Death Watch

by Deborah Lucy

  ‘Take the crime car and go back to the garages where he took us last night,’ said Temple. ‘Give it a thorough search and when you’ve finished, come back here and let the Hi Tech guys in to pick up the laptops. Ring me on my mobile if you find anything, I’ve just got to go and do something else.’ Eaton nodded.

  Temple looked at his watch; he calculated the time they took Turner away and the time it would take the Swindon custody unit to process him, get him medically assessed and provide him with a solicitor. Temple reckoned there were two hours before he’d be needed at custody. If he was going to get the Fortunes off his back, he’d have to go now. He drove off to Trowbridge, to the flats where Tara and Finch lived.

  Parking around the corner from Lambrok Road, he walked to a nearby telephone kiosk. He called 101 and, speaking in his best Birmingham accent, reported that he’d found a gun dumped in a waste bin at the rear of the flats. He then walked quickly to the flats. He’d wiped the gun over with a moist screen wipe he had in the car and, satisfied that he hadn’t been seen, he opened the lid of the bin and rested the gun on top of a cardboard box. Walking quickly, he returned to his car and he drove to the end of Lambrok Road. Within ten minutes, Temple watched as a marked police car drove past him.

  A uniformed officer and a PCSO casually got out and went to the rear of the flats. After a while, the PCSO returned to the police car and went into the boot and returned to his colleague at the rear of the flats carrying an exhibit bag and blue latex gloves. Returning to the car with the bag, they drove off. Temple went back to check the bin. The gun was gone. Temple then rang Sophie Twiner, waking her.

  ‘If you want a scoop, go to Trowbridge nick and ask them about the discovery of a firearm today, at the rear of some flats in Lambrok Road. You might have to make a fuss but it should give you the front page tomorrow. Remember, this conversation never took place.’

  At Swindon, Temple went into the custody unit. Turner was by this time in his cell waiting for his solicitor to arrive. Temple spoke to the custody sergeant.

  ‘Did he say anything when you read out the reason for his detention?’

  ‘Nope, nothing. No reaction at all. We’ve got him on twenty-four hour watch, given the circumstances of his arrest. DNA’s been taken.’

  ‘Fast track it. I also need to seize his wallet. I want to get his bank and credit cards up to the Financial Investigators to see if they can trace his address for me.’ The custody sergeant retrieved Turner’s wallet and Temple delivered it to their first floor office and returned to the custody suite.

  As Temple waited to speak to Turner’s solicitor, Kelly rang him.

  ‘Boss, I tried to ring you last night but you must have been in a really low signal area, it wouldn’t let me leave a voice message. They found some DNA from the cigarette butt at the flat in Croydon. It didn’t match the outstanding profile.’

  Temple held his head in his hands. He just had to hope that the cigarette butt hadn’t been Turner’s. The solicitor approached him and indicated his client was ready for interview. A few minutes later, Temple, in company of a trained interviewer, sat in an interview room across from Turner. After introductions and the usual legal procedures, Temple began his questioning. Turner sat impassive, listening to the questions and responding to each with ‘no comment’. Thirty minutes of questioning went by with the same response. Temple knew he was going to be in it for the long haul.

  ‘Can you explain the nature of your work for Maxwell Ashton-Jones?’ asked Temple.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Can you tell me why you didn’t pass onto him photographs that were taken of his wife in Savernake Forest with Marcus Hussain?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Can you tell me about texting Marcus Hussain asking for money for the photographs that you took of him and Greta Ashton-Jones?’

  ‘No comment.’ It turned into a mantra.

  Turner’s demeanour did not change throughout. Temple knew that this first round of questioning would continue like this and it was a case of going through the motions. During a break, Temple rang Ceri Lambert.

  ‘Anything on the laptops yet, Ceri? He’s going “no comment” here and I could really do with something,’ he said wearily.

  ‘The guys are still going through the preliminaries,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you as soon as we have something for you to view. You’re missing a hard drive for one of the laptops. He must have removed it and dumped it somewhere. You might want to tell your search guys.’

