by OMJ Ryan
Phillips admired her courage. It was never easy investigating coppers, especially those you’ve worked alongside for many years. ‘I’d be glad to have you, Gibbo.’ She patted her on the arm and turned to Jones. ‘You ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ he replied, and followed her out.
Once inside, they moved through the formalities with the speed you would expect from a room full of police officers, and as soon as the loud beep of the DIR had faded, Phillips set to work. ‘DC Mountfield, can you tell us where you were on the evening of Tuesday 6th of November?’
Mountfield stared impassively at Phillips. ‘I don’t know off-hand. Either at work or at home.’
Phillips passed over the Sex Crimes Squad staffing rota for that week. ‘This is a copy of your departmental staff rota. As you can see from the date marked, you were not on shift that night.’
‘Like I said, I must have been at home then.’
David Thiel inspected the document and made a note in his pad
Phillips continued. ‘Can your wife confirm that?’
Mountfield looked unfazed. ‘Of course.’
Phillips held his gaze for longer than necessary. ‘And what about Friday 13th of November?’
Mountfield ventured a belligerent grunt. ‘I don’t have a photographic memory of my rota. Anyway, you obviously know the answer – so why don’t you tell me where you think I was.’
Phillips passed over the rota for that week. ‘Well, you definitely weren’t at work that night either.’
‘Well, I would have been at home with the wife then, wouldn’t I?’
Thiel continued making notes in his pad, but had yet to engage. Phillips recalled it was his tried and tested strategy: keep his powder dry until he was ready to use it.
‘Can you remember where you were on the night of Sunday 9th of December?’
Mountfield said nothing for a moment before exhaling loudly though his nose. ‘Really? Is this what you broke into my home for? Why you dragged me out of bed and upset my wife and kids?’
‘Answer the question please, DC Mountfield,’ demanded Phillips.
‘I don’t know without looking at the diary on my phone. And seeing as how you lot took that this morning, you’ll know better than me where I was.’
Phillips passed over the staffing roster for that week. ‘Well, once again I can tell you, you weren’t at work. So where were you?’
‘I’ll have been at home.’
‘And you’re sure of that?’
‘Yes,’ said Mountfield forcefully.
Phillips tilted her head to the side as she looked at him for a moment. ‘But I thought you said you couldn’t know where you were without looking at your phone?’
Mountfield flinched for the first time, a small eye twitch, but Phillips caught it. Jones scribbled something on his notepad; it looked as if he had spotted it too. ‘Er, what I meant was that if I’m not here, then I’m always at home.’
Phillips took a moment before moving on to the night Estelle Henderson was killed. The night Mountfield had pulled out of the Billy Armitage surveillance operation with severe vomiting, ‘What do you think caused you to be violently sick the night you joined Gibson on our operation?’
‘Like I told her at the time, I had tried a new kebab shack in Rusholme that lunchtime and felt nauseous all afternoon. Must have been food poisoning.’
‘So what happened after you removed yourself from the squad car?’ asked Phillips.
‘I carried on being sick.’
‘All night?’
Mountfield shook his head. ‘No. It carried on for another fifteen minutes or so, until there was nothing left to bring up.’
‘So what did you do when it finally stopped?’
‘I went home, of course.’
‘Straight home?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how did you get from Salford to Sale?’
‘I took a taxi.’
‘What kind?’
Mountfield appeared confused. ‘What do you mean, “what kind”?’
‘Did you get an Uber, a mini-cab, a black cab?’
‘Oh right, a black cab. I flagged one down.’
‘In Salford? That’s unusual, isn’t it?’
‘Not really. The driver was on his way back into town from a job in Eccles.’
‘Whereabouts did you flag it down?’
‘I don’t remember. I wasn’t paying attention – because I was very sick,’ sneered Mountfield.
Phillips’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ok. So, do you remember anything about the cab that might help us track it down.’
‘Yeah. It was black,’ Mountfield said sarcastically.
