A Long Way Down

by Ken McCoy

  ‘Hang on!’ Sep exclaimed. ‘You’ve missed my ward – just gone past it.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. You’ve been moved to a private room for the rest of your stay in here, which won’t be long, I’m pleased to say.’

  ‘Who’s paying for this?’

  ‘The West Yorkshire Police, on my recommendation.’

  ‘Why are you spoiling me all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’m not spoiling you.’

  She opened the door to a spacious room with one bed and pushed him through. ‘We need the privacy of this room for a meeting we’re arranging.’

  ‘A meeting? In here? To do with work is it?’

  ‘Of course. Do you have some objection?’

  ‘Not really. Who’s coming?’

  ‘Well, the two of us and, given our conversation, Stanley Butterbowl.’

  ‘Will Gibbs be coming?’

  ‘No, I need to be the senior officer at this meeting and responsible to no one present. This is why there won’t be a solicitor present. Apart from the witnesses there’ll be just three coppers: me, you and Sergeant Burnside, who seems to know quite a bit about it.’

  ‘It would really help,’ said Sep, ‘if we could get Winnie and the Pipers over from America.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Hawkins. ‘I’m trying to keep the meeting down to a minimum, but there’ll also be Butterbowl and Julie Rogerson making statements. I make that eight altogether. Where is Mrs Rogerson, by the way?’

  ‘She’ll be at home. She isn’t being held on remand on our recommendation.’

  ‘And you want this Mrs Rogerson to come to the meeting, as well as Winnie O’Toole and the Pipers?’

  ‘That sounds about right,’ said Sep. ‘With that lot all in one place I think we could clear the whole lot up.’

  ‘I wish I could say “I see”, but I don’t see. How do you propose we get Winnie and the Pipers back?’

  ‘You get them immunity and leave the rest to me.’

  Hawkins looked at him and shook her head, amazed at his self-confidence. Sep heaved himself out of the wheelchair and on to the bed where he settled himself down on top of the covers and looked around the room.

  ‘Oh yes! I like it in here.’

  ‘They’ll be bringing your clothes and stuff through from the ward.’

  ‘I get a telly as well, do I?’

  ‘I believe you have to pay through the nose for it.’

  ‘I suggest,’ said Sep, ‘that we make this meeting for one week’s time, to give Winnie and the Pipers time to get back and to give you time to get their immunities approved.’

  ‘OK, Sep, I’m going along with you on all this, but if things go wrong with Winnie and the Pipers I’ll be down on you like a ton of bloody bricks!’

  ‘You can trust me, boss.’

  This had her smiling as she left him staring at his pot leg which was pristine white and hadn’t been decorated with a single signature. Long ago, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have a square inch free of names and rude comments. Could a person’s worth be measured by the number and quality of comments they collect on their broken and plastered limbs? If so, he wasn’t worth much. With his visitor gone, a nurse came to take his readings, which were to her satisfaction.

  ‘And how are you today, Mr Black? Any problems?’

  ‘Just one that’s causing me grief.’

  ‘Just the one problem, eh? I’m guessing it’s to do with a woman.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a win or lose situation … not easy.’

  ‘Yes, it is. If she’s worth keeping, you let her win. That’s what my husband always does and I make damned sure he doesn’t lose in the long run.’

  Once again he was left alone staring at his pristine white leg, hoping that he’d be able to persuade Winnie to come back. He had a plan but it wasn’t foolproof. He looked around the room and pictured it in a week’s time with everybody there. He wondered where Winnie would be sitting, or would she be standing, looking down at him, thinking what a pathetic bastard he was? There was a lot hanging on this meeting.

  THIRTY-THREE

  It was almost ten o’clock and Sep was ready with a sheaf of notes, most of which he’d memorized. He was sitting in a bedside chair with his right leg resting on a stool. Not wishing to feel at a disadvantage by wearing a hospital gown as such a gathering, he was washed and shaved, hair neatly cut and in his best suit, wearing a regimental tie.

