by OMJ Ryan
Mountfield looked confused. ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’
‘I’m just wondering how much you paid for the taxi that night. It’s a twenty-minute drive from Langworthy Terrace to your house in Sale. In a black cab, that wouldn’t have been cheap.’
He puffed out, rattling his lips. ‘It was about thirty quid, I think.’
‘You don’t remember?’
Mountfield’s frustration was evident. ‘No I don’t. I was sick and I just wanted to get to bed. To be honest, the way I was feeling, I’d’ve paid whatever was necessary to get home that night.’
‘And did you pay cash or card?’
‘Cash.’
Phillips forced a thin smile. ‘That’s a shame. We could have at least traced a card payment.’
‘I don’t trust those machines; especially not in taxis.’
‘In that case, can you tell us anything else about the cab that might help us track it down? After all, it’d really help backup your story of what happened that night.’
‘No. Like I said, I was sick.’
Phillips decided to switch focus. ‘We’ve spoken to your wife about the nights Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster, Sasha Adams and Chloe Barnes were all killed. She confirms you were at home on each of those evenings.’
‘Which means you have no case, Inspector,’ Thiel jumped in.
Mountfield’s triumphant grin returned and he reclined in his chair.
Phillips turned to look at Thiel. ‘I’m afraid you’re wrong. You see, Mrs Mountfield did confirm DC Mountfield was at home on the dates in question. However, she also admitted that her husband was out of the house on each of those nights, sometimes for up to two hours at a time, walking the dog.’ Phillips produced a printout of a Google map with a route marked in blue from Mountfield’s address in Sale through to Cheetham Hill. ‘As you can see from this map, it’s a twenty-seven-minute drive from your house to where the girls were killed, which would mean you would have enough time to get there, pick up the girls, drown them in the canal and get home.’
Thiel snorted. ‘Really, Inspector. You’re reaching now.’
‘Am I? We’ll just have to see what a jury has to say, won’t we? With DC Mountfield’s cast-iron alibi now looking distinctly unstable, plus what we took from his phone, the ANPR cameras and eyewitness statements, it doesn’t look good.’
‘Your confidence is unwarranted,’ Thiel volleyed back, ‘and if I’m honest, an obvious charade, Chief Inspector. Everyone in this room knows the CPS will never sanction charges on the evidence you have presented up to now.’
Phillips held his gaze and adopted her best poker face. He was right, of course, but they had planned for this. Now it was time for Gibson to take the lead. Phillips gave her the signal.
Gibson appeared nervous at first. Her neck had flushed under her collar, and when she spoke, her tongue clicked against her dry palate. ‘Don, what’s been going on with these girls? Have you really been sleeping with them?’
Mountfield seemed surprised and a little embarrassed by the question. ‘God, not you ’n’ all. I thought you’d be on my side.’
‘Come on, Don. We’ve been working together for over five years. I’m entitled to ask.’
‘So I slept with a few hookers. Big deal.’
‘The report says you offered leniency in exchange for sex with Trudy, Siobhan and Nat.’
‘So what?’
All nerves seemed to vanish now. Gibson recoiled in her seat, her mouth falling open. ‘So what? Jesus, Don, we’ve worked those streets together for years. We were supposed to help them get out of the life, not push them further into it.’
‘Oh, piss off with your holier-than-thou routine. You’re no angel.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You know what I’m talking about.’
Gibson stared at him unflinching. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Mountfield unfolded his arms and appeared uncertain of what he was going to say next.
‘Come on, Don. Explain to me why I’m no angel,’ demanded Gibson.
‘It doesn’t matter, just leave it.’
‘No, Don, I won’t leave it. What did you mean? I’d like to know.’
Mountfield scoffed. ‘Well you can’t deny you’re a regular in those dodgy clubs, can you?’
Gibson looked confused. ‘What dodgy clubs?’
‘Those sex clubs in the village. I’ve seen you going into them when you think no one is watching.’
‘You mean gay clubs?’
