by Dai Henley
Flood, whose expression remained deadpan, entered the room with DS Lyle in his wake.
“As you know, we passed our files over to the CPS for pre-charge advice. They’ve decided we should not charge you… at the moment. This advice may change if further evidence comes to light. You are free to go.”
Simon responded first. “Are you charging Hartley?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?” I shouted. “I think I have the right to know.”
“I suspect you’ll hear in due course.”
I wanted to pursue the point, but Simon tugged at my arm again in an effort to shut me up and get out of the police station as soon as possible.
Once outside and mightily relieved, I hugged Simon again. He offered to run me back home to Blackheath.
I called Alisha on my mobile from his car. Even with Hartley in custody, she said she preferred to remain at my house. She sounded ecstatic and couldn’t wait for me to arrive.
Still not believing Flood hadn’t charged me, I asked Simon, as he drove, why he thought not.
“It’s always difficult to answer that when two suspects are taken in for questioning. Obviously, the police believe they have more evidence against Hartley than against you. It’s as simple as that. And we won’t know what that evidence is unless Hartley’s charged and he goes on trial.”
“That’ll take months.”
“It’ll soon pass. I’m guessing the police found Hartley’s clothes and trainers and the results from the forensic team sealed his fate for the Johnson murder. They must have believed Alisha’s alibis for your whereabouts too. That’s so important. She deserves a medal.”
“She certainly does.”
As he pulled up at some traffic lights, Simon turned to me and said, “And regarding Greenland, I don’t think Flood really thought you were involved. All he has is the blurry CCTV stuff and the eyewitness.”
“Yes, but I’ll be happier knowing Hartley’s been charged.”
“Well, as far as the arson attack, it’s clear to me Flood’s not dug up enough stuff to discover precisely when you knew about Lynne’s affair. As I said to you before, James, it was always going to be a close decision.”
“I’d love to have been a fly on the wall at Flood’s interviews with Hartley.”
“Me too. I’m convinced Flood’ll charge him with the arson attack. Then we’ll have to wait to fill in the blanks.”
As we pulled into the driveway, Alisha’s face appeared at the window. Even before I got to the front door, she’d opened it. She threw herself at me, almost knocking me over.
“Oh, James! It’s so good to see you!”
I revelled under a long, hot shower and changed my clothes. Alisha had made my favourite curry, chicken and sweetcorn, and we spent the evening eating and drinking a bottle of chilled Lanson champagne. It felt good to be back in the comfort of my home.
She pumped me for every detail concerning Flood’s inquisition. She pursed her lips together and frowned when I explained his theory about the chloroform.
“I can see his thinking,” she said. “I could have easily got some if RP had asked me. A close shave, eh?”
“Yeah. Remember my visit to Greenland? When he told me about Hartley believing Emily to be his? Did Lynne ever mention it?”
“Er… no. The first I heard about it is when you told RP and me after your chat with Greenland.”
She fidgeted with her glass before taking a sip. I didn’t find her answer convincing.
“Are you sure, Alisha?”
“Yes. Of course I am.”
“So Lynne never knew Hartley felt this way?”
“No.”
“And she didn’t try to find out Emily’s true father?”
She fidgeted with her glass again.
“I don’t know where you got that idea from.”
As she said it, she turned her head away from me. A dead giveaway.
“You knew, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me!” I raised my voice.
“James… I’m in a difficult situation.” She took another sip of wine.
“I promised Lynne I’d never tell anyone.”
“So you did know?” I wanted to pick her up and shake the truth out of her.
She put down the glass of champagne slowly and deliberately on the table, buying time before she answered.
“Yes… I did know.” She avoided my eyes and stared up at the ceiling.
“Christ, Alisha!”
She at last made eye contact and sighed.
“Look, this is not easy, OK? Lynne told me that, before Hartley disappeared, he’d claimed the baby was his. Apparently he had always been obsessed about becoming a father. She was adamant he wasn’t, but later, she had doubts. Although horrified at the prospect, she realised it was a possibility.”
“Is that why she had the test?”
“Yes. I asked her whether she thought it a wise thing to do. But she said she had to know. If Emily were Hartley’s she said she’d have to protect her from ever finding out. She prayed for the right result.”
“I bet she did!”
“She hated knowing the truth. It truly bugged her. Even when Hartley disappeared out of her life for two years when he went to prison. She thought he’d given up on her.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t tell you because you were so happy being a father. I didn’t think you’d ever find out. And if you did, I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to know. I thought I did it for the best. I’m sorry.”
“So you lied to me and RP when you said you had no idea Hartley had claimed he was Emily’s father?”
“Yes… I’ve already told you why. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you’d not tell me something like this.” I stood up from the table, walked to the window, stared out at the darkness of the garden, balling my fists, fighting to keep my temper under control.
Alisha remained seated. She spoke to my back.
“Well, for all I know, perhaps you did know about it.”
