Deadly Waters

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Regarding Mountfield’s whereabouts at the time of the murders, yes, but Jones and Bovalino have spoken to his wife, who admitted that even when he’s home, he usually takes their dog for a walk. It’s a Siberian Husky, so he can be gone for up to two hours. That’s more than enough time to drive to Cheetham Hill and commit the murders.’

  ‘True. But what does he do with the dog if that’s the case? It’s not what you’d call a discreet breed, is it?’

  ‘Maybe he leaves it tied up somewhere or gets a mate to walk it?’

  Fox appeared unimpressed, so Phillips drew her attention to the documents they’d found on Mountfield’s phone. ‘This stuff will paint a pretty grim picture in court, Ma’am; how to drown people quickly and quietly; how to accelerate cold water shock. Violent pornography depicting women being drowned.'

  ‘A grim picture of what, though? A guy who gets off watching women being screwed in the bath?’

  ‘It’s a lot more than that, Ma’am.’

  ‘Is it, though? In today’s world, I don’t agree. This stuff is all over the internet, and downloading it is not illegal.’

  ‘Well, it certainly puts him in the frame for the girls’ deaths. Why else would he be looking at how to drown women?’

  ‘Because, as the pornography attests to, he likes to see women with their heads in the bath, being screwed roughly from behind. Nothing more than that.’

  ‘Ok. Even if that is the case, we still have him for abusing his position as an officer of the law to solicit sex by force. That alone means jail time, Ma’am.’

  ‘Inspector, the last thing the force needs right now is our reputation being sullied by a randy copper who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Whether we like it or not, the harsh truth of the matter is, the public don’t care about his victims. Sex workers being forced to have sex is considered, by many, an occupational hazard. Plus, it’ll be his word against theirs in court. And we all know what juries think of prostitutes. We’ll never get a conviction.’

  ‘With respect, Ma’am, we can’t just let him go.’

  Fox was angry now. ‘I’m well aware of that, Inspector. In fact, I’ve just spent the last two hours with the mayor droning on at me about how disappointed he is that we’re yet to make a breakthrough on the canal death cases. He’s particularly upset that Don Townsend has now made the whole thing public in his disgusting rag of a newspaper. When I sanctioned this investigation, you promised me you’d make rapid progress. So far, you’ve delivered nothing.’

  Phillips bit her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to remind Fox that it was she who’d pushed for the investigation in the first place, and if she hadn’t, then the press coverage would have been a whole lot worse. However, it was pointless arguing; Fox was infamous for re-writing history to suit her own needs.

  ‘We still have fourteen hours to hold him on the murders,’ said Phillips, ‘and if we need to, we can buy ourselves a further twenty-four hours by arresting him tomorrow morning on the sex charges.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Fox’s eyes glazed over. She appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, before turning her attention back to Phillips. ‘That said, though, ultimately – and for all the reasons we’ve already discussed – I’m reluctant to arrest him for the sex stuff. Which means, Inspector, the grim reality for you is, you have thirty-eight hours to solicit a conviction from Mountfield or let him go.’

  Phillips pushed her feet into the floor and clenched her toes inside her shoes in a desperate attempt to ground herself, to fend off the raw anger and frustration rising in her gut. She wanted to scream but, remembering her therapist’s advice, breathed deeply and managed to remain in control; just. Sure, she wanted Mountfield for the murders, but if there was no conclusive way to prove he was responsible for the girls’ deaths, then they at least had him on the hook for abusing his position as an officer. And, with a bit more work from Phillips and her team, the CPS could potentially push for rape charges. However, it appeared Fox was more interested in preserving the reputation of the force than protecting a whole community of women based solely on how they earned their living. Mountfield was a predator. If he was allowed back on the streets, Phillips knew, without a doubt, he would abuse again.

  Fox handed the case file back to Phillips. ‘So it appears there’s no time to waste, Inspector. You’d better hurry back down to interrogation and get that confession, hadn’t you?’

