by Alan Fisher
“I see sir” said Jason, foreseeing his file ending up on a dusty shelf.
“But the biggest problem from my point of view is that this crime, should it turn out to be able to be prosecuted, was carried out entirely in the county of Durham. If this is to be taken forward, we cannot do so. The evidence file has to be transferred over to our colleagues in Durham”.
“So all the effort I’ve put in, the digging around, the days trawling through dusty archive records in London, the chasing and interviewing of the planning committee; is just going to be handed over to Durham and they’ll get all the credit” said a devastated Jason.
“And therein lies the reason why this will be your last day with us here Jason”.
“My last day? You’re sending me back to C Division? Is DS Davis returning so soon?”
“My decision has nothing to do with DS Davis’s return or otherwise. This is all about you. Cards on the table Jason, I’m not blind. I know you came here because you knew of Colin’s intention to retire soon, hell just about everyone knows. You’re a temporary DS and looking for a permanent position. You saw this as an opportunity to score some points ahead of possibly putting your name forward for the job, perhaps even hoping that you would be head-hunted. And there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. But you went about it the wrong way, you should have done your homework on how I like things done. You’ve made mistakes from day 1, big ones. You read the files of every member of the team, sussed out who may be a threat, and then tried to side-line them from the case as much as you could. Even when that officer made some progress, something that no-one else could, you tried to tell me that another officer should be credited. Do you seriously think that I don’t know my own team and who is capable of what? One of the main requirements of a good DS is being able to manage resources. And that means using each and every officer where their talents lie. I have a DC here who knows more about that than you ever will”.
“You mean Cole” spat Jason.
“You prove my point with your complete lack of vision. No, it’s not Cole. He has talents for sure, talents that no-one else here possesses. But it’s Swan who gets the best out of him. She was the one who told me, not that I needed telling mind, that anyone can talk to people and ask questions, or sit for hours looking at CCTV footage. But not many can look at a series of letters and numbers and tell us what it all means, and within probably ten minutes as well. You’ll probably make a decent DS one day Jason, if you take on board what I’m telling you. But it won’t be here. Tomorrow I want you to take this file down to Durham Headquarters. I’ve made an appointment for you to see the Superintendent and make your case. Who knows, you may come out of it with some credit. And that would be a result for you, seeing as how that’s where your main focus lies. In my team, it’s all about a collective result, solving the puzzle, a team win. And that’s just not you, is it. After you’ve met with the Superintendent, you should return to C division, I’ve advised them of my decision”.
Jason was floored. He had no idea his intentions had been under so much scrutiny or had been so obvious. He stood up from the chair and extended a hand to Jack.
“Thank you sir, for being so; so candid” he said, whilst the words “your loss” ran through his mind.
Jack stood and shook Jason’s hand.
“Mind how you go son. And close the door behind you on the way out will you”.
Chapter 53
Jack opened a new bottle of red wine and poured himself a large glass before retiring to his favourite chair by the large window of his apartment overlooking the River Tyne. It was a little after 10pm and he had no desire to head for the bedroom yet. The day had been a long one, nothing unusual about that, but he felt that they were making real progress at last.
He’d dealt with the disruptive situation brewing around Jason Glover and was convinced that once Christine Bell was apprehended, he’d get some answers on who was responsible for the three murders.
Sitting back in his chair and sipping his red wine, he looked out into the darkness of the river. The lights from the buildings on the opposite bank reflected on the slowly moving water, but there was no traffic to be seen. He thought of Oliver and the contribution he’d made to the case so far; despite the difficult circumstances he’d faced. And he thought about what may happen to him when the results of his Sergeants exams became public knowledge. Whatever the results turned out to be, Jack knew that the information he’d been withholding from Oliver during the case would have to be released to him, whatever the resulting consequences might be.
He wasn’t looking forward to that at all; his only saving grace was that Superintendent Fox had at least agreed to consider the alternative proposal that he’d put forward.
He finished his glass of wine, thought briefly about having another, before deciding that it would be best not to, and he went to bed with hopes still intact that patience would tip the balance of luck in his favour.
When his mobile phone rang at 4.30am on Thursday morning, interrupting his nightmare where Jason Glover had taken over the running of Ponteland Headquarters from Superintendent Fox, he was convinced that someone was ringing to say that a fourth body had been found.
The information that greeted him, however, was so much better than that. He shook the thought of Jason Glover from his head as he reached for the phone.
As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a familiar voice started speaking to him.
“Jack, it’s Peter Fox. Sorry to wake you at this time in the morning”.
“No problem sir, what is it? another body?”
“No. I’ve just been informed by the Traffic Police at Newcastle Airport that Christine Bell has been apprehended trying to leave the country. She checked in at the airport half an hour ago for an early morning flight to Spain, Alicante I understand. Anyway, she’s been arrested under the conditions that you set out yesterday and is being transferred to Ponteland as we speak. As you would imagine, she’s got legal representation lined up already and I expect by the time you get there, she’ll be able to answer your questions”.
