A Duty of Revenge

by Quentin Dowse

  My main task this Saturday morning, I had decided, was to examine the issue of whether someone at the building society had given the robbers inside information about how the key system worked. We suspected the robbers might have sussed out Janice Cooper’s house a few weeks earlier, and they had known to go to Anne Beedham’s house. How? The action of solving this little riddle by interviewing all staff members at the society had been given to DI Mally Baldwin. He and two DCs had completed the action without coming to a definitive solution. I read the statements provided by the staff and DI Baldwin’s covering report and conclusions. I had worked several major enquiries with Mally and trusted his judgement, as he was thorough and competent. I could see he had done all that was possible at this stage of the inquiry, but I was not content that the conclusions he had drawn were correct.

  He felt confident Beedham was not involved. She had grown extremely angry at the suggestion, to the point that PC Granger, her FLO, had to persuade her not to make a formal complaint, explaining why the suggestion had to be put to her. Once again, I was impressed by this young lad’s skills with so little experience. Her righteous anger had impressed the DI as honest, and he rationalised that she would not have put her husband and son in such danger. Furthermore, he argued, if involved, how had the attack by Emmerson been allowed to happen? He’d also ruled out Janice Cooper, for obvious reasons – her near death and the earlier reporting of the suspicious man, and his Vauxhall Vectra. All other members of staff had been spoken to and none had any connections with Emmerson, nor given the DI and his small team reason for suspicion. Ten of them were so junior that they were not trusted with the keys and did not know the system used, although they could easily have sussed it out.

  The only loose end was the manager, Noel Priestley. A brief initial interview about the crime had taken place on the first day of the inquiry, but the idea of an inside leak had not been covered. Unfortunately, the next day, he had collapsed at work and ended up in hospital for three days. Stress had apparently triggered a minor heart attack. DI Baldwin had spoken to his wife, requesting he be able to speak to Mr Priestley at home in order to complete his enquiries. Mrs Priestley had refused point-blank, quoting the doctor’s instructions that he should remain stress-free. In short, Mally could not totally rule out employee involvement but concluded it was unlikely. His theory was that the robbers had watched the society, seen Anne Beedham and Janice Cooper, and no doubt the other key holders, lock up and followed them home. Perhaps Cooper’s house had demanded a second visit, as it was so isolated and hard to find. Having decided on the date for the robbery, they realised Anne was locking up that week, so she was the first port of call and she’d named Janice Cooper?

  It was plausible but I wasn’t convinced. It was too neat and tidy and few criminals are that patient and thorough. Despite the DI’s confidence, I still did not rule out Beedham. I couldn’t see it being Cooper. I wanted a comprehensive interview completed with Noel Priestley, as his views of his staff would be invaluable. Consequently, I did not sign off the action as complete but added my thoughts and requested DI Baldwin discuss the matter with me.

  So involved was I in my analysis that I didn’t hear a uniformed sergeant enter my office through the open door until he politely coughed to alert me.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but we’ve a chap at the front desk who’s insisting he talks to you immediately.’

  This was the last thing I needed. I had deliberately come in on a Saturday to get a bit of peace and quiet and plough through this paperwork. Ten days into the inquiry, the early frenetic pace had slowed a little and the overtime reduced so now half the team were off at the weekend. I’d banked on there being only one or two about in the incident room, with the others out on enquiries. So, with the benefit of hindsight, I didn’t respond positively to what was about to unfold.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Says he’s got information about a rape, sir. Something about someone who was acquitted at Hull Crown Court earlier this week? But he won’t talk to me.’

  Grantmore. My interest was aroused – but hell, I had other matters of a more pressing nature.

  ‘Call someone in off the incident to deal with him, but tell them that I’ve specifically assigned them to the task.’

  He left to do my bidding and without further thought, I returned to my reading. About an hour and a half later, I was again disturbed, this time by young Pete Granger.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but I’ve been speaking to Mr Morley and I think you might want to hear what he has to say.’

  I’d forgotten all about the earlier interruption. ‘Who?’

  ‘They called me in, sir, to talk to a Mr Graham Morley. He came here from Hull to try and speak to you about the Grantmore rape. I’ve been talking to him for the last hour and I really think you need to see him.’

  The lad looked so keen and excited that I tossed the statement I’d been reading back into my tray and said, ‘Wheel him in then.’

  ‘Before I do, are there any developments on our job, boss?’ he asked. ‘I had Friday off and with there not being a briefing today and hardly anybody about, I’ve lost the plot a bit.’

  ‘Not a breakthrough yet, I’m afraid, but an interesting little development. We’ve recovered a twenty-pound note that came from the building society cash. Remember, it had only been delivered that day and it was new money, so we circulated the serial numbers. Well, one of the twenties was banked up in Newcastle, as part of the takings from a local pub. Serious local villains use the pub, so I’ve sent a couple of lads up there to explore a potential north-east connection. Maybe we’ll find a link to Emmerson.’

  ‘Anne… sorry… Mrs Beedham is really cut up about Emmerson. She reckons she feels responsible for his death. She knows that it was her biting him and the blood that led to the others shooting him. Crazy, I know, but it’s all affected her badly.’ He sounded quite emotional.

