A Long Way Down

by Ken McCoy

  ‘Well, it’s certainly a big story now – if James was killed to suppress it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sandra. ‘I’m more than aware of that and I’m going to tell it, if only to get some sort of justice for James. The only story the papers have run about it so far is that he was murdered in a downmarket hotel, probably by a prostitute.’ She glanced at Sep and added, ‘There is one thing that bothers me now.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If James was murdered to suppress his story it means you’re up against some very dangerous people and I’m worried about what I’ve got you into.’

  ‘Sandra, I’m not sure if I’ve got enough to persuade my boss to take the case on right now. I need to plod away on my own for a while. Either that or I hand what I have over to my colleagues and see what they can do for you.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ she said, ‘the police haven’t impressed me so far and you have. But what if you end up like James?’

  ‘Let me do the worrying, Sandra. I’ve been in tricky situations before. So, who’s it to be, me or the West Yorkshire Police?’

  ‘Is it all right if I go along with you until things become impossible for you?’

  ‘Fine by me. If I think I’m getting nowhere, you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘OK, I’ll stick with you.’

  ‘Good, is there anyone in particular at this press agency?’

  ‘James dealt with a man called Lovell, Patrick Lovell.’

  ‘Right, I’ll have a word with Patrick Lovell before I do anything else.’

  Patrick Lovell was an ex-feature writer with the Daily Express who now spent his time covering crown courts, inquests, tribunals and breaking news of murders and similar mayhem, but he couldn’t be everywhere and do everything which is why he had relied on the likes of James Boswell who had been a press association-trained journalist, to bring him stories. Sep was in Lovell’s office.

  ‘So, you don’t know what story James was working on?’

  ‘No idea. I usually ask people to bring me a finished article, or at least the bones of one. From what I hear James had only just begun his investigation into this, whatever it was.’

  ‘Did you know James well?’

  ‘Fairly well.’

  ‘His wife thinks that no way he’d go with a prostitute.’

  ‘I think she’s right. He was a good-looking, personable bloke was James. He wouldn’t need to pay for it.’

  ‘What about not paying for it?’

  Patrick looked at Sep with humour in his eyes. ‘You mean, was he having a bit on the side?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Patrick twiddled a pencil around in his fingers as he gave this matter some thought.

  ‘I’m thinking an angry husband,’ added Sep.

  ‘He’d have to be really angry to commit murder.’

  ‘Jealousy can drive a man to insane lengths … well?’

  Patrick sighed ‘Yes, he did. But I’m a bit reluctant to tell you because I promised him faithfully I’d keep my mouth shut about it.’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘I know, but Sandra isn’t.’

  ‘What did the police ask you?’

  ‘The police didn’t ask me anything. They never came here.’

  ‘Really? I’m amazed … or I should be, but knowing who was in charge of the investigation I’m not so amazed. Is this woman married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you met her husband?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re asking me if he’s capable of murder and I don’t know.’

  ‘Who is this woman?’

  Patrick nodded at the glass partition behind which two women were working. ‘Actually she works here, but she’ll be mortified if she finds out I’ve told you.’

  Without looking round, Sep said, ‘I’m guessing the young blonde.’

  ‘Good guess. Her name’s Julie Rogerson. You’re not going to talk to her, are you?’

  Sep shrugged. ‘I need to eliminate her and her husband from my enquiries. If I can’t do that, then I’ll need to tell my colleagues in the police … who will.’

  Patrick pressed a key on his intercom. ‘Julie, can you come through, please.’

  ‘Yep.’

  A few seconds later a pretty woman in her twenties, entered the office and stood beside where Sep was sitting. Her hair was shiny blonde and cut in a short bob. The rest of her matched the beauty of her face.

  ‘This is DI Sep Black,’ Patrick told her.

  ‘I know. I recognized him. We have his photo in our files.’

  Sep tried to catch a hint of Scouse in her accent. She had no regional accent at all.

  ‘Really?’ he said.