  Phillips took the file and stood. ‘Yes Ma’am.’

  ‘You understand how important this case is to the reputation of the GMP, don’t you, Inspector?’

  Phillips nodded. ‘Of course, Ma’am.’ The words stuck in her throat.

  Fox’s fake smile returned, but her eyes remained menacing. ‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other, Jane.’

  ‘Yes Ma’am.’

  Fox waved her away. ‘Right. I have a function to prepare for this evening. Dismissed.’

  40

  Phillips headed to the rear exit of Ashton House in need of some air; the colder the better, or she feared she would explode with rage. Once again she had found herself on the end of an unwarranted bollocking for not delivering a result to Fox’s timeline; a result that less than a week ago was of zero importance to the chief superintendent. The duplicity of the woman was incredible and, not for the first time, Phillips wondered why she put herself through so much shit each and every day, working for yet another political animal. It was almost as if she attracted them. Or – she was forced to consider – was it that her own methods and values were hopelessly out of touch with modern policing? Had her goals of bringing criminals to justice and protecting the innocent been usurped by selfish career-focused coppers hell-bent on their own advancement?

  Stepping out into the dark rear car park, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to clear her head. Standing alone under the night sky, she could hear the faint sound of Dean Martin singing ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ floating out from one of the open windows above her. She listened for a moment, taking in the lyrics. The words brought Chantelle Webster’s mother and father to mind, and their devastation at losing their daughter so unexpectedly. She then thought of Chantelle’s little boy Ajay, growing up without his mum. Her stomach churned at the pain that had descended on that household just a few weeks before Christmas, at a time when family was at the centre of everything. Feeling their pain in her gut as if it were her own, the guilt weighed heavy knowing Chantelle’s killer could potentially be set free. In that moment, she was reminded of why she became a copper in the first place, why staying true to her values was so important. Innocent people needed Phillips and her team to protect them, to care about their loved ones. To go the extra mile, to resist the urge to let people off just because it might make the police look bad.

  Re-energised, and with renewed determination, she headed back inside. Somehow, she needed to get Mountfield to admit to his crimes.

  Striding into the incident room, she spied Gibson sitting at her desk. She looked troubled, a thousand-yard stare locked across her face. Phillips walked over to her. ‘Penny for your thoughts, Gibbo?’

  Gibson appeared startled, blinking back into focus. ‘Sorry, Guv. I was miles away.’

  Phillips took a seat at one of the empty desks. ‘Where are the lads?’

  ‘In the canteen getting some food. Ahead of a long night, I guess.’

  ‘You didn’t fancy joining them?’

  Gibson’s eyes were filled with sadness. ‘I’ve got no appetite.’

  ‘It’s tough when you find out someone you trusted isn’t what you thought they were. I know that better than most.’

  Gibson sighed. ‘Look, I always knew Mountfield had a bit of a roving eye and fancied some of the girls, but I would never have imagined he was forcing them to have sex with him. I mean, he has two daughters of his own. I never believed a father could act like that. And he’s such a normal bloke. There’s nothing exceptional about him at all.’

  ‘They’re often the ones you hav
e to watch. People with low self-esteem, and in many cases emasculated. What’s his wife like?’

  Gibson smiled. ‘Actually, she’s quite sweet. Very down to earth and really caring. She would often make cakes and pastries that Mountfield would share around the office. She’s involved in the local church and dotes on the twins.’

  ‘Maybe she’s too nice in that case?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know, some men like a bit of danger. Judging by Mountfield’s pornography of choice, your description of Mrs Mountfield doesn’t seem to match his taste in violent sex, does it?’

  Gibson shook her head as Phillips fixed her with a steely glare. ‘I really need you to help me get Mountfield’s confession.’

  Gibson stared back for a long moment. ‘I can’t, Guv.’

  ‘Tell me why. What’s stopping you, now you know what he’s capable of?’

  ‘I know he’s abused his position to have unlawful sex, but I’m really struggling to see him as a killer. What if he’s right and he is being set up? You know what that’s like; it happened to you, after all.’