‘Call ’em what you like. They’re nothing more than brothels. You’re no different to me.’
Gibson let out an ironic chuckle. ‘I’m nothing like you, Don. Yes I go to gay clubs…because I’m gay. And there’s nothing sordid about them at all. They’re just nightclubs, and visiting them is completely legal.’
‘How can you say that when we’ve arrested people outside them for having sex on the streets.’
‘Yes. Outside. That didn’t happen inside the clubs. And if I’m off duty, unless someone is being attacked or in danger, I’ll leave people to do whatever makes them happy. That’s what life in the village is all about.’
Mountfield had the look of a petulant child. ‘Whatever.’
Phillips refocused the interview. ‘Can we get back to the matter in hand please?’
Gibson took her cue. ‘So did you sleep with Candice?’
‘No.’
‘What about Chantelle and Sasha?’
‘Nope.’
‘And Estelle and Chloe? Do you deny having sex with them too?’
‘I do.’
‘So why did Trudy, Siobhan and Nat all say you did?’
‘Because they’re liars and don’t like the fact I’ve arrested them before for hooking. They’ll say anything to get back at me.’
Gibson looked down at her notes for a moment, then back at Mountfield. ‘But in your earlier interview with DCI Phillips and DS Jones, you said they liked you Don. That’s why they gave you sex for free.’
Mountfield stuttered. ‘E-e-er, yeah. They did.’
‘They liked you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, if they liked you enough to give you free sex, why would they say you had been sleeping with Candice and the other girls – as a way to get back at you?’
Mountfield was caught in his own lie.
Gibson looked him dead in the eye. ‘Tell me the truth, Don. You did have sex with Candice, Sasha and the others, didn’t you?’
Thiel touched Mountfield’s wrist, signalling for him not to answer. His scrawny face was matched by his thin, nasal tones. ‘I feel like we’re going over old ground here, Sergeant. DC Mountfield has been very clear on the matter. He did not have sex with either Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster, Sasha Adams or Chloe Barnes, and without their testimony – which for obvious reasons is no longer available – you can’t prove whether he did or didn’t. The truth is that the claims of three drug-addicted sex workers is unlikely to satisfy the CPS enough to bring charges against DC Mountfield. So, unless you have anything new to discuss regarding your case, it would seem like we’ve exhausted all avenues connecting him with the canal deaths. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Phillips remained poker-faced. ‘We still have nine hours to hold DC Mountfield for questioning. So I’ll be the one to decide when all avenues have been exhausted.’
Thiel produced a crooked smile. ‘Ok. So what else would you like to ask DC Mountfield, Chief Inspector?’
The truth was, she had nothing left. Their whole strategy had been based on Gibson luring Mountfield into an exchange, hoping he would make a mistake and trip himself up. She had almost done it, too, when she caught him in a lie, but Thiel had spotted it and closed down that line of questioning. They had played their hand and failed. The opportunity had been missed.
Phillips did her best to appear confident and in control, when inside she was reeling. Mountfield and Thiel had beaten them. Unless
something miraculous happened before 7 a.m. tomorrow, Mountfield would not only be a free man – unless Fox was willing to sanction action on the sex-abuse claims – he’d be back on the force as if nothing had happened. Sure, he would likely be transferred out of Sex Crimes, but he would still be a copper, and that killed Phillips.
It was time to take a break and regroup. Maybe one of the watching team had spotted something she and Gibson had missed. Something; anything that would prove Mountfield was the killer.
After closing the interview and making their excuses, Phillips and Gibson joined Entwistle, Jones and Bovalino back in the observation suite.
‘You almost had him there, Gibbo,’ said Jones.
‘I know. I could feel him losing track of his story, but Thiel was too bloody quick.’
Phillips dropped the case file on the desk next to the wall and took a seat. ‘Mountfield has an answer for everything.’
‘And Thiel has enough for both of them,’ Jones agreed.
