman seemed deflated. He shook his head. ‘I haven’t. It’s just that I panicked when I saw yer. I’ve had a few run-ins wi’ t’police over t’years and I get a bit, yer know, edgy.’
‘Maybe that was because you didn’t tell them the truth. And here you are still at it, because you told us that you went straight to the Leisure Centre from the Royal Baths on the morning of Damian Penrose’s murder and that wasn’t true, was it? Your son went to the Leisure Centre, not you.’
‘Don’t get our Terry into this – he just helps his dad out,’ said the woman.
Oldroyd turned to her. ‘Into what exactly?’
‘Just keep quiet, Irene,’ said Newman. ‘You’re makin’ it worse.’ He turned to Oldroyd. ‘OK. Terry covers for me occasionally because I get some work doin’ other stuff.’
‘Moonlighting?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘Just labourin’ work. A bloke I know has a business layin’ paths and patios and I do a bit of work fer him now and again.’
‘Cash in hand, no tax, no paperwork. That’s a bit naughty when you should be at your regular job, isn’t it?’
Newman shrugged.
‘So that’s where you were that morning and not murdering Damian Penrose?’
‘’Course I wasn’t; I was down at t’builders’ merchants helpin’ him load up his van for t’day.’
‘And what about Monday night? I’m sure you know there was another murder near The White Swan late in the evening.’
Newman thought for a moment. ‘I was at t’pub, T’Bilton Arms, ’til late; lots of people saw me.’
Oldroyd glanced at Andy and then got up. ‘OK. We’ll be checking those alibis, otherwise we’ll leave it there for the moment. I say again: don’t lie to the police. All you do is get yourself into more trouble. If you’d come clean with us at the beginning, we wouldn’t have had to waste all this time.’
Newman said nothing. Oldroyd and Andy went back to the front door. The barking and scratching reached a crescendo as they passed the living room.
‘Waste of time, then, sir, as you said,’ said Andy, as Oldroyd drove back to HQ.
‘I think so. You’d better get his alibi checked out and then I’m inclined to leave it at that.’
‘What he’s up to is a bit dodgy, isn’t it, though?’
‘Yes, but that’s how poor people survive in our society: on their wits. I’m not about to shop him to his employer or the tax people, not when the rich bankers and multinationals are avoiding taxes on an industrial scale and getting away with it.’
Andy thought about his friend, Jason Harris, who worked in the City and openly admitted that the system was like a gigantic casino, except you played with other people’s cash. Jason made a packet of money, and how many of his practices were strictly legal? It wasn’t easy when you were a policeman charged with upholding the rule of law, but he tended to agree with his boss.
‘Ooh! Good afternoon, Sarge. It’s very nice to see you, as always.’ DC Hancock welcomed Steph into Fenton’s office in the usual leering manner. DC Turnbull smirked in the background. Unfortunately for them, they’d forgotten to ensure that their protector was there for them to hide behind. Fenton was out of the office.
Steph had been summoning up the calm courage to enter that office again and try to ignore what was said to her, but now she took her opportunity.
‘Don’t take that tone with me, Hancock. You’re like a pathetic teenage boy. If looking at me turns you on so much, why don’t you just go off into the toilets and have a good wank?’ The grin disappeared from the faces of both of Fenton’s DCs.
‘Steady on, Sarge, that’s a bit much. It’s only a bit of fun,’ muttered Hancock.
Steph laughed derisively. ‘Is it now? Well, I don’t find it funny. You like handing out all this stuff, don’t you? But you can’t take it when it comes back. How many women officers here do you harass with your smutty talk and dirty looks? Well, I’d make the best of it, if I were you, because things are going to change here before too long.’
Turnbull looked towards the door of Fenton’s office.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here to protect you, Turnbull,’ continued Steph. ‘What a shame! You’re also a couple of cowards, aren’t you? Hiding behind the boss.’ At that moment there was the sound of someone coming up the stairs. ‘That’s probably him now. Well, I dare you to tell him what I’ve said. “Please, sir, she’s been nasty to me.”’ Steph glared at them both, and they looked away, sheepishly.
Fenton came into the office. As usual his sweat-stained shirt was drawn tight over his fat belly. Grubby hair stuck to his balding head and he needed a shave. He saw the three of them. ‘OK, cut it out, cut it out. Fancy that, Sergeant – I’d never have thought you were into threesomes.’
Hancock and Turnbull returned to their sniggering. They always laughed obsequiously at their boss’s jokes, like the pathetic hangers-on they were.
‘Anyway, anybody doing any work round here? Walker wants a report on our investigation into this corruption thing, so maybe you can get your pretty head working on that, Sergeant?’
Despite Fenton’s sexist remark, Steph welcomed the suggestion, as it meant she could return to her work, and not have to endure the company of these three. ‘Fine,’ she said.