  Phillips had to admit, what Gibson was saying was true; she herself had been set up during the Michaels investigation by a chief constable looking to discredit her after she uncovered his corruption. It almost cost her her career, and nearly killed her. However, the circumstances here seemed very different, especially given Trudy, Siobhan and Nat’s recollections of the abuse they had suffered at his hands.

  ‘Guv, I want to help the team, I really do. I’m happy to work with the girls to get him on the sex charges. But murder? If we’re wrong and he didn’t kill those girls, I couldn’t live with myself.’

  ‘Fox isn’t looking to prosecute the sex charges.’

  Gibson was incredulous. ‘What? Why on earth not?’

  ‘Because we don’t have any physical evidence, and it’s Mountfield’s word against that of three sex workers. She believes a jury will never convict him and it’d drag the GMP through the mud unnecessarily. So, we either get him on the murders or he walks.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘That’s politics, I’m afraid.’

  It was obvious Mountfield knew how to play the game, but Gibson knew him better than most. Phillips believed she was probably their best chance of pulling out a confession, so kept on pushing her. ‘In these situations, when you’re conflicted, I believe there are two things you can do to get clarity.’

  Gibson appeared hopeful. ‘And what are they, Guv?’

  ‘Well, firstly, you look at all the evidence. In Mountfield’s case, we have three women claiming that he was, to all intents and purposes, raping them on a weekly basis, using his privileged position as a police officer to remove their ability to say no. Then there’s the fact that, even though he claims to have been at home at the time of the attacks, his wife says he was out walking the dog for hours when each girl was killed – giving him plenty of opportunity. We also believe that whoever murdered Estelle Henderson likely had inside knowledge of the police, and in particular of our operation to follow Billy Armitage. An operation he conveniently removed himself from moments before it was about to start.’

  ‘Yeah, I know that. To be fair, though, I was sat next to him and he was projectile vomiting. He couldn’t have faked that.’

  Phillips raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? I’ve seen it done before. It happened to one of the victims in the Cheadle Murder cases. All it takes are a few eyedrops in a drink and you can induce violent vomiting.’

  ‘Jesus. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah. Just ask Chakrabortty. In that case, the victim had ingested the eyedrops in chocolates sent by the killer. You can read the details in the post mortem report for Ricky Murray. And let’s not forget, when you started the pursuit of Armitage, you left him vomiting in the car park. But when a uniformed team went looking for him half an hour later, he’d miraculously disappeared, conveniently flagging down a black cab – a vehicle we’ve been unable to find any trace of on the ANPR cameras in that area at that time.’

  Phillips’s words appeared to be landing with Gibson, so she pressed on. ‘And on top of that, his mobile phone is packed with images of women being violated, effectively being drowned during violent sex acts. Plus, he made a large quantity of Google searches on how to drown women quickly and quietly, and the best way to accelerate cold water shock. I mean, you just have to look at the post mortem results for each of the girls; death from drowning, likely brought on by cold water shock.’

  Gibson leaned forwards and placed her face in her hands for a moment.

  ‘Let’s not forget, Siobhan Ferris identified Mountfield as driving a blue Ford Mondeo when he had sex with her – one fitted with a police radio. Not to mention, Mountfield had access to the scrap yard where the rogue plates were stolen from. Do you really believe that’s all a matter of coincidence?’

  Gibson dropped her hands. ‘You don’t believe in coincidences do you, Guv?’

  ‘No, I bloody don’t. I believe in evidence – and all the evidence, even though it may be circumstantial at this stage, points to Mountfield as the killer.’

  ‘So why kill Roberts, Webster and the rest, but then leave the Trudy and the others alone?’

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t finished. Maybe they’re next.’

  Gibson digested Phillips’s words. ‘You said there were two things to look at in a case like this, Guv. What’s the other?’

  Phillips sat back and placed both hands on her stomach. ‘This, Gibbo. Listen to your gut. It’s never wrong.’