Phillips let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I told you we’d have to box clever with him. The reality is, we’ve got tons of evidence to implicate Mountfield in these murders, but nothing whatsoever that can prove he was actually involved in anything.’
‘I’m sorry, Guv. I wasn’t much use to you in the end,’ said Gibson.
Phillips waved her off. ‘Don’t be daft, Gibbo. It was always going to be a long shot. Any police rep with Thiel’s experience could have seen what we were trying to do.’
Gibson dropped into a chair and spun round to look at the big screen, on which they could see Mountfield standing next to the custody sergeant, ready for the short walk back to his cell. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse; knowing that I’ve been working with a sex predator all this time, or the fact I didn’t see it.’
‘They’re predators for a reason, Gibbo: they know how to hide,’ Bovalino observed.
‘Thanks, Bov, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s like I said to the Guv before, I knew he liked the girls and was a bit of a misogynist, but I never thought he was dangerous. I mean, he used to grow his own tomatoes, for God’s sake, just like my grandad. He’d bring them in by the bucket-load for the team to take home.’
‘First rule of being a murder detective, Gibbo,’ Jones joked, pretending to dig a hole, ‘Always look for the guy with the shovel.’
The team laughed loudly. At times like this, when the pressure was almost crippling and results weren’t going your way, black humour was the only antidote.
Gibson watched the monitor as Mountfield left Interview Room Three under escort, before standing. ‘I could do with stretching my legs. Anyone want a coffee?’
A chorus of ‘yes’s filled the small room, but Phillips remained silent, her gaze fixed in front of her.
‘Guv, do you want a coffee?’ asked Gibson again.
‘What?’
‘I’m gonna sort some coffees. Do you want one?’
Phillips shook her head. ‘Where did he grow the tomatoes?’
A wall of confused faces stared back at her. ‘You feeling all right, Guv?’ asked Jones.
Phillips stood now. ‘Never mind how I feel, where did he grow the tomatoes?’
‘In his garden, I’d guess,’ said Bovalino.
‘That’s just it. He lives in a flat. He doesn’t have a garden, or a yard, or a balcony.’
Gibson’s face seemed to light up. ‘Jesus, Guv. He’s got an allotment.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. He told me once but I can't remember. Maybe somewhere in Sale?’
‘That’s where he’s been going at night. And that’s where we’ll find our evidence.’
42
With limited time before Mountfield was due to be released, Phillips decided to split up the team. It made sense for Entwistle, Jones and Bovalino to remain at Ashton House to take a second look at the digital forensic data for anything that would link Mountfield to the murders. Jones and Bovalino concentrated on ANPR and CCTV footage whilst Entwistle once again reviewed all the evidence collected from the laptop and mobile phone.
Whilst they were doing that, Phillips and Gibson had made the thirty-minute journey to Sale, where they woke Mrs Mountfield for the second night in a row. This time it was to secure the location of her husband’s allotment. As expected, she wasn’t happy about the intrusion, and at first had refused to help, but thanks to their shared history, Gibson managed to convince Mrs Mountfield it was in her husband’s interests to help. Still reluctant, she had eventually given up his plot number and its location. During the conversation, she let it slip that Mountfield had a shed up there too.
Back in the car, with Phillips driving to the Riddings Hall Allotments in Timperley, they discussed the evidence so far.
‘In the interview, Guv, you mentioned the fact he could have killed the girls when he was allegedly walking the dog. Do you believe that?’
‘When I was presenting it to him, I really thought so. But as time has gone on, I hate to say it, I’m starting to think Thiel might have a point. It does feel like a stretch for him to drive thirty minutes into town, find a girl, drive her to the canal, kill her, then drive home.’
‘So if everything else we have is circumstantial, do the timings then rule him out as a viable suspect then?’
Phillips was reluctant to consider that an option. It had to be Mountfield. All the evidence suggested he was the killer, even if they couldn’t prove it. ‘Let’s see what the allotment has to offer. Hopefully we’ll find some answers there.’
