by Bill Kitson
‘And what was significant about the article?’ Nash prompted.
‘My wife spotted it. It was the date of the murder that drew her attention to it. We knew Graham. He was a regular at the club we used to go to, appearing as Dickie Donut, of course. Anyway, we went to Leeds one Wednesday afternoon. That was in the days when I could afford a half-day closing. We planned to get engaged, and we were going to choose a ring. We decided to make a night of it, and so we went to that posh Italian restaurant that all the Leeds United footballers used to frequent. Anyway, there was Dickie Donut, only two tables away. He was with another man, someone I didn’t recognize, so we didn’t make ourselves known. To be honest’ — he smiled reminiscently — ‘we had other things on our mind. Anyway, we didn’t think anything more about it, until my wife read out that bit from the paper. It was the account of a trial, as I recall, although she’d remember the details better than me. Two men had been accused of murdering someone in Bishopton. Dickie gave evidence that he’d seen them in Helmsdale — the same evening as he was in that restaurant in Leeds. His testimony caused the prosecution case to collapse, according to my wife. She’s an expert,’ he confided, ‘watches all those cop things on telly. If he could be in two places at once, that would be a far better talent than he had on stage, I can tell you.’
‘And you’re absolutely certain that it was the same night?’
‘Positive. I mean, you don’t forget the date you get engaged, do you?’
‘Not usually,’ Clara agreed.
Nash didn’t appear to be listening. After a moment or two’s silence, he looked at the shopkeeper. ‘Can you remember the victim’s name?’ he asked.
The shop owner shook his head. ‘I might, if someone mentioned it, but my wife would certainly know it.’
‘Could the name have been Stanton?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, that’s it. Definitely.’
They thanked him and left the shop. Once outside, Clara grabbed Nash’s arm. ‘Come on, Mike, spill the beans. What do you know about this?’
‘Toni Chandler and I were talking about Stanton’s murder only last week.’
‘That seems a weird topic of conversation to have with your fitness trainer.’
‘It came about because she was telling me about her first job, over in Bishopton. She found a body in the swimming pool one morning. The inquest ruled it as suicide, but she reckons the man was murdered.’
‘How does that connect to this man Stanton?’
They climbed into the car and Nash explained about the boxer, the events leading up to his death, and Toni’s doubts regarding the verdict. ‘The point is, the investigating officer for the boxer’s case was Hoyland, and if Stanton was killed in Bishopton, Hoyland would’ve been in charge of that case too.’
‘That’s interesting, but I still don’t see how it links us to the other victims.’
Neither did Nash, at that point, unaware that within a few hours Pearce would provide the connection. And, in doing so, stretch Nash’s renowned theory about coincidence almost to breaking point.
As they continued the drive back to Helmsdale, Mironova suggested, ‘Why don’t we visit the leisure centre?’
Nash took his eyes off the road for a second and looked at her suspiciously. ‘Why should we do that?’
‘We need to get that alibi confirmed, and as we’re passing the door, it seems the easiest way to do it. Besides, if I ask the questions, it might make things a little less awkward for you. Also, given the way those burglaries were carried out, there can’t be that many people with the skill to perform acrobatic feats like that. A fellow athlete is bound to know more than we do about potential candidates.’
‘That’s good thinking, Clara.’
They were fortunate, catching Toni just before she ended her lunch break. Nash introduced Mironova, and added, ‘I’ll let DS Mironova explain.’
Clara had been eyeing Toni with interest, and was intrigued to see that she was also being subjected to a similar scrutiny. She told Toni what they needed to rule her out. Rather than being offended by the implication, she seemed amused by it. She had no hesitation in going to her locker and removing the ticket stub for the Manchester Arena event, plus the hotel receipt and a handful of receipts from various shops for them to inspect.
When it came to alternative suspects, however, she had little help to offer. ‘I can’t think of anyone capable of carrying out those burglaries the way you describe them, but I’d have to see the premises to judge how tricky it might be.’
