by Sarah Flint
She wore tight grey leggings that hugged every inch of the loose skin on her belly, whilst bagging out, stained and dirty at the knees; one leg pulled up and caught over the top of knee-length scuffed black boots. A thin, pink T-shirt struggled to meet the overstretched waistband of her leggings, leaving a jagged expanse of flesh hanging out from between.
If she had ever been on the wagon, she had now very clearly tumbled from the uppermost seats to the stony surface below. Her breath reeked of booze and her pupils were tiny pinpricks, her body having succumbed to the combination of drugs and alcohol.
Hunter held out his hand towards her. ‘Lisa Forrester?’
The woman stared up towards him. ‘Yeah, why? Who the fuck are you?’
‘My name is DI Geoffrey Hunter and this is DC Charlotte Stafford. I am the officer in charge of the case your partner was involved in.’
‘Oh, are you now?’ She leant forward, revealing a glimpse of grubby cleavage from the top of her T-shirt, her eyes wide and blazing. ‘Well, before we start, I can tell you that he weren’t involved in nuffin’. And he didn’t top himself neither. You bastards killed him. You pushed ’im to it. In fact, you may as well ’ave pushed him off the side of that hole yourselves.’
She turned her head and spat on the tiles in front of Hunter’s feet. Hunter didn’t move. Keeping his voice low and serious, he stared straight into Lisa Forrester’s face.
‘I was going to explain what we know, Lisa, but I’m not going to speak to you if you carry on like that. Come on, DC Stafford, let’s go. If you wish to make a complaint, Ms Forrester I suggest you speak to our colleagues at the desk, but I can tell you now, I will instruct them not to listen to you unless you treat them civilly.’ He turned and took a few paces towards the security door into the police area of the reception. Charlie followed behind, watching as he pressed in the code to open the lock. As he did so, Charlie heard a wail from behind.
‘Don’t go. I need to know what ’appened.’
She turned to see Lisa Forrester rock forward on to her knees, bending down to wipe the spit up from the tiles with her T-shirt. ‘He’s gone and killed ’imself and I weren’t even there to try and stop ’im. How do you fink that makes me feel? Him and me ’ave been togever all our lives and I weren’t wiv ’im when ‘e needed me.’
The woman started to sob, rubbing at her cheeks and smudging the make-up still further around her face. Charlie pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to her. Underneath the thin, outwardly tough veneer, the woman in front of her was broken and vulnerable. She probably always had been. She put an arm around Lisa and ushered her into an interview room and sat down opposite, waiting for the tears to subside. Hunter came in too, his expression soft. Gone were the harsh words. Lisa Forrester, like the majority of the women that they dealt with, needed support and sympathy. It was what made them seek help. It was also what might help Charlie fill in the pieces of the jigsaw.
Charlie started. ‘Lisa, firstly, we are sorry for your loss.’
Lisa Forrester sniffed hard and raised tired eyes. ‘I doubt you are. I doubt anyone is, ’cept me.’
‘You were with him a long time.’
‘We was together since I was thirteen, almost our whole lives.’ She paused and stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Give or take a few years ’ere and there, but if ‘e weren’t inside the nick or the nuthouse, ‘e was wiv me.’
Charlie smiled encouragingly towards the middle-aged woman in front of her. ‘There’re not many people who can stay together that long. What was he like?’
Lisa shook her head and exhaled through her nose. ‘Well, ‘e weren’t no angel. I fink you can probably see that for yourself. Didn’t care about ’imself; in fact ‘e didn’t care for much at all, ’cept me. Whatever ’appened, he always looked after me… in ‘is own way.’ Her expression softened as she spoke. ‘We was bad for each other, but we was also good for each other. We would fight like cat and dog, but we would always end up together again. We couldn’t live wiv, or wivout each other.’ Her face crumpled. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ’im. I should never ’ave told ’im I weren’t coming back from detox.’ She rolled the tissue up and screwed it into her eyes. ‘Whatever ’e’s done, he’s done because I weren’t there.’
‘Lisa, do you know what he’s alleged to have done?’