  CHAPTER 45

  BACK AT WROUGHTON, Charlie Eaton had been joined by Kelly. His search of the garage had produced no more than a receipt for petrol from an Esso garage in Staines, so he and Kelly were going over the house again, room by room, looking for the missing hard drive. Temple also told them to look further afield in the copse. In the Hi Tech Crime Unit, they were ensuring that the other hard drive was copied and all passwords were undergoing a software check.

  As Temple felt the pressure mounting, Harker had got to hear of his presence at Swindon and the prisoner in the custody suite. Going down to the cells, he found Temple talking to the custody sergeant. He ordered him to one of the empty interview rooms.

  ‘What’s going on here, Temple?’

  ‘I’ve traced the private investigator that Maxwell Ashton-Jones had engaged to watch his wife. I’ve seized his laptops. I suspect he has been filming the victim covertly and possibly uploading this onto the dark web or at least, I think he has it on his computers,’ explained Temple.

  ‘What’s he saying in interview?’ Harker looked back at him, grim faced.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘DNA?’

  ‘Taken and fast tracked.’

  ‘Well, you know what he’ll say, don’t you, when it comes to his defence?’ Harker’s deep voice started to rise in volume. ‘He’ll just say that they had consensual sex. She had form. She’s dead, he’s the only witness. I hope you can back up this arrest, Temple, as you say. I thought we were happy with the young lad as the perpetrator?’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ Temple rounded on Harker, who continued, his voice quieter.

  ‘I thought I told you to wrap this up. I’m told that you had most of the mobile resources tied up on this last night.’ Harker was strangely calm, as if he knew that Temple was on the edge of a precipice that was about to give way of its own accord. ‘When you need an extension for interview, make sure you come to me to review. In fact, just in case you forget, I’ll tell the custody sergeant to contact me. You’ve got eight more hours, Temple.’ Temple watched Harker leave the room.

  Temple instructed another pair of interviewers to take Turner in for interview for the next couple of hours. He had to get out of the station, go and see Ceri Lambert and make sure they were doing all they could to interrogate the seized computer. He knocked on the locked door of the Hi Tech Crime Unit – she answered and let him in.

  ‘Nice and timely,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’ve just got through his passwords and have started to locate some files.’ She indicated to where the laptop was sat on a desk.

  Temple went inside and sat next to a woman who was intently looking at files on the screen. The office had the air of a library, as she spoke quietly so as not to disturb her other colleagues in the room, all working on computers. Temple looked around the room. There were computers and laptops everywhere.

  ‘What you can see here are tracks of where the owner has gone onto various websites on the dark net. We are able to see exactly where they have been,’ she explained, pointing at the screen.

  ‘What does it show so far?’ asked Temple.

  ‘Well, let’s have a look.’ She scanned a list of sites. ‘Some of these are very familiar,’ she said, ‘and some are not.’ She opened up the links available and was able to see the content of the actual website. ‘It’s mostly adult porn, extreme stuff, which will take me a while to go through. There might be other stuff,’ she said. ‘It also looks as though he’s a contributor to the
se sites, sending content. He’s got a pseudonym by the looks of it, Mr PI.’ She deftly clicked her way through a myriad of files before Temple had time to blink.

  ‘What I’m particularly looking for is things that may be stored on there that he has filmed himself.’

  ‘OK, let’s have a look on the hard drive.’

  After some searching, a folder of interest was located.

  ‘I can’t open this at the moment as he’s password protected it. I’ll just run some software on it so that I can open it.’

  Temple sat and waited for another operator.

  ‘Right. Here we go.’ The operator opened the folder on the screen. ‘There appears to be ten sub folders for us to look in.’ She started to click on each folder. ‘These files are a mixture of photographs and movies, so let’s take a look. You did well to get these laptops to us before he destroyed them.’