  What he wasn’t sure of was who exactly was coming. He’d have been more than happy if only one person had turned up, provided that person was Winnie O’Toole. He’d spoken to her on the phone to persuade her to come but she hadn’t been exactly definite as to whether she’d turn up or not, nor whether she’d bring the Pipers. Since then he’d heard nothing.

  Needless to say, Jane Hawkins was the first to arrive, closely followed by Julie and Fiona. The three of them struck up a meaningless conversation about the excellent hospital facilities as Sep looked at his notes. After a while Stanley Butterbowl arrived, with a uniformed constable pushing his wheelchair. He was unshaven and had an obnoxious look on his face as if he’d been brought into court to do something against his will.

  Sep’s ears were attuned to approaching footsteps. At exactly the appointed time, he heard them. The door opened and in came Adam and Simeon Piper, who closed the door behind him.

  ‘Is Winnie with you?’ asked Sep.

  Simeon gave a blank look and said, ‘We don’t know, do we, Adam?’

  Sep looked at Hawkins. ‘I hope this isn’t because you couldn’t get her immunity.’

  ‘The Home Office approved the immunity for the Pipers,’ said Hawkins. ‘Winnie didn’t get it because she doesn’t need it. She’s not involved in the NYSE scam.’

  ‘She’s definitely coming,’ said Adam.

  The door opened again and in walked Winnie. Without sparing a glance at anyone else in the room she went over to Sep’s bed and kissed him on the lips. It was a prolonged kiss that made the others feel slightly uncomfortable. Then she found a chair and sat down, without speaking a word to anyone.

  ‘Hiya, Winnie,’ said Sep. ‘Really glad you came.’

  ‘Glad I came, Sep.’

  ‘Yes, I think we can all see that,’ said Hawkins.

  ‘I assume everyone’s here now?’ said Sep, casting his eyes around the room.

  ‘You assume correctly,’ said Hawkins.

  ‘Right,’ said Sep. ‘We’re here to resolve the sudden deaths of Charlie Santiago, James Boswell, Agnes McGinty and finally Graham Feather. All suspicious deaths; all presumed to have been murdered; all connected in some way, but the mystery is: who would benefit from killing all four of them?’

  There were no answers, so Sep continued. ‘The answer is – no one. That is, no one person. I think we can get one matter on the agenda out of the way fairly quickly and that is the murder of Graham Feather. I believe Detective Superintendent Hawkins can bring us up to date on what we have so far.’

  Hawkins opened a folder and read from a sheet: ‘Forensic tests on marks around Graham Feather’s neck proved beyond doubt that he was manually strangled before his body was arranged to make it look like suicide. The marks on his neck are an exact match to the unusually large hands of the late Roscoe Briggs, who died while attempting to murder Detective Inspector Black. Our medical experts assure us that there is no doubt that Feather was strangled by Briggs. On top of which, there is much DNA evidence proving that Briggs was at the murder scene.’

  Butterbowl spoke with some derision. ‘Why has it taken yer so long figure it all out? I’ll tell yer why. It’s cos yer a bunch of useless bastards, that’s why.’

  Sep was glad it was all down to Wood and not him. Hawkins put the sheet back in the folder and sat back in her chair to indicate that she had no more to say.

  ‘The useless bastard investigating it was one of your own useless bastards, Stanley,’ said Sep. ‘Now residing in one of Her Majesty’s Secure Nuthouses.’ He went on to add: ‘Mr Stanley B
utterbowl, I believe you have information that will strengthen that evidence.’

  ‘Er, what?’

  ‘Tell us about the contract on Feather. Oh and what you say is being recorded on video.’

  ‘Is it? Oh right. Redman put a three-grand contract out on Feather because he reckoned Feather were goin’ ter muscle in on a scam he had goin’.’

  ‘This was a contract to murder Graham Feather, was it?’ asked Sep.

  ‘Course it was. That’s what a fuckin’ contract is.’

  ‘Just moderate your language, Stanley!’ snapped Sep. ‘And who took this contract?’

  ‘Roscoe took it.’

  ‘Roscoe Briggs?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know cos it were offered ter me at first, only I wouldn’t do it with it bein’ too complicated.’

  ‘Complicated?’