I turned on her sharply. “God, you sound just like Flood.”
“Well, you told me that’s what he thought. What would you have done if you had known? Would you have been upset enough to do something foolish?”
She remained seated at the table as I leaned over her and said, “I can’t believe you’re suggesting I’d murder my family.”
Her eyes blazed back at mine. “I don’t know what to believe any more.”
“Oh, thanks for your support. Anything else I should know?” I moved closer, my face now inches away from hers.
She held her ground and glowered. “No… there’s nothing else.”
“You really should have told me, you know. I’ve had enough of this.” I turned away and stomped to my study, slamming the living room door behind me.
She shouted out after me, “So have I!”
Later, I saw her carrying a suitcase as she headed out to her car and then drive away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Early November 1999 – August 2000
The next day, despite my concern about going into the office, I met up with Peter. We were still nervous about the Millennium Bug issue and after discussing it with a software consultant, we finalised our contingency plans. I appreciated the opportunity to forget the events of the last few days.
On the way home, I picked up a late edition of the London Evening Standard and threw it onto the back seat of my Mercedes. After parking in the drive, I retrieved the paper and entered the house.
I poured a glass of Merlot and settled down to read the paper before preparing dinner.
On page five, I read the headline I’d dreamt about for so long.
LONDONER CHARGED WITH FIVE MURDERS
At Tower Bridge Magistrates’ Court earlier today, a 50-year-old man was charged with the murder of five people in three separate incidents.
John William Hartley of Percival Street, Clerkenwell, spoke only to
give his name, address and date of birth.
He is accused of conspiring with another to murder Lynne Hamilton, her son and her baby daughter in an arson attack. The incident took place in Lymington, Hampshire on 3rd August 1998.
He is also accused of the murder of Leroy Johnson, whose body was discovered, drowned, in the River Thames near Tower Bridge, on or around 9th October 1999.
He is also accused of conspiring with another to murder Colin Greenland, whose body was discovered stabbed to death in Victoria Park near Hackney Marshes on 12th October 1999.
Hartley was remanded in custody and is due to appear at The Old Bailey on January 17th 2000 for a plea and case management hearing.
I read the piece several times as feelings of elation and relief coursed through my body.
“Yesss!” I shouted, punching a hand in the air. I almost knocked over my wine glass. I felt I’d just scored the winning goal at Wembley.
I called RP and read him the press report. His calmness countered my excitement. I sensed his pleasure though, despite the plan threatening to unravel on several occasions.
He warned me the tabloid press would pounce on this. “This case has all the ingredients of a melodrama. They’ll suck every last juicy detail out of it. Mind you, until the court case, their reporting will have to be restrained.”
“I think I’ll do what I did before, Roger. Just not read it or get involved.”
“Very wise.”
Next, I called Alisha at home. Although still pissed off with her, I felt she ought to know the facts.
We exchanged half-hearted ‘Hi’s’ and I asked, “Have you seen tonight’s Evening Standard?”
“No, I’ve only just got in,” she replied in a monotone voice.
I read out the press report. “This is a result, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes, it is, but we thought that when Johnson was charged. Remember?”
“Well, let’s hope we don’t get a feeble judge this time.”
After an awkward silence, I said, “Listen, I think we should talk.”
“There’s nothing else to say, is there?”
“Don’t be like that. I want to know if you really meant what you said last night. I’ll pop over to your place now, OK?”
“If you must.”
I felt uneasy about Alisha and me not being on the same side. It wouldn’t do either of us any good. We both knew too much about each other.
Although her comment that I may have had something to do with the arson attack upset me, I realised how important to my life she’d become. We’d fused together, sharing our grief and anger whilst working hard to get justice. This dark secret bound us. And she’d been fantastic, helping me handle my grief.
But holding back her knowledge of Lynne’s search for a paternity test was unforgivable. It bugged me. I didn’t know what I truly felt for her anymore. I needed to clarify the situation.
As she opened the door to her flat, she said, “Hi,” without even offering an air kiss.
“Glass of wine, cup of coffee?”
“Coffee’s fine.” I wanted to maintain a clear head.
As she put her cup on the table, I came straight to the point.
“Alisha, what did you mean when you implied that if I’d known about Hartley and Emily, I might have done something silly?”
“You’ve changed, James. I’ve seen it first hand; how angry you got when, first Johnson got off and then when the truth came out about little Emily’s parentage. I felt you’d stop at nothing to get revenge. You became irrational.”
“Don’t you think I bloody well had every right to be? Hartley destroyed my life. Once I found out about what he’d done, of course I wanted my revenge. But I’d never in a million years want to hurt Lynne, Georgie and especially Emily.”
She stared at me.
“Alisha, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know anything about Hartley and Lynne until Greenland told me, I swear. It shocked me more than I can say. And as for Johnson, of course I was bloody upset about him getting off. Who wouldn’t be?”