‘You two,’ continued Fenton. ‘We’re going to that warehouse off the Leeds Road. There’s been a big robbery and there’ll be plenty of statements to take.’
Turnbull and Hancock left the room without looking at Steph.
Before he followed them, Fenton turned to her. ‘I hope you’re giving my suggestion plenty of thought. I think you’d enjoy the way out of your difficulties more than you think.’ He gave her a disgusting wink and he drew his tongue slowly over his top lip. Steph thought she might be sick.
As soon as they’d gone, she returned to the general office. She had the opportunity to continue her recruitment to the cause. Sharon Warner was the next person. She was a very attractive young woman and another obvious target for a man like Fenton. Again, she would have to take things very carefully, as Sharon was an inexperienced police officer. Steph knew she may well be afraid to divulge anything that had happened.
Steph found the young DC at her desk and called her into Oldroyd’s office.
‘Sit down, Sharon. I’m going to use your first name because I want to talk to you about something personal.’
‘OK, Sarge,’ replied Sharon, looking a little alarmed. Steph went to the door to double-check that neither Fenton nor either of his sidekicks were around, then she sat down next to Sharon.
‘Look, this isn’t easy, so if you don’t want to say anything, just tell m
e. OK?’
Sharon nodded.
‘Have you had anything to do with Inspector Fenton?’
The look of alarm in Sharon’s eyes told her that something had definitely happened.
‘What . . . What do you mean? In what way? I don’t . . . work with him,’ Sharon said with obvious difficulty.
‘Has he said or done anything in a sexual way that has made you feel uncomfortable?’
Sharon looked down, mumbled something and suddenly burst into tears. Steph put her arm gently on her shoulder and gave her a tissue. She was very angry. The girl was barely more than a kid just out of school. How dare that bastard treat her like this! He was old enough to be her father, the nasty, dirty . . . ! She had to take a deep breath to stop herself from bursting out in a rage.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sharon said between sobs.
‘Don’t be; it’s not your fault but it’s important that you tell me about it, whatever he’s said to you about keeping quiet. You’re not the only one he’s treated like this, and together we can stop him.’
Sharon looked at Steph, her blue eyes wet with tears. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘My dad said not to say anything; it would be held against me.’ She put her hands up to her face. ‘Oh God, I sound pathetic . . . telling my parents about things.’
‘Why? It’s natural to go to them for help when you’re not very experienced and not sure of yourself. I used to talk to my mum all the time about what was going on here when I first started: who I liked, who I didn’t, what I found hard. But I have to say, I don’t agree with your father on this. As I said, keeping quiet makes it easier for people like Fenton, and worse for you and the rest of us. It’s bullying and the rule of fear.’
Sharon’s hands were nervously working the tissue. ‘I’m just frightened, I suppose. He’s an inspector, and who would listen to me?’
‘That’s exactly what he wants you to feel. These things are worse in an organisation like the police, because there are all these ranks, and we have to obey our superiors. It’s a perfect place for these predators to flourish. The power over us is part of the kick he gets out of it. He wouldn’t try it on with a woman who was the same rank.’
‘What will you do if I tell you? You won’t say anything to him?’
‘No. I won’t do anything straight away. I’m talking to a number of women who’ve had the same kind of experience with him. If we stay together, I think we can do something about it.’
Sharon took a deep breath. ‘OK. Well, it began almost as soon as I started here.’
‘How long is that now?’
‘Six months. He complimented me on my first day here, and at first I just thought, Oh, that’s nice and friendly. But then he carried on. Every day he was saying something about my appearance, and asking if I had a boyfriend. I tried to laugh it off, but it made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t think I could say anything to him because he’s an inspector.’
‘Understandable,’ said Steph.
‘He started stalking me. He always seemed to pop up when there was nobody else around and he would come up too close to me and sort of leer at me and say things like had I thought how much better older men were as lovers.’
Steph nodded. Somehow the fact that he obviously used the same clichéd line with all his victims seemed to make Fenton doubly pathetic.
‘I wondered if I’d said or done something to encourage him. Was it my fault?’
‘No, you mustn’t think that. You are the victim here, you’re not responsible for the way he’s treated you.’
‘I’m glad you’ve said that because I just didn’t know what to make of it all. Then there are those two men who work with him,’ continued Sharon.
‘Hancock and Turnbull, yes, I know them – a couple of immature idiots who just feed off Fenton.’
‘Well, they started to say stuff as well and . . .’ Sharon started to cry again as the memories returned. ‘It really upset me. I got to the point where I dreaded coming into work.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘It was then I told Mum and Dad. They were sympathetic, but Dad said there was nothing I could do. I would just have to put up with it and not let it get to me. No one would listen to a junior person like me over a senior man like him.’
‘Right,’ said Steph. ‘You’ve told me enough, and thank you, I know it’s been hard. I promise I won’t say anything until I’ve asked for your permission and that won’t be until we’re ready to act together.’
