Blazing Obsession

by Dai Henley

  How could the police and the CPS have screwed up in such a spectacular way?

  I turned to Pat again and said, “How the hell did the case get this far? Surely, the judge can see as plainly as everyone else in the court that Johnson’s guilty.”

  “I know, James. This is a farce.”

  We went back to the hotel after waiting on the concourse a while to avoid the press, although they knew as well as we did I couldn’t comment on the trial.

  RP had asked to be kept informed of developments. I called him and told him what had happened.

  “For fuck’s sake! I can’t believe the judge would even need to think about it!” He thought Johnson’s conviction was a formality.

  Now Judge Carter had to make the call.

  *

  After a sleepless night, we arrived at the court early the next morning. I spoke to the prosecuting solicitor in the public area outside the courtroom to get an idea of the way the case may develop.

  “The judge’s decision is straightforward. According to the letter of the law, the defence is correct and the judge could accept the point. But we believe there’s a strong case for him to use his discretion and common sense and allow the DNA evidence to be presented to the jury. We think he’ll agree. I shouldn’t worry too much about it.”

  As he entered the courtroom, he turned and added, “Oh, there’s one other thing. I don’t know whether you’re aware of this. If the judge doesn’t admit this evidence and Johnson’s acquitted, under the existing laws of double jeopardy, he can’t be tried again for the same crime. I don’t think it’ll come to that but I thought you should know the facts.”

  Again, the visitors’ gallery filled to bursting point and I heard the usher turn people away. The air in the courtroom crackled with static. I expected a bolt of lightning and a rumble of thunder at any moment.

  Johnson sat in the dock avoiding eye contact with anyone with his arms folded, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. The legal teams were chatting and shuffling their papers waiting for Judge Carter to appear from his chambers.

  As he entered to the familiar words from the usher asking us to rise, the anticipation of his verdict on the admittance of the DNA evidence met with a resounding silence from the gallery and the lawyers.

  Judge Carter peered down through his glasses to the laptop on his bench. After a moment spent scrolling, he looked up and said, “Under the 1994 Criminal Justice and Public Order Act, the law is very clear. If any person or persons are arrested but not charged or are acquitted, any DNA data and samples taken have to be destroyed.”

  He removed his glasses and addressed the lawyers. “I have given careful consideration to the facts surrounding this case and have concluded that because the defendant had only been rearrested on the basis of the original DNA test which should have been destroyed, the prosecution cannot present this evidence to the jury. We must be mindful of the defendant’s human rights in this matter. Therefore I am directing the jury to acquit the defendant.”

  A united, audible gasp from the visitors’ gallery, punctuated by shouts of ‘No!’ resounded loudly across the courtroom. I thought someone might start throwing things at the judge. The prosecution team glared at him.

  Johnson’s face broke into a supercilious smile.

  Judge Carter invited Mr Smithson to comment. He stood and with a defeated expression on his face said, “We offer no other evidence against the defendant, your honour.”

  The judge asked the usher to recall the jury. Once they had settled, he informed them of what had transpired.

  “Under these circumstances, I am directing you to pass a verdict of not guilty.”

  Two of the female members of the jury looked astounded. Their mouths visibly gaped in surprise. Other members looked perplexed. None of them expected the trial to be over so swiftly.

  Despite the judge and both legal teams knowing that, given the overwhelming odds on Johnson being guilty, he’d walk free.

  He could go to the football, have a drink down the pub and continue his nefarious trades in drugs, petty crime and vicious assault.

  Judge Carter, speaking directly to Johnson, said, “You are free to go.”

  Every muscle in my body tensed up. I wanted to leap down from the gallery, rush at Johnson and squeeze his scrawny neck until his face turned puce. I’d hold my grasp until his life ebbed away.

  Instead, I stood gripping the back of the seat in front of me so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

  All the time I’d been in court, I’d absorbed every nuance, gesture and movement Johnson made. I never took my eyes off him. As he stood down from the dock, his smile grew into a wide grin. Finding my voice, I exploded, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a torrent.

