Charles watches Sally’s shoulders rise and fall as she draws a further deep breath to calm herself. She reaches behind herself to pull apart the bow tied in her pinafore strings. She tugs it over her head and offers it to Charles.
‘I think I will go back to Mum’s,’ she says simply. ‘I’m not hungry anymore.’
She turns towards the doorway into the lobby to collect her shoes which she usually slips off on entering the flat.
‘Oh come on, Sally, you know I wouldn’t cancel if there was any choice!’ protests Charles. He follows her out to the lobby as she bends to put on her shoes. ‘What else can I do? I can’t tell my cousin “Sorry you’re going to hang, but my girlfriend wanted a weekend at the seaside.”’
Sally stands and reaches for her coat hanging inside the hall cupboard. ‘Course you can’t. I get it. You have to work this weekend, and he needs you more than I do.’ She turns, straightening her coat collar, and looks up at him. ‘I’m not being … what’s the word, like childish?’
‘Petulant?’
‘Yes, petulant. I really do understand, Charlie. You’ve got no choice, and you’ve got to focus on your cousin’s case. But it’s hard for me, too. There’s always a reason, time after time. And they’re always good reasons but, somehow, I never win. I’m always at the bottom of the list,’ she replies, shrugging sadly. She shakes her head. ‘Maybe this ain’t going to work,’ she finishes, the stress allowing the cockney accent to show through the recently-acquired RP veneer.
‘Don’t go now,’ he says softly, ‘please.’
‘Sorry, Charlie. I don’t want to be here at the moment and you’ve got to work anyway. I’ll give you a bell tomorrow.’ She stands on tiptoe and places a kiss lightly on his lips. ‘See ya,’ she says, a strained smile on her face.
The door opens and closes, and she’s gone.
The following morning Charles tries ringing Sally early, before she would’ve left Romford for the Temple, but receives no reply. Later, he tries Chancery Court before heading for the Old Bailey, to be told that she’s in a meeting and can’t come to the telephone. He gives up and heads to court.
By ten thirty the last witness in the false accounting trial is still a “non-attendance” and, having exhausted his very limited patience, Mr Justice Fletcher orders the barristers to get on with their closing speeches. They each take considerably more than the ten minutes predicted — never trust a barrister’s time estimate because he invariably underestimates how much he likes the sound of his own voice — but the judge makes up time by summing up in just over an hour, almost straight down the middle, and the jury retire to consider their verdicts shortly before lunch.
By three o’clock, having considered the evidence over sandwiches, they return unanimous not guilty verdicts on both charges on the indictment, and Charles’s client is discharged. Fletcher, obviously keen to get away early on a bright Friday afternoon, grants Charles’s application for an urgent prison visit to obtain instructions on the Crown’s evidence, and rules that arraignment will occur on Monday morning first thing, at which time Charles can make any further applications he requires. Charles takes that to mean that the door might still be open a crack to a possible adjournment after Monday if he needs more time.
Charles spends the afternoon clearing his desk to give himself a clear run on Merlin’s case, finally forcing himself to address a matter that has been demanding his attention for several weeks but which he has been avoiding: signing the transfer to dispose of his former matrimonial home with Henrietta in Buckinghamshire. It feels, finally, like the end of an era. He finds a colleague to witness his signature, half-expecting one final acerbic comment from Henrietta, but if she’s still looking over his shoulder from somewhere on the other side, she keeps her own counsel.
On Saturday morning Charles presents himself at Brixton Prison just before ten o’clock. For the first time in his career he doesn’t have to queue to get in. The order of Mr Justice Fletcher addressed to the deputy governor has facilitated an immediate legal visit for which Charles would otherwise wait days, if not weeks. Charles shows the order and his identification to the prison officers at the entrance and is shown inside.