  Julie smiled at him and sat down in another chair. ‘Yes, one of our photographers will have taken it, which means it belongs to us to do with what we want.’

  ‘You’d be best not annoy him, Julie,’ said Patrick.

  ‘She’s not annoying me,’ said Sep. ‘I was just surprised that anyone would want to keep a photo of me.’

  ‘You’re a very newsworthy person at times, Mr Black,’ said Julie.

  Sep turned his chair to face her. ‘Julie, I’m investigating the murder of James Boswell, I gather you knew him well.’

  Julie’s friendly expression switched itself off. ‘I gather this is a private investigation,’ she said, looking daggers at her boss.

  ‘No, it’s a police matter,’ said Sep.

  ‘Julie,’ said Patrick. ‘If I hadn’t told him, more police would have come round asking questions of both you and Martyn. You can talk in complete confidence with DI Black.’

  ‘Mrs Boswell’s not happy how his murder was reported,’ said Sep.

  ‘You mean, by a prostitute?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe that. James didn’t need to go to prostitutes.’

  ‘Julie, I absolutely believe you.’

  The implication had her blushing and looking down at her hands.

  Sep went on. ‘The police don’t appear to know that you were having an affair with James and there’s no need for them to know, so long as you’re open with me.’

  ‘I wasn’t having an affair with him and you’re the police so you can put them straight, should it ever arise!’ Her forceful manner had Sep almost believing her.

  ‘I’m not the regular police,’ he said, ‘I work for an arm’s-length unit and I don’t exchange information with them unless it’s absolutely necessary. And they’re not working on this case anymore but, with it being a cold case, I am.’

  Julie looked up at Patrick, who took the hint and got to his feet. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘this conversation needs to be private. I’ll make myself scarce for half an hour.’

  Julie watched him go then said to Sep, ‘He’ll have gone downstairs for a cig, then across the road for a coffee.’

  ‘Good for him. I didn’t want to embarrass you.’

  ‘No? You’ve done a poor job of that so far.’

  Sep grinned. He was beginning to like Julie and was sincerely hoping she wasn’t involved in the murder. His gut instinct said she wasn’t and it was usually reliable. ‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point. I’m trying to eliminate anyone who might have had a motive for killing James and I’m afraid one of the candidates appears to be your husband and he’s a candidate the police don’t know about – as yet.’

  ‘Martyn?’

  The name almost exploded from her mouth. ‘He doesn’t know about it and he wouldn’t harm a fly. Oh God! You mustn’t tell him you think I was having an affair with James.’

  ‘Julie, if I don’t check him out, the police will mention it, no matter how innocent you are.’

  Tears appeared which she wiped away with the heel of a hand. ‘Mr Black … Sep … if Martyn thought I was having an affair he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings. I feel really sad about James dying. He was a dear friend I used to exchange information with.’
r />   ‘Who else knew about your friendship? Obviously your boss did.’

  ‘No one at all. Patrick only knew because he saw us together and put two and two together and made five. He told me not to be so careless or to pack it in. I told him there was nothing to pack in. He liked both Martyn and James. In fact, Martyn liked James – considered him to be a friend.’

  ‘Do you know Sandra?’

  ‘I don’t actually, no. Never been in her company. It wouldn’t do her any good to think that James had been having an affair.’

  ‘I know that. Describe your husband to me … physically I mean.’

  ‘Physically? He’s an ex-rugby player, a big man, but that doesn’t mean he’s violent. He’s a real pussycat to me.’

  ‘Rugby player? A lot of rugby players are surprisingly light on their feet. Is Martyn?’

  ‘Not that I’ve noticed. I think Martyn must be the exception. He was a prop forward, whatever that is.’

  ‘It’s a position requiring a lot of strength.’

  ‘Enough to kill a man, you mean? Mr Black, to kill a man you need a killer’s capability. Martyn wouldn’t harm a fly. I may look young, but I’m a twenty-eight-year-old ex-crime reporter. I’ve been around a few killers and you can somehow sense the, er … the capability in them. Martyn hasn’t got that. I can’t explain it any better I’m afraid.’