“Yes sir, I’m on my way” said Jack, already getting out of bed and heading towards the bedroom door.
“One piece of information for you Jack, I understand that the ticket she checked in with was one way only. It doesn’t look like she intended to return. Keep me informed, will you?”
“Of course sir. Thank you, and good night; or is it good morning? Either way, I’ll be in soon sir, bye”.
Jack clicked his phone off, threw it on the sofa as he entered his lounge, and went straight into the bathroom to switch on the shower, grateful that he’d had the presence of mind to talk himself out of the second glass of wine just a few hours earlier.
Only a handful of cars were in the car park at Ponteland Headquarters when Jack arrived soon after 5.30am, and unsurprisingly, none of them were in his section of the car park.
He looked up at the dark skies as he locked his car door and wondered how many others would be going in to work before dawn. A couple of deep breaths later, Jack strolled across the empty car park and into the warm well-lit building to see the duty officer on the desk.
“Good morning sir” said the overly chirpy officer waiting to greet Jack’.
On the desk was PC George Fields, a short, rotund, larger than life character, with jet black hair and a handlebar moustache to match. George was a career PC having been on the force for almost thirty five years, and never having moved up from constable. But he was one of those rare breed of officers, the ones that preferred to work the night shift. Why? No-one had asked him, but he’d done it for the last twenty years and on the odd occasions when Jack had come into work early, it was always George who met him.
“Morning George” said Jack, less enthusiastically. “You sound alarmingly cheerful for this time in the morning”.
“Less than a couple of hours left on my shift sir, then it’s home to a nice bit of breakfast and a warm bed, which is probably
what you’ve left behind”.
“Indeed; is she here yet?”
Jack knew there was no need to mention Christine Bell by name, she would undoubtedly be the only person being transferred in during the small hours and George would have been given a heads-up by both his Sergeant and the Traffic Police at the airport.
“Yes sir, she’s in interview room 3. She’s with her brief already, he arrived fifteen minutes ago. They’ve both been given refreshments and I’ve been told by her brief that he’ll let you know when they are able to attend an interview”.
“Good of him” said Jack.
“Yes sir” said George, not wishing to contradict.
“I don’t suppose the canteen will be open yet?” asked Jack.
“No sir, opens at 7.30. but if it’s a coffee you’re needing, I have a kettle back here and can make you something”.
“No. you’re all right George” said Jack. “I’ll just head off to the office; let me know when I’m allowed to talk to them will you”.
“Of course” said George, “and if it’s going to be after my shift ends, I’ll make sure the next duty officer is informed that you’re waiting in your office to interview them”.
“Cheers” said Jack as he left the reception desk and made his way up the stairs to the dark and empty offices that awaited him.
Chapter 54
It was close to 7am when Jack finally received a call from George on the duty desk to notify him that Christine Bell and her solicitor were prepared to talk to him. Jack thanked George for the information and asked him if he would make sure that they had everything they needed before he went off duty.
Although pleased to be able to move things along, not to say desperately curious to hear what Mrs Bell had to say, he nevertheless kept them waiting for another fifteen minutes before he made his way down to interview room 3, pausing only briefly to enlist the attendance of a junior PC in the room.
Even though he’d only met Christine Bell for a few seconds when he’d visited the offices of Andrew McMillan, he recognised the elegant appearance immediately. She was dressed in black trousers and a pale pink blouse; and her hair and make-up could have suggested she was off to a photo shoot rather than off on holiday.
Jack crossed the room and switched on the recording device.
The solicitor, a stocky forty something year old, dressed in a blue pin-striped suit with matching tie decorating his crisp white shirt, introduced himself as Michael J Golightly of Hadaway and Hadaway Solicitors.
“Good morning. For the tape, I am Detective Chief Inspector Jack Collier, interviewing Mrs Christine Bell with her solicitor Mr Michael J Golightly, in the presence of PC Fleming; the time is 7.21am, Thursday”.
He pulled out a chair opposite the pair on the other side of the large table, eased himself into it, and placed a large brown folder on the table in front of him.
“Thank you for your prompt attendance Mr Golightly, hopefully that will save us all a bit of time”.
“Before you begin Chief Inspector, I understand my client was arrested on a charge of withholding information appertaining to a murder investigation. My client wishes to state for the record that she has not withheld any information and would have been perfectly willing to be interviewed by the police at any time”.
“Thank you Mr Golightly, and that statement would be much easier to believe had Mrs Bell not been detained before boarding a flight to Spain on a one way ticket”.
Golightly leaned across and whispered in Mrs Bell’s ear, and received a reciprocal response a few seconds later.
”A one way ticket does not imply an unwillingness to return Chief Inspector, merely an uncertainty as to when that might be”.
