by Iain Cameron
‘I know, but we’re sitting here talking about it calmly and rationally. She’s at home without family nearby, trying to come to terms with the deaths of the two men in her life, both of whom, I might add, died in violent circumstances. Maybe it all got too much for her or she couldn’t face life without Marc.’
‘Could there be more to it?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I know we’ve considered the two murders might be some sort of vendetta against her–’
‘Which the FLO dismissed after she talked to Lily about it.’
‘I know, but if we frame it from the other side. What if Lily instigated both murders and her suicide is some form of remorse? She might not have carried out the actual killings herself, but got someone else to do them.’
Henderson was about to say something dismissive, something along the line of, how could she suspect such an intelligent and gentle woman; but he stopped. There was no doubt in her presence she had a powerful effect on him, but was it blinding him as to her culpability?
He had researched numerous historical murders and knew it to be a common occurrence. Many a detective had been duped into believing the innocence of the diminutive woman crying over her dead husband, only for forensics or an eye witness to prove that when roused, she could act like a psychotic maniac.
‘I must admit, I did consider this idea at the beginning but didn’t feel it necessary to follow-up. What made you think of it? Have you uncovered some new evidence?’
‘No, there isn’t any new evidence but she knew Marc Emerson’s movements as well as anyone. She would know he was working late at the Weald warehouse.’
‘Yeah, I see where you’re coming from, but for her to not only kill her boyfriend, the avowed love of her life, but to do so in such a hideous manner; I think it’s too much of a stretch.’
‘Ok, but she might have been driven to it. Maybe Marc wanted to finish with her or threatened to tell her husband about the affair or something?’
‘It’s all so circumstantial; mind you, so are all the other suspects. Why would she kill Guy?’
‘Ajay Singh is an old friend of Guy’s and she knows him. What if she pushed Guy into getting involved in the robbery knowing it would end in tragedy; or maybe persuaded Singh to do it?’
‘If she had some hold over Singh, it’s possible, but the impression I have is she didn’t like him much and in many ways, I can see why. I don’t think the theory’s credible.’
‘Why not?’
‘The more I think about it the more I believe she’s not the type, and I know there’s no such thing as a typical murderer, but I can’t see her in the frame. I just can’t see her motivation for doing it or her having the nerve to carry it out.’
On arriving back at his house in College Place, Henderson got out of the car, leaving Walters to drive to the office. The house was empty when Henderson walked in as he’d talked to Rachel last night and he didn’t think there would be any need for her to stick around. He went upstairs and changed clothes and sorted out some papers he needed for the day ahead.
He stopped for a moment and looked around at his surroundings: the room where he stood, the rooftops of Brighton through the window, the cruising seagulls enjoying the thermals. A vision of this flashed through his mind when he was in the water and a feeling that he might not see it again. He didn’t often dwell on morbid thoughts, but it sure felt good to be back here once again.
He headed downstairs and reached for his jacket when he realised he felt hungry. He’d been served breakfast at the hospital before being discharged but the lukewarm scrambled eggs didn’t offer much appeal, and the streaky bacon too streaky for his liking. He left his jacket where it was on the peg and walked into the kitchen. He popped some bread into the toaster and fired up the coffee machine.
With his makeshift snack in his hands, he carried it over to the kitchen table and sat down. The Argus lay there, positioned by Rachel before she left for work so he would spot it. The front picture did look a touch dramatic as he could see the edge of Adam’s boat and the distinctive shape of two people surrounded by grey water.
He read the article with care, looking for any reference to Marc Emerson. It mentioned that the woman rescued was the wife of Guy Barton, a man found dead a few days ago with gunshot wounds and suspected of carrying out the Lewes jewellery robbery. He could find no mention of him being a suspect in the Marc Emerson murder case. He thought this odd, as newspapers were more often accused of joining the dots where there weren’t any, than being circumspect with information already in their possession.
Interviews with neighbours painted the rescued woman as quiet and polite, who didn’t converse much over the garden fence. A colleague at the company where she worked, someone who knew Lily better, said it was uncharacteristic for her to do something like this, a woman so self-assured, intelligent and confident, but she had been under a lot of strain those last few weeks. She went on to say all her staff were deeply shocked and hoped she would return to work soon.
Henderson wondered how she could rebuild her life after suffering three major shocks in quick succession; the death of the two people closest to her and her own suicide attempt. He imagined the death of Marc and Guy would be worse than the death of an elderly relative or even a parent, deaths most people in time were able to come to terms with. Both men were young with their lives in front of them. She was a strong lady but with few relatives and friends around her to offer support, it would be a tough task.
Henderson rose and walked into the hall. He didn’t know why he was trying to explore and understand the hidden depths of the human spirit. When he joined the police with a degree in Sociology and Psychology, he believed he possessed the tools to do so, but the job exposed him to incredible levels of courage, compassion, bravery, and on the flip side, to the pits of depravity, evil and corruption, unimaginable when starting out. Just when he believed he had an understanding of the subject, someone’s unselfish heroism or another’s callous disregard for human life would throw all his theories out of the window.