Phillips ignored the self-congratulatory grin that spread across his face. ‘What time did you get home?’
‘I have no idea. Like I said, I was sick, so I wasn’t checking the clock. I just wanted to get home and get to bed.’
‘I see. Well, we’ll need to speak to your wife to verify all this.’
Mountfield shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Be my guest.’
Phillips moved on to Chloe Barnes now. ‘Have you ever been to the Belmont estate in Salford?’
‘Of course.’
‘When was there last time you were there?’
‘I dunno. I’m SCT. We’re up there all the time.’
‘How about two nights ago?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘And you’re sure of that?’ asked Phillips.
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘So where were you two nights ago?’
‘You tell me. You’re the one with the rotas.’
Phillips produced a thin smile. It was time to change tack. ‘Do you drive a Blue Ford Mondeo for work?’
‘I drive a lot of cars.’
‘One of them being a Blue Ford Mondeo?’
‘Probably. I’m colour blind, so it could be blue, could be green.’
Phillips made a note in her pad. ‘And have you driven that same blue or green Ford Mondeo around Cheetham Hill, Miles Platting and Ancoats before.’
‘That’s SCT’s patch, so I can assume so.’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘I’m not a bloody Sat Nav, love,’ he chuckled.
Phillips stared at Mountfield for a long moment before responding. ‘I would remind you that I am the ranking officer here, and you will refer to me as DCI Phillips or Ma’am.’
Embarrassment, then anger, flashed across Mountfield’s face. It was evident he didn’t like being reprimanded by a woman.
‘How well do you know Adders Scrap Metal Merchants in Ancoats?’
Thiel was at last ready to engage. ‘What does this have to do with DC Mountfield’s arrest?’
Phillips shot him a look. ‘I assure you, it’s relevant.’
Thiel nodded before averting his eyes and making a note in his pad.
‘As I was saying, how well do you know Adders Scrap Metal Merchants in Ancoats?’ Phillips continued.
‘It’s a front for prostitution and trafficking. We’ve been watching him for over eighteen months now.’
‘And have you ever been involved in a surveillance operation of the Ancoats yard?’
‘Of course I have. I’m a Sex Crimes officer,’ he said sardonically.
‘Have you ever entered the premises of Adders Scrap Metal Merchants?’
‘I’ve interviewed Adders a few times, yeah. But he’s a slippery bastard and always has an answer for everything.’
‘I see,’ said Phillips, making another note. ‘And have you ever been out into the yard itself, amongst the vehicles?’
‘I’ve had a look around once or twice.’
Phillips changed tack again. ‘DC Mountfield, how well did you know Candice Roberts?’
‘She was a prostitute. I knew her from my work on the streets.’
‘And how about Chantelle Webster?’
‘The same.’
‘And is that how you knew Sasha Adams, Estelle Henderson and Chloe
Barnes?’
‘Yeah. They were all sex workers who we picked up from time to time, trying to clean up the streets. Not that it worked. It didn’t matter how many times those girls got arrested, they always went back to the life.’
Phillips nodded before glancing at Jones; it was time to turn the pressure up a notch. ‘DC Mountfield, did you ever use prostitutes yourself?’
Mountfield didn’t flinch. ‘No.’
‘So you never had sex with Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster, Sasha Adams, Estelle Henderson or Chloe Barnes?’
‘No. I did not.’
‘What about any of the other girls working in Cheetham Hill?’
‘I don’t need to pay for sex,’ Mountfield said, very sure of himself.
Phillips affected an expression of surprise. ‘Really? I’m glad you said that, as that’s what three other working girls have told us. That you had sex with them, but rather than pay them, you forced them into the sex in exchange for not arresting them.’
Mountfield swallowed hard. ‘They’re lying.’
‘Really, all three?’
Thiel decided to re-enter the fray. ‘DCI Phillips, do you have written statements from these women?’