At the same time, on the far side of the maze of grey brick Victorian buildings making up the prison complex, Merlin is taken off association and is escorted back to his cell by a tall prison officer with thinning grey hair to collect the prosecution depositions. The landing is relatively quiet and the door to the cell is open. The Brummie drug dealer with whom Merlin is sharing lies on his back on the bottom bunk, reading a magazine. The cell smells of recently-opened bowels.
The prison officer nudges the reclining prisoner with his knee. ‘Piss off, you.’
The young man looks over the top of his magazine and, without a word, rolls off the bunk and leaves the cell. The prison officer put his head out onto the landing to make sure no one is within earshot. He turns to face Merlin.
‘Here,’ he says, holding out his hand.
Merlin looks down. On the officer’s palm is what remains of a steel comb. The teeth have been removed and the remaining shaft has been sharpened into a wicked shiv with a triangle-shaped pointed blade approximately three inches in length. Merlin stares, unmoving, at the implement in the other’s hand.
‘Well, fucking take it!’
Merlin’s hand moves forward slowly and picks up the weapon. He tests the point, and draws blood from the pad of his forefinger.
‘Stick it up your sleeve,’ orders the officer. Merlin sucks the swelling pearl of blood from his finger and does as instructed. ‘Right. Come on,’ orders the guard, turning on his heel impatiently.
Merlin follows the officer out of the cell but then, as he goes through the door, he turns and sweeps his cap off his head and spins it in an arc back into the cell, watching it land safely on the top bunk.
In the suite reserved for legal visits Charles places his notebook and pens, two packets of cigarettes, a wad of tissues and a pad of lined notepaper on the desk. The prison officer in charge, an enormous redheaded man, as broad as Charles and six inches taller, returns to Charles his driving licence and a copy of Fletcher’s order and, without a word, Charles slips off his jacket and hands it over. He drops his keys and loose change into a metal bowl offered to him by a second officer and, unprompted, stands with his legs apart to allow a third, a fat man with an unpleasant body odour, to frisk him. Charles watches over the head of the man engaged in stroking the inside of his thighs as the senior officer feels through the folds of his jacket, paying particular attention to the collar and cuffs where items such as razorblades can be secreted.
Charles’s jacket and belongings are returned to him and he is shown into a conference room. It is one of several, and all the others are empty. Two of the prison officers unlock the steel barred doors and disappear, leaving only the redheaded giant sitting at the desk doing some paperwork. The visiting area, usually full of cigarette smoke, raised voices and squabbling children, is deserted and strangely silent. The only sound is the scratch of the officer’s pen on his ledger and the faint sounds of association continuing some distance away, behind several walls. The unaccustomed silence makes Charles uncomfortable.
A few minutes later he is startled by a knock on the door. The door opens.
‘Conway, to see you, sir,’ says the huge prison officer. There’s an unpleasant intonation in the way the officer uses the word “sir”; as if it were spelt “cur”. Charles glances sharply at the man’s face but he avoids eye contact, ushers Merlin into the room and closes the door swiftly behind him.
Charles extends his hand to shake that of Merlin but the lighterman ignores it. He tosses a small bundle of papers onto the desk and, rather than taking a seat opposite Charles’s, sits on the wooden bench built into the wall as far from Charles as he can get.
When they last met Charles had been worried that Merlin was too blasé about his situation, but now his cousin’s mood seems to have flipped completely. Merlin
looks unusually pale and there’s a faint sheen of perspiration on his tanned forehead. The thought enters Charles’s mind that perhaps Merlin has mental health problems. Who knows what’s happened to him over the last decade?
‘You OK?’ asks Charles.
‘Just tired,’ replies Merlin, glancing at Charles but looking away again quickly. He swings his legs up onto the bench and lies flat out. ‘You ever tried to sleep in one of these places?’
‘Not a remand prison cell, no, but a police cell, yes. I remember it well. On one occasion, I seem to recall, I was with you.’
