by Giles Ekins
‘Of course. Have you always known you were adopted,’ Grace asks sympathetically ‘When were you told, I imagine it came as a bit of shock?’
‘Dunno really, I suppose I always knew from things that were said. Or maybe not said. I think I was about five, maybe six, when they told me, early on anyway, I remember that, I remember that feeling of being somehow different.’
‘How did you feel about that?’ Grace asked.
‘Didn’t give a shit either way. ‘cept that from about age eleven, I didn’t call them Mum and Dad anymore, just Donald and Janet, ‘cos that’s all they were to me now.’
‘You were resentful toward Donald and Janet, when you found out? About your adoption, I mean ?’ Terry asked, maybe it could explain his hostility towards them. Could it be a motive for killing? A build-up of resentment that one day bubbles over into violence?
‘Didn’t fucking care either way, did I??’
‘Moderate your language please, David, it is being recorded. And there is a lady present.’ Terry admonished.
‘Do I give a fuck? he answered, deliberately offensive. What did the neighbours call him? ‘a nasty little shit.’ and ‘a thoroughly unpleasant little bastard,’ I can see why, Terry thought.
‘How about Julia, your sister? Was she also adopted?’ Grace asked.
‘Nah. Apparently Janet thought she was barren, so they decided to adopt. And in case you can’t work it out, that was me. Then when I was about seven, she got pregnant, great excitement all round, I don’t know whether she was on IFV, whatever it’s called but along came Julia.’
‘And how did you feel about that, David?’ Terry asked.
What do you think I felt about? Suddenly I was the cuckoo in the nest, no. that’s not right, is it? I was the one being pushed out of the nest by the interloper.’
‘And you resented your parents for that?’ Grace queried.
Jarrett leaned forward aggressively, his nostrils flaring. ‘Adoptive parents. Adoptive! Of course, I resented it. Julia, the bright little light of their dull, dull lives, the blue-eyed angel and I was pushed to one side, I was the stranger, no longer part of the family. I honestly think if they could have sent me back to the foster homes or wherever they found me, they would’ve.’
‘Did they ever say that, implicitly?’
‘Not in so many words, but you could see it. Feel it.’
‘And did you dislike Julia? Did you resent her?’ Grace asked.
‘Did I dislike her? No, not exactly. I wouldn’t say I disliked her, I just resented the attention she got, leaving me out in the cold.’
‘And when she died, how did you feel about that. Sorry? Pleased?’ Terry asked, with an edge to his voice.
‘I felt sorry, naturally, but sort of relieved at the same time, you know what I mean? It meant I could be number one again,’
‘And were you, number one again?’ Terry pressed.
‘No! No! She might have been dead, but she was still there, just the same, a fucking ghost. And how many ghosts can you live with, eh? One is more than enough, her presence sort of hovered everywhere, you know what I mean.’
‘And how did your…your adoptive parents take her death?’ Terry asked sharply.
‘Hard, what do you think? Song and dance routines and somersaults on the lawn? Jesus, you people! Look, can we get on with this, I want to get back home, except some officious pig told me I wasn’t allowed in.’
‘It’s a crime scene,’ Grace explained, ’It’s sealed for the time being until we have completed our investigation of the premises.’
‘And how long is that going to be, eh?’ Jarrett snapped.
‘As long as it takes.’ Terry responded quietly.
‘Oh, just fantastic! Jobsworth’s rule OK!’
‘I think we’ll just a short break at this point,’ Grace said. ‘David, would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, and turned off the recorder.
‘Yeah, and a pepperoni pizza. With extra mushrooms. Don’t forget the extra mushrooms,’ he called after them as Grace and Terry left the room. ‘And I need a piss!’
Twenty-Five
‘So’, Grace asked Terry. as they sat in her office with a cup of coffee each, taken from the Costa coffee machine by the small pantry on the CID floor. ‘What do we think about our Mr David Jarrett?’