‘They told me ’e’d killed three coppers and then topped ’imself.’ She nodded towards Hunter. ‘He always hated you lot. Right from the start ’e said you lot knew who had killed his parents but you never nicked ’em. It made him mad. ’E was only little when they was burned to death but ’e remembered it as if it was yesterday. Still carries ’is own scars… and still carried round a picture of ’is mum to this day.’
‘I know, Lisa. I saw it. She was very pretty.’
‘That’s what ’e always said. An’ he used to say that I was pretty too, like ’is mother. As dainty as Delilah. That was ’er name. He always said he weren’t good enough for me. That one day I would see sense and leave ’im. And if that ’appened, his life wouldn’t be worth livin’. He said that everybody important always left ’im.’
‘Who else left him?’ Charlie remembered the teacher.
Lisa pursed her lips, her forehead creased in thought. ‘Well, his parents for a start, though I suppose they didn’t really ’ave a choice. There was a few others ’ere and there; the odd guy from prison that ’e got matey wiv for a while, though probably more for business, if ya know what I mean’ Then there was this teacher he told me about when we first met. He really liked ’er, tried to do everything she asked of ’im but she left to ’ave a baby.’
‘Ms Saffron Bolt?’
‘Yeah that was her. I remember ’er name ’cause Saffron sounds posh and Bolt is like Usain Bolt. Shame Samson couldn’t run as fast as ’im. You lot would never ’ave caught him then.’ She chuckled at the thought. ‘And a few others, some shrink ’e got friendly wiv that ’e mentioned. Then there was me, I suppose. He must ’ave thought I really ’ad left him.’
Charlie watched as the tears restarted.
‘Maybe that’s why he really lost it this time. ’E must ’ave blamed you lot for helping me to get detox. For taking me away from ’im. He always went mad when I weren’t there. Maybe it’s all my fault.’
Hunter chipped in. ‘It’s not your fault, Lisa. You’re not responsible for his actions. You know the evidence is pretty conclusive. DNA, forensics, that sort of thing’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, I heard you’d got ’im bang to rights for murdering the three cops’
Charlie pulled out her phone and scrolled to the albums. She had the official warrant card photos of each of their victims.
‘Take a look at these pictures. Do you know any of the three officers? Or do you know if Samson might have.’ She passed the phone across the table and watched as Lisa stared at all three, squinting towards the pictures of Brian Ashton and Philippa McGovern, before returning to the photo of DS Leonard Cookson.
‘The others look familiar, like. Maybe I’ve seen them around, but Samson definitely knew ’im.’ She held the phone up towards them. ‘Samson hated ’im. I remember his name too, Leonard Cookson. Samson swore that one day ’e’d get his just deserts and someone would do ’im in.’
Charlie leant forward across the table and took the phone.
‘How did Samson know him, Lisa?’ she asked.
‘He was responsible for banging up one of our neighbours’ boys. When we was living on the Angell Town estate in Brixton.’ She stopped and held out her hand, counting out four fingers. ‘It must ’ave been about four years ago. Shirley, the woman next door ’ad three boys. They was good lads really but they got ’emselves involved in all the gang stuff that was ’appening on the streets.’ She pointed at the photo again. ‘’Im, Leonard Cookson, was in charge of one of those fucking Trident teams that persecute the black kids. They kicked in her door at five o’clock in the morning. Made a right noise, as I remember, shoutin’ and ban
gin’. Anyway, they nicked one of ’er boys, Troy, with a burner, just a small one, but he swore down that cop, Cookson, had planted it and framed ’im with it. Well Shirley believed ’er boy. Wouldn’t ’ave it any other way. Butter wouldn’t melt in ’is mouth, as it were.’ She chuckled to herself again. ‘I don’t know though. Boys will be boys, especially round there, and it weren’t the first time he’d bin nicked. You lot charged ’im with possession of a firearm and ’e got found guilty too. Got banged up in Brixton prison just up the Hill. But Shirley wouldn’t let it drop. She still goes to visit Troy every week. Still swears that ’e was set up.’
Charlie nodded. She’d read all about it. It was the ongoing perjury complaint that they’d discovered just after Cookson’s body and the Bible had been found.
