Blazing Obsession

by Dai Henley

  Simon put up a stirring argument, saying the police had already had enough time to decide whether to charge me or release me, but I sensed even he didn’t believe he’d win them over.

  After briefly conferring with his colleagues, the chief magistrate granted the police the extra time.

  Back at the interview room, Flood and Lyle spent the rest of the day going over much the same ground we’d covered earlier, obviously trying to spot any discrepancies. Simon’s exasperation reached boiling point.

  “Do we really have to go over this same stuff again?”

  “Let us do our job and you can concentrate on yours.”

  I knew it was pointless. Simon had told me he’d known detectives go over the same questions six or seven times. “Even the most skilled liars slip up under such intense interrogation,” he’d said.

  Flood turned his attention back to me and said, “You might like to know that we’re interviewing John Hartley in the next room. We’re discovering a great deal more about his relationship with your family. He’s also informed us about his links with Leroy Johnson and Colin Greenland. Hartley claims he’s been set up by you and your girlfriend for Johnson’s murder. What do you say to that?”

  My pulse quickened.

  Desperately trying to remain calm, but failing, I said, “He would say that wouldn’t he? I’ve never heard of anything quite so laughable. I think you should be charging him for all the murders.”

  Simon patted my arm as a way to make me shut up, and turning to Flood said, “I assume he’s got evidence of this… allegation?”

  “We’re putting a case together to see if it fits. Actually, one thing he said is puzzling us. On the night of Johnson’s murder, Hartley told us he’d spent it watching TV at home. He claims someone knocked at his door and the visitor stepped inside, forcibly held him and covered his face with a rag smothered in chloroform. He says he passed out and can’t remember anything until the next morning.”

  Simon queried, “So?”

  “The autopsy on Johnson showed chloroform burns on his face. Looks like he received the same treatment.”

  We’d been rumbled. My confidence in Roger Pendleton and Simon Brotherton plummeted. I resigned myself to a twenty-year prison term, minimum.

  Simon interrupted again, “What’s any of this got to do with my client?”

  “You can’t go online or into a pharmacy and buy chloroform, just like that. You need a prescription. Doctors aren’t keen to supply one. We wondered how the perpetrator got it. Then I remembered; your girlfriend works for a pharmaceutical company doesn’t she? Maybe she got hold of it for you.”

  Simon interjected. “You’re stretching a point aren’t you? You’ll need to prove a complete evidence trail to make that stick.”

  “That we intend to do, be sure of that.” Flood looked pleased with himself.

  He didn’t realise how close he’d got to the truth.

  When we’d discussed our plans, Alisha had said that the chloroform should be used sparingly.

  She’d warned, “If the cloth is held over their nose and mouth for too long, it’ll produce blisters and red blotches lasting several days.”

  I also remembered that once Hartley lost consciousness, Bruno had injected him with Rohypnol. I’d asked him about it in the car on the way back to Hartley’s flat after dumping Johnson in the Thames.

  “Isn’t that the date rape drug?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Isn’t it a tablet dropped in people’s drinks?”

  “Yeah. You have to crush the tablets, make a powder and mix it with a saline solution. Then you can inject it.”

  “And how long will the effects last?”

  “Chloroform only lasts a couple of hours, max. I hit him with enough Rohypnol to drop him into a coma for about six to eight hours.”

  He went on to explain that one of the side effects was that the user had zero recollection of anything that may have happened to them in that time. It was also untraceable in blood, urine and saliva after twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

  A highly effective drug for anyone with criminal intent.

  *

  Lying on the bed in my cell that second night, I realised my resolve the previous evening not to let Flood get to me was proving a severe challenge.

  Next morning, my body felt like a wrung-out dishcloth. I’d had little sleep and my eyes stung every time I blinked. Usually a dose of ice-cold water splashed on my face would kick-start me into action, but not this time. I willed myself to get through the next two days, no matter how uncomfortable it became.

  Simon said to Flood when he entered the room, “I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you that you’ll either have to charge my client or release him by 7pm tomorrow.”

  “Yes, we’re quite aware of that. We’ve already spoken to the CPS and we’ll be adding to the file during the day and seeking pre-charge advice later. Now, let’s put Johnson to one side for a moment. I want to talk to you about Colin Greenland.”

  “I’ve already told you, I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Let me remind you that Colin Greenland and Hartley spent a great deal of time together on remand. They remained in touch when they were released. And we have evidence connecting both of them to Leroy Johnson.”

  Simon interjected. “And your point is?”

  “My point is, from the evidence we have, it appears Greenland introduced Hartley to Johnson. It’s highly likely but not yet certain that it was Hartley who paid him to burn down your cottage. We’re not at the stage to charge him… yet. Hartley emphatically denies this, of course, but if he did pay Johnson, this means Greenland was part of a conspiracy to murder the Hamilton family.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning your client would have a motive for killing Greenland.”

  I dropped my head towards my knees and shook it vigorously. “I can’t believe what you’re saying!”

  “You’ll need more than just a motive,” Simon added.

  “Oh, yes. I know.”