“It upset me, too. That’s why I agreed to help you.”
“Yes, you did. So we’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are.”
“The thing is, it’s no good us falling out.”
She took a sip of coffee and said, “I know. Listen, it really concerned me when you said Flood insinuated you were involved in the arson attack. I thought you were just like all the other chauvinist pigs I’ve known. What is it with men? They must be in control, win every contest.”
“Do you really think I’m like that? Do you?”
She couldn’t face me, just fiddled with her cup.
After another short silence, I said, “Look, I can’t say anymore. I’m fed up with defending myself. You either believe me or you don’t.”
I turned to look out of the window and said, “So… where do we go from here?”
“It’s up to you.”
I turned back to face her. “Well, let’s at least remain friends, OK?”
“OK. Look, I’m sorry, James. You know me. I can’t help it. I have to say what I think.”
“You certainly do.”
We carried on talking. She reminded me how happy Lynne had been when we married. She’d told Alisha that meeting me had been by far the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.
“I know Lynne desperately wanted you to be Emily’s father. She was unbelievably distraught when she found out you weren’t. I was upset too. And didn’t want to burst your bubble.”
I believed her.
*
RP’s assessment of the media proved correct; the tabloids devoted whole pages to the saga over the next couple of days. My curiosity got the better of me and I read a few of the articles.
The reports were understandably sympathetic for my loss. I don’t know how they’d got the photos they’d published. One, a favourite of mine, showed the four of us smiling contentedly on a beach with Lynne holding Emily in her arms. A couple more showed just Lynne with her stunning trademark smile – the one that first hooked me. I stared at the photos for ages, my mind drifting over the gloriously happy times we’d spent together.
I know I should have felt angry with her, but she now appeared to me as a vulnerable, tragic figure. As well as suffering long-term abuse and emotional damage from the men in her life, she also carried the burden of knowing the truth about Emily’s father and the guilt about not telling me. I felt sorry for her. I still loved her.
There were also unflattering photos of Hartley, Greenland and Johnson, presumably taken when they were in prison.
Sorrow was the last emotion I sensed for them.
*
Life slowly began to get back to normal. I spent more time in my business. At least, I felt confident and assured there.
I kept in touch with Alisha, calling her once a week and having the occasional dinner. Neither of us brought up the issue that led to us falling out; we both tucked it away to the back of our minds.
In January, we learnt that Hartley had pleaded not guilty to all five murders and the date of the trial had been set for Monday, September 15th 2000.
We had nearly nine months to wait before we could, hopefully, celebrate getting justice for my family. I recalled this familiar vacuum of unfinished business had also existed just before Johnson’s trial.
Back then, deeply shocked and confused, with mixed feelings of anger, grief and sorrow, I became an emotional wreck. Alisha had seen me through.
I wished I could speed up the process, but I had no control over the matter. The CPS needed time to build a cast-iron case, robust enough to ensure a successful outcome for the Crown against Hartley.
I still harboured a gnawing concern about him getting off on a spurious technicality. I’d read somewhere that lightning has struck in the same place twice.
I fell back on my usual remedies of working hard and going on long runs. Both failed to lift the cloud of
apprehension hanging over me as the trial date got nearer.
The World’s IT population, including Peter and I, held collective breaths and crossed fingers as midnight approached on December 31st 1999.
Fortunately, the Millennium Bug proved to be benign − one less problem to worry about.
*
By the end of July, six weeks before Hartley’s trial, the media built up a head of steam speculating about our back stories. The intensity became so great that Alisha and I discussed getting away for a week or two, somewhere quiet, sunny and relaxing. We’d both agreed, no strings. Separate bedrooms.
Shortly after Hartley had been charged, the police returned my passport and I no longer had to report to them daily. I was free to go where I wanted.
One of my golf club mates owned a villa in Grenada in the Caribbean. We rented it from him.
I dreaded the second anniversary of the murder of my family on 3rd August. Another reason why we didn’t want to be in London.
Going away with Alisha would be a good test of our true feelings for each other. I still hadn’t worked out what mine were.
The glossy travel brochures described Grenada as the prettiest island in the Caribbean; they weren’t wrong. White sandy beaches, turquoise sea and purple Bougainvillea flowers climbing almost every building supported their view. The breeze carried a heady mix of nutmeg, cinnamon and ginger, completing the exotic effect.
The villa sat right on the beach. Each night we listened to the waves gently lapping the shore accompanied by the clinking of the halyards against the masts of the dozen yachts moored in the bay.
Drinking Carib beers and rum punches with lunch and having dinner al fresco, prepared by a visiting cook, proved to be the ultimate in relaxation. However, thoughts of the impending trial hovered in the background.
We rarely left the villa. We lazed on the beach under the parasol, read, swam and sometimes took out a rowing boat into the calm Caribbean Sea.
We sometimes kissed but hugged a great deal, not in a sexual way, more like brother and sister.