‘Ah, yes. Shirley and Troy Sangster. I’ve read about them. She made a formal complaint against Leonard Cookson. It’s still ongoing after all these years. She alleged that Cookson committed perjury and that Troy was unlawfully arrested and unlawfully detained. Why did Samson feel so aggrieved though?’
‘Because of Shirley. She got everyone all whipped up about it. Saying Troy was only arrested ’cause he was black, even though ’e’s mixed race. That police are racists, all that stuff. There was lots in the community that believed ’er, including Samson. I think it brought back memories of when his mum died and ’e was told it was racists who done it then. ’E would go on marches that Shirley arranged, demonstrations outside the nick in Brixton. He even helped ’er make placards an’ stuff. That’s why I remember ’is face so well. Shirley is still fightin’ for Troy an’ all the black kids in the area. She wants to get ’is conviction overturned. Blames Cookson for it all and almost stalks ’im. She knows everything about him. What car ’e drives, where ’e works, she’s even found out how many wives ’e’s had. I don’t know where she gets it all from.’
A vague recollection of a bleached-blonde ball of fiery rage came to Charlie.
‘So, did Samson still see Shirley often? Would he class her as a friend, do you think?’ Charlie was intrigued. Could this be the same Shirley that had come to the assistance of the knifeman she and Paul had chased in Brixton the previous week?
Lisa Forrester tilted her head to one side and reached up, attempting to run her hands through her hair. She quickly gave up.
‘I’m not sure, to be honest. ’E certainly used to bump into ’er fairly regular, like, and I think ’e had ’er number. He’d probably class ’er as a friend. Well, as much of a friend as Samson ever had.’
‘Lisa, would you be prepared to make a statement about Samson’s associates and his friendship with Shirley?’
Hunter was looking slightly bemused.
‘You’ve got to be kiddin’ ain’t you?’ Lisa stood up suddenly, swaying slightly. ‘I ain’t prepared to put nuffin’ down on paper, nor would I swear to nuffin’ in court. I ain’t no grass and never will be. I’ve lost Samson and now I ’ave to get on. An’ I won’t, if people like Shirley Sangster find out I’m snitchin’ on who’s wiv who and that sort of thing. I’ll see ya around.’ She grabbed hold of the door frame, pulling the door open and with a wave of her hand was gone.
Charlie leant back, her mind processing the information. She remembered the teacher’s report from all those years ago. Samson Powell was capable of being attentive and following instructions. He also considered Shirley to be a friend. He would very likely try to please her, as he had Ms Saffron Bolt.
Charlie felt herself warming to the idea. As well as the physical evidence, they now had a definite link between Powell and Leonard Cookson, and a motivation for his murder, even if Lisa was not prepared to put it in writing. Could Shirley Sangster have wished harm on Leonard Cookson during her ongoing campaign against him? It was certainly possible, especially if she truly believed her son had been framed… and Samson Powell was a friend of hers, with antisocial traits and no moral compass.
So… if that was the case, could Samson Powell have exacted revenge on Cookson in the way he had, out of misplaced loyalty to Shirley? Or… could Shirley Sangster have actively encouraged him to kill the man she so hated?
Chapter 25
The photo of Shirley Sangster was old but it was definitely the same woman who had screamed at her and Paul in the street a few days previously. She appeared to have become the self-appointed spokeswoman for the youth of Lambeth, particularly since the arrest and conviction of her son Troy, and her complaint against Cookson.
She refused to believe her son was guilty, even though a jury had seen fit to convict him. To Charlie, reading the details of the case against Troy Sangster, it seemed cut and dried. Most complaints died on conviction, many having been made in the hopes of instilling uncertainty in the minds of jurors at court… but Shirley Sangster had not given up.
Charlie was still reading through the details when DCI O’Connor walked in.
‘Ah Charlie, just the person. DS Boyle from DPS will be in again this afternoon to see you and Hunter.’ He peered at the file Charlie had out in front of her. ‘I recognise that one. I read it recently when Hunter told me about its link to the method used to kill Cookson. It’s a load of rubbish, but it’s like so many complaints.’ He adjusted his trousers and sighed heavily. ‘If they don’t get knocked on the head swiftly, they go on and on forever and become a bloody nightmare. That’s why I want you both at my office later.’
