by Giles Ekins
‘Whoever owns the is dump obviously doesn’t believe in maintenance,’ grunted Shakira, pointing at the stair risers which were chipped and cracked in several places and where the plastic handrail had come away, leaving the bare metal.
Simeon Trynor lived in flat 3 on the third floor and even before the door opened, they could smell the incense, which was dense, acrid and eye-wateringly pungent as they stepped into the hallway. There was an underlying smell of cannabis, the two officers glanced at each other, surmising that Trynor had lit the incense to try and disguise the smell of the weed. However, they had no interest in Trynor’s drug habits, that was not what they were there for.
After greeting them, Trynor led the two detectives into his living room, which was a riot of clashing colours. The curtains were a bright orange, the carpet a vivid salmon pink, the settee was draped with a yellow throw and the two matching armchairs were upholstered in bright blue. Paintings on the walls looked as though the artist had picked up cans of paint whilst blindfolded and throw the paint randomly at the canvases.
Trynor himself was wearing flowing multi-coloured kaftan, and Shakira Amin had to resist the sarcastic temptation to put her sunglasses on, it was like an explosion in a paint factory.
Trynor noticed her looking around in bemusement. ‘I just love colours.’ he explained, rather unnecessarily.
‘I would never have guessed’ she answered tartly.
It was obvious that he was not pleased to see them and was reluctant to give any details; or even discuss what happened at the meeting in West Garside until threatened with arrest for obstructing the police in the course of their investigations.
Finally.
Almost in tears, he threw up his arms and said ‘I wish to god, I had never agreed to do it’
‘Agreed to what?’ asked Petra Collinson.
‘I thought it was the right thing to do.’
‘What was the right thing to?’ pressed Collinson.
‘Expose that paedophile.’
Collinson and Amin looked at each other, maybe there was more to this case than they had supposed.
‘Which paedophile would that be, sir?’ Shakira, Amin pressed, leaning forward in her chair to emphasise the question.
‘I never knew his name, I was just told to ask if there was a Joyce and Daddy in the audience, if so, to continue.’
‘To continue with what, Simeon?’ demanded Petra Collinson, exasperated by Trynor’s prevarications. ’What were you to continue to do?’
Ninety-Five
To continue, to continue with The Plan of course. The Plan that I had so elaborately devised, and which worked to such devastating effect. Result? The total ruination of Dennis Jowett
Mission accomplished.
So, how did the plan work?
Well, here goes.
After coming out of prison I had some ideas, lots of ideas, some fantastical, some plainly impractical, but the core intention was always to discredit Dennis Jowett in the eyes of the community.
As I kicked the ideas around, there was always an element missing.
And then I had the misfortune (or fortune) to encounter Damien Jowett. Out of politeness I asked how his parents were coping with the death of Josie and he told me of Joyce’s obsession with spiritualism and spiritualist meetings.
Click! Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
A search on the internet for ‘mediums. clairvoyants and spiritualists booked to visit West Garside or surrounding areas produced a list of seven performers due within the next four months, of these Charlie discarded four who were women, for the plan to be effective, the medium had to be male.
Which left a list of three. Simeon Trynor, Barrington Priestley-Hall (what a stupidly pretentious name, thought Charlie) and Paul Tilman. From their Facebook pages, Charlie got their contact details, and in the case of Simeon Trynor the names and addresses of his agent.
A postal address was essential.
Subsequently.
The agent for Simeon Trynor, David Evanson, received a package with the request that it be posted on to Trynor. He was on tour and any post sent to his home address might not be seen for some time. The package was marked ‘urgent.’’
‘Simeon’ Evanson, said to Trynor on the phone, ‘I’ve got a little package for you here, it came in the post and it’s marked ‘Urgent.’ What do you want me to do? Post it on to you, best thing if it’s urgent don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, I suppose but I ’ve no idea what it could be.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to know such things?’ Evanson joked and inwardly Trynor sighed, ‘how many times a day do I hear shit like that? A hundred?
