by Giles Ekins
‘It’s not been confirmed that the blood is Donald’s. Or whose clothes they are, but it does look promising.’
‘I always knew the little bastard did, it and now we know. How stupid can you be, leaving the clothes like that?’ Terry exclaimed.
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit too obvious?’ Emma asked, and Grace nodded in agreement.
‘We need to think about this before the press conference,’ Grace said looking at her watch. ‘Forty-five minutes before show time, we need to go through what we are going to say. And more importantly what we are not going to say.’
‘So, what do we say,’ asked Terry
‘Simply that we are investigating the suspicious deaths of David and Janet Jarrett and are following several lines of enquiry. That’s all.’
‘The papers are all over this like a rash. They are bound to want to know more about Janet’s death, since we have said nothing about it so far,’ ’said Terry.
‘What we don’t tell them, they’ll just make it up, won’t they?’ Emma stated.
‘That’s the beauty of a free and vibrant press,’ Grace responded.
‘Bollocks!’ Terry said with a smile.
Just then, there seemed to be a disturbance in the CID room as everybody could be seen getting their feet.
‘Shit!’, said Grace, ‘it’s Vickers!’
‘He’s coming to rain on your parade and take the credit,’ said Terry.
‘I think I’m out of here,’ Emma said and got to her feet as the door opened and ACC Vickers came in.’
‘Sir,’ said Emma said, as she passed him, but he did not acknowledge her greeting. ‘Not important enough’, she thought as she returned to her desk. ’Prick!’
Grace and Terry stood up when Vickers entered, ‘Sir, Sir’, they echoed each other. ACC Martin Vickers was in his late fifties, about 6’0’’ tall, could be considered handsome in a matinee idol way except that he had exceptionally large fleshy lips. His eyebrows were thick and bushy, which Grace thought made men look old ,and had a full head of distinguished silvery hair. His uniform was immaculately pressed, and his white shirt starched and crisply ironed. ACC Vickers held a very high opinion of himself and always made sure he was well turned out. Especially if attending a televised press conference.
‘Grace’ he said, without warmth, giving her the patently false smile again.
‘Good afternoon, sir’
He turned to Terry and raised an eyebrow in query. ‘DS Horton, sir, Deputy/SIO on the Jarrett case.’
‘Yes, of course, DS Horton,’ Vickers responded, as if implying that there was something unsanitary about him.
‘Have you come for the press conference, sir?’ Grace asked, hoping that he had not but knew full well that Vickers rarely missed an opportunity to parade in front of the cameras.
‘Just thought I’d give you a hand, that’s all, Grace. It’s still your show, I’m only offering moral support.’
‘Thank you, sir, we want to limit the information we give out, we have not yet announced that Janet Jarrett was strangled, it is something we want to keep up our sleeves for the present.’
‘Of course, if you think that’s wise.’
‘We do, sir.
‘So be it.’
Thirty-Seven
As expected, the press room was full, ranks upon rank of white plastic chairs filled with reporters from all the national and local regional papers, among them Celie Donald and Marcus Garretty who was preening and trying to ingratiate himself with the national boys, who largely ignored him. Prominent TV reporters, mostly female, had naturally taken the front seats, having sent a minion or two to sit and reserve the seats for their own exalted backsides.
To the rear and sides of the room, TV cameras perched on top of tall tripods like so many news-hungry vultures or Martian war machines from HG Wells ‘War of the Worlds.’
Noise buffeted around the room , only falling silent by degrees as Vickers, Grace Swan. Terry Horton and Roy Moorcroft, the Press Officer who was out of sorts with Grace for not including him in her pre-conference discussions, but Grace did not trust him not to leak details to the press.
‘Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,’ Grace greeted the assembled press corps, ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Grace Swan, the Senior Investigating Officer on this tragic case. With me on my right, as I am sure you know, is Assistant Chief Constable Martin Vickers together with Roy Moorcroft, the press officer. To my left is Detective Sergeant Terry Horton.