  ‘Yeah. Redman wanted me ter make it look like suicide. He wanted me ter make it look like he’d strung himself up. I mean, toppin’ someone’s a hard enough job as it is, without havin’ ter piss about like that afterwards. That’s just askin’ ter be captured.’

  ‘So, you know for certain that Roscoe Briggs murdered Graham Feather?’

  ‘I do. He told me how he made it look like suicide. I knew he’d make a bollocks of it an’ leave bits of himself all over the place.’

  Sep looked at Hawkins. ‘That’s as much evidence as we can gather to resolve the murder of Graham Feather, ma’am.’

  Hawkins glanced at the constable accompanying Butterbowl. ‘Constable, could you take Mr Butterbowl back to his ward and return to your normal duties?’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  They all watched in contemplative silence as Butterbowl was being wheeled from the room, then Hawkins said, ‘I’d say that’s more than enough to satisfy the CPS regarding the Graham Feather murder. Which leaves us with three suspicious deaths. Have we got any further regarding the death of James Boswell?’

  ‘Yes, we have, ma’am,’ said Sep, ‘but it hangs on our witness, being given immunity from prosecution for perverting the course of justice.’

  ‘This immunity has been granted,’ said Hawkins, passing a letter over to Sep, who read it carefully. He then passed it over to Winnie, who read it and commented drily, ‘So this is what an immunity letter looks like … I did wonder.’

  Sep then turned his attention to Julie Rogerson.

  ‘You are Julie Rogerson?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then you have been granted immunity. If you could pass her the letter, Winnie.’ Winnie gave the immunity letter to Julie. Sep waited until she had read it before continuing: ‘Are you happy to speak your piece safe in the knowledge that nothing you say here will be given in evidence against you in a court of law?’

  ‘I am. What I have to say is short and to the point. My husband, Martyn Rogerson, killed James Boswell. I was there in the room in the Grimshawe Hotel when it happened.’

  ‘Would you like to explain why you chose the Grimshawe, which is about as downmarket as you can get?’ asked Sep.

  ‘Well, Martyn saw a text message on my phone about me arranging a meeting with James and he was sure I was having an affair. I wasn’t. I told Martyn that it was purely to do with my work, but he didn’t believe me, so I told him to come with me if he didn’t believe me. I rearranged the meeting for it to be in the grottiest place I knew about, to make Martyn believe it couldn’t possibly be a meeting place where I’d ever go to meet a lover. I told him that I’d simply arranged to meet James in the Grimshawe to pass on information about Carl Redman, who James suspected had killed Mr Santiago – and that was the truth.’

  ‘Why did James suspect him?’ Sep asked her.

  ‘Because of the Snowball scam that Santiago was running with the Pipers, who were friendly with James. He’d found out from them that Redman wanted in on it and I was trying to warn James to keep away from him.’

  ‘How did Redman find out about it?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, but that was me,’ put in Adam. ‘Redman threatened to kill Simeon if I didn’t tell him all about Snowball.’

  ‘Could someone tell me about Snowball?’ said Hawkins.

  ‘I think it might be as well if we allow Mrs Rogerson to finish her story first,’ said Sep. ‘Snowball’s quite a complicated story.’

  ‘Really?’ said Hawkins. ‘Then you must proceed, Mrs Rogerson.’

  ‘There’s not much more to tell. Martyn and I turned up at the Grimshawe, James turned up a few minutes later. Martyn came up behind him and hit him with an iron bar. Killed him, poor James.’

  ‘And are you prepared to swear to this in court?’

  ‘Yes I am. I know he’s my husband and I still love him, but he also killed the poor old lady in the Grimshawe Hotel. I’ve given it all a lot of thought and I can’t live my life keeping quiet about him doing all that. He really needs to get what’s coming to him.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Hawkins. ‘That’s three murders solved. I’d now like to hear all about Snowball, if I may.’

  All eyes were now on Adam, who flinched beneath their collective stare. ‘It’s all right, Adam,’ said Sep. ‘You’ve got nothing to fear from telling the truth. You’ve got immunity as well. Start at the beginning.’