  As she moved the cursor onto the folders, they opened up, revealing a series of files. The first showed a series of photographs of an unknown man and a woman having sex. In another file, a short film of a different woman, naked. Each file contained a different person. The operator continued to click through each file until Temple suddenly saw the familiar photographs of Greta and Marcus Hussain in Savernake Forest.

  As they clicked on other files, the quality of the camera revealed with great clarity the surroundings of Greta’s bedroom on the screen. The bed was in the centre of the picture and Greta came into view from off camera. Temple watched, his eyes wide, as James then appeared. Temple then saw the recording of them as they cavorted naked on the bed, oblivious to the camera recording them, the sound indicating that they were perfectly at ease with each other.

  ‘Click on another,’ he said. He felt strangely calm.

  Another file was opened and then another. They went through all of them, each showing Greta either with James, Jonathan Silvester or Marcus Hussain.

  ‘Can we keep looking, I’m hoping there’s another, I’m looking for something in particular,’ said Temple. Another search of the hard drive and another folder was found. The operator clicked on it and opened it. The file was dated last Sunday.

  This time, Temple watched as a camera recorded Greta walking around her bedroom. She had a robe on and was sitting at her dressing table. From her ensuite came Jonathan Silvester fully clothed. He watched as Jonathan told her he was going to tie her to the bed; she told him she didn’t want to do it. He roughly pulled at her robe and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, making her cry out. She asked again for him not to make her do it. As Greta lay on the bed naked, Jonathan began tying her hands to the bed posts. Temple moved closer to the monitor, unable to believe what he was seeing. From the date of the file, this was it. This was the murder. It was Jonathan Silvester.

  ‘Stop it, can you please stop the film?’ he asked.

  Temple’s mind was reeling – how could he have been so wrong? Jonathan did it. There he was, on the screen, tying her hands to the bed. He had Turner in custody and it was Jonathan – Jonathan had killed her. What was it that he had ignored? How could his instincts have let him down so badly, he thought? His mind seemed to want to battle with itself, as the confusion with what he was seeing made no sense with his reasoning and actions. Temple felt sick.

  ‘Fuck it, fuck it,’ he said under his breath. He held his head in his hands momentarily, unable to believe he had got it so wrong, as his mind raced through events, trying to find the one thing he missed. The one thing that would have put the right man in custody. Suddenly remembering that he wasn’t alone, he sat up. A sickening tense angst overtook him. He didn’t want to see any more, see the proof of how he’d got it so wrong. He had the wrong man. He could barely mumble for the operator to continue to play the film. They continued to stare at the screen in front of them.

  He then watched as Jonathan secured her ankles. He saw Greta protest that her hands were tied too tight. He watched as Jonathan then blindfolded her.

  ‘Stop! Stop the film,’ he instructed. He needed to think.

  The operator hit the pause button.

  ‘This isn’t how we found her,’ said Temple, incredulously, speaking his thoughts out loud. ‘Her legs were not tied, nor was she blindfolded when we found her dead.’

  They continued with the film and watched. He saw Jonathan leave the bedroom, saying he would be back. They sat and watched as Greta lay impassively, waiting for Jonathan’s return. After ten minutes, Temple asked for it to be fast-forwarded. Still Greta was alone but her slight movements on the bed kept the motion sensor camera recording. They fast-forwarded again, a timer in the corner of the software showed that nearly two hours passed before suddenly, there was another person in the room. They stopped and re-wound.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  The light in the room came from the open door of the en suite. The film showed a man entering the room and approaching the bed. With his back to the camera, his face was unidentified. Temple willed him to turn round as he continued to watch.

  On screen, it was obvious from the sound recording that Greta thought Jonathan had come back. She had no idea that there was a stranger in the room. The man was carrying something and placed it on the bedside cabinet. Temple spoke his thoughts out loud.

  ‘What’s he just put there?’

  ‘Probably another camera,’ said the operative, ‘some of them want a close up head shot.’

  As the man turned, he looked up, directly into the camera.

  ‘That’s him. That’s him,’ said Temple, quietly. ‘That’s Turner.’ Relief flooded through him.