‘Well, he’s everything the neighbours said about him, and more, isn’t he? A nasty arrogant little shit with a chip on each shoulder. He obviously holds a deep resentment towards his parents…adoptive parents, as he insists on calling them. Whether that resentment and antipathy is enough for him to kill them, we’ll have to see. There’s a nasty temper there as well, he’s kept it under control so far, but it’s there, just beneath the surface. How much it takes to push him over the edge and lash out, I don’t know. But not much, I reckon.’
‘That’s how I read it as well Keep up the pressure on him.’
‘With pleasure, Grace. With pleasure.’
Twenty-Six
When they re-entered the interview room, David was sat back with his chair on wo legs, his eyes closed. He could sense their presence but took his time in opening his eyes and setting his chair back on all four legs. ‘Oh, it’s you two, Pinky and Perky.’
Without a word, Terry handed him a cup of tea in a paper cup.
‘What, no pizza, I distinctly remember asking for pepperoni with extra mushrooms.’
Grace nodded to Terry as he switched on the recording equipment again.
‘This is a continuation of the recorded interview with Mr David Jarrett, also present are DCI Swan and DS Horton.’
‘David; Grace began. ‘Can you tell us about your morning two days ago, up until the time you found your father,’
‘Donald! He was not my father! How many more times?’
‘Sorry, can you please tell us your movements up until you found Donald Jarrett apparently deceased and called the emergency services?’
David leaned back in his chair and looked up to study the ceiling, as if seeking answers up there or deciding how to answer.
‘Not a deal to tell, really,’ he answered eventually, ‘Got up. Showered, all that stuff. Some breakfast can’t recall what, some toast maybe. Played some games on my laptop. Hey, talking of which, if I can’t get into my house, it is my house now, you realise, my house, can I at least get my laptop?’
‘Sorry, no, it’s been taken for examination,’ Terry answered.
‘What! You can’t do that, it’s my property. Give it back,’ he demanded angrily.
‘’Sorry, it can’t be done. We shall need your mobile phone, as well, you’ll get it back as soon it has been checked.’
‘You can’t do man, man, I need my phone.’
‘Please, pass me your mobile phone, David.’ Terry demanded forcibly. With an exaggerated show of reluctance, David complied.
‘David, you were telling us about your movements the day your…adoptive parents died. Please continue,’ Grace requested.
‘Like I said, not a lot to say about it, I played some games on my now non-existent confiscated laptop, and then went to the library.’
‘What time was that?’ asked Terry.
‘Dunno, exactly. About ten ten-thirty, something like that.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Can’t say, really. I don’t wear a watch, what do I need one for? Time passes. Life goes on. Who needs to know the time?’
‘We are trying to establish a time-line of your movements.’ explained Grace again.
‘Well I can’t help you much there, as I said.’
‘That’s OK, if you’ve got your library cards, we can check.’ Terry said, and David took them from his wallet and handed them over.
‘After the library, what did you do next?’ continued Grace.
‘Mooched around a bit.’
‘Doing what?’ Terry snapped in exasperation.
‘This and that, A bit of the other, you know?’
‘Can you be a bit more
precise? Grace asked.
‘No. I can’t.’
No matter how much they pressed, Grace and Terry could get nothing further out of David Jarrett, who enjoyed being obstructive and non-committal about his answers. Finally, Grace gave up and switched the line of questioning.
‘David. your adoptive parents attended a spiritualist meeting a week ago. What you know about that?’
Suddenly the atmosphere in the interview changed and David leaned forward across the table, showing animation for the first time during the interview.
‘Like they never rowed, never,’ he said earnestly. ‘They had this middle-class, tight-arsed attitude of not expressing anger, not rowing or arguing loudly in case the neighbours heard. So what, who gives a shit what the neighbours think?’
‘And that night?’ Terry pressed.
‘It was the mother of all rows, like thirty years of suppressed anger came bursting out, all that accumulated pus, screaming and yelling fit to split their guts. ‘Course when they saw me, it all went quiet, but you could see them still seething at each other. I asked what was going on. And they said it were just a spat.
But then Janet said that he, Donald, had done something unforgiveable and so she was getting a divorce. Hardly a spat, was it? Shit, you could’ve heard them halfway to Manchester once they got at it. Never stopped from that night on.’