  Sep has also been around many killers but he hadn’t been able to sense any such thing. In his opinion, given enough provocation, any person can turn killer in the blink of an eye. Maybe he just didn’t have her intuition. He held her gaze. He knew that pursuing this line of investigation would damage three lives, those of Julie, Martyn and Sandra. Hell, for all he knew, his gut instinct might be miles off track. Julie might be up to her neck in it.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘What I’ll do is this. I have other lines of investigation that I can follow. If I come to an eventual dead end I’ll give everything I have over to the CID in the hope that with their powers they can dig deeper than I can, but I’ll let you know before I do because they’ll need to interview both you and Martyn. It’ll give you a chance to warn him and convince him that you and James weren’t having an affair. In the meantime, if you know anything of the story he was following, I’d be grateful if you told me.’

  ‘You think it’s that story what got him killed?’

  ‘I think that’s the hot favourite.’

  ‘It was something to do with a murder in Leeds last year. The police didn’t get anyone for it. James was working on a lead.’

  ‘What sort of lead?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, ‘but I’d heard from another source that a local heavy had been somehow involved and I wanted to warn James to stay clear of him.’

  ‘Who’s the heavy?’

  ‘A man named Redman, Carl Redman. That’s all I know, just a name. James could be quite secretive about his stories, especially to people in the same business, even me. We only saw each other about once a month and that was only for an hour or so in some pub or other. It wasn’t a fling or anything, just an exchange of information. We liked each other and enjoyed each other’s company, which is why we made it a regular thing. I’d never leave Martyn and James would never have left Sandra. You’re a copper who gathers information, you know how it is.’

  ‘Julie, if anything comes to mind please let me know. It’ll be in both our interests if I get to the truth.’

  ‘The truth would be good for me.’

  SIX

  It was the following week when the woman calling herself Winona rang old Agnes at the Grimshawe and asked if the police had been enquiring about her. Since James’s murder she’d had weeks of anxiety, knowing she was a party to a man’s murder.

  ‘I don’t know who y’are, so how am I supposed ter know?’ croaked Agnes. ‘I’m norra fuckin’ mind reader. Coppers are allus round here askin’ their stupid questions. Mind you. I’m not surprised wiv the types what we get in ’ere. We’ve gorra shit reputation.’

  ‘I was there on the day of the murder.’

  ‘Oh, I remember that. We don’t have murders every day. Are you that tart what was up there when that feller were done in?’

  ‘I’m not a tart, but yes, I was there at that time, only when I left he was alive,’ said Winona. ‘I want to know if the police were asking questions about me.’

  ‘Well, it were a few weeks ago, but they did come round askin’ stupid questions.’

  ‘So, what did you tell them?’

  ‘Nowt really. I told ’em a woman had gone up before ’im and I reckoned she were a prozzie. I didn’t get a right good look at yer, mind.’

  ‘Did you tell them anything else?’

  ‘No. As a matter o’ fact I forgot all about that feller what came out wiv yer.’

  ‘Good, because he had nothing to do with it either. It was all just very bad timing on our part. It would suit me if you didn’t tell the police any more than you have.’

  ‘I don’t know no more.’

  ‘Well, I’ll know if you do because I know people in the police.’

  ‘Oh heck!’ said Agnes, worried.

  ‘There’s no need to worry if you haven’t said anything more to the police. You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘Not to the police, no.’

  ‘What does that mean? Who have you been talking to?’

  ‘A bloke called Black came round a few days ago askin’ questions. He’s a private detective, I think.’

  ‘Black? What did you tell him?’

  ‘Same as I told the police. It’s all I know. I told him I’d seen a woman, which was yerself but I couldn’t give a description, with me not having me glasses on.’

  ‘That’s all you told him?’

  ‘I told him that bloke what she was wiv yer were clumpin’ round like a soddin’ elephant.’

