Suspect

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘No, and that’s important. It means there could be no sighting of Newton by Hadley until both had emerged on to the forecourt. Hadley was very surprised to see Newton suddenly appear; he’d been no part of the scenario, no part of the build-up. Because he was carrying a gun, he was shot dead. It would take a mere split second, Lorraine, it could only have been an instinctive reaction from Hadley.’

  ‘Where exactly was Swanson when Newton was allegedly aiming at him?’

  ‘It’s difficult to be precise. We know he was walking across the forecourt, probably diagonally and heading towards the centre of it, and also towards the offside of the Cerberus vehicle. He was unarmed, by the way. Another factor in Hadley’s mind, perhaps? Imagine this, Lorraine,’ continued Pemberton. ‘Just suppose that Newton was carrying a shotgun, suppose that he did enter the arena just as the raid was getting under way. If he was carrying a gun, he’d need it in a position so it could be seen and used instantly; it would be pointing towards that detective. It couldn’t really be pointing anywhere else, could it? Even if it was aimed at the rear of the van, Hadley would think it was pointing at the detective who was walking into its line of fire. Perhaps it might not have been deliberately aimed at Swanson, but if the detective was walking towards the rear of the security van, via the side nearest to Newton, then he would automatically enter the line of Newton’s fire. Hadley, from his excellent viewing position, would assume that Newton was aiming at the detective when in fact he might not have been.’

  ‘Was Newton carrying something else that might have been mistaken for a gun?’ asked Lorraine.

  ‘That was considered in depth at the time. He wasn’t carrying anything else, he had nothing with him that might have been mistaken for a weapon. He wasn’t carrying a toy gun or a replica. Besides, that isn’t the sort of error that a trained firearms officer would make. If the truth-telling Hadley says Newton was carrying a shotgun when he materialised upon the scene, then I should — and I emphasise should — have no cause to disbelieve him. But enough — come along, if we don’t get our coffee, we’ll be heading for a parking ticket. These seaside traffic wardens are pretty keen! They operate with split-second timing too!’

  They continued to the restaurant on the first floor, selected a window overlooking the forecourt and ordered two coffees. As they enjoyed the drink, Mark told Lorraine about his chat with Jim Green and of his perambulations, offering to show Lorraine the length of Acorn Alley before they departed. Due to a shortage of time, they had to hurry their coffees but there was just sufficient time to show Lorraine along Acorn Alley. She undertook the short trip with Mark, peered along Cholmley Street in both directions and then they hurried back to the car just as a traffic warden appeared. They drove off with grins on their faces.

  ‘Mark, you know Fawneswick fairly well, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I would say so.’

  ‘So where is Kirkdale Avenue?’

  ‘In the suburbs, not far inland from the cliff-top.’

  ‘Some distance from the supermarket?’

  ‘A mile or so, yes. Why do you ask?’ He was puzzled by this sudden question.

  ‘You told me that the old man, Jim whatever-his-name-is, said Newton had been left a house by his father, in Kirkdale Avenue.’

  ‘You’ve a good memory!’ he smiled. ‘But yes, that was Newton’s address.’

  ‘So if he came to Millgate to get his children something for breakfast, as the file suggests, he would come by car?’

  ‘Yes, we know he did. His car was found after his death. It was in Cholmley Street, right outside the far end of Acorn Alley in fact.’

  ‘So why didn’t he drive into the supermarket forecourt, Mark? The spaces were empty, there’s an hour’s free parking.’

  ‘I don’t know why. I would have done as you say…’

  ‘And so would I,’ she said.

  ‘Is it important?’ he asked her.

  ‘I think so, Mark. I think he parked away from the forecourt because he knew what was happening there. If he’d been innocent and in a genuine rush to buy his kids something for breakfast, he would surely have parked as close as possible to one of the entrances. I’d say he didn’t want his own car to be associated in any way with the raid. I think he had a shotgun in his car; I think he parked at the end of Acorn Alley knowing he could walk on to the forecourt unobserved while carrying a gun; I think he knew he could be in the thick of the action within seconds, and all without his approach being observed. And I think the early arrival of the security van caught him by surprise.’