‘And do you know the reason for the rows?’ asked Terry.
‘Not that first night, but soon become obvious. Apparently, they got a message from Julia, from the other side, accusing Donald of abusing her. Janet was well pissed off. Totally ape-shit about it.’
‘Janet believed the message, believed that Donald abused Julia? Is that what you’re saying?’ Terry pressed.
‘Of course, course she did.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…it…was… true!’ David responded, forcefully, banging his clenched fist on the table to emphasise his words.
‘David,’ Grace said, ‘this is very important. How do you know that Donald abused Julia?’
David Jarrett twisted his hands together, looking down at the floor, the bluster and animation seeping out of him like sugar through a hole in the bag.
‘Because, because she wasn’t the only one he abused. That’s why,’ he answered quietly
‘Who else, David? Who else did Donald Jarrett abuse?’ Terry asked, here was a possible motive for the murder of Donald Jarrett.
‘Are you both totally pig-shit thick? Me! When Julia wasn’t around, I was the lucky recipient of his attentions.’
‘Did Julia tell you what he did? Grace asked, ‘Did she tell you he made him do?’
‘No, not at first. But gradually. The usual. Touching her, then rape. Forced fellatio, that sort of thing. Look, I really don’t want to talk about this. You said I could leave at any time. I want to leave. Now!’
Just a few more questions and we’ll be done,’ Grace soothed him. ‘I know it’s difficult to talk about such things, but you were also abused? As much as Julia? As often?’
‘No, no, not as much as Julia,’ he answered after a long pause.
‘Why do you think that was,’ Terry asked, unnecessarily, as it jerked Jarrett back into obnoxiousness.
‘Why the do you think? Because unlike Julia I don’t have a cunt!’ he snapped angrily.
‘David, please just answer this, it is important,’ Terry asked, realising he had inadvertently knocked the interview off-track. ‘What did David Jarrett do to you? It is important you tell us; however painful it might be.’
‘No, I don’t want to. Fuck off.’
‘Please David,’ Grace asked quietly. Trying to take the heat out of the situation.
‘All right. All right. Buggery and oral stuff. And now I really am out of here.’
At that he got to his feet and made for the door. Grace shot Terry an annoyed look and he raised his hands in apology, knowing he had misplayed the interview
Twenty-Seven
A cold Autumn rain spattered against the windows of the briefing room as the team assembled, seating themselves around the large oval table. They each had a bound A4 folder containing all the crime scene photographs and summaries of relevant information. Two additional white boards had been set up. One of the new boards had a photograph of David Jarrett, whilst a photograph of Julia Jarrett was displayed on the other.
The other boards displayed further information including blood spatter, footprint photographs, and autopsy photos showing the injuries to Donald Jarrett’s head and the ligature marks on Janet’s neck, even though all the photos were in the A4 binders.
‘Good morning everybody,’ Grace greeted them, ‘this is the second briefing of Operation Snowdrop, day three since the discovery of the bodies of Donald and Janet Jarrett.’ She looked down briefly at the Policy File and her own case notes before continuing.
‘Since our briefing of yesterday, there has been, as you are aware, a major development. Janet Jarrett was manually strangled before her body was hung in the garage like a carcass in an abattoir.
This piece of information is not, I repeat not, to be given to the press. Even the press office is not to know until I say so, those places leak like the Titanic on a bad night. OK?’
The assembled team, Terry Horton, Fred Burbage, Emma Cox, Jessica Babalola, Brian Endcliffe and Danny Moss all nodded in agreement.
‘As a consequence, we are now looking at murder/murder, not murder/suicide. Now, if any of you have plans for the weekend, you’d best cancel them now.’
‘Bugger, I’d promised to take my daughter Hayley riding on Saturday.’ Brian Endcliffe said, rather more loudly than he had intended.
‘If you wanted a nine to five job you should have become a librarian,’ Grace shot back at him.
‘Be out of a job now if I had, the bloody council’s closed all the libraries!’