“We’re not in court Mr Golightly, there’s no need to argue your case unless your client is formally charged. Whatever Mrs Bel’s intentions, she’s here now, and as you have indicated the willingness of your client to be interviewed, may I proceed and ask some questions?”
“Of course, but my client also wishes to place on record that she is willing to give her full co-operation on the understanding that should any criminal proceedings follow, the courts will take her co-operation into full account”.
“The record is so noted, but I cannot predict what any future court may or may not take into account, now may I proceed?”
Michael Golightly nodded, and Jack opened up the file that he’d brought with him from his office and took out the photograph from Justice Robertson’s wall that had been viewed by so many people over recent days.
“Mrs Bell, would you take a look at this photograph and tell me if this is you in the background?”.
Christine pulled the photograph across the table, looked at it for a few seconds, and pushed it back.
“Yes that’s me. A long time ago though Chief Inspector”.
“So I understand. Can you tell me where the photograph was taken?”
“The Lamplight Club, Newcastle, but it’s closed down now I think”.
“So I believe. What can you tell me about the Lamplight Club?”
“Not a great deal. It was a nightclub as the name suggests. I wasn’t a frequent visitor, but I don’t think it was any different from any other nightclub”.
“My information tells me that this photograph was taken in some rooms above the nightclub, rooms owned and used by the owner of the nightclub, a Mr Juste Van der Klerk. Would that be true?”
“Yes, it’s the upstairs rooms and Mr Van der Klerk is in the photo, although I guess you already knew that” said Christine.
Jack noticed that her voice was becoming a little unsteady, she was clearly starting to feel nervous as she realised where the questioning was taking her.
“I assume you know what was happening when this photo was taken Mrs Bell, would you confirm that for me?”
“It’s a card game. Mr Van der Klerk used to invite some of his friends and business associates to his upstairs rooms above the nightclub for a game a cards, poker I think, about once a month. It was a private gathering”.
“So you were a member of this select group of friends and business associates invited to this private gathering to play poker?”
“No Chief Inspector, I was not part of that group. I was not a business associate and I do not play poker”.
“Then what were you doing there Mrs Bell, you said it was a private gathering, invitation only. Who invited you?”
“It was Andrew, Mr McMillan, he took me along to pour drinks for the guests whilst they were playing”.
Jack leaned back in his chair; he knew it was a lie. But there was some element of truth in it, and he needed to know what.
“So you knew Andrew McMillan before he became a Conservative candidate; before you went to work for him. How did you know him?”
“I used to be the manager of a Children’s Care home near Durham City and Mr McMillan was working with the Council. Our paths crossed at the odd meeting and social gatherings, and we got to know each other a little”.
“On a personal level?” asked Jack.
“No, strictly on a professional level”.
“You’ll need to do better than that Mrs Bell. I know Andrew McMillan worked in the Planning Department; it is highly unlikely that your paths would simply cross. And even if they did, I cannot see him inviting you to a private function if your relationship was strictly professional. You said you would co-operate Mrs Bell, I need the truth”.
Christine Bell thought for a few seconds; her solicitor leaned across and again whispered something inn her ear.
“Very well, we first met when he visited the Children’s home where I worked. The Council were looking to build an extension onto the rear of the building to increase the intake capacity. Mr McMillan visited on a few occasions to oversee the planning work and then the building work. Our relationship was friendly but professional”.
“And because of this friendly relationship he invited you along to a private poker game to pour drinks for some business associates
of his, and you simply said, yes? I find that hard to believe”.
For a third time Michael Golightly leaned across and whispered in her ear. Her expression changed dramatically.
“Ok, it wasn’t like that. Our relationship wasn’t friendly or professional and I did not want to go to his private functions. I was given no choice”.
Jack felt the truth was coming and pressed harder.
“What did McMillan have on you? Why did you have no choice?”
Christine Bell took a seep breath and knew it was time.
“All right. McMillan didn’t visit the home until everything was almost complete. He’d found out that…” she hesitated slightly, “he’d found out somehow, that I’d been skimming funds from the building works and pocketing thousands of pounds”.
Jack absorbed the information, he knew it was true; but there was more, he could sense it. He dug a little further.
“So Andrew McMillan finds out that you’re embezzling Council funds and rather than report the matter, he invites you to join him at this poker game and simply pour drinks? Or was there more to it than that? Perhaps you were to provide something else for the guests, something a little more entertaining” said Jack, narrowing in on the key question.
“It wasn’t like that, I had no choice, he threatened to hand me over to the police if I didn’t do as he asked. He said I would go to prison, he was going to ruin my life, Chief Inspector”.
“You haven’t yet explained what it is that you had no choice about. Did he ask you to perform for his guests, or did he ask you to take them to the bedroom next door?” said Jack, now fishing in unexplored waters.
