Gareth Dawson Series Box Set

by Nathan Burrows

  “Wow,” I said. “That’s lottery money wages, that is.” Both Tommy and David laughed.

  “Bet you wish you’d studied more at school now, don’t you?” Tommy chuckled. “Well you and me both, mate.”

  “Okay, ready for the next lot?” David said. I nodded, and he gathered up the pieces of paper before replacing them with different sheets. I leaned forward again and examined them.

  “What have we got here then?” I asked.

  “I’ve called it a ‘Character Assessment’,” David said, the pride obvious in his voice. Sure enough, the first piece of paper I looked at had those words in capital letters on the top of it. Underneath it was a list of websites. “They’re the websites he visits the most. Nothing naughty there, all quite boring. It looks like he enjoys keeping fish and football. He’s a Norwich fan as well. Had a season ticket there for years, but in the Jarrold Stand.” Tommy laughed as David said this.

  “Yeah, well,” Tommy said. “I couldn’t see him in the Snakepit, somehow. Slagging off the opposition in a posh voice.” The Snakepit was a small corner of the Carrow Road Stadium which was particularly vocal, and not shy about language. David pointed at the next sheet of paper.

  “They’re his financials. He’s got a cracking credit score, and the best part of half a million quid floating about in various accounts.”

  “You hacked into his bank record?” I asked, looking up at David.

  “No, they’re screen grabs from when he was doing his banking online,” he replied. “He’s got more than one offshore account, but I couldn’t get any information on them. They’re in the Canary Islands or something like that.”

  “Cayman Islands, mate.” Tommy leaned into the conversation. “Not the Canary Islands, they’re off the coast of Spain.” The two of them bickered about whether the Canary Islands were closer to Spain or Portugal, but I tuned them out as I turned my attention to the next sheet of paper.

  As I read a whole bunch of text with a load of medical sounding words, I started to get a sinking feeling about what I was reading.

  “David, please tell me these aren’t his medical records?”

  “Er, well, yeah. Of course they are,” he said. “He’s in good nick for his age, though. Not about to drop dead if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I hope I’m half as fit at his age,” Tommy added. “If I get to his age, that is.” David glanced at him, uncertain for a second, before breaking into laughter. I ignored him, looking at a list of medication that Paul was taking. I recognised a few of the names, but most of them might as well have been in Greek. It wasn’t a long list of tablets, though.

  “What’s this one?” I asked David, pointing at the next sheet across. It had tiny writing on it, no chance of me being able to read it properly without a magnifying glass. David reached across and swivelled the paper round.

  “That’s his will, that one,” he replied, stabbing his index finger at the paper. “But you’re not in it, so you’ve lucked out there. Whatever’s left is getting split among his nieces and nephews.” I stared at him, incredulous. He prodded the last bit of paper. “That’s a summary. It’s all I’ve got.” Apart from his medical and financial records, I thought as I looked at the last sheet. It was a printout of a spreadsheet, and not much more than a list of columns.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “That’s the title.” He pointed at the first column. “That’s the username or login.” His finger moved across the columns before coming to rest on the last one. “And that’s the password.”

  “For what?” I asked, scanning the list. David didn’t reply, and I looked up at him. He stared back at me for a few seconds.

  “Er,” he replied. “For everything. Whatever he does on the internet, they’re the logins and passwords for it. I’ve not gone as far as looking into his shopping history, but I can if you want me to?”

  “Jesus, David,” I said. “I asked you to have a look at him, not hack his entire life.” David’s face fell, and he looked like a disappointed spaniel. I caught the look on his face and felt bad. “But this, my friend.” I pointed at the paperwork in front of us with my index finger. “This is absolute gold. You are a star.” His expression returned to where it had been a few minutes before, and a smile split his face.

  “I did a good job, did I?” he asked, grinning.

  “Oh yes, you did,” I replied, returning the smile.

  “Cool. Great. Need a piss.” He got to his feet without another word and wandered back toward the visitors’ door. Tommy looked at me, also smiling.