Phillips kept her eyes fixed on Mountfield. ‘Not written, no—’
Thiel didn’t let her finish. ‘Well, in that case, given that DC Mountfield is a decorated officer with an unblemished record, could I respectfully ask that you keep the questions related to evidence you do actually have in your possession?’
Phillips locked her gaze on Thiel. ‘They may only be verbal statements at this stage, but if need be, I’m quite happy to send a uniformed team down to Cheetham Hill right now and have each of the girls picked up and brought back here to make their statements official. I’d rather not go through the rigmarole of all that, but unless DC Mountfield starts telling the truth, I’ll have no other option.’
‘I told you, they’re lying. All of them.’
Phillips sighed. ‘Very well. In that case, I have no choice but to pause the interview and instruct one of my officers to organise the arrest and detention of Trudy Tench, Siobhan Ferris and Nat Barker, who all claimed you forced them to have sex or face arrest.’ She stared intently at Mountfield. His left eye appeared to twitch and his lip curled a fraction at hearing the girls’ names. The cockiness ebbed away and he leaned into a whispered exchange with Thiel, who eventually nodded.
Mountfield sat upright again and cleared his throat. ‘Ok. I’ll admit, I have had sex with those girls, but they consented. There was never any quid pro quo.’
Jones decided to step in now. ‘I’m a little confused to be honest, DC Mountfield. Why would three women who charge for sex, give it to you for free?’
‘They liked me.’
‘Really?’ Phillips cut back in. ‘Because I spoke to all three girls, and each of them told me they hated having sex with you. Hated it. That you made their skin crawl. In fact, whenever they saw your car pull up, they’d all try and get out of the way.’
Hatred sparked in Mountfield’s black eyes and his face flushed red as he stared back at Phillips. ‘They’re lying, and in the end it’s their word against mine. And who do you think a jury is going to believe – a bunch of junkie whores or a decorated officer like me?’
Phillips didn’t respond and instead took her time, intently scribbling notes on her notepad for a moment before looking up at Mountfield and Thiel and feigning surprise. ‘Sorry, I was just jotting down your exact words there, “junkie whores”. Like you say, I’m sure a jury would be very interested to know how a decorated officer like yourself describes these women.’
Mountfield opened his mouth to speak, but Phillips removed a printed image from her file and placed it in front of him. ‘Do you recognise this information?’
Mountfield looked down at the page for a moment and returned to his gaze to Phillips. ‘Never seen it before.’
‘Really? It’s a number of Google searches on how cold water shock can lead to death through drowning.’ She tapped one of the images. ‘This one here even describes how it can be accelerated.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
She handed him another printout. ‘And how about this? It’s another Google search that suggests how to drown a person as quickly and quietly as possible.’
Mountfield gave the pages a cursory look. ‘And?’
Phillips passed across a document that was a quarter-inch thick, bound together down one side. ‘Maybe this lot will jog your memory. It’s over two thousand search results for violent porn, with some of the girls’ heads being held under water in the bath whilst being penetrated from behind.’ She watched his eyes bulge as he stared at the images on display in front of him. She pressed on. ‘All of this data was retrieved from your phone by the Digital Forensics team, after your arrest.’
Mountfield’s eyes shot up to meet hers. ‘This stuff isn’t mine.’
‘Well, if it’s not yours, then whose is it?’
Mountfield pointed at Phillips and Jones. ‘You lot must’ve planted it. I’m being set up.’
‘Digital Forensics don’t lie, DC Mountfield.’
Mountfield looked desperate now. ‘I don’t know where you got that stuff from, but I’m telling you, it’s not mine!’
Phillips had one last ace up her sleeve. She produced copies of ANPR printouts and placed them in front of him. ‘As you’ll see here, these are copies of images taken from ANPR cameras located in and around the Cheetham Hill, Miles Platting and Ancoats areas on the nights Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster, Sasha Adams, Estelle Henderson and Chloe Barnes were killed. Note the make, model and colour of the car: a blue Ford Mondeo.’ She passed him a registration document from the police vehicle records. ‘Just like the one used daily by Sex Crimes and Trafficking. A car that a number of eyewitnesses claim to have seen in and around those same areas in the hours leading up to each of the girls going missing.’