  ‘Well,’ began Adam, ‘me and Simeon have a social anxiety disorder. My condition is quite mild compared to Simeon but I tend to concentrate my mind along a very narrow path which means that my brain works better than most along this path.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that to be the case in some highly intelligent people,’ said Hawkins, sympathetically. ‘Carry on, Adam.’

  Adam paused to give himself time to think. Speaking before so many people hanging on to his every word made him feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Would anyone mind if I took up his background story,’ said Winnie, ‘and left the technical stuff to him?’

  ‘Oh, please do,’ said Hawkins.

  ‘Well,’ explained Winnie, who had spent a lot of time with the brothers over in New York, ‘Adam’s a genius with computers. You see, his mind isn’t clouded with distractions, such as art and music and sport and relationships …’

  ‘And sex,’ put in Adam. ‘I’m not interested in sex with women or men or anything.’

  ‘And sex,’ added Winnie, ‘and all the stuff the rest of us think is important. He has the ability to channel his mind down a narrow path that focuses on him being interested in computers. In fact, I think it’s only computers he’s interested in. He and his brother grew up in children’s homes. The people at Adam’s home spotted his ability with computers and encouraged him and then got him a job working in the computer industry for a firm that serviced computers that had gone wrong. They also had the job of looking after the computers at the New York Stock Exchange and this gave him the bright idea of, erm … I think you’d better take it up from there, Adam.’

  ‘I only want to talk to Winnie,’ he said politely, ‘if that’s all right by everybody.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Hawkins. ‘Please continue.’

  Adam turned his chair so that he was facing Winnie. He then cupped his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on the table as he thought of where to start.

  ‘Go on, Adam,’ encouraged Winnie, taking up the same pose and smiling at him. ‘Pretend there’s only silly old me listening.’

  ‘You’re not silly.’

  ‘OK, Winnie the genius.’

  ‘Well, it started when I worked at the New York Stock Exchange. The firm I worked for was given the job of upgrading their network system. There were problems which I was asked to locate and put right. The NYSE as it’s called is the world’s biggest and most important stock exchange.’

  ‘That sounds like a very responsible job,’ prompted Winnie. ‘Why you? Are you highly qualified or something?’

  ‘I’ve got no paper qualifications, but I am gifted in that field and it’s a field where genuinely gifted people are quite often more
valued than qualified people. The computer company that I worked for gave me all the tricky jobs that no one else could handle. You may have noticed that my brother has a mental disorder which has never been properly diagnosed. It’s a condition with a very broad spectrum, in fact I’m not entirely free of such a condition insofar as my brain tends to focus much more of my brain power on that which really interests me, to the exclusion of many other things.’

  Sep remembered Winnie O’Toole’s very similar assessment of him. Smart girl that Winnie, smarter than him in many ways. Do no harm at all to marry her. He dragged his thoughts away from her as Adam continued with his self-assessment.

  ‘I’m quite brilliant at mathematics and anything to do with numbers and computers in particular – it’s as if my brain was designed to work on computers. When I was three, I had a reading age of twelve. My IQ has been assessed at around one hundred and eighty, much the same as Einstein. My passion is computers; as far as computers are concerned, you could say I’m the man.’

  ‘Go on, Adam,’ said Sep, ‘Tell us about this firm you worked for in America.’

  ‘I’m only talking to Winnie,’ said Adam without looking at Sep. It was a remark that amused everyone except Sep, who put his palms up and said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Well, the first place I worked at was just a computer company and I was pretty much a gofer until they realized that I had a real aptitude for the workings of computers and they gave me much more interesting work to do. Eventually I ended up as their senior expert. I know this sounds silly, but I got to a point where I thought I could beat a computer at its own game.’

  ‘Beat it?’ said Winnie. ‘How do you beat a computer?’

  ‘Computers are man-made,’ he said, ‘which means they can be man-ipulated, which is what I did.’

  Adam paused and glanced sideways at Sep, as if reluctant to explain any further.

  ‘I’m sorry, Adam, but you’ve no option but to tell us,’ said Sep. ‘You sit there with your mouth shut and your situation will get worse. You know, when you talk about computers it’s like listening to a different Adam.’