  “Man, he’s something else,” he said. “He was chuffed to bits with being asked to look into that lawyer, you know that?” I didn’t know that but thought I knew why he was pleased. It would have felt, to David, as if he was doing something for Jennifer. Which he was, even if it was indirectly.

  “I wasn’t expecting that much information. How the hell did he get all of that?” I asked Tommy.

  “Yeah, like he’d tell me that,” he replied with a laugh. “Even if he told me, I wouldn't bloody understand it, anyway.” I smiled. Tommy was right. The few times I had spoken to David about technological stuff he’d lost me in jargon within seconds. Tommy was telling me about a new client he was working on when David came back to the table.

  “Those toilets are bleak, aren’t they?” he said as he sat down.

  “Have they run out of potpourri again?” I said. “I’ll have a word with the maitre’d, get him to sort it out.” David looked at me, confused until he realised I was joking.

  “Yeah, they have. It ruins the ambience,” he said, looking at us with an expectant face that both Tommy and I recognised. We both laughed, which was exactly what David was hoping for.

  Tommy and David didn’t stop for long. As I suspected, they were keen to get away for the football match. Or rather, to get away to the pub to prepare for the football match. Knowing Tommy, this would involve a large amount of lager and a burger of some description. I’d given the paperwork back to David to take away with him. Not the sort of thing I wanted the prison officers to find, really. I left the visitors’ room after they had gone and went back to my cell for a while to think about what David had uncovered.

  As I stood in line for the phone about half an hour later, I thought I had four or maybe five minutes left on my phone card. Plenty of time to speak to Paul Dewar and ask him a few pointed questions. He answered the phone even before the second ring had finished.

  “Hello? Is that Gareth?” his voice was muffled, and he sounded almost out of breath. I wondered for a second what he’d been doing before realising that he could have no idea it was me on the phone. I was calling from a prison pay phone, which I knew for a fact would have come up as an ‘unknown number’.

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked, caught unawares.

  “Well who else would it be?” he replied, a sharp edge to his voice. “You’re the only person who’s got this mobile number.” I paused, trying to think on my feet and not doing particularly well at it. Paul continued. “I would imagine, seeing as your friends Tommy and David have just left, that you now know all about me?” I remained silent. How did he know they’d just left? Did he have a contact at the prison? It wouldn’t take much for one of the guards to let him know when Tommy and David had gone. Probably about a tenner. “You can’t kid a kidder, Gareth. I watched your young friend trawl his way around the areas of my private life I was prepared to let him have access to, and I resisted the temptation to knock on his electronic front door as it were.” I felt a smile creep across my face. This man was no fool.

  “So,” Paul continued. “I imagine that now you know how much money I’ve got, you’re phoning me up to ask me why I’m getting involved.” I started to say something, but he cut me off. “Because I’m quite obviously not in it for the money. How am I doing so far?” I nodded, not realising that he wouldn’t be able to see me. He was angry, no doubt about that. “I could put the phone down now and wal
k away. Leaving you where you are, for the next fifteen fucking years.” I flinched at him swearing, not because I was shocked by the language, but because hearing him swearing surprised me. I could feel my fingers tightening on the handset of the phone. This phone call wasn’t turning out at all how I’d expected it to. We both remained silent for maybe a full minute. I was racking my brains for something, aware that my time was limited when Paul broke the impasse. “Anything to say, young man?”

  “Er,” I stumbled over the word. “Er, sorry?” To my surprise, Paul started chuckling before it developed into a full-blown laughing fit that left him coughing. When he’d got his composure back again, he carried on.