Charlie nodded. ‘I found out earlier that Powell was good friends with Shirley Sangster. Just looking at the complaint again now, I see DS Boyle is shown as the investigating officer. Do you think, when she’s finished interviewing me I could ask her a few questions? I’d be interested in her thoughts on Sangster.’
‘I’m sure that would be fine. Hayley’s very professional. I spoke briefly to the Chief Superintendent at DPS about all the officers dealing with the individual complaints and he rates her very highly. There’s no evidence to support this particular allegation, but Sangster won’t let it drop. She keeps writing to her MP and various members of the Equality and Human Rights Commission… and then they in turn take it up with the IPCC and the local commander. It’s like a bad smell. They can’t get rid of it, but I’m sure DS Boyle can fill you in more later on.’ He turned to go, before swinging back round to face her. ‘Two p.m. sharp in my office. And no excuses this time.’
*
Hayley Boyle was seated with the DCI when Charlie arrived ten minutes late and with a smudge of ketchup from a hastily eaten bacon sandwich down the front of her shirt. The DCI’s eyes flicked from his watch to the smudge and then straight to DS Boyle.
‘You’ve met DC Stafford before, I believe, Hayley. Maybe when you’ve finished today you can have a talk with her about professional standards and the importance of punctuality and a smart appearance.’
Charlie moved her arm in front of the smudge and dipped her head. ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t have the chance to get breakfast this morning so I…’ She stopped speaking, suddenly aware of how scruffy the DCI’s shoes were and whether it was worth trying to compare appearances but decided against it. It was always better to keep on the right side of senior officers. ‘I won’t let it happen again,’ she said instead.
DS Boyle stood up and offered Charlie her hand, an expression of mild amusement flicking on her face at the reappearance of the ketchup stain as Charlie stretched out towards her.
‘Shall we get on with the questions I’ve been asked to go over again. It won’t take long, I promise.’ She smiled through thin lips and started to move towards the door of an adjoining office, her heels clicking against the lino. Charlie fell in behind her, wishing she could look as effortlessly smart as the woman she was following. DS Boyle wore a pale pink shirt underneath a tailored grey trouser suit, the cut fitting the swing of her slim body perfectly. Gleaming black patent, two-inch heeled shoes and black-framed oblong glasses completed the professional appearance acclaimed by the DCI.
The sergeant was everything her department, the Directorate o
f Professional Standards, required. Smart, business-like and hard-working; her appearance matched her work, faultless. She had been in the police service for twenty-two years, having previously worked at West End Central Police Station, before transferring to Hackney as a DS. She’d met and married an inspector involved in training, but they had chosen not to have children, preferring to plough their efforts into their careers. He had risen through the ranks to superintendent while she had gone to the DPS to get evidence for the next rank. However, she had developed such a penchant for rooting out crooked cops that she’d returned to the unit several times. She’d now been wedded to the same department on and off for as long as she’d been wedded to her husband, both liaisons having lasted fifteen years.
Charlie followed her through to a smaller office and took a seat, realising as she made herself comfortable that Hayley Boyle was almost an exact replica of her opposite number, Ms Brenda Leach at the IPCC. Both had worn similar outfits and were quintessentially corporate; grey personalities, dressed in grey clothing. Like a dog and its owner, they had morphed to look like one another. The only difference between the two was that underneath the fur and feathers, Hayley Boyle was a copper too.
DS Boyle pulled out a file and opened it, fingering a small silver crucifix that hung around her neck as she read out the first of a short list of questions. She listened intently as Charlie answered, jotting down notes.
Most of the questions were based on the exact orders given in the previous operation and concluded with Charlie’s opinion of Hunter and whether she would have done anything differently. She felt a sense of déjà vu as she answered, realising that they were almost identical to what she’d been asked previously by Ms Leach. Maybe they were hoping to catch her out by asking the same questions again.