They drove in silence for a long moment, passing house after house covered in the neon glow of Christmas lights left on overnight by their proud owners. Phillips imagined the families tucked up in bed inside, the children dreaming of Santa’s arrival in just over a week’s time. It was an image of Christmas she had never really experienced, growing up in Hong Kong, especially as her mother and father had seemed to view the whole festive period as a massive inconvenience.
As the car slowed and she pulled left off Washway Road onto Eastway, they discovered an incredible front garden display of lights depicting a life-size laughing Santa driving his sleigh with a full complement of reindeers up front. A neon sign flashed the words, ‘Santa’s little helpers.’ Gibson had noticed it too, and repeated the words out loud with a half chuckle. ‘Santa’s little helpers. Some people just love Christmas, don’t they?’
Phillips didn’t answer, her mind suddenly awash with a new possibility. She came to a sudden stop and turned to Gibson. ‘That’s it. That’s how he did it.’
Gibson appeared confused. ‘What is?’
‘What if Mountfield wasn’t working alone? What if he had someone helping him?’
‘Do you think that’s possible, Guv?’
‘It would certainly explain how he managed to keep them in the water, wouldn’t it? I’ve always wondered why the girls didn’t just swim to the other side. Well, if he had an accomplice stood on the opposite bank blocking their escape, there’s no way the girls would be able to climb out. They’d be forced to stay in the ice-cold water until the shock took hold and they drowned.’
Gibson nodded. ‘But what about the dog, Guv? What did he do with the dog during that time?’
‘He locks it up somewhere out of the way with no lights, passers-by or surrounding homes. Sound familiar?’
Gibson’s eyes widened. ‘His allotment.’
‘Exactly.’ Phillips searched for Entwistle’s number on the in-car display and hit dial.
‘Guv. Is everything ok?’
‘All good. The Sat Nav says we’re a couple of minutes away from Mountfield’s allotment.’
‘Shall we head over and help you with the search?’
‘No, I think we’ve got this one covered. It’s a pretty small space. But I do need you to do something else for me, urgently.’
‘How can I help, Guv?’
‘I want you to check the ANPR cameras again on the night of each murder. Specifically, around the street
s where the girls’ bodies were found in Ancoats and Miles Platting.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Any vehicles that were seen driving to the locations of the bodies before and after the time of death.’
‘But didn’t we already do that, Guv?’
‘Yes, but we were looking for vehicles driving from Cheetham Hill to Ancoats and Miles Platting. I want you to look specifically for any car or van that drove directly to and from the locations only.’
‘Ok, Guv. What you thinking with this?’
‘That Mountfield might have had an accomplice. Someone who helped him drown the girls in the canal.’
‘God. I never thought of that.’
‘None of us did. Serial killers generally work alone, and with so much evidence pointing to Mountfield, why would we think he had a partner?’
‘So what made you think of it now?’
‘Santa.’
‘Hey?’
‘I’ll explain when we have more time. Let me know as soon as you have anything, ok?’
‘Sure thing.’
Phillips ended the call. She then checked Google Maps on her phone to get an aerial view of the terrain. ‘It says the allotments should be just down here. This road only goes so far, then it’s a dirt track through to the plots.’
Slipping the car in gear, she moved the car forwards, filled with a mixture of adrenaline and anticipation at what they would find in Mountfield’s shed, just moments away.
43
Driving under full-beam headlights, the squad car pitched and rolled along the dirt track as Phillips navigated her way through a maze of large ice-covered potholes. As they moved closer to the allotment entrance, the car hit a big patch of ice. Instinctively Phillips applied the brakes. It was the wrong thing to do, and they skidded towards the heavy wooden fence running around the perimeter of the allotments. By yanking on the handbrake and pulling the steering wheel into the skid, Phillips was able to regain control, bringing the car to a stop a split second before it crunched into the fence. ‘Jesus. That was close,’ she said.
Gibson pulled up the collar of her coat. ‘Probably best to walk from here, Guv.’