Chapter Thirteen
On Tuesday afternoon, Nash was surprised when Pearce strolled into the CID suite. ‘I thought you were tied up with that intent-to-supply case. Have you given your evidence already?’
‘No, we’ve been given at least the rest of the week off,’ Pearce told him. ‘They’ve promised to call me when the case resumes. One of the jurors was taken ill, and they’re concerned they might have to scrap the whole thing and start again with a fresh panel. I’ve still got to give my evidence, which makes it even more frustrating, if anything. They can’t simply swear in another jury member, because some of the evidence has already been heard.’
Pearce shook his head sorrowfully. ‘To be honest, starting again with a fresh jury might turn out to be the best solution.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe the juror’s illness is contagious, and will infect the rest of them. I’ve never seen such a motley crew. They talk about jury selection, but that lot are more like pick-and-mix, or a lucky dip. I can’t see how you can gather twelve people together with such widely differing backgrounds, attitudes, and interests and expect them to agree a verdict. They have absolutely nothing in common with each other, judging by what I can see . . .’ His voice tailed off, as he and Nash stared at one another.
Across the room, Andrews and Mironova looked up from the documents they had been studying, their attention drawn by the sudden silence. Then, as they digested what Pearce had said, realization dawned in the implication of his last sentence.
‘People with absolutely nothing in common,’ Nash spoke slowly, repeating what Pearce had said, ‘like Georgina Drake, Henry Maitland, Richard Graham, and Frank Hoyland. We’ve been scratching our heads wondering where these people’s lives might have crossed paths. What if they met inside a courtroom?’
‘You think someone’s going around annihilating a jury one by one because they disagreed with the verdict?’ Pearce was only half joking.
‘Perhaps not a whole jury, although there’s no sign our killer has ceased his activities yet. Besides which, as a serving police officer, Hoyland wouldn’t have been on a jury. But the common factor we’ve been struggling to identify could well be that they all took part in court proceedings in some capacity or other. Which makes it all the more important to search through the case files from Bishopton, because I feel sure that’s where we’ll find the connection. Viv, give Tom a ring and ask him to check and see if there’s a file for the murder of a man by the name of Stanton, and one covering the suicide of a boxer called Jack Burrell. If so, will you ask him to dig them out? I want all of you checking those files for anyone Hoyland was instrumental in having sent down for a serious offence. That’s where I reckon we’ll find the solution.’
* * *
Pearce arrived late the following morning, after calling at Netherdale to collect the paperwork collated by Tom Pratt. He and Nash had to make several trips to and from his car bearing the boxes containing the files. ‘It would be much simpler if these had been put on the computer,’ Pearce complained after the third ascent of the stairs.
‘The trouble is, you’re not as fit as Mike,’ Mironova observed. ‘You ought to join him for his push-ups and squat thrusts. Or even for his training sessions,’ she added, with a wicked smile directed at Nash.
‘The powers that be would never allocate someone to put all these onto a computer,’ Nash added, ignoring Clara’s salacious dig. ‘Think of the man hours required to upload all the information from this lot. It would
have made the accountants go faint just trying to calculate the cost.’
‘The only details on the computer are the case numbers and names. The rest is in here,’ Pearce gestured to the folders. ‘How we’re supposed to conduct an investigation when everything is locked in the vaults at HQ is anyone’s guess.’
Having had a good moan at the establishment, they set to work unearthing the details they needed. When Nash opened the file concerning the death of Jack Burrell, he immediately noticed a huge discrepancy. ‘There is nothing here about the evidence Toni Chandler told me she’d supplied to Hoyland. She isn’t even mentioned, apart from the fact that her name is given as the person who discovered the body.’
‘Not even a statement?’ Mironova asked. ‘That’s careless.’
‘Careless? I think it might be far more serious than mere negligence. Toni told me she voiced her suspicions regarding the lights having been switched off, about the fact that Burrell never used the pool because he had problems with his ears, and worst of all that his key for the leisure centre had gone missing, with the door locked when she arrived. To me that seems more like corruption than carelessness.’