‘Quite! Now, in addition,’ Grace continued, ’Erika Berger, the Home Office pathologist, is certain that Janet Jarrett died up to an hour before Donald, so the entire scenario, presented by David Jarrett, that Janet battered Donald to death in a fit of rage over the accusations of child abuse before hanging herself in remorse, goes out of the window,
We do however have a conundrum. We have a dead woman locked in a garage with the only key to the garage locked inside with her. It sounds like the classic locked room, Sherlock Holmes type puzzle. How does a dead woman take a key into a garage and lock herself in?
‘I think it’s easy enough, er…Grace,’ Danny Moss answered ‘We’ve got a similar garage door at home, installed by Garside Garage Doors, same as the one at the Jarrett home, a roll over type. Once you click the remote…’
A blue and grey remote key fob falls to the floor and skitters away for couple of feet as a 4’0’’ aluminium ladder crashes to the floor and the body of Janet Jarrett hangs from the roof joist.
‘I’ve not timed it,’ Danny continued, ‘but it takes at least 10, maybe 15 seconds to close. Plenty of time for somebody to engage the remote and get out before the door closes.
‘Yeah,’ said Fred, ‘time enough to get to the ‘Dog and Duck’ for a swift half and back again.’
‘As simple as that,’ Grace conceded, ‘so obvious when you think about it, Good work. Danny.’
‘Have to call him Sherlock, from now on,’ was Fred’s rather heavy-handed quip, received by universal groans.
Grace turned to the photograph of David Jarrett
‘David James Jarrett is now very much a person of interest. However, a word of caution. We cannot exclude the possibility of other suspects, for instance we need to look very closely at Donald’s business interests. Did either of Donald or Janet have enemies? Keep an open mind.’
Fred Burbage turned aside and rolled his eyes derisively, ‘talk about stating the bleedin’ obvious.’ Grace caught the action but said nothing but noted it mentally as another black mark.
‘Now, David Jarrett,’ Grace continued, ‘At an interview yesterday, he displayed
considerable animosity towards his adoptive parents and clearly resented that his sister, Julia, was the Jarrett’s natural child whilst he was, as he put it, ‘Suddenly I was the cuckoo in the nest, no. that’s not right, is it? I was the one being pushed out of the nest by the interloper.’ He also stated that both he and Julia were sexually abused by Donald Jarrett.’
The team looked at each other in disgust, every one of them would cheerfully castrate a child abuser with a rusty razor blade. ‘Nasty, nasty, nasty’ muttered Brian Endcliffe.
‘Without external confirmation,’ Grace said, ‘we have only David’s word that this abuse did occur. And I have to say that he does not strike Terry and I as a reliable witness.’
Terry nodded, ‘He likes playing the smart-arse, thinks he’s being clever by pissing us off. He’s got something to hide, that’s for sure.’
‘Brian please check our records, and school and Social Services for reports of abuse or if they ever expressed concern.’
‘OK, Grace, will do,’ he answered.
‘Talking of abuse,’ Grace continued, ‘this is where the spiritualist comes in. Jessica, what do you have.?
‘Right! Jessica responded, ‘we’ve all read the article in the ‘Garside Gazette’ and the paper is now with Fred for the case files It did not expand much on what we already knew so I went to talk to the reporter who wrote the article…’
‘This is Celia Donald, one of our junior reporters, who did the basic research and wrote the first draft of the article, which I then had to tidy up’ Marcus Garretty, the Editor of the Gazette told Jessica. He was tall and thin, wearing rimless glasses, and was younger than Jessica expected a newspaper editor to be. He had a contrived air of superiority and obviously held himself in very great esteem.
The reporter he indicated was a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman with short blonde hair, wearing grey trousers and a cream roll-neck sweater and sported a ring on every finger of her red finger-nailed hands
‘Celia, this is Pc Bubbledover, asking about the ‘Accusation from beyond the grave article.’ I’ll leave you two girls to it,’ he said condescendingly and strode away, declaiming ‘Busy. Busy, Busy,’ as he went.