  “Does it matter how the bloody DNA evidence was collected? The fact is it exists and it’s been matched to him.” I jabbed a finger in Johnson’s direction.

  Pat tried, unsuccessfully, to pull me down back into my seat.

  “You’re all a disgrace. He’s taken away my family. I can’t believe he’s walking free. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Do you call this justice? Never mind his human rights. What about mine? And how can you possibly defend a man like this?”

  I spat the last remark directly at the defence counsel sitting in the well of the courtroom below me. The judge glared up at me and the rest of the gallery. He made a feeble attempt to get me to be quiet by waving his right hand up and down. He stood, bowed, and made for the sanctuary of his chambers.

  The barristers and their clerks busied themselves clearing up the reams of papers and files from their desks and the defence team never once glanced up at me. The disempowered jury filed out of the courtroom silently, staring straight-ahead looking sheepish.

  I’d assumed Johnson would serve at least twenty-five years in a maximum-security jail. I’d fantasised what life inside for a child murderer would be like. Not nice, I imagined. Now, he was out. Free. At large.

  And I still didn’t know why he’d set fire to my cottage.

  *

  We sat in the visitors’ gallery for fifteen minutes whilst everyone else slowly filed out, like a funeral procession. Pat stroked my hand in an effort to calm me down. My whole body felt clammy.

  When we left the court and made our way to the concourse, the prosecuting solicitor and the chief prosecution barrister were waiting for us. They ushered us to a quieter corner of the public area.

  “I can’t believe the case has collapsed,” the solicitor said. “We were sure the judge would see it our way. I’m sorry.”

  Mr Smithson, the barrister, who’d appeared so confident in his opening address, appeared equally contrite. “I think Judge Carter’s wrong in his assessment. He should have used his discretion. Do you want me to apply for an appeal?”

  I responded, “What a fucking joke! Why bother? It’s a complete waste of time. You can stuff the legal system. The Court of Appeal will find another loophole. Let’s get out of here.”

  Turning my back on them, I ushered a shell-shocked Pat down the steps towards the exit, making our way back to the Hotel Du Vin. As we got closer to the door, DI Flood appeared, looking furious.

  “What can I say? It’s a shambles.”

  I shot him a withering glance as I strode past him and waved away the journalists who’d gathered outside.

  They were shouting questions at me at the same time as a couple of photographers were firing away. I knew if I said anything more, I’d regret it and do something stupid.

  I didn’t know how to break the news to Margaret. Her heart had already been shattered. News of Johnson’s acquittal might push her over the edge.

  We checked out of the hotel. I asked Pat to drive back to London. I didn’t feel in a fit state to do so. I was a strong candidate for being done for road rage.

  Before leaving, I called RP. “Roger, the trial’s over. We’re driving back to London now. You can guess the outcome of the judge’s verdict.”

  “You’re not
telling me the judge has acquitted Johnson?”

  “That’s exactly what he’s done. Johnson’s free. Apparently, his human rights outrank mine. Do you believe that?”

  I explained the judge’s interpretation of the law.

  “Bloody hell! The man’s not fit to judge a beauty contest. I’m sorry, James. Did they say you could appeal?”

  “Yeah, but what’s the point? Johnson can’t be tried again. The law’s crap.”

  I called Alisha, told her the news.

  She couldn’t speak at first. Then she exploded.

  “God, I’m so angry! Is that it? Nothing’s going to happen to Johnson? That’s so fucking unfair!”

  The journey back to London continued in angry silence. I devoted most of it to planning to get justice for Lynne, Georgie and Emily in my own way and to discover why they were murdered.

  Over the following weeks, I had many imaginary conversations with Lynne. I knew she wouldn’t want me to take the law into my own hands. She’d think it too dangerous.