‘Perhaps he dismissed them as the wild imagination of a young girl. She can’t have been very old at the time.’
‘That’s a very charitable way of looking at it,’ Nash commented. ‘I’ll let Mexican Pete have a look at the post-mortem findings, to see if he can shed any light on how Burrell died — or was killed.’
A few minutes later, Mironova opened the boxes containing the Stanton files, and almost immediately they knew they’d struck gold. ‘There it is, just like the ironmonger said.’ Clara pointed to a witness statement.
‘You make him sound like another character from Happy Families.’ Nash looked at the statement. ‘I have to say either our shopkeeper got his dates wrong, or Dickie Donut had exceptional eyesight. To be able to see what was happening in Bishopton, while sitting in a restaurant more than forty miles away, would be no mean feat. Even with a powerful telescope that could see round corners.’
‘Mike, anyone would think you were being sarcastic. According to this, Dickie remembered them because the lads had been drinking and one of them was sick in the street. He said it seemed out of character for them to be that drunk so early in the evening. He recognized them because he had known them since they were schoolboys.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Two young men from Bishopton: Chad Wilkinson and Dale Harvey. Means nothing to me; do you know them?’
‘No,’ Nash replied, ‘but I’m not exactly au fait with Bishopton society. Maybe Jack Binns will recognize the names. Or failing him, Tom Pratt will.’
‘Jack’s on leave,’ Pearce pointed out.
‘In that case, phone Tom and run those names past him. Then I think we ought to contact the Ministry of Justice and get a jury list for the Stanton murder trial. If we find Georgina Drake and Henry Maitland’s names on it, we’re in business.’
Pearce reported back a while later. ‘Tom doesn’t know much about Bishopton lowlife, but he reckons that Dale Harvey might be the son of Gus Harvey. He owns Billy Bets, the bookies, and is also the proprietor of Vegas Casino in Netherdale, as well as Upper Helm Property Management and Bishopton Construction Services. Tom said Harvey senior has an extremely dodgy reputation; knew him from when he was the Super’ here. As for the other defendant, he thinks Chad Wilkinson must be the son of the guy who used to own a string of massage parlours across the county and beyond.’ Pearce grinned, and both Nash and Mironova knew there was more to come.
‘Used to?’ Nash asked. ‘Has he sold out?’
‘Not exactly. Tom reckons the massage parlours are a front for prostitution, and that Wilkinson senior died of a heart attack while availing himself of the personal services of one of the girls.’
* * *
They had a frustrating wait for the jury list to arrive, but midway through Friday afternoon, Mironova walked into Nash’s office brandishing a piece of paper. ‘I’ve got it,’ she exclaimed, ‘and you and Viv were dead right. Georgina Drake was on that jury, and Henry Maitland was the foreman. I think we ought to have a word with the defendants and warn them that they might be in danger, what do you think?’
‘I agree, but I think we should go one further than that. I think we ought to try and trace the other ten members of that panel and question them about the trial, while offering them protection. Get Lisa and Viv in here, and before you do, give them the glad tidings that all weekend leave is on hold until such time as we locate the defendants and the jurors. You can soften the blow by telling them that I’ll get Jackie to sign off the overtime.’
‘Blimey, Mike, playing fast and loose with the budget, aren’t you?’
‘If anyone from HQ objects, I’ll ask them how they expect me to solve four murders without resources. That might keep them quiet.’
As the team was assembling, Nash’s phone rang. He listened for a moment, before saying, ‘OK, put her through.’
He listened to the caller for a while, and then said, ‘OK, I’ll come immediately, and bring one of my colleagues with me.’
He put the phone down and looked across at his two DCs. ‘Viv, I want you and Lisa to get busy on the list of jurors. Try to locate as many as possible. Clara and I are going out. We’ll talk to Dale Harvey and Chad Wilkinson as soon as we’ve got their addresses. However, before we go there, we’re going to visit Jane Broadbent, one of the members of the jury. She has just arrived back after a four-month stay with family in America, and seen all the lurid details of the murders. She has some information that she thinks might help us.’