Sharon dabbed her eyes. ‘Thanks. I feel better now I’ve told someone.’
‘I’m sure you do. In the meantime, if he carries on saying things, do your best to ignore it and avoid being by yourself anywhere he could come in and trap you. As for those goons, Hancock and Turnbull, again just steer clear. I’ve given them a piece of my mind today, so they might be a bit more subdued.’
‘Well done, Sarge.’ Sharon smiled for the first time.
‘If Fenton tries to get you working for him in his office, tell me. I’ll have a discreet word with DCI Oldroyd and we can stop it without giving too much away to anyone. OK?’
Sharon nodded.
‘I’ll let you know what’s happening,’ Steph said, ‘and you can always come and talk to me if there’s anything else you want to go through or you’re upset about anything. And remember: this is not your fault. You are the victim and you are not weak.’ She smiled at the young DC, who got up to leave.
‘Thank you, Sarge,’ Sharon said as she left. Steph could hear the relief in the other woman’s voice.
Alone in the office, Steph sighed. What she’d heard from Sharon had made her all the more determined to do something about Fenton.
John Sinclair found being interviewed for the second time by Oldroyd and Andy much more challenging than the first.
He descended the stairs from his office on his way out and opened the door on to the street to find the detectives barring his way.
‘I’m glad we caught you, sir,’ said Oldroyd, formally but genially. His grey eyes were cold. ‘If we can just go back up to your office? We need to ask you some more questions.’
Sinclair looked at Andy, but the DS’s serious expression offered no support.
‘Very well,’ Sinclair said, turning round reluctantly and ascending the stairs down which he’d just come. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked rather lamely when the three of them were sitting in the office.
‘I think it would have been wise,’ began Oldroyd, ‘if you’d told us about your romantic involvement with Damian Penrose.’
Sinclair frowned. ‘It’s my private life, and I didn’t think it was relevant.’
Oldroyd laughed. ‘Even though it gives you a second motive for his murder?’
‘I didn’t murder Damian!’ cried Sinclair. ‘I loved him.’ He covered his face with his hands and appeared to be weeping.
Oldroyd paused before continuing. ‘Unfortunately, you don’t need me to tell you that the two things are by no means incompatible, otherwise we wouldn’t have the whole business of the crime passionnel, as the French put it, would we?’
Sinclair said nothing.
‘I can see this is traumatic for you,’ Oldroyd said. ‘Please take your time.’
Sinclair picked up a tissue and wiped his eyes. ‘How did you find out about it?’
Oldroyd told him about the diary.
‘I see,’ Sinclair said. ‘I didn’t even know Damian kept a diary. You must understand,’ he said in a voice that kept breaking, ‘another reason I don’t talk about my time with Damian is that I haven’t said much to my partner about it. Maybe that was a mistake, but it was a long time ago and I don’t want it to affect my relationship with Ed. He knows I had a relationship with Damian, but not how intense it was and how I still had some . . . feelings for him. If anything came out now, things could be . . . difficult.’
‘Yes,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘We understand. Nothing will be revealed unless that proves necessary.’
‘You mean if you
decide I’m involved in Damian’s death?’
‘Indeed.’
‘In that case, I’m not worried. My conscience is clear.’
Oldroyd pressed on, despite Sinclair’s protestations of innocence. ‘When did you develop the relationship with Penrose and how long did it last?’
‘Oh, it was something that went right back to our time at school together. We were close friends in the sixth form and we met up again in London.’ He sighed. ‘I always found Damian an exciting character. I was quieter and less confident; I suppose it started out as hero worship. The romance developed later in the freedom of London.’ Sinclair was speaking more calmly now. He seemed to be welcoming the chance to talk about his troubled feelings. ‘The thing is, I knew I was gay from an early age, but it was Damian who enabled me to acknowledge it. That was a difficult thing to do in those days.’ He paused and seemed momentarily lost in memories. ‘But I was never really sure about Damian and his bisexuality – whether it was genuine or just part of his image as the bohemian writer with an unconventional lifestyle.’
‘But the relationship clearly meant a lot to you,’ said Andy.
‘Yes, it did. I was in love with him. It was very painful for me when we broke up. He moved on to another partner – a woman – and they eventually married.’
‘Was that Susan Lawrence?’ asked Oldroyd.
‘Yes. I was angry and bitter. It made me feel as if his relationship with me had just been a form of dalliance, an amusement; his real self required a female partner.’
‘So there was history between you before all those problems with money?’
Sinclair sighed. ‘Yes. It didn’t make it any easier, and after our rows about money, our relationship deteriorated to the point where he seemed to despise me. That night before he was killed, he said such cutting things in the bar about my business being a failing venture – he was so contemptuous and cruel, I couldn’t believe it was the same person I’d been close to for all those years.’ He shook his head.
‘You obviously felt very sad and angry,’ said Oldroyd.