  ‘Taking that argument a stage further,’ Mark pursed his lips, ‘if he was interested only in cereals, why bother to come all this way? Surely there are corner shops closer to his home? I know for a fact there are shops on The Crescent close to where he lived.’

  ‘Exactly, Mark, so for all those reasons, I think Newton was part of the raid.’

  ‘It still doesn’t explain why the other raiders denied he was operating with them and it doesn’t explain the mystery of whether or not he was carrying a gun,’ said Pemberton. ‘But would you raid a heavily guarded security van without a gun?’

  ‘No, of course not. So we think Newton was involved in some way?’ Lorraine put to him. ‘If we can be certain of that, it must help us to understand Hadley’s actions.’

  ‘And it means we must read that file all over again!’ he sighed.

  ‘Then let’s waste no more time,’ she urged him.

  Chapter Six

  A downpour that same Saturday afternoon presented an ideal opportunity for Mark and Lorraine to reappraise the Millgate supermarket file. They examined it line by line, word by word, but found nothing to supplement their existing knowledge and nothing to explain the puzzle about the loaded gun. They pondered the fact that Pollard’s claim had been made in prison, undoubtedly with some prompting from Brian Newton. They discussed and read until their heads ached.

  ‘Mark,’ Lorraine called from the kitchen where she was making a cup of tea, ‘have the raiders been reinterviewed about any of this?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, there’s never been any need. Besides, we don’t want them to think we are reopening the case.’

  ‘They are out of prison, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a note in the file. They all got full remission.’

  ‘So what did the Cerberus guards say about it?’

  She came through to the lounge and placed a tray of tea things on the floor, squatting before it. He joined her.

  ‘Not a lot,’ he recalled. ‘Two of them saw two armed men, both with sawn-off shotguns. The description of one fitted Sykes, but the other could have been either Pollard or Newton, they looked very similar. They were even dressed alike — jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt.’

  ‘But they never saw Newton as he entered the fray?’

  ‘No, that was checked. We’re sure it was Pollard they saw.’

  ‘Armed?’ she asked. ‘Was Pollard armed?’

  ‘Yes, if their testimony is reliable.’

  ‘Knowing who is telling the truth is the problem. I suppose we have reason to think that Pollard was telling the truth?’ she persisted.

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that, he does have some support. If he was truthful, then Hadley is lying. It means Newton didn’t have a gun. And that is a most worrying thought.’

  ‘Mark,’ Lorraine was pouring the tea, ‘quite honestly, I can’t see what’s going to be gained by all this research. We’re not getting anywhere, we’re going round in circles. I don’t think you can improve on the outcome of the various investigations. Everything that can be said, has been said. There will never be a clear answer to the questions that bother you. I think we might be wasting our time.’

  ‘Not if it means Newton could have been murdered by the police, Lorraine.’

  ‘Mark…’ There was a long silence. ‘Who tipped the police off about that raid?’

  ‘It was never stated in any of the files; the informer’s name and m
eans of contact would remain secret. I don’t know who it was nor do I know which police officer was originally given the tip-off. They’re not obliged to let anyone know — it’s almost a legal privilege, keeping one’s narks to oneself. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered if it might have been Newton.’ She frowned. ‘Joss Newton, I mean. If it was him, he might have been hoping for some reward money. Some organisations do offer substantial rewards for information leading to the arrest of thieves. If he was the informer, it might explain why he arrived late on the scene. He would have had to turn up at the raid to convince the others he was not the informer, but by being late, he might avoid being arrested.’

  ‘I’d guess that someone within the supermarket’s organisation had tipped off the raiders. The security van undertook a regular delivery to the premises, albeit at different times, and this was just one of several drops. It wouldn’t be hard to work out when it was due to arrive at 8.30am on a particular day of the week. In this case, it had extra cash on board to cater for a bank holiday in the height of the season — extra staff wages, part-timers’ remuneration and so on. Plus cash for the servicing of tills and those who wish to cash cheques, which is a facility they offer. But if those raiders suspected Newton was an informer, Lorraine, they wouldn’t have protected his reputation the way they did, surely?’