That produces no response and so, with a further prolonged look at Merlin, Charles slips off his jacket again, hangs it over the back of his chair and sits down to start work. He picks up the first deposition and turns it over. Then he flicks ahead several pages.
‘You’ve not annotated them. You were going to mark them up for me so I know exactly what you say about every allegation of fact.’
‘Yeah,’ says Merlin, in a disinterested tone. ‘But then I started reading them again. And I thought, “What’s the point?”’
Charles draws a deep breath and considers carefully before he replies. ‘I understand. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you fear. But I’ll read them first and if I agree with you there’s no point, I’ll give it to you straight.’ Merlin shrugs in reply. With a final worried look at his cousin, Charles turns over the first page again and starts reading.
INDICTMENT
Murder, contrary to common law
STATEMENT OF OFFENCE
Isaac Conway did on or about 4 November 1963 murder John Huw Evans
No surprises there. Charles turns to the evidence.
Deposition of Vincent Vermeulen
Occupation: Chief Preventive Officer, HM Waterguard
Address: Harpy Waterguard Station, Custom House Pier, Custom House, 20 Lower Thames Street, EC1.
Magistrates Court Rules 1952: This deposition of Vincent Vermeulen, Chief Preventive Officer, Her Majesty’s Waterguard, Harpy Waterguard Station, Custom House Pier, Custom House, 20 Lower Thames Street, EC1, was sworn before me, Ralph James Nesbitt, Justice of the Peace, on 6 November 1963 in the presence of the accused, Isaac Conway, at the Thames Magistrates’ Court.
Signed: Ralph James Nesbitt Esq
Signature of deponent: V. Vermeulen
Vincent Vermeulen WILL SAY AS FOLLOWS:
I am employed by HM Customs and Excise as a Chief Preventive Officer in the Waterguard, presently stationed at the pontoon customs house moored on the River Thames opposite Custom House Pier, known as HMS Harpy Waterguard Station. My duties include the application of the current regulations relating to lawful allowances of tobacco and alcohol and the collection of Customs and Excise revenues on such goods as exceed the permitted allowances. To prevent goods being imported into the country in breach of customs regulations we conduct searches of vessels on the River Thames. The officers stationed at the Harpy are responsible for the Upper Coast of the river between London Bridge and Teddington Lock, the tidal limit.
On 3 November 1963 I was minuted for duty on the Harpy. The Waterguard stationed at the Harpy include specialist “rummage teams”, teams trained in the detection of hidden contraband aboard vessels. Teams would usually start from east to west on the north bank of the Thames, and return west to east on the south bank, investigating any vessels of interest.
I was aware of an ongoing investigation by Assistant Preventive Officer Evans and other personnel stationed at Harpy into the activities of the accused, Isaac Conway, a lighterman whose working name on the river is “Merlin”. It had come to the notice of the Waterguard from information received that the accused may have been involved in smuggling spirits.
I started my duty that night at 23:00 hours and noted that the station’s vehicle, an Austin Mini, had been taken out by APO Evans earlier that evening. I required that vehicle to carry out my own duties, and anticipated APO Evans’s return by the start of my shift. By 03:30 hours on the morning of 4 November 1963 he had not returned nor been in touch by telephone, and I became concerned. I knew the route he would have taken to reach the buoys where the accused had been under surveillance, and where he often tied up his barges overnight. I accordingly took the launch and travelled to where I hoped to find the accused’s barges. I found them moored at Isleworth Eyot and they were in darkness. Before investigating the barges further I tied up the launch on the western side of the river to investigate the area of Bridge Wharf Road. I there found the Waterguard’s Austin Mini parked at the corner of Mill Plat, a few hundred yards from the barges. It was locked and the lights were extinguished.