Evanson consulted his lap-top for details of Trynor’s itinerary. ‘Simeon, you’re in Knutsford next Wednesday, I’ll post this now, it should be waiting for you when you get there, where are you’re staying?
‘Hang on a mo,’ Simeon said, in turn checking dates on his iPad. ‘Yeah, I’m at the St John’s Hotel on St John’s Road. Been there before, can’t really justify calling itself a hotel, it’s just a B&B but it’s clean and cheap which is all I need. ‘specially cheap, these crap gigs you get me,’ Trynor laughed, not entirely jocularly,
‘OK, I’ll post it on, and deduct the postage from your dues.’
‘Thanks.’
Evanson put down his phone, sighed and wondered why he bothered; Simeon Trynor, the little pooftah was one of his lowest earning acts and he was seriously considering dropping him after this current contract.
The package was waiting for Trynor when he checked in at his ‘hotel’ and carried it up to his room.
He read the letter, noted the request and knew what he had to do. What he must do. Child abusers need stringing up by the balls and left to rot.
He would be in West Garside later in the tour, time enough to practice the sleight of hand necessary to pull off the deception. Trynor had no qualms about deceiving his public, half of his act was a fraud. Yes, he did get ‘messages’ from the other side, but they did not always come during a session and so he was forced to improvise. Which why he read the obituaries, death notices and memorials in the local newspaper wherever he was appearing. It was more than possible that some of the bereaved could attend the meetings in the hope of connecting with their dear departed
So another deception, especially one he believed would expose a vile paedophile, was not an ethical problem and the audience would believe they were hearing a message ’from beyond the grave.’
‘Joyce. I’m now getting a Joyce. Do we have a Joyce with us tonight?
‘Joyce? I’m Joyce.’
He was quite surprised when ‘Joyce’ identified herself at the meeting in West Garside. He’d been convinced the entire thing was a hoax, although for what purpose he could not possibly imagine. Nevertheless, he carried on with the deception.
’Hello Joyce, tell me Joyce, does the name…Josie mean anything to you?’
‘Yes. Yes, oh yes. Josie! My daughter Josie.’
‘Joyce, I have Josie here, she’s asking, is Daddy there?’
Dennis could hardly speak but then got himself under control. ‘Yes, Josie, love, Daddy’s here.’
And then out came those hateful, absolutely damning, life destroying words, the accusation from the other side that Dennis Jowett had abused his now dead daughter.
The revelation was a sensation.
Suddenly Simeon Trynor was a star, the spiritualist chosen by Josie Jowett to tell her story to the world.
Ninety-Six
But none of this meant anything to DS Petra Collinson and DC Shakira Amin as they sought to establish what Simeon had done at that fateful spiritualist meeting in West Garside.
‘What happened Simeon? What were you to ‘continue to do?’, Collinson demanded again, a hard edge to her voice.
‘I, I was approached.’
Petra Collinson thought that Simeon Trynor was most likely to be approached by other men in public toilets but did not think that was
the case in this instance.
‘Yes? And what?’ Simeon, I am going to very angry with you shortly if you don’t become more forthcoming.’
‘As I said, I was approached.’
‘Who by? By whom?’ Shakira Amin asked, also getting annoyed.
‘I don’t know! I don’t know! I got an anonymous letter asking me to help to expose a paedophile, a child abuser. Well, I hate those bastards, I can’t abide by it, I’d string ‘em up by their testicles if it was up to me, so yeah, I agreed. Wish to God now that I hadn’t.’
‘Do you still have the letter?’ Collinson asked, this could be a vital piece of evidence. Of what, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘Yeah, yeah, I kept it just in case, just in case somebody asked.’
Simeon opened a black leather briefcase and took out a letter which he passed to Petra Collinson. He also took out an old iPhone and placed it on the coffee table, face down.
Petra read the letter through to herself and then read it out aloud, thinking that it would have more impact than simply handing it over to Shakira to read.
Dear Mr Trynor
I am seeking your assistance to help expose a vicious predatory paedophile and child abuser.