I will make a short statement and then answer a few questions, but I am sure you will appreciate that due to operational necessity, information I can release at this stage has to be limited.’
She then presented a succinct account of the case. Donald Jarrett bludgeoned to death at his kitchen table and the subsequent discovery of Janet Jarrett’s body in the garage. She also mentioned the tragic death of their daughter from a drugs overdose. Knowing that it was bound to be raised, Grace also mentioned the spiritualist meeting at which accusations were levelled at Donald Jarrett, but dismissed it as lightly she could, ‘We deal in hard fact,’ ’she said, ‘and supposed evidence from ‘the other side’ has no place to play in this investigation. They were investigating a murder. ‘We are following up on several lines of enquiry, but I can give no further information at this time’ she said. ‘I’ll now take a few questions.’
She batted a few mundane questions, mostly concerning progress, stated they did not have a suspect in custody, no matter what they had heard elsewhere and she beginning to feel it was going well until Kathy McNichol, a star reporter with Sky News got to her feet. She was tall and blonde, very sure of herself and after checking to make sure that the cameras were on her, launched her attack.
‘Kathy McNichol, Sky News. DCI Swan isn’t it a fact that Janet Jarrett was strangled, and did not hang herself, as we have been led to believe?’
‘How the fuck does she know that?’ Terry thought angrily, then saw a thin sardonic smile crossing Vickers face ‘Bastard, he’s here to sabotage Grace, moral support my arse, he’s here to knock her down and he’s fed that bitch with info.’
‘I, I cannot comment on that, at this time, I’m afraid, the …circumstances of Janet Jarrett’s death are still under investigation.’ Grace managed to reply, furious at the information leak.
‘But DCI Swan, the result of the post-mortem indicating that Janet was strangled has been available since yesterday, why hasn’t this information been made public. Isn’t it in the public interest?’
‘Although it might be in the public interest, as you say, it is not necessarily in the best interests of this investigation.’ Grace retorted, clearly needled.
‘An investigation which seems to be going nowhere. DCI Swan, this murder investigation is much larger than any you have previously investigated, given your lack of experience in handling major investigations, wouldn’t it be prudent to hand over to a more …capable and experienced officer?’
‘This is in fact the third investigation that I have acted as the SIO, however it is not the third murder I have investigated, previously I acted as Deputy SIO on nine murders, all of which were successfully concluded and prosecuted. I have also attained level III of the Professional Investigation, a necessary requirement that does qualify me to handle this investigation.’.
‘Yes, so you say, but that is only very recently, is it not?’
‘If I may intercede here, Kathy’, Martin Vickers said,’ I have every confidence in DCI Swan and am sure she will swiftly bring this investigation to a satisfactory conclusion.’
‘Sounds like the chairman of a football club the day before he sacks his manager.’ thought Terry.
‘Thank you, Mr Vickers, ’McNichol responded, ‘I just I wish I could share your optimism,’ she added tartly. ‘One final question DCI Swan…’
‘Thank you, but no, I am taking no more questions at this time. We have a murder to investigate and I cannot justify any further time in pointlessly defending my capa
bility or experience with you. Thank you everybody, you will be advised in due course when the next press briefing will take place.’
But McNichol, who had gained a reputation as a Rottweiler, never letting go, was not finished yet.
‘DCI Swan, why have you not yet arrested David Jarrett, he is your prime suspect, isn’t he?’
Grace took no notice of the excited hub-bub of noise which greeted the question; gathering her papers together she marched out of the room, grim faced and furious, somebody had been feeding information to McNichol and when she found out who, she was going to roast his testicles over a slow fire.
Grace sat at her desk, stone-faced, her nostrils flaring in anger as she ran through the debacle of the briefing,
Who? Who had leaked information to McNichol?