  I studied him thoughtfully for a moment. He was a good-looking lad, still with the remnants of acne, so he can’t have been much more than twenty-two at most. He was too young in service to be on a major incident really and had only just completed his FLO training, but I’d been impressed with the statements he’d taken from Anne Beedham and her family and they were happy with him, and so I’d swung his attachment with his divisional commander. He’d been sceptical, saying the lad was having marriage problems and his mind might not be on the job. I’d kept him in uniform intending to use him for the many jobs on the inquiry that didn’t always need a detective. His trousers had a sharp crease and his boots shone, so in my book the lad “had the makings”. However, I could tell from what he’d just said that Anne Beedham and her family had clearly got under his skin. Maybe he was too green to be that close to the family’s trauma. I made a mental note to find out a bit more about his personal problems and maybe think about withdrawing him. I didn’t want someone as young in service cracking up just because I’d taken a shine to him, but this was not the time to explore his vulnerabilities.

  ‘So what’s this chap at the counter want?’

  ‘He’s got some evidence in the Grantmore rape case.’

  Intriguing. ‘And what do you know about that case?’

  ‘I realise he’s probably too late because the trial’s over, but from what I know about Sean Grantmore, I thought you’d want to have every bit of intelligence on him we can get.’

  I was impressed that he knew about the case, and even more that he had heard of Grantmore, who operated in Hull while he policed the East Riding. He got bonus points for recognising the investigator’s insatiable need for intelligence.

  ‘Bring him up. We’ll have a word with him together.’

  I could see he was excited at the prospect and clearly chuffed to be asked by a detective superintendent. He was back within five minutes, accompanied by a thin, bespectacled young man. His age was almost impossible to determine due to his shockingly o
ld-fashioned haircut and clothes. Our Mr Morley had a huge beaked nose upon which rested the most enormous round tortoiseshell spectacles, and a complexion that suggested he rarely saw daylight. His beige corduroy trousers were worn bald on the thighs and were three inches too short. His open maroon-coloured anorak revealed a hand-knitted, multi-coloured zip-up jumper. This bloke was at the back of the queue when God handed out looks – and when the jumble sale opened in 1972. I had a mental image of him having arrived out here in Driffield in either a Reliant Robin or astride a ladies’ shopper moped – you know the type?

  My new young partner introduced me to his witness, showed him to a chair, closed the door to the office and perched on the corner of my desk, as if we’d been working together for ten years.

  ‘Fetch another chair, Constable,’ indicating he should collect one from the briefing room. I didn’t want him too cocky too soon.

  He returned pushing a wheeled office chair, his acne even more inflamed by all the excitement. It was soon about to get worse. I leaned towards Mr Morley, invading his space.

  ‘What the hell do you mean by coming in here several days after an important trial has bloody finished and telling us you’ve got evidence?’

  Granger almost fell off his chair in surprise at what he must have regarded as an unusual stance to take with someone trying to help us. Mr Morley, however, just blinked at me from behind his huge glasses. His appearance had convinced me that he was one of the usual fruitcakes that like to try and get involved in high-profile cases, and my intention was to piss him off double-quick so I could get back to my beloved paperwork. Granger had already fallen off my “one to watch” list, as an inability to identify time-wasters – before they actually waste it – is a rapid route to the Traffic Branch or Community Affairs – not the CID.

  Morley shuffled uncomfortably in his seat but calmly returned my stare.

  ‘You don’t intimidate me, Inspector. I have been bullied by experts. I have proof that Sean Grantmore raped that girl. What do you say to that?’

  ‘Two things, Mr Morley. It’s Detective Superintendent Darnley, and as I said before, why tell me now… after the case has concluded?’

  However, he had aroused my curiosity and his steady gaze in the face of my intimidation had made me think I may have underestimated him. So I decided to back-pedal.

  ‘I hope you’ll understand I had to take that forceful tone with you, Mr Morley, as all too often we receive salacious information surrounding rape cases, but I can see by your response that you have confidence in your information. What do you mean you have proof?’

  Morley sat forward and pushed his huge glasses back up his nose with his right forefinger and looked conspiratorially at Granger. Then he took a hand-held tape recorder from his anorak pocket, placed it on the desk, pressed “Play” and sat back.

  A disembodied mechanical voice came from the small machine. Message left at 1.47pm on Friday 17 April 1998.

  This was followed by a second voice I easily recognised as Sean Grantmore’s.

  ‘Daz? It’s Granto. Ring me back straight away. We need to get our stories straight for last night. That lass is reckoning I raped her. Ring me straight back… the cops are looking for me.’

  I started to ask questions but Granger held up his hand to silence me and indicated I should continue to listen. There were a couple of clicks and then the voice I now realised was an answerphone recording gave another time and date followed by a voice I did not recognise.

  ‘Granto. It’s Daz. I’ve spoken to Tommo and he’ll say the same. She was pissed and gagging for it. So send the coppers to us once they lock you up.’