He lifted his jacket from the peg and stepped out of the house into another cold November morning.
THIRTY-ONE
Henderson looked up from the document he held in his hand when someone walked into his office. It was Lily Barton’s Family Liaison Officer, Helen Vincent.
‘Morning sir.’
‘Ah, morning Helen. Thanks for coming in to see me. Take a seat at the meeting table, we’ll talk there.’ He rose from his chair and walked over to join her. ‘Can I get you anything; tea, coffee?’
‘No, I’m fine, sir, thanks.’ She sat down. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been in these offices, they’re more swish than our building.’
‘You’ve been in your place a lot longer than us. We only moved here when Sussex House closed in January, but give it a few months and it’ll be as tatty as everywhere else.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Helen, the reason I asked you here this morning is to go over what happened at Lily Barton’s house. I need to understand what signals she gave or didn’t give prior to her disappearance, and if we failed in our duty of care. I simply want to understand the events leading up to her suicide attempt and see if there are any lessons we can learn. Does that sound ok?’
‘Do you think there’ll be a disciplinary hearing?’
‘I think it’s unlikely but questions will be asked, how a woman on suicide watch came as close as this,’ he said holding up his thumb and first finger with a small gap in between, ‘to succeeding.’
‘I understand.’
Henderson decided to do this for two reasons. First, as Senior Investigating Officer he took responsibility for placing Helen with Lily and wanted to put something about it on file. Second, he needed to be sure that no one could level a charge of incompetence at him or the FLO and denigrate all his team had achieved so far.
‘Can I first ask, did you think the terms of reference you recei
ved briefed you adequately about the potential suicide risk?’
‘I know I was put in there because you believed she might present a suicide risk, but I suppose I assumed before she acted, it would be prefaced by some signal: a bout of depression or excessive brooding. You know, I thought I would see some signs of her going downhill and then I would have spent more time watching her. As it was, she seemed to be coping with it pretty well. She had bouts of tearfulness, for sure, but no deep depression and believe me, I’ve seen some of that in my time.’
‘I’m sure you have. So, she didn’t show any outward signs of depression but was there anything else you can think of that might have triggered her actions?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, maybe a phone call, a programme on television?’
‘I don’t think so. Hang on though, she had a visit two days ago from a guy called,’ she paused to flick through her notebook, ‘Kevin McLaren.’
‘I know him.’
‘Piecing together what I saw of them and with the story Lily told me afterwards, he tried it on but she wasn’t having it.’
‘Really?’
‘I went to the kitchen when I heard raised voices and it looked at first to me like they were kissing. They both pulled away as soon as they saw me. Lily said she had been fighting him off before I arrived on the scene, and I tend to believe her as she didn’t look as if she was enjoying herself.’
‘What happened then?’
‘She told him to get out.’
‘This suggests to me that his advances were unwarranted.’
‘It might be, or she got angry at being rumbled and made it look like she was turfing him out to cover the lie.’
Henderson thought about McLaren and what he knew about him. He worked as a self-employed computer programmer and had been a good friend of Marc. He also took a keen, although he would call it unusual, interest in the progress of the investigation.
‘I’ll bear that in mind, Helen, thanks. Now talk me through the morning of Lily’s escape.’
‘It started much like every other morning. We sat and had breakfast together. I asked her what she wanted to do and we chatted.’
‘What did she say she wanted to do?’
‘We’d been shopping in Lewes the previous day and she said she wanted to chill. She said she was thinking of going back to work and needed to get her head around it.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘Normal, I would say.’
‘Ok, so what then?’
‘We tidied up the kitchen and I went upstairs to brush my teeth. When I got there I decided to go to the loo as well so I closed the door. I noticed before I closed the door there wasn’t a key in the lock. It had been there all the time I’d stayed in the house but I didn’t think too much about it, with only me and Lily around.’
‘Makes sense.’
‘When I finished, I reached for the door handle and found it locked.’
‘And you couldn’t call in as your phone was on the kitchen table.’
Her face reddened. ‘I’ve got one of those big Samsung things that doesn’t fit into the pocket of a tight pair of jeans. It was my error and I accept I should have had it with me.’
‘What did you think at this point? Why did she lock you in?’
‘I knew straight away she hadn’t make a mistake or it was an accident. I knew she’d locked me in on purpose so she could do something without me being there. I started to panic thinking she might switch on the gas.’
He smiled. ‘If she did and lit a match, you wouldn’t have had any trouble getting out of the bathroom.’
Helen’s story confirmed his previous understanding of the situation and he believed no fault could be laid at her door, other than to recommend she buy a smaller phone. Helen left his office five minutes later. He entered his report into the file and logged it. He was about to start on something else when DS Edwards came in.
‘Good to see you Angus,’ she said taking the seat opposite his desk. ‘I heard all about your rescue. How are you feeling?’