It had to be somebody close to the investigation. The leak could have come from the pathologist’s department or the Coroner’s office, but she doubted that. Erika Berger ran a tight ship and it was inconceivable that the Coroner would leak information to the press. No, it had to come from someone close-by. Fred Burbage maybe, he had no love for her after the bollocking she had given him, but would he jeopardise an investigation because of that? These thoughts were swirling through her head when ACC Vickers again entered her office.
She made to get to her feet, but he waved her back down onto her chair.
‘I won’t take up any more of your time, Grace, just to let you know that I am behind you all the way on this. But we do need, I need, a swift resolution, Mr Hartburn, the Chief Constable, is most concerned at a perceived lack of progress. Shall we say by the end of the month, after all, there’s only one genuine suspect isn’t there? The Jarret boy! By the end of the month! Otherwise, I shall to consider bringing in a…more experienced officer from the Regional Crime Squad to take over. End of the month, Grace. End of the month.’
Grace shot a furious look at his departing back.
‘Bastard. The end of the month, less than three weeks away! And who the fuck fed that bitch McNichol?
Terry knocked, entered and sat down facing Grace over her desk.
‘Terry, who the hell set me up to be side-swiped like that? It wasn’t accidental. McNichol was fed that stuff. Who? I want him or her out of here, if I had my way, I’d nail them to the wall and leave them to rot.’
‘It was Vickers!’
‘Vickers?’
‘Yeah, he could barely keep the smirk of his face when McNichol sucker-punched you with you the Coroner’s report,’
‘The bastard. But why, why jeopardise the investigation like that?’
‘At a guess I’d say he wants to discredit you and bring in one of his cronies.’
‘That makes sense, he moved me sideways and then lo and behold, a juicy murder with nationwide interest drops onto my lap. That must really have pissed him off.’
‘You know, apart from the damage to your credibility, little actual damage has been done to the case. It was bound to come out that Janet had not hanged herself but was strangled. It was inevitable.
‘Yes, that makes sense, but we should be able to contain our information and release as and when we want to, not for Vickers to pre-empt and make us look incompetent.’
‘Best thing you can do is ignore it, I know that’s hard but if you keep brooding on it, he’s won. What we do is, is we wrap this up soon as. Shut him up that way.’
‘He’s definitely pushing me towards David Jarrett.’
‘Well. He is our prime suspect.’
‘I’m not convinced, too many loose ends.’
Grace sat back and thought for a few moments, putting her annoyance with Vickers and McNichol to one side as she considered her next move.
‘OK, give me an hour or so to update the policy file and check on other stuff, coordinate with the team and see what else is new. Then we’ll go and see what Mr Sebastian Serrano has to say for himself.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, aren’t we going in a bit heavy handed, I mean a DCI and a DS just to interview one man, it’s a peripheral enquiry and Serrano’s not a person of interest, is he? Couldn’t, say, Jessica, handle this? Not that I mind a run out to the seaside and try Fred’s fabulous fish and chips, you understand?’
‘No, he’s not a suspect but those accusations Julia supposedly made though him, are, as I’ve said, the catalyst for the whole bloody affair. I need to find out more, basically, was it a genuine message, or whatever they call them? And, maybe some fresh sea air will blow away the stink of Vickers and McNichol, god, I hate that bitch. The other reason I want you along, is to get to know you better, we have to work closely, and I like to know what my people are like, what makes them tick. And I also fancy some good fish and chips. Leave it at that, OK?’
‘Fine by me, I was just asking is all. I presume we are not advising Serrano that we want to talk to him? Just turn up out of the blue?’
‘You got it,’
‘Mind, if he’s any good as a clairvoyant, he’ll know we’re on our way and have all the necessary answers ready!’
Thirty-Eight
But Grace knew exactly why ACC Martin Vickers was determined to undermine her case, and it was something she had no intention of discussing with DS Terry Horton or anybody else for that matter.
The invitation, or was it an order, to attend the Police Federation Conference at the ICC in Birmingham City Centre, came via email on her internal office computer when she was still based in Sheffield.