  ‘Wouldn’t they?’ She smiled. ‘I think they might. Just think of the police embarrassment at killing an informer, and then being accused of killing an innocent bystander, a member of the public…a wonderful result for the villains, a spot of good criminal PR, an own goal for the police.’

  ‘I think that logic is rather too advanced for villains like Pollard, Sykes and Gill. Besides, after what Jim Green said, I doubt if Newton would become an informer; the share-out from the raid would be substantial enough for him without risking his reputation because he grassed, and, if he was the criminal Green says he was, then he would want to commit further crimes of this kind, with the same team if this one had succeeded.’

  ‘Maybe he planned it then?’

  ‘It’s possible. He might have been the brains behind the raid, but I’m sure he was not the informer, Lorraine.’

  ‘So was there a fifth man?’ She looked into his eyes across the top of her mug. ‘A fifth one?’

  ‘Yes, the real informer. We suspect there were four raiders. Three were caught and one was shot dead. If none of these was the informer, who tipped off the police? Someone knew all about it. There was enough detail for the police to be waiting at the right place at the right time.’

  ‘It was certainly spot on,’ Mark admitted.

  ‘Most informers go along to the job as a means of concealing their activities, so I am asking the question, Mark — was there another person at that raid? A fifth one?’

  ‘There’s never been any suggestion of that.’ He frowned.

  ‘Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? But suppose he, or she, had been with Newton, waiting in that alley? Suppose he, or she, began to move forward, with Newton going first, he being the one who was armed. The moment Newton popped out of the alley, he was shot by the waiting police — by Hadley, that is. His gun was sent flying from his hands…it discharged a shot, a harmless one which could account for the fourth sound of a gunshot. But where did it come to earth? In the alley perhaps, or very close to it? I wonder if the fifth person, the informer, had not emerged from Acorn Alley, but as Newton fell, fatally wounded, the informer recovered that gun and made good his or her escape, never to be seen again. With the protection from the walls of the alley, it could be possible, especially in the midst of all the confusion we know existed. If the gun did discharge a shot, it would account for the fourth empty cartridge shell too.’

  ‘That would depend upon Newton’s gun dropping very close to the exit of that alley, wouldn’t it?’ He nodded. ‘Even inside it? And it could explain how Hadley saw Newton with a gun and how that gun has never been satisfactorily explained.’ Mark saw the possibilities in Lorraine’s argument. ‘I wonder if that possibility was ever examined?’

  ‘More scrutiny of the files?’

  ‘More scrutiny of the files,’ he sighed.

  The papers failed to reveal even a consideration of the presence of a fifth person. Furthermore, there was no suggestion, by any investigator, that Newton’s firearm had been spirited away during that split second when everyone’s attention had been diverted or concentrated upon specific people or places. Pemberton knew that the participating officers would never accept that a gun could be removed from the scene of a crime virtually under the noses of armed officers. To admit that likelihood would be tantamount to admitting failure. Indeed, Pemberton himself would have said it was impossible but, having traversed Acorn Alley and having seen Newton’s likely means of arrival married with Hadley’s place of concealment, then he conceded that this just might have occurred.

  It was possible — just — but extremely unlikely. Yet if Lorraine’s suggestion had any merit, then who was the fifth person? If the gun had been removed, then it must have been done by a fifth villain — and that suggested yet another robber!

  So who was the fifth raider? Was it the informer? Whoever it was, he or she had escaped without trace.

  The introduction of this possibility swung Pemberton’s support back towards Hadley; in another change of mind, Pemberton accepted that Hadley could have saved the life of a colleague while preventing a serious robbery and injury to the guards of the Cerberus security vehicle. If so, he deserved a medal, not continuing criticism. His response had been of the very highest order.

  ‘It’s time to knock off,’ said Lorraine as the clock struck five thirty. ‘Time to clear those papers from the table, time for a drink before we prepare the evening meal — and time to forget all about police work, wrongdoers, firearms and informers!’