I piloted the launch across the river to the barges. I could see light emanating from one of the hatches, and I descended the steps. The accused was asleep in the bunk at the far end of the barge and was in a state of undress. I questioned him informally as to whether he had seen any officers of the Waterguard that night, and he denied having done so. I noted that the accused had bruises on about his face and neck and I asked him how he came by them. He informed me that he had been in a boxing match the previous day. It is known on the river that lightermen and watermen will occasionally engage in illegal boxing tournaments on board barges, and at that moment my suspicions were not aroused. Accordingly, I reboarded the launch and commenced a search. I proceeded upstream towards Twickenham.
At around 05:30 hours, less than half a mile from the accused’s barges, I saw something in the water floating just off one of the small islands in the middle of the Thames. On further investigation I realised that it was a uniformed body. I was able to snag the clothing of the body with a boating hook and pull it into the shallows. At that point I recognised the body as that of APO John Evans. I called for assistance from the Waterguard and from the police. While I was waiting I became concerned that the accused might leave the vicinity and I returned to Isleworth Eyot, and reboarded the accused’s barge arriving at 06:10 hours. He was still in bed, but awake and apparently very distressed. He was crying and almost incoherent. I cautioned him and he made no reply. I arrested the accused on a charge of suspected murder and conveyed him in the launch to HMS Harpy where I placed him in the secure room usually used for seized or detained goods.
At 07:14 hours I conducted an interview of the accused under caution. A true and accurate record of the interview is now produced and shown to me marked “VVI”. I handed him over to the officers of the Metropolitan Police at 07:40 hours.
Signed: Vincent Vermeulen
RECORD OF INTERVIEW UNDER CAUTION OF ISAAC CONWAY
This interview of Isaac Conway consisting of 1 page in length was taken by me Vincent Vermeulen on 4 November 1963 at 07:14 hours at HMS Harpy Waterguard Station Custom House Pier, Custom House, 20 Lower Thames Street, EC1.
[Caution administered]
Q: Do you understand?
A: Yes.
Q: Do you know APO Evans who works out of this station?
A: Yeah, I know him.
Q: How do you know him?
A: He’s rummaged barges and tugs where I’ve been working.
Q: Did you see him tonight?
A: Yes.
Q: Did he come aboard a barge of yours moored at Isleworth Eyot on the River Thames?
A: Yes.
Q: What happened?
A: I was trying to get away. We had a fight and I killed him.
Q: What did you do with his body?
A: I threw it in the river.
Q: I am ending this interview now to await the arrival of the Metropolitan Police.
A: OK.
Charles finishes making notes on Vermeulen’s statement. So far as Evans’s body is concerned there are a dozen ways it could have entered the river without Merlin being involved, and mere proximity to the barge proved nothing; the Thames is tidal, and its waters are constantly moving. The location of the Austin Mini is an uncomfortable coincidence and Charles will need more information to establish if other circumstances, other suspects perh
aps, might have brought Evans to that part of the Thames. But the most striking false note is Vermeulen’s interference with what, surely, should have been a police investigation.
Charles has had little to do with the Waterguard during his career, but he’s convinced that for Vermeulen even to have dabbled in a murder investigation was unorthodox, even more so when the body he dragged out of the water was that of his own colleague. What on earth was he doing interviewing the suspect and not leaving it to the police? And the interview itself: there were no other witnesses present, and Merlin hadn’t been asked to sign it as correct.
There was no legal obligation for Vermeulen to get Merlin’s signature on the document, but it would have proven that the lighterman spoke the words attributed to him. Furthermore, the interview itself contains not one detail proving it must have come from Merlin. While it’s virtually impossible to extricate one’s client from a confession containing detail only known to the criminal, this interview is completely bland, typical of the vague confession fabricated by an over-zealous investigator determined to secure a conviction; known in the trade as “a verbal.”
Charles leafs ahead and finds what he is looking for: a statement from the police officer, an Inspector Prentice, who interviewed Merlin again at the police station following his arrest. It records several pages of “No comment” in answer to all questions, making the confession allegedly recorded by Vermeulen even more suspect.
The Lighterman: The Kray Twins are out for revenge... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 3) Page 13