‘I feel fine. In fact, I felt fine yesterday as well, but they insisted in keeping me in for overnight observation, whatever that means.’
‘How’s Mrs Barton?’
‘I’ve not spoken to her yet as she’s been under sedation since her suicide attempt.’
‘It can’t be easy losing your husband and lover. I don’t know if I could cope.’
Maybe she didn’t but Henderson did. Edwards could be a tough woman, despite appearances.
‘I’ll go and see her today or tomorrow, see how she is and try to understand her side of the story.’
‘Good idea but make sure there are no reporters or cameramen hanging about; I could do without seeing one of those: ‘Brave Copper Meets Reservoir Woman’ sorts of stories.’
‘Me too.’
‘How’s the FLO?’
‘Shaken by the whole thing I would say.’
‘I’m not surprised. Are you recommending her censure?’
He shook his head. ‘Lily Barton locked Helen in the bathroom and took the key away. It’s a solid wooden door and if I hadn’t turned up when I did, she’d still be in there. The only mistake she made was not taking her phone into the bathroom with her. If she’d phoned me, the incident might have played out better and quicker but not by much.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s a sorry business. I don’t see any winners.’
‘True.’
‘How are the interviews going with the Fenton robbery crew?’
‘They’re going well. Ajay Singh has been charged with Guy Barton’s manslaughter, robbery, being in receipt of stolen goods, gun possession; the works. His comrade, Solomon Fletcher, with robbery but the CPS won’t try to pin ‘accessory to manslaughter’ on him. They intend to prosecute Singh as the sole shooter and if the defence team use Fletcher’s shout to try and reduce the murder charge, the CPS will put up stiff resistance.’
‘It all sounds good.’
‘The Brummie pair will go down for dealing in stolen goods and Gerald Rattigan’s minder, Barry Forshaw, for the possession of a gun. I thought his gun looked old and was maybe rented so I flagged it on the system. Birmingham now want to talk to Forshaw about the murder of a drug dealer in Lime Street six years ago.’
‘Result!’ she said smiling and slapped the desk for emphasis. ‘You and the rest of the team have done a brilliant job, make sure you tell them all from me. Have we recovered all the jewellery?’
‘I think so. Ajay says everything they took from the shop was in the two holdalls and if you remember, Guy Barton was killed because he wanted to take away a piece and Ajay wouldn’t let him.’
‘How could I forget? It seemed such a pointless death when the thieves had all that gear. They wouldn’t miss one bracelet. Does the widow know why her husband died?’
‘No, and I’m not minded to tell her.’
She thought for a moment. ‘It might be a wise move. No point in giving her something else to beat herself up with.’
‘Even though we’re sure we’ve got all the stolen jewellery, I don’t expect Brian Fenton will agree. He’ll probably say half a dozen priceless watches are missing.’
‘Bit of a shyster is he?’
‘Renowned.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m sure we can leave the Robbery Squad to sort him out. Now, this only leaves Marc Emerson. Any new developments?’
He shook his head. ‘We’ve interviewed his friends and family, trawled through his background, talked to people at his former workplace, but no other suspect stands out.’
‘Except Guy Barton.’
‘Except him and maybe Kevin McLaren. The FLO told me she thinks something might be going on between him and Lily Barton.’
‘Not another lover, for Christ sakes?’
‘I hope not, more likely she fended off his unwanted advances.’
‘What’s that woman got, eh? When I met my future husband, I don’t remember be
ating his competitors off with a stick as she seems to do.’
Henderson shrugged, not wanting to volunteer his theory.
‘What do we do about the Marc Emerson case? I mean there’s no way the ACC will tell us to wind it down after scoring so many aces, but I’m loathe to spend more money on an investigation that’s reached a dead end and making no progress.’
‘There’s always something else we can do, as you know, but it does feel like we’re lacking focus.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. I want you to concentrate your team on processing the Fenton jewellery gang and the Barton murder evidence. You and a few other officers follow up those last remaining leads on the Marc Emerson case and if nothing surfaces a week from today, we’ll put it on the holding file; still open, but no active enquiry.’
‘I can’t argue with you there,’ Henderson said. ‘What should we tell the papers?’
‘We’ll say that following the death of Guy Barton, we’re not looking for anyone else in connection with Marc Emerson’s murder.’
‘It might be a shade economical with the truth, but it’s not a word of a lie either.’
THIRTY-TWO
Lily Barton swung her legs out of bed and walked unaided to the toilet. She could tolerate many things about hospital: her restless and noisy fellow patients, the constant scrutiny by nurses and doctors and even the stodgy food, but not pissing into a bed pan. Dignity was well ingrained into her psyche and no way would she compromise.
It was the first time she’d walked there by herself and she felt a sense of achievement, tinged with a feeling of being a fraud. While waking up from sedation, she could hear the mumbling of visitors to Mrs Moore in the next bed, telling the old dear she was a more deserving case than someone who tried to top herself. She’d only do it again, one visitor said, and with a piece of luck, the next time she might succeed. No point in being a drain on the NHS.