  I told her I’d never be able to live with myself until I’d dealt with the killer or killers of my family.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TEN

  August − September 1999

  I asked Alisha to come with me to Lynne’s mother to explain that the judge had acquitted Johnson on a technicality. Margaret’s body language and demeanour confirmed that the loss of her daughter and grandchildren had already destroyed her.

  “Whatever happened to him, it wouldn’t bring my daughter and the children back would it?”

  Every flat surface of her living room displayed photos of Lynne, Georgie and Emily. I imagined Margaret holding conversations with them too, just like me.

  Over the next few weeks, I saw Alisha a great deal. I asked her how she felt about Johnson. “I’d like to hang him up by his goolies and leave him to rot! I wouldn’t mind doing that to the judge and the defence lawyers as well.”

  I thought as time passed, my rage, at fever pitch at the time of Johnson’s acquittal, would evaporate and I’d slowly come to terms with what had happened. But I couldn’t get through the fury phase, which grew stronger by the day.

  I worked it off by punishing myself, going on ridiculously long runs and working out in the gym. My arms could hardly push open the front door when I got home. Every day felt as dark as night.

  The feeling of unfinished business constantly resided in the pit of my stomach. Nightmares interrupted my sleep. Flashes of Johnson appeared before me, laughing, drinking and blowing cigarette smoke into my face.

  Another horrendous dream witnessed the cottage engulfed by flames, fire engines’ flashing blue lights and firefighters resolutely aiming their hoses at the charred remains. The sound track of Lynne with Emily in her arms and Georgie screaming in terror as they tried to escape whilst I stood by, helpless, played continuously.

  Now I dreaded going to bed. Often, I didn’t bother. I’d sit up scheming how I could end Johnson’s life. I felt like getting a gun and shooting him dead, not caring what became of me. But then, my life would be over, spent sewing mailbags in prison for the next twenty years. I needed to dream up a cleverer way to take revenge and get away with it.

  I reasoned that only then, the nightmares would end.

  *

  I decided to see RP. Although he specialised in surveillance, he came across as dependable, with a knack for getting things sorted.

  His first words were, “I don’t think I’ve ever known a case like this. For God’s sake! The judge must be living in cloud cuckoo land. Upholding the law is one thing, but not using bloody common sense is another.” He brought down a clenched fist onto his opulent desk with a thud.

  I explained my increasing anger symptoms, the sleepless nights, the feeling of inadequacy and my hatred of that scumbag, Johnson.

  “The only way I can carry on with my life is to get justice for my family. I don’t mean going through the courts either.”

  “James, I understand. Really, I do. However, you do realise the risk you’d be taking? Suppose it went wrong and you were caught?”

  “OK, so what? My life’s shit, anyway. I feel if I do something dumb and shoot him in broad daylight, in a funny sort of way, he’s won. I want to be smarter than that. You’re good at this stuff. You’ve been around. Help me sort this out.”

  He flipped his pen up and down, holding it between his first two fingers, weighing up my request. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

  “Roger, I’ll go bloody insane if I do nothing. I can’t simply walk away from this. I need to sort out Johnson and deal with Burrows once he’s released. Otherwise, my life’s not worth living. It’s not fair that Lynne, Georgie and Emily are dead and this… this little shit’s still around, laughing at us. You tell me what the scum-bag adds to civilisation. I’ll tell you what, fuck all!”

  “OK. I’ll think about it. Give me a few days to put something together. I’ve a got a rough idea how we can sort this out.”

  *

  RP’s positive attitude encouraged me. I didn’t care about the cost, which I knew would be considerable, or what methods he used to get results.

  He called me a week later to set up a meeting back in his office.

  “OK, I’ve come up with a plan. I don’t know what you’ll think about it, but, frankly, I believe it’s the only option you’ve got.”

  “I’m all ears. If you can’t get this sorted, no one can.”

  “Um, we’ll see. I’ve got several ideas how we can deal with Johnson, but if we do, that’s the end of the trail. We’ll never know for sure if Burrows is involved.”