* * *
Whatever expectations the detectives might have had regarding the jury member they were about to interview, the reality confounded them. Jane Broadbent opened the door of the terrace house in Netherdale, and Mironova blinked with surprise. The former juror was approaching the age of sixty; was rotund, little more than five feet in height, and with a mop of snow-white hair.
Nash introduced himself and Mironova, and after a careful inspection of their warrant cards, they were invited inside, and directed through to a pleasantly furnished lounge. ‘Just call me Jane,’ she told Nash after he fumbled with Ms or Mrs. ‘I was married, but that was a long, long time ago. I should explain that I’ve been on holiday in America. I returned yesterday, and happened to read an article in the Netherdale Gazette about the murders, which was why I rang you. The piece in the paper suggested that you didn’t know if the victims were connected, but I do.’
‘It was true that we didn’t have the connection at the time the article was written,’ Nash admitted, ‘but we do now. It’s all to do with the Wes Stanton murder trial, isn’t it?’
‘That’s correct. I was on the jury, but my view on the guilt or innocence of those two young men is diametrically opposite to those of Georgina Drake and Henry Maitland. So if the killer is someone seeking revenge and knows my opinion, there’s little chance of him coming after me.’
Her reply caused Mironova to cast a sideways glance at Nash.
‘You didn’t believe they were innocent? Even with the prosecution testimony of Richard Graham?’ Nash asked.
‘Pah!’ Jane’s tone of disgust was as revealing as her follow-up comment. ‘I didn’t believe a word that man said. I thought he was a shifty character the minute I set eyes on him, and his testimony didn’t ring true. To me, he sounded like a bad actor reciting lines he’d rehearsed over and over again. To be honest, if he told me the time, I’d want a second opinion.’
Nash was intrigued by the woman. Behind the amiable exterior, he felt sure there lurked a keen, analytical brain. ‘Forgive me for wandering into personal matters, but what do you do for a living?’
‘I trained as an accountant, but after a few years in the profession I found the excitement too much for me, so I went back to University and took a new degree course. I now work as a clinical psychologist.’ She paused, before adding slyly, ‘Do my cre
dentials help to add weight to my story?’
Mironova was amused, for it seemed that Jane Broadbent had got the measure of Nash.
Nash smiled, acknowledging that Jane had identified the ulterior motive behind his question. ‘You may have thought that the two men were guilty, but the rest of your colleagues didn’t agree with you, apparently.’
‘Some did; it wasn’t a unanimous verdict. Others might have voted the same way as me had they not been bullied, browbeaten or seduced into opting for an acquittal.’
Nash blinked. ‘Somehow, I can’t imagine Henry Maitland seducing anyone.’
‘No, he left that to Georgina Drake. Maitland was in charge of the bullying side of the persuasion offensive. Kept jabbing his finger at people and implying they were stupid because they didn’t agree with him.’
‘When you said that Georgina seduced one of the other jurors, can you remember which one she targeted?’
‘It was more than one. Georgina had a go at several of the men on that jury, but I reckon she was successful with at least two of them.’
‘Can you name them?’
‘I think one of them was called Paul something or other, an insignificant character. When Georgina started flirting with him he must have thought it was his birthday and Christmas rolled into one. I remember him being insanely jealous when she started eyeing up another of the men. I can’t recall his name, though.’
Nash asked, ‘You said it wasn’t a majority decision. Can you recall who voted the same way as you?’
‘There were only two. One was a young woman, who barely spoke throughout our deliberations. I think it came as quite a shock to the others when she opposed the acquittal. The other one was a young man who was either a doctor or dentist, I believe. He didn’t say much either, and he was totally resistant to Georgina Drake’s wiles. Sadly, I can’t remember either of their names. It was only by luck that I remembered the name Paul, but that’s probably because it’s the same as my ex. Another insignificant character,’ she added with a wry smile.