  Again, Granger held up his hand, letting me know there was more to come.

  This last call was two days after the first messages and again it was Grantmore.

  ‘Daz, my old pal, meet me in the Cheese as soon as you get this. I got bail and no charge as yet. It’s her word against mine… and yours.’ Grantmore gave a hearty laugh. ‘Bring Tommo. I owe you both a drink.’

  Morley leaned into the desk and switched off the machine, a triumphant look upon his face. Granger was also looking very pleased with himself. As for me – I was just confused. I looked at Granger, demanding an explanation.

  ‘The first message you heard was left by Grantmore on the mobile phone of a man called Daryl Jenkins. I’ve checked the crime report relating to Lisa Holland and she reported the rape at ten o’clock, about eight hours after the offence took place and about four hours before Grantmore left the message. So it obviously refers to her. It sounds like he rang his mate once he knew we were looking for him.’

  I still hadn’t grasped where these messages had come from – this was long before phone hacking was in the news. Not used to being slow on the uptake but now apparently being left behind by a spotty plod and a retro nerd, I reverted to the Darnley everyone knows and loves – grumpy and aggressive.

  ‘Get on with it, man. I haven’t got all day. Where has this recording come from? I can see the significance.’

  Morley looked at me as though I was an idiot. ‘I accessed Grantmore’s and Jenkins’s mobile telephone answerphones and recorded those messages. They prove that Grantmore concocted his defence with his two friends. Tommo is Jamie Alan Thompson by the way.’

  I just sat gobsmacked.

  Granger chivalrously leapt into the hiatus.

  ‘Mr Morley has followed the case, sir, and he tells me that both Jenkins and Thompson gave evidence at Grantmore’s trial that Lisa Holland was drunk when in Spiders and was being openly promiscuous towards several men, themselves included. Surely these tapes show an offence of perverting the course of justice and help to illustrate Grantmore’s guilt?’

  I didn’t know where to start, although the mists were beginning to clear somewhat.

  ‘Play them to me again,’ I commanded.

  Morley did so.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Morley, how did you gain access to these voicemails?’ Despite myself, I was intrigued.

  The young man proudly puffed out his chest – or what passed as a chest – and somewhat verbosely explained. It was all about PIN code combinations, probability and prediction. Mumbo-jumbo that left me baffled.

  Seeing my confusion, Granger helped out: ‘Mr Morley works in IT, sir… he’s a bit of a whizz at this sort of stuff.’

  Clearly as proud as punch to be centre stage, Morley announced, ‘Nothing to someone like me with patience, purpose and persistence.’

  And there lay my next question. Why did he have such patience, purpose and persistence?

  ‘Why did you do this?’

  ‘I hate Grantmore… and Jenkins for that matter. Both of them used to bully me at school to the point where I tried to kill myself when I was fourteen. They literally ruined my life. I’ve never got over it.’

  His voice cracking with emotion, he continued: ‘Over the last few years, I started to see things in the paper about Grantmore; court appearances, prison sentences and heard how he was a drug dealer and controlled prostitutes and I started to try and find out more about him… I… I just thought I could get my own back… get him into trouble and in prison for longer. It sounds stupid now… telling it to you… but I know loads about him.’

  PC Granger rose from his chair and put a comforting arm across Mr Morley’s shoulder and handed him a lever arch file that he was holding. ‘Let’s show the boss your dossier.’

  Morley opened the file on his knees and turned it towards me, inviting me to look. He slowly turned the pages and I saw carefully annotated pages of notes, newspaper cuttings and photographs. The file was about four inches thick and had clearly been put together with a great deal of attention to detail.

  I sat and thought for a moment, trying to assimilate all that I had heard. The recordings would have been dynamite in court, showing collusion between the defendant and his two key witnesses. As Gra
nger had said, the recordings strongly suggested a crime of perverting the course of justice and cast severe doubts upon Grantmore’s version of events. But they were of little use now in getting justice for Lisa Holland. Back in 1998, once a court had acquitted someone of a crime, there was no way of having a “second bite at the cherry”. What was known as double jeopardy was enshrined in English Common Law, until the Criminal Justice Act 2003 for the first time allowed a second trial if substantial new evidence emerged. It was this change in the law that allowed the second trial and conviction of Gary Dobson in 2012 for the murder of Stephen Lawrence after his acquittal for that same offence in 1996. Sure enough, a charge for perverting the course of justice was still possible – as that was apparently what they had done – successfully. But no way was it possible with this evidence – it had been illegally obtained and was thus inadmissible. As my mind worked through what Morley had sat on for eight months, I could feel my anger building.

  ‘Come on then, supercop, how the hell are we going to use this evidence?’

  The final word was loaded with sarcasm.

  ‘Surely that’s your domain?’ Granger immediately responded with a confidence that both astounded and angered me further.

  ‘The interception of communications – which is what this represents – requires the police to obtain a Home Secretary’s warrant. To get one, we’d have needed some evidence about what we would be likely to find. A man with an axe to grind has obtained these tapes illegally. Your pal here needs arresting and charging under the Interception of Communications Act 1985,’ I boomed.