  ‘He wasn’t with me.’

  ‘Mebbe not, but he were very ’eavy on ’is feet.’

  ‘Agnes, I’m going to send you fifty pounds in cash and if I don’t hear anything from my people in the police I’ll send you the same every month.’

  ‘That’ll be very acceptable. At my time o’ life money gets a bit scarce.’

  ‘You can expect a registered envelope tomorrow with fifty pounds in it. Who should I send it to?’

  ‘Agnes McGinty. D’yer know me address?’

  ‘I do. And do not tell anyone I’m sending you this money. I will know that as well.’

  ‘Why would I tell anyone? They’ll only take it off me pension … the bastards!’

  Agnes was watching Jeremy Kyle on the television when the heavy-footed man walked in the following day, only this time he wasn’t heavy-footed. The woman known as Winona had warned him about this, so he trod lightly. Jeremy Kyle was opening an envelope and about to give the result of a DNA test when the heavy-footed man crept up behind Agnes and placed a small pillow over her mouth. He was a powerful man and forced her head over the back of her chair, cutting off her breathing which wasn’t good at the best of times. The shock and terror of what was happening to her paralysed her limbs to the point that her arms hung limply down by her sides as the man choked her to death. She died in complete silence apart from Jeremy Kyle announcing to a young man, whose emaciated face was decorated with tattoos and assorted bits of metal, that he was the father of a child whose mother was now weeping with joy at the news. The heavy-footed man checked that Agnes’s pulse had beaten its last and left the room as silently as he’d arrived with Agnes slumped in the chair as the young father stormed off the Jeremy Kyle set using many deleted F words. Despite the care the killer had taken, a post mortem—usually required when someone dies suddenly outside a hospital, would reveal petechiae—broken blood vessels around the eyes and fibres in her oesophagus, indicating that she had most probably been murdered. A natural death is a difficult thing to fake.

  ‘Fiona, I’ve rung you six times and all I get is a woman telling me that you’re unavailable.’

  ‘With resp
ect, sir, I am unavailable when I’m on police business.’

  ‘This is a murder – which I believe is police business.’

  ‘What murder’s that, sir?’

  ‘The Santiago murder last year.’

  ‘That’s a cold case, sir. Nothing to do with us anymore.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve had a look at the police file, having found Robin Wood’s password.’

  ‘Oh, well done, sir. What is it?’

  ‘Cock as in Who Killed Cock Robin.’

  ‘Oh God! I might have known.’

  ‘I wish I’d known. Winnie and I went through the whole of Sherwood Forest searching for it. It took her smutty mind to find it.’

  ‘Well done, Winnie. No wonder the DCI in Wood was reluctant to give us it. He obviously has an inflated opinion of his sexual magnetism. Was there anything in the file of any use to you?’

  ‘Not really. It isn’t a very comprehensive file, Fiona. I suspect even you lot gave up on it. I trust you’ll keep me up to date on any useful information that comes your way.’

  ‘Sir, if we gave up on it, there’ll be a good reason.’

  ‘Oh, there’s a good reason all right and that reason now has a name … Cock Robin.’

  There was a pause and Sep knew he’d hooked his pal, DS Fiona Burnside. She had even less time for DCI Robin Wood than had Sep. He decided to add to the temptation.

  ‘In fact, there are two murders … both connected. Charles Santiago last year and James Boswell four months ago. I’m guessing Woody didn’t spot the obvious connection and I’m wondering if you did … or if anyone down there did?’

  ‘What was the obvious connection?’

  ‘James Boswell was a freelance reporter working on the Santiago killing.’

  ‘Was he? Oh shit! James Boswell was the last murder case I worked on. I did a lot of legwork on it for the DFCI but no one made the connection with Santiago.’

  ‘Well, I did and it took me just one visit to Boswell’s wife to make that connection.’

  The DCI thought that Boswell had been killed by a prostitute,’ said Fiona, ‘but we had no luck in tracking her down.’