  “He must be.”

  “But there’s no evidence, is there? Just a strong motive. I think we need to establish, finally, once and for all, whether there’s a connection between Burrows and Johnson. The police have got nowhere and I’ve run out of ideas, apart from the one I’m about to propose to you. Johnson holds the key. We need to get up close and personal to him.”

  I frowned and said, “But how? I can’t. He knows who I am.”

  “Well that’s it. I propose we set a ‘honey trap’.”

  “A what?”

  “A ‘honey trap’. Listen, most men lose their senses when an attractive woman comes on to them. They let their guard down. Their brains turn to mush. Another part of their anatomy takes over. I don’t know why. Blame it on Adam and Eve. All I know is it works.” RP’s lips creased into a knowing smile.

  “I suppose you’re right. But who do you have in mind?”

  “There’s only one person that fits the bill perfectly. She’s motivated, she’s bright and she’s not a bad looker.”

  “You don’t mean …”

  “I mean Alisha. I met her at your wedding and Lynne mentioned how close they were. She also told me they’ve been bosom buddies forever, which is why she went to Florida with her to help track down Burrows and Georgie. She’s got balls, too. Do you agree?”

  “Well, yes… She has, that’s for sure.”

  RP continued. “I think she can get very close to Johnson, get his confidence, learn stuff about Burrows, the arson attack and anything else that’ll help us know who’s behind this… mess.” He raised a hand a few inches above his desk and waved it across his notes.

  “I assume Johnson’s never seen her?”

  “Er… no. She never came to the court. Pat came instead. He’d know me for sure. I made a fuss there. But how far do you want her to go?”

  “Well, I guess that’s up to her. Only she can determine that.”

  “Won’t Johnson be suspicious? Having someone come on to him?”

  “It’s possible. But believe me, men can be incredibly gullible when it comes to women. And at least Johnson and Alisha share the same ethnic background, don’t they?”

  He sat back in his chair, his customary pose after making a crucial point.

  Then he sat forward again and stared at me intensely. “Why don’t you put it to her, get a reaction? T
o be honest, I can’t think of any other way forward. If she’s up for it there are many advantages. We’d get access to his mobile phone, I assume he’s got one, and email if he uses it. If not, we can bug his home if we needed to.”

  I knew Alisha felt as angry as me about Johnson’s acquittal. As I made my way back to my office, RP’s idea grew on me. The more I thought about it, the keener I got. If we’d simply sorted out Johnson – I speculated how RP would handle that aspect – there’d still be a feeling of unfinished business with Nick Burrows. He had a further four years to serve, assuming he didn’t get time off for good behaviour.

  I didn’t know if I could wait that long.

  *

  Over dinner with Alisha at one of her favourite restaurants close to Canary Wharf, I broached the subject.

  When we got to the coffee, I said, “If you do it, Alisha, think of the positives.” I reprised RP’s list. She sat silently for a while, contemplating my proposal.

  “I can see what your brilliant private eye is trying to achieve. He’s right about this being the only chance we’ve got to see if Nick’s involved. The question is how far do I have to go to get the evidence?”

  “That’s entirely down to you, Alisha. No one else can decide. Why don’t we take it a step at a time?”

  “God, I’m so bloody angry about what happened! I can’t believe that idiot of a judge let Johnson go free. But you’re asking me to flaunt myself in front of a complete arsehole who’ll do anything for money, even murder someone. I don’t know… I loved Lynne… and the kids…so much. I’ll have to think about it.”

  Feeling a pang of conscience about even considering RP’s scheme, I said, “Look I’m sorry. Maybe it isn’t a good idea.” I reached for her hand across the table.

  “No. No. I understand, really I do.” She stared into the distance for a moment before turning to me again.

  “I haven’t flirted with anyone for years. Men haven’t exactly been top of my agenda. Not sure if I’ve still got the knack.” She smiled weakly at her self-deprecation.