  Flood turned to me and said, “For the week before Greenland’s murder, we trawled through CCTV footage taken outside the precinct where Greenland lived. We ran your mug shot through the system and found a remarkable likeness to one of the people in the footage just two days before Greenland’s death. We also showed your photo to the shopkeepers in the precinct and one claims to have seen you visiting Greenland’s flat. Can you explain that?”

  I’d loitered outside the shopping precinct for an hour before going up to the flat to ensure he didn’t have any visitors. How could I be so thick?

  Despite feeling a physical adrenaline rush pass through me, I bluffed as positively as I could, “Your eyewitness is mistaken. I’ve no idea who Greenland is or where he lives.”

  “So you won’t mind taking part in an identity parade?”

  Too true I’d mind, but before I could respond, Simon came to my rescue.

  “As far as CCTV is concerned, even if there is a likeness to my client, it proves nothing. He’s entitled to shop wherever he wants. And you will know that eyewitness testimony is notoriously unsafe.”

  “Well, let’s cross that bridge later, shall we?”

  A detective knocked and entered the room and without a word passed a note to DS Lyle, who read it and passed it over to Flood.

  After scanning it, he stared at me and said, “Now let’s talk about the arson attack. We’ve turned up another piece of evidence we believe to be of great significance.”

  I disliked Flood more and more, despite feeling sad at what had happened to his wife every time I saw him.

  I didn’t think my already elevated pulse rate could increase much further, but it did.

  “I wanted to discover whether Hartley’s claim to be Emily’s father had any substance. I thought your cheating wife might have wanted to know for sure as well.”

  Flood licked his thin lips as he continued his offensive provocation. He knew which of my buttons to push.

 
“We browsed through every one of the London-based DNA paternity websites and contacted them. A clinic in Hammersmith confirmed that your wife had indeed sent off a sample of your DNA and Emily’s for comparison. Emily was about six months old.”

  “You’re joking?”

  Flood relished unsettling me.

  “I’ve had the result for a week, but to make absolutely sure there’d be no doubt about it, we checked the DNA samples taken from Hartley and compared them to a sample from Emily’s clothes, which we found at your house. The results have just come in. Would you like to know what they say?”

  We stared at each other, unblinking. What a bastard. I couldn’t speak.

  Eventually he said, “These results prove conclusively that John Hartley was Emily’s biological father.”

  A combination of this revelation and Flood’s sneering face made me react badly. I stood and attempted to go around the desk to attack him. Simon physically restrained me, pulling me back into my seat.

  “You’re lying! You’re just winding me up!” I bellowed.

  Flood stood and held his ground.

  “Sit down!” he commanded.

  Simon pulled me back into the chair. Flood sat down too and leant towards me.

  “Bit of a temper you’ve got there, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t think you need to antagonise my client, detective.”

  Flood ignored Simon’s comment. “Did you and your wife ever discuss this?”

  “Of course we didn’t!”

  “When did you find out about it?”

  “I didn’t find out. I know I can’t prove it but you’ve got to believe me.”

  “If you had discovered this, it would add considerably to your motivation for murdering your ‘family’, wouldn’t it? It’s the missing link I’ve been looking for.”

  “What do you mean, missing link?” Simon asked.

  “After the fire, it concerned me that your client, for the first time ever, didn’t go down to the cottage with them. He said he had a business appointment. Then he said that shortly before the fire he’d dumped Lynne’s computer. Probably buried under six feet of rubbish and mud in a landfill site by now. Is that because there’s evidence of the paternity test on it? Or something else showing that your client had a motive?”

  “That suggests my client hired Johnson. We all know he did it. You’re trying to join up dots you don’t have.”

  “We believe we’ve linked them sufficiently well to make a case.”

  I shouted, “You’ve totally lost it! If, as you stupidly suggest, I murdered my family, why the hell would I murder Johnson and Greenland? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Flood, clasping his hands together and placing them on the table, said, “I’ve been thinking about that. Hartley’s the one who caused you the most pain, hasn’t he? First, he had an affair with your wife, made her pregnant and then embezzled a considerable sum of money from you. It would be a neat solution for you to murder Johnson and Greenland, both involved in the arson attack, and frame Hartley for their murders. That would cover your tracks, wouldn’t it?”

  Before I could yell at Flood again, Simon sarcastically said, “I think you’ve been reading too many crime novels. What you’re suggesting is pure hypothesis. And you’re desperately short on evidence.”

  Flood sneered, “Not as short as you may think.” He referred to his notes yet again, whilst swivelling annoyingly in his chair. His smugness went up a notch.

  “Something else has turned up. Following a search at your house, we found a hand-written note addressed to you from your wife in a desk drawer. Would you like me to read it?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply.

  “Darling James, I’m so sorry we fell out so badly last night. I hate it when you’re cross with me. Please believe me when I say that what I did was for the best for Emily. I’ll never take you for granted again. I love you so much. Please forgive me.

  Love Lynne ☺xxxxxx”

  Simon asked, “So?”