  Gibson nodded.

  ‘So, what is your gut telling you?’

  Gibson sat in silence for a moment before responding. ‘That he’s a bad man and we need to stop him from hurting any more girls.’

  ‘In that case, Gibbo, please help me get a confession.’

  Gibson took a long time to answer. ‘Ok Guv. I will. If he did kill those girls, I can’t sit back and let him walk. I have to do everything I can to prove he’s the killer.’

  Phillips let out a relieved sigh. ‘Thank God for that. It won’t be easy, but it’d be a damn sight more difficult without you, Gibbo.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Let’s round up the troops and get back in front of him. Every second counts on this one.’

  41

  With Entwistle, Jones and Bovalino watching from the observation suite, Phillips entered Interview Room Three alone and took a seat opposite Mountfield, who once again sat next to Thiel. Mountfield’s hair was flat and messy on one side from where he had slept on it, and he was in need of a shave. He fixed his gaze on Phillips, who noted an involuntary snarl of agitation flicker under his nose. She said nothing for a long moment, instead placing her case file on the table and making notes on her pad. It was all part of their carefully planned interrogation strategy. Right on cue, Gibson knocked on the door and entered. Mountfield appeared shocked. Gibson flashed him a warm smile and asked if he was ok as she passed him a hot mug of tea. ‘Two sugars, as usual.’

  Mountfield smiled and took a noisy slurp.

  ‘This is all a bit of mess isn’t it, mate?’ said Gibson.

  ‘It’s bullshit is what it is, Gibbo. Total bullshit.’

  Phillips took a moment to go through the formalities of using the DIR, and a few minutes later they restarted the interview. ‘DC Mountfield, I’d like to go back to the night you were due to take part in the surveillance of Billy Armitage. You claimed you pulled out of the operation due to severe sickness—’

  ‘I don’t claim, it’s a fact. I was chucking my guts up. Gibbo will back me up, won’t you?’

  Gibson looked at Phillips. ‘He’s correct, Ma’am. I saw it for myself – he was very, very poorly.’

  ‘See. I told you,’ said Mountfield, grinning as he folded his arms in triumph.

  Phillips ignored him and continued. ‘Ok. So, after you left the car driven by DS Gibson, what happened?’

  Thiel cut in now. ‘DC Mountfield has explained all of this, Inspecto
r.’

  ‘Yes, and I’d like him to explain it again. So, if you don’t mind, please tell us again what happened after you left the car?’

  ‘I continued to throw up for about fifteen minutes, then got a cab home.’

  ‘And where did you pick up the cab?’

  ‘Like I said before, I flagged one down from the street.’

  ‘Which street was that?’

  ‘I dunno. The nearest main road to Armitage’s place.’

  Phillips flicked through her notes until she found what she was looking for. ‘That would be Langworthy Terrace?’

  Mountfield shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘And the cab took you straight home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time did you get to your house?’

  ‘I can’t recall.’

  Phillips looked down at the notes Jones had made during his interview with Mrs Mountfield. ’I understand your wife wasn’t at home that night?’

  ‘No, she was up at her mother’s with the kids.’

  ‘And where does her mother live?’

  ‘Darlington.’

  ‘Does she spend a lot of time away from home?’

  ‘She goes up once a month; wants the girls to be as close to their North East family as they are to their Manchester grandparents and cousins.’

  ‘So when they go to Darlington, they leave you at home alone?’

  ‘I have the dog.’

  Phillips checked her notes again. ‘A Siberian Husky?’

  Mountfield nodded.

  ‘What’s its name?’

  ‘He’s called Zeus.’

  Phillips looked taken aback. ‘Father of the gods. Are you a fan of Greek mythology?’

  ‘Not really. There was a character called Higgins in the TV show Magnum P.I. years ago. He had a Doberman called Zeus. I’ve always liked it.’

  Phillips smiled and made a note in her pad. ‘How much was the cab ride?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much did you pay for the taxi ride home?’