He has been abusing children for many years but has never been exposed.
Now, it is too late for one of his victims, who took her own life.
Josie, her name was Josie, she never got over the trauma of abuse at the hands of this monster.
If you agree, at your meeting in West Garside, ask if there is a Joyce in the audience. If so, ask if the name Josie means anything and if 'Daddy’ is also there.
Then secretly play the recording on the mobile phone accompanying this missive .It is important that the audience do not see you do this. The passcode is 1994, the message is recorded on the Dictaphone app, just play it at the appropriate moment, make sure the volume is fully turned up. You should lip-sync as if the words are coming from your mouth
I fully understand if you feel unable to comply with this request, but please be assured that if you do agree, you will be doing a great service in exposing a child abuser and will make sure that he cannot continue with his evil ways.
If you agree, I shall send £250 via your agent to use at your discretion, either to donate to a charity or simply accept it as a token of gratitude for your help.
‘Wow,’ was all Shakira could say.
‘The letter,’ Collinson said, ‘is not signed and there is no sender address or contact numbers.’
‘Then there was this,’ Simon said, and pressed the buttons on the mobile and the voice of a young girl came out of the speaker, surprisingly loud, the accusations of parental abuse raw and emotive.
Although both Petra and Shakira had read the notes taken down by the Gazette’s reporter, the impact of the actual voice was stunning and they both rocked back in their chairs in shock.
‘Holy shit!’ exclaimed Petra, shaking her head. ‘
‘Well, as soon as I heard that,’ Simon said, ‘I knew I had to do it. For Josie, Josie Jowett as I now know. You can understand that, surely?’ And, he looked shame-faced down at the pink carpet. ‘You see, I was abused myself, by my father, by my own bloody father can you believe.’
‘Did you report it, the abuse?’ asked Petra Collinson.
‘You’re joking right? This was the stone ages we’re talking about, familial abuse was never talked about or reported,’ and to his surprise he noticed Shakira Amin nodding her head as though in agreement. ‘It was shameful right? My mother, she knew what was going on all right, but said nothing ‘cos it was ‘what will the neighbours think and how could I ever face Mrs Johnson again’ sort of attitude. Beside she was terrified of my father, a right bastard he was, quick with his fists and belt if anybody said anything out of line. And so…’ Simon stopped talking and turned away to wipe away a tear.
‘And so?’
‘And so, when I get that letter and heard that…that vile recording I thought, now’s a chance to get back, even if it only stops one of the bastards. I had to do it, felt as though I had no option, else…’
‘Else?’
‘Else whoever it was would carry on abusing kids and getting away with it. and I couldn’t have that, could I?’
‘So, what happened when you played the message, at the meeting?’ asked Petra.
‘Mayhem, absolute pandemonium, Joyce screaming at her husband, beating and berating him. Others were shouting and swearing at him, you can guess the words they used. Some people were leaving. Chaos, so I thought it best to leave before things got really nasty, before there was a riot and they wanted to shoot the messenger.’
‘And you had no reservations about doing it? No concerns about the possible consequences of accusing somebody of child abuse? Without a shred of evidence?’ Shakira Amin demanded.’
‘No, I had no reservations ‘cos I’ve done nothing wrong, have I? I didn’t make the accusations, did I? It was whoever sent the letter. I’m just the messenger, I mean it was not illegal, was it?’
‘Don’t be too sure,’ Petra, remarked, annoyed at this silly pretentious man. ‘I’m sure we could come up with a whole string of offences to charge you with, have you any idea of the amount of police time that has been wasted on this?’, she continued, just to pull his chain a bit.
‘It was just a hoax and there are consequences, serious consequences. Making false accusations is a serious offence.’ Shakira said angrily
‘But it still could be true. Couldn’t it?’ Trynor said weakly, ‘I mean, it doesn’t mean to say he isn’t a paedophile, does it?’
‘It doesn’t mean he is, either.’ Shakira snapped as she got up and went to their car to fetch in an evidence bag. Collinson donned a pair of forensic gloves before picking up the mobile and switching it on.