It originated from the office of the ACC and was addressed to: Chief Superintendent Philip Chesworth, Detective Superintendent Arthur Halliday, Superintendent Keith Crawford and Detective Inspector Grace Swan.
As SIO, she had just successfully investigated the murder of Ellen Gregory, and presumed her invitation was recognition for that.
Eighteen-year-old Ellen, a first year Mental Health student at Sheffield’s Hallam University, was found in Endcliffe Woods, an area in Endcliffe Park on the opposite side of Porter Brook. She had been strangled with green nylon rope, short strands of which were embedded in her throat. The ligature, despite intensive search, was not found.
Ellen was a keen runner and ran through the park most evenings and was last seen near the duck pond by other runners and dog walkers at around 8.30.
Her body was not discovered until the following morning.
Ellen had not been raped or sexually assaulted but her running shorts had been removed and tossed to one side whilst her panties were nowhere to be found. It was assumed that her killer had taken them as a trophy.
Extensive interviews were carried out with witnesses, several of whom mentioned a man thought ‘weird’ or ‘out of place’ who, despite the increasing rain, was sitting on bench near the duck pond, staring intently into the water.
CCTV on Rustlings Road picked out the man leaving the park at 9.10pm. He walked down to Ecclesall Road and caught a number 83 bus. The on-board CCTV showed the man getting off in Southey Green but the CCYV coverage lost him shortly after that. A frame from the bus CCTV was printed in ‘The Star’ newspaper under the heading ‘Do You Know This Man?’ and he was identified as 43-year old Simon Bickerton.
He was arrested and questioned under caution. He strenuously denied any involvement in the murder of Ellen Gregory, stating only that he had seen her run past him as he sat on the bench. Asked why he remained sitting on the bench when it was raining, he replied that he was having a bad time at home. His wife Sheila constantly accused him of having an affair, which was untrue, but he suspected it was a ruse to deflect him from questioning her about her own suspected affair with somebody from her work.
He explained that after storming out of the marital home during yet another row, he had caught the first bus that came along, which is why he sat mulling things over in Endcliffe Park, even though he lived in Southey Green ,on the other side of the city.
There was no forensic evidence to link him to the murder, Ellen’s missing panties were not found in his house and so he was rel
eased on police bail.
Following his arrest, his photograph in ‘The Star’ and the search of the house, Sheila pre-empted him, claiming that she had been totally embarrassed by the incident and left him to live with her lover and asked for a divorce.
Frustrated by the lack of a result, Grace ordered another search of CCTV coverage, extending the search area beyond the adjacent areas surrounding the park. The killer had to have exited the park somewhere and out onto the adjoining roads. Everybody seen on CCTV leaving the park exits had been identified, contacted, questioned and eliminated from the enquiry.
The extended CCTV search now spotted a man almost half a mile away, running along Fulwood Road. towards Nether Green.
He was in running clothes, but his demeanour was suspicious, he kept on stopping and looking behind him as if he expected to be pursued.
He was identified as 27-year-old Malcolm Robinson, a bank clerk working at Barclays Bank. He lived with his father in a terraced house on Westbourne Drive, a mile or so from the park and Grace decided to bring him in for questioning.
He denied having been in Endcliffe Park on the night of the murder, but he was evasive and nervous, blinking rapidly and occasionally hyper-ventilating.
Grace suspected he might have climbed over a wall at the rear of the park to exit unnoticed. His running shorts were recovered from his house, there were abrasions on the material and Robinson himself had scratches at the back of his thigh which he was unable to satisfactorily explain away. However, a search of his house did not find the missing underwear and there was no forensic evidence linking him to the murder, Ellen had been attacked from behind, with little chance to defend herself and the pathologist found no skin scrapings or other forensic material belonging to her killer.
Nevertheless, Grace was now convinced Malcolm Robinson was the killer. She had Forensics check the stone walls of the park for traces of blood from the scrapes on Robinson’s thigh but to no avail. Heavy rains had washed off any trace that there might have been.