  “Good lad, good lad. Right then, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  24

  “You’re in the lawyer’s room this time,” Mr McLoughlin said as he opened the door for me. I’d been in there several times before with Toby for various depressing discussions. I wasn’t sure how Paul had wangled getting in there when he wasn’t my lawyer just yet.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Warder said so,” Mr McLoughlin replied. “I wouldn’t argue.” He smiled as I walked past him into the room. “They’ll be here a few minutes.” They? I was expecting Paul, but he’d not said anything about bringing anyone with him. I sat on the chair and tried to relax. This room was different to the main visiting area. The chairs were padded. There was no graffiti carved on the table, no cameras in the corner of the room, and no posters on the walls. The only thing that made it different to a normal room in a house was the reinforced glass in the doors, and the fact that the doors were about eight inches thick. I could see shadows moving behind the thickened window, and the door opened. Paul walked in, followed by a young woman. Behind them, I could see two of the larger guards doing what they did best, which was hang around looking big and ugly.

  “Mr Dawson, how are you?” Paul smiled, extending his hand and shaking mine like we’d not seen each other for years. “Thank you so much for seeing us at such short notice.” Yeah, right, I thought. I found a space in my diary to see you. He turned and gestured to the young woman who’d walked in with him. She had a battered leather briefcase clutched across her chest and looked, in a word, terrified. “This is Laura Flynn, my assistant.” I shook her hand and watched her eyes dart around the room. As we sat down I had to resist the temptation to wipe my hand down the side of my trouser leg. I’ve heard the saying ‘horses sweat, ladies glow’ but the poor woman’s palms were definitely sweating.

  Paul sat down, put his briefcase on the table, and flipped open the lid. He pulled out some paperwork and set the briefcase beside him on the floor.

  “Right,” he said. “This is another copy of the same paperwork I gave you last time we met. The paperwork that signs your case, and the appeal, over to me.” I looked down at the papers which he’d swivelled around for me to read. The top one had my details, and Paul’s, already filled out with the date. The only thing left were three boxes for signatures. One for me, one for Paul, and one for a witness. That explained Laura’s attendance, at least. Paul pulled a fancy looking pen out of his pocket and set it on top of the paper.

  “Well then, Gareth,” Paul said. He glanced at his colleague for a second. “Ignoring your friend Mr French’s little indiscretion, do you have any questions for me before we sign this off?”

  I had a million questions, but none that needed answering right at that moment. I picked up the pen. It was heavier than I was expecting it to be, jet black with a white blob on the end of the cap. When I unscrewed the cap, I realised it was a fountain pen instead of a normal biro. I’d not written with a nib since I was at school, but gave it a go, anyway. I pulled the top sheet of paper toward me and scribbled a rough approximation of my signature in the box next to my name. It would have to do. Paul took the pen from me and signed in his box, a flamboyant signature with plenty of loops and whorls despite his normal sounding name. He pushed the paper to Laura and handed her the pen. I looked at her as she stuck her tongue slightly out of her mouth when she signed, and I tried not to smirk. She looked at me when she’d finished signing, and I could tell from the way she frowned and her tongue disappeared that I’d failed.

  “Could I have the lid back?” Paul asked. I realised that I was holding the cap of the pen in my hand and gave it back to him. “I would say keep the pen, but it was rather expensive, and I don’t think you’d be allowed to hang onto it.” He tucked it back out of sight inside his suit jacket and shuffled the paperwork together before returning it to his briefcase. “There’ll be more paperwork to sign in due course, but it’ll have to wait until Laura’s drafted it.” I glanced across at Laura as Paul mentioned her name. “Now,” he continued. “We'll be here for a while, so why don’t I see if I can rustle up a cup of tea for us all.” Paul got to his feet and opened the door to the room. I was amazed it was open as I’d assumed that the prison officers always locked it. Obviously not. Paul disappeared through the door, leaving it open, and I could hear him talking to Mr McLoughlin.

  I looked at Laura. She was the first woman I’d seen in months, so I guess you could say that this is what made her attractive, but it was more than that. She had fine brown hair, cut in a bob that extended down to her shoulders, and a simple business suit that was so dark it was almost black. The cream blouse underneath her jacket matched her pale face. I looked as her eyes darted from me to the open door, and back again. She didn’t look any less terrified than she had when she’d walked in. If anything, she looked even more scared.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, trying to sound normal, reassuring even. I guessed that this was probably her first time in prison. Or at least this far inside one. She stared back at me, her pale green eyes wide open.