‘Tell me. Simeon, how did it work, the false message? Petra asked keying in the passcode, 1994, after checking it again from the letter, ‘then what did you do?
‘Find the Dictaphone app. As you can see. all the other apps and programmes have been deleted apart from the factory settings, clock, camera, nothing on that by the way, I did look, Press the app, Dictaphone app. That’s what I did, I had the phone up my sleeve, strapped to my arm with a Velcro strip. like this see? I turned slightly away from the audience and pressed the button, see?’
‘Got it’
‘There’s only the one recording, you see there’s scratchy white and red pattern, just below them is a blue triangle, if you press that, the recording will play. And I had a mike, so would still be heard.’
Petra pressed the blue triangle on the screen of the phone, there was a slight hiss, which they had not noticed before and then the hideous message rang out again, no less shocking than the first time as Simon lip-synced the words to demonstrate how it had been carried out.
‘So simple, yet so devastating,’ Petra said softly. ‘Has anyone else handled this mobile or listened to it, apart from the audience at West Garside, of course?’ she asked as she slipped the phone into the plastic bag and zipped it closed.
‘No, nobody, I mean why would I let anyone else hear it?’ Trynor said defensively, as if offended at the question.
‘Not a wife or girlfriend?’ Shakira asked sarcastically.
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Boyfriend?’
My sexuality has nothing whatsoever to do with this. My private life is just that. Private.’
‘So, nobody else knows about this message on the mobile?’ queried Petra Collinson.
‘No. well apart from who sent it. And I wish to God I didn’t know about it either! If it ever gets out that I sent fake messages from the other side, I’m finished, nobody will ever trust me again.’
‘Should’a thought about that before, shouldn’t you?’ Shakira said unsympathetically.
‘Easy to say now’, Simon said bitterly, ‘But what would you have done, when you heard that recording? Easy to sit there and be pious about it, after the event. 20-2
0 hindsight and all that. but I did really think I was doing the right thing. And look what ‘doing good’ has done for me?’
‘Just a couple more questions, Mr Trynor and we’ll get out of your hair,’ said Petra.
‘Good. I can’t wait, this has been most distressing, my aura will take weeks to recover,’ he said peevishly.
‘Why do you think this message was sent to you, specifically to you?’
‘I don’t know, I’ve thought about it a lot. I mean, it was not difficult to find out my itinerary from my Facebook account. Easy to see that West Garside was on my tour, I’ll never play there again, that’s for sure.’
‘Perhaps they knew you were prone to fraudulent behaviour?’ Shakira asked, barely able to keep the contempt out of her voice.
‘No, I swear, I swear this is the first and only time I’ve ever done anything like this. I have always maintained professional standards.’
‘Come off it, Simon, everyone knows that these so-called ‘spiritualist meetings’ are just a con. Face it, that’s all you are, isn’t it? A con man in a dress.’ Shakira responded.
‘Is she allowed to speak to me like this,’ Simeon Trynor asked Petra Collinson angrily. ‘or this just a ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine?’
‘We are simply trying to get to the bottom of this issue,’ she answered, calmly, ‘thanks to you, a man, a father, has been accused of one of the most serious crimes it is possible to imagine, that of sexually molesting his own daughter. So, if our questions seem a little harsh, you can understand we only seek the truth.’
‘I realise that, but I was only the messenger. I know in ancient times it was usual to shoot the messenger but not these days, surely.’
‘Depends on the message,’ Shakira snapped.
‘I acted in good faith and now I’m being crucified for it, in the wrong for doing right.’
‘Tough titty, Simeon, suck down hard on it.’ Shakira answered, she had no tolerance for con-men. Her grandmother had been cheated out of her life savings by a con-man posing as a bank official and consequently came down hard on any practitioners she considered to be bogus. Simeon looked like a naughty boy who had been told off by his mother, almost close to tears. Petra Collinson had little sympathy for him either.