  As they continued to watch, Ceri Lambert joined them. Turner circled the bed, silently looking at Greta. He took off his coat, dropping it to the floor, unzipped his trousers and got onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. His body then obscured Greta’s as his hips moved in a frantic motion. They continued to watch, helpless voyeurs compelled to witness a terrible finale. Turner grunted obscenities and still blindfolded, Greta screamed out. Her body jerked against his weight. It was then that his hands moved up towards her head. His actions were obscured.

  ‘He’s stopping her breathing now.’ Temple’s voice was barely perceptible.

  Turner’s movements slowed before he momentarily slumped on the body. A minute and twenty seconds had passed since he walked in the room. When he got off the bed, Greta lay dead, with her head back on the pillow, hair splayed from the brief struggle. As if startled, Turner suddenly looked up, grabbed his coat and the bedside camera and left the room.

  Temple sat in stunned silence, looking at the screen, watching Greta’s lifeless body on the bed. Less than three minutes later, the image showed another person entering the room. It was James. Temple watched as the boy made his terrible discovery, lifting the blindfold and shaking Greta as she lay on the bed. He was clearly unable to believe she was dead. Distressed and crying, James left the room. Temple was transfixed. It was almost a re-run of a familiar scene he often played back in his mind. He knew exactly how James Ashton-Jones felt at that moment.

  ‘He’s still there,’ said Temple. ‘Turner is still there, still in the house somewhere.’

  The same slight movement in picture and forty minutes later, James returned to the room with Jonathan Silvester. Temple watched as Jonathan, visibly shaken by the sight of Greta on the bed, told James to go into the bathroom. Temple saw the lad could barely walk. They heard him being sick. The toilet flushing. With gloved hands, Jonathan proceeded to untie Greta’s legs, placing them together. His hands shaking, he took the blindfold off her eyes and along with the leg ties, placed them in a drawer. He then ushered James out of the bathroom. Ten minutes after, Turner returned to the room, looked around and left.

  Temple sat back in his chair, not quite believing what he’d just witnessed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Temple quietly asked Ceri and the operator.

  ‘Yes, yes, we’re fine,’ replied Ceri matter-of-factly, putting her hand reassuringly on her female coll
eague’s shoulder, as she handed Temple a cup of tea. ‘That OK?’ she asked him.

  Temple was grateful. Taking a drink from the cup, he tried to assess his feelings for what he had just seen. All he could register was relief at having Turner in custody.

  ‘It’s not often that you see murder taking place. Normally, we just turn up afterwards,’ said Temple.

  ‘She was an adult.’ Ceri nodded towards the blank screen. ‘We often see that sort of scenario with young kids. They don’t show them actually dying but you wonder how they could ever get out of those rooms alive. And even if they do, they’re as good as dead from a psychological point of view.’

  ‘How do you do this every day?’ Temple asked. Her matter-of-fact approach to what they had just witnessed wasn’t lost on him; she’d been there too long and seen too much.

  ‘Someone’s got to. For the same reasons as you do it. To catch the bastards.’

  ‘Can you copy that for me?’ requested Temple, subdued at what he had just seen.

  ‘Of course. It’s been done before,’ said the operative. ‘There are markers here to show that it’s been copied, so as well as being uploaded to the dark web this has already been sent copied and probably sent somewhere, perhaps through the post. Unfortunately, there’s a market for this stuff. ’ In no time at all, they handed him a DVD as an exhibit.

  Temple’s suspicions had been confirmed. More analysis of the computer showed that the movie and the others had, at some point, all been uploaded onto the dark net using software to hide Turner’s identity. They undertook to trace the websites and search the content. Taking the DVD exhibit, Temple left the office for Swindon Police Station.

  CHAPTER 46

  TEMPLE PRESSED HIS fingers into his neck to relieve the tension; as he walked across the Headquarters car park, images of what he had just seen kept emerging into his head. He didn’t know how Ceri Lambert and her team could be shut up in that room, looking at so-called human beings doing evil things to each other every day. Just as he was about to drive off, his mobile rang.