  “Oh God, I'm sorry. I’m so nervous,” she blurted out. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a prison.” Her voice fell away as she looked at me. “Er, with you I mean.”

  “With a convicted murderer, you mean?” To my surprise, she laughed at me, and as she smiled I saw dimples appear in her cheeks.

  “Okay, yes. I’m sitting in a room, in a prison, with a convicted murderer and my boss has buggered off to get a cup of bloody tea.” I laughed as well because when it was put like that it was actually quite funny. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just all unexpected, that’s all. He just said ‘Laura, come with me’. Didn’t tell me where we were going or anything. It wasn’t until we turned into Knox Road I realised we were going to the prison.” I bet someone in the local council was having a right chuckle when he came up with that name for the road that led to the prison.

  “Have you worked for him for long?” I asked her.

  “Two weeks,” she replied. “I only graduated from Law School three weeks ago. Had a week off in the Lake District with my boyfriend and started with Mr Dewar straight away. He hired me on the recommendation of my tutor. They’ve known each other for years, apparently. Mr Dewar told him he had a big case coming up.”

  I thought about what she’d said for a few minutes. That meant that, unless Paul had another case on the go, he’d hired Laura before he’d even come to see me. He must have been sure I’d sign on the dotted line but then again, why wouldn’t I?

  “What, this case?” I asked her, trying to get it straight in my mind.

  “Yes, your case,” she replied. “That’s all he’s got on at the moment.” We both turned to look at the door as Paul reappeared, followed by Mr McLoughlin who was carrying three cups of tea. As mine was put in front of me, the prison officer mumbled something.

  “Don’t get used to it, Mr Dawson,” I heard him say in a gruff voice, but his half smile was a giveaway.

  “Thank you,” I said as he walked out of the room, and we waited until the door was firmly closed. I didn’t hear it being locked though, which again surprised me.

  “Gareth, I’m now representing you as your lawyer, and the lovely young Laura here will be helping me out.” I took a sip of my tea, grimacing at the lack o
f sugar. “Happy so far?” Paul asked.

  “Yep,” I replied. “No sugar, but I’ll live with it.” They both smiled at me before Paul carried on.

  “Right then. Let’s get down to it. Now, we’re protected by lawyer-client privilege, so you can say anything at all to us. Even if it’s incriminating, do you understand?” I nodded as he reached back into his bag before pulling out a small digital tape recorder, a normal biro, and a small notebook. Paul put the recorder on the table in front of us and handed the notebook and pen to Laura. She flipped over the cover of the notebook and got ready to take notes as Paul pressed a button on the recorder to start it up.

  “Did you kill Robert Wainwright?” he asked. I almost choked on my tea at the question. Talk about getting right to the point.

  “No, I didn’t,” I replied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “But you did clatter him with the baseball bat?”

  “Yes, I did. I admitted that at the trial. I pled guilty to manslaughter, for God’s sake.”

  “I know you did, my dear chap,” Paul said. “But bear with me. So, you admit that you hit him with the baseball bat?”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” I replied. Paul waited until Laura finished writing.

  “How many times did you hit him?”

  “Once.”

  “Put that into a sentence, would you?” Paul asked. I looked at him, uncertain.

  “I hit Robert Wainwright — once — with a baseball bat.” It sounded like I was playing Cluedo. Paul watched Laura write my reply down and then took the pen and notebook from her. He underlined part of her final sentence and turned the notebook around so I could read it. Laura’s handwriting didn’t really match her appearance. The letters were almost block capitals, more like a man’s writing than a woman’s. I read the final line.

  “I hit Robert Wainwright once with a baseball bat.” Paul pointed at the underlined word ‘once’ with the tip of the pen.