Mountfield remained defiant. ‘This is bullshit. Anyone could have driven that car. There’s ten of us in SCT.’
‘That’s true, but one of the girls you had sex with, Siobhan Ferris, specifically remembers the make and model of the car as a blue Ford Mondeo. She also recalls you having a police radio in the car at the time you were together physically. She said you seemed to be getting off listening to the chatter, laughing because you could do what you wanted to her and stay one step ahead of the police.’
Mountfield began to flounder as Phillips summed up the evidence against him. ‘Three different women claim to have been forced to have sex with you against their will. That’s rape, DC Mountfield and carries a long prison term. Those same women independently state they saw you driving a large blue car through Cheetham Hill at the times of the murders. A car identical to one captured on ANPR cameras driving close to the murder scenes when the girls were killed. That same car carried plates stolen from cars bought and decommissioned by Adders Scrap Metal Merchant, an organisation you admit you had access to on a number of occasions, meaning it would have been easy for you to pick up the fake plates without anyone noticing.’
Phillips placed her hand flat on the printouts of the internet searches. ‘Added to that, your mobile phone is filled with pornography focused on violence against women and, in particular, women who it appears are being drowned during sexual assaults by men. Plus, you have multiple searches on how cold water shock kills – and can be accelerated – as well as a guide on how to drown people quickly and quietly. And finally, you say your alibi for each of the murders is your wife, but so far you cannot recall the specific details of what you were doing on any of the nights each of the girls died. In fact, I’m pretty confident that when we dig into your actual whereabouts, we’ll find you weren’t home with your wife at all.’
Mountfield appeared lost for words.
Phillips went in for the kill. ‘DC Mountfield, did you kill Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster, Sasha Adams, Estelle Henderson and Chloe Barnes?’
&n
bsp; Thiel touched Mountfield’s wrist and drew him into another whispered exchange for a long moment. Eventually Mountfield nodded and turned his attention back to Phillips. He glared at her, hatred brimming from every pore. ‘No comment.’
39
Phillips arrived for her five o’clock briefing and took a seat in Fox’s office as instructed by the chief super’s PA. Apparently she was on her way back from a meeting with the mayor of Manchester, and only a few moments away.
Looking around the space, she noted the self-congratulatory ‘wall of achievement’ behind Fox’s enormous smoked-glass desk and tan leather power chair, where a host of framed photographs depicted the chief super shaking hands with a wide range of dignitaries and celebrities, most likely taken at various charity events. The largest and most prominent space, in the middle of the wall, was dedicated to an image of her clutching her Manchester Hero award outside the Town Hall, her Cheshire Cat grin fixed across her face. Phillips marvelled at the contrast of her smile to the blackness of her eyes, and was reminded of the adage, ‘The eyes are the window to the soul.’ She nodded to herself as she considered what that meant in Fox’s case; a dark soul to match her black eyes. Phillips was also struck by the way in which Fox presented herself to the outside world versus the reality; in public, a wholesome, honest copper dedicated to catching villains. Behind closed doors, widely regarded as a narcissistic sociopath, obsessed with her own progression and power within the GMP. It was no secret that she and the chief constable did not get on. He believed she wanted his job, and she was convinced she could do it better.
The door behind her opened and Fox strode in. ‘DCI Phillips.’ Fox sounded agitated as she stomped across the room before dropping into the seat behind her desk. It was obvious she was in no mood for pleasantries. ‘So what have you got on Mountfield?’
Phillips opened the case file on the desk and over the next ten minutes walked Fox through everything she had presented to Mountfield and Thiel earlier that morning. When she was finished, Fox remained silent, staring at the images and documents before her. When she eventually spoke, her agitation appeared to have increased. ‘So it’s just bloody circumstantial then?’