  ‘Spoken like a true lady!’ he enthused, rising to take her in his arms.

  It was three o’clock in the morning, it was Sunday and the telephone was ringing, Pemberton stirred in his sleep, reached out and seized the noisy instrument, if only to silence it. With Lorraine stirring at his side, he put the handset to his ear and whispered, ‘Pemberton.’

  ‘Inspector Morton, sir, Control Room. Sorry to disturb you.’

  ‘It must be important, Stan.’ Pemberton knew that such a call would never be lightly made. ‘Trouble, is it?’

  ‘A shooting, sir. Murder by the look of it.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell! All right, where do you want me?’

  ‘You’ll need a map, sir.’

  ‘Hang on then, I’ll have to get a pencil and paper, and a light…’

  ‘I’m awake.’ Lorraine’s voice was at his side. ‘I’ll put the light on.’

  Sitting up in bed, naked and feeling the coolness of the night air on his skin, Detective Superintendent Pemberton was already wide awake and in control of his actions. He had a pencil and notebook in his hands, props he always kept beside the bed, as he said, ‘Right, Stan. Fire away.’

  Inspector Morton, in charge of the night shift in the Control Room, explained that the body of a man had been found in a small tent in an isolated part of Kesterdale. The tent was beside an unnamed tributary to Kester Beck and he provided the map reference. A uniformed constable was with the body and would remain there until the arrival of a senior officer from the CID — ie Pemberton. A doctor had been called. The man had been shot through the chest and the wound was consistent with having been made by a shotgun.

  ‘Right enough, I’m on my way. Are we sure it’s not a suicide?’

  ‘The constable reports no firearm at the scene, sir.’

  ‘Fair enough. Who found the body at this time of night, and in such a remote spot?’

  ‘It was a farmer and his wife coming home from a party at a friend’s house. They came through the gate which leads up to their farm; that’s on a hill above where the body was found. The house is about a mile from the gate. As the farmer opened the gate — his wife was d
riving because he’d had a few drinks — he heard a shot. He thought it was poachers then heard a motor bike engine strike up. Then, as he was driving along the track towards his house, a motor bike hurtled past him, towards the gate, towards the road. He was worried about hearing the shot because he knew there was a camper on his land. He parked his car, took out a torch and very soon found the deceased.’

  ‘Any identity yet, Stan?’

  ‘No, sir, we’ve not touched anything pending your arrival.’

  ‘Right, I’ll be there within the hour,’ Mark said. ‘Raise DI Larkin and DS Thornton of SOCO will you? Tell them to rendezvous with me at the scene. And radio the scene to keep the doctor there till I arrive, and tell the constable not to let anyone else upon the scene, certainly not into the tent. I’ll make my assessment at the scene and will call you from there, probably to make a full call-out and to set up an incident room. And have all motor cycles seen on the roads tonight stopped and checked, detain any suspicious riders — and tell your patrols that any motor cyclist they stop could be armed and could be dangerous.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said Inspector Morton who had, in fact, already circulated details of the motor cyclist to all night patrols both within the county and across the boundaries.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Lorraine as Mark left the bed to dress and shave.

  ‘There’s no need, not yet, not until you get the call to set up the incident room.’

  ‘That call will come as sure as eggs are eggs.’ She was already standing beside the bed completely naked as she sought her dressing-gown. ‘So I might as well come now.’

  ‘I’ll have a cup of tea before we go,’ he said. ‘And a plate of corn flakes, and some toast. It’s no good starting a murder investigation on an empty stomach!’

  ‘You get shaved, leave the domestic arrangements to me.’ She clutched a dark green silk dressing-gown around her slender form.

  Twenty-five minutes later, they were heading for the remote Kesterdale deep in its moorland setting. Pemberton, in his new-found hobby of walking the moors and dales, had explored this beautiful region and was moderately familiar with the area. A further twenty-five minutes later he was easing to a halt at a gate beside the narrow lane; the gate was controlled by a uniformed constable with a small police car whose blue flashing light allowed no doubt they were approaching the scene of the crime. He recognised the detective and his companion and ushered them through the gate.