  “I believe this note refers to Lynne Hamilton contacting the paternity agency and discovering that Hartley was Emily’s father. It suggests that either your client had found out about it or she’d told him.” He waved the note in the air. “This confirms they’d had a row about it. There’s the motivation.”

  He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  We’d only ever had one major disagreement in our short married life. It was over something so trivial, we laughed about it afterwards. Flood’s assumption placed the note entirely out of context.

  After Emily’s birth, Lynne’s obsessive preoccupation with the baby’s well-being countered the joy of having her. She’d check on her several times a night, whether Emily was crying or not. She fussed over her constantly to the exclusion of everyone else. We’d already had to deal with Georgie. Now I knew how he suffered: excluded and envious.

  Matters came to head one evening when, for the umpteenth time, she broke off an amorous exchange to check on Emily’s cot.

  We had a blazing row and both of us said things we’d rather not have said. However, it cleared the air and I apologised. I assumed this was normal behaviour for a woman with a young baby; it’s something I’d have to get used to. She apologised too; said all she wanted was for us to be one happy family.

  I told Flood the true reason for the note and that he’d jumped to an erroneous conclusion.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Simon asked, “Is there a date on the note?”

  Flood glanced at it, turned it over and said, “No.”

  “So it could have been written anytime. If it had been dated close to the date of the arson attack, it would possibly have had more relevance to your assumption. As it is, I think my client’s version is likely to be more accurate.”

  “We’ll let the CPS decide on that.”

  Flood closed his notebook. DS Lyle said, “Interview terminated at 12.45pm,” and turned off the cassette recorder. They both stood and Flood said, “That’s all for now. We’ll spend the afternoon preparing our case.”

  Simon and I stayed in the interview room to discuss my situation.

  I’d never felt less sure about getting away with our plan. I faced a skilful detective who appeared hell-bent on building a case against me, and a smooth-talking con man par excellence in Hartley.

  My confidence in Roger Pendleton and Simon Brotherton plummeted.

  Still reeling from what I’d just heard, I asked Simon what he thought about the case against me now.

  “Before I answer that, tell me truthfully, when did you first know about Emily being Hartley’s daughter?”

  “I can’t believe you’re asking me that. I didn’t know… not until now, I swear.”

  “You had no idea Lynne had sent off for a paternity test?”

  “No, of course I didn’t.”

  “But she’d have had to get you to sign a consent form, send off a cheek swab, a used tissue or something. You’re saying she never told you, which means she must have sent off a sample without you knowing and forged your signature.”

  “I can’t believe she’d have done that… but she must have.”

  “If the police can prove you did know, that’s bad news. Having said that, they’ll also have to prove you paid Johnson. They’ve said nothing about that. And don’t forget, Hartley’s going through the same interrogation. We’ve got to hope Flood thinks Hartley’s a stronger candidate.”

  I slumped forward in my chair.

  “God, I hope so.”

  Simon paused, then continued. “At least it’s encouraging that there appears to be a lack of hard evidence against you, especially for the Johnson and Greenland murders. They’d have challenged you by now if, say, they had evidence of you dumping Johnson’s body.”

  I looked nervously at the cassette recorder. Simon noticed and said, “Don’t worry about that. You have the right to speak with your solicitor in private. Even if they were secretly taping this conversation they w
ouldn’t be able to use it.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Anyway, with the Greenland case, I shouldn’t worry too much about the eyewitness evidence. It’s difficult for anyone to be one hundred percent sure and beyond reasonable doubt. That’s why judges are now legally bound to warn juries about not giving too much credence to it. Flood’s chucking everything he can at you, hoping some of it’ll stick.”

  I asked Simon about Flood’s chloroform presumption. Although he’d identified a potential link to Alisha and her job, I hoped there wasn’t a spurious trail leading from her to the back of Hartley’s boiler room, where the bottle of chloroform had ended up.

  “Flood’s got a valid point. It’s not going to help,” Simon warned. Thanks a lot, I thought.

  *

  He went back to his office, telling me he’d be on standby for the rest of the day if I needed him. A PC escorted me back to my cell.

  My head still ached, not helped by thinking how on earth did I become a suspected serial killer.

  I found it impossible to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t Emily’s father. For God’s sake, my name was on her birth certificate.

  Christ, I’d even cut her umbilical cord. Fatherhood had made me. Hartley had taken that away.

  I agonised over why Lynne had carried out the paternity test without my knowledge. I could only guess that she had tortured herself over whether I might discover the truth. Or that Emily would when she grew older.

  If the results proved I was the father, no problem. She might even have told me. But she lived with her secret. I wanted to ask Alisha whether Lynne had ever told her about the paternity test result.

  I knew I wouldn’t cope well spending twenty years plus in a prison cell. Just the thought of it brought me out in a sweat and my claustrophobia kicked in hard.

  However, I still had a life to live. I was nearly forty-four years old. I had no financial worries and possibly a future with Alisha.

  I could contest these issues all day; it wouldn’t make any difference… my immediate fate lay with the CPS.

  *

  At lunchtime the next day, a uniformed PC led me back to the interview room. Simon arrived shortly afterwards. He’d spent the previous afternoon updating RP and Alisha.