by M J Lee
‘What of it? There was other evidence. Fibres. DNA. The time of death. I believed the man had committed the offences with which he was charged.’
‘All evidence discovered or planted by the real murderer, Harold Lardner, who, ten years later, was arrested for committing the crimes. Dalbey was innocent all along, wasn’t he?’
The judge shrugged his shoulders. ‘Mistakes happen. No criminal justice system is perfect.’
‘But you ignored evidence showing the confession had been coerced. No lawyer was present. No recording was made. Only the two officers heard what Dalbey had supposedly said.’
‘It was before the days of the mandatory recording of statements.’
‘But wasn’t there a possibility Mr Dalbey had been forced to confess his crime?’
‘No, the confession itself was an act of guilt which, when combined with the fact he was found in a lock-up garage where the murder had taken place, convinced me he had committed the crime. Subsequent courts found my belief to be untrue. But you have to look into the context of the time—’
‘So you confess to making a mistake? Incarcerating a man for ten years for a crime he didn’t commit?’
‘Is that what you want to hear? Every day mistakes are made in our justice system, some are rectified, most are not. I was a judge for twenty-nine years, of course I made mistakes.’
‘Thank you for your confession of guilt, your honour. You will now be sentenced by this court.’
He looked down at the viewing figures, over 65,000 now and rising exponentially. The ghouls of 4chan were out in force. Most would be recording the proceedings to forward to all the usual suspects later; Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, YouTube and the rest. The recordings would be seen by millions before they were taken down. But, as with everything on the net, they would never be totally eradicated. That was the beauty of the web. The judge’s admission and subsequent sentence would be online forever.
‘What? What did you say?’
‘I will address the jury.’ The man in the wolf mask moved in front of the camera. ‘It is now the turn of you, the worldwide jury to decide this man’s fate. The procedure is easy; press like for innocent and retweet for guilty. Unlike most trials a simple majority will decide the verdict. Remember, like for innocent and retweet for guilty. You have one minute to record your verdict, commencing – now.’
As these words were spoken, the judge began to howl, ‘I’m innocent, I was only doing my job, a servant of the law…’
Chapter 88
As the trial continued on the screen, Ridpath moved his phone closer to Mrs Challinor. ‘I’m putting the coroner on speakerphone, boss.’
‘Hi Claire, I recognise the man’s voice, the man who is wearing the wolf mask. It’s Tony Seagram.’
‘Are you sure Mrs Challinor?’
‘It’s the tone and the delivery, he’s got a slight Welsh accent plus he has a peculiar nervous tic before he speaks. A slight cough, likes he’s clearing his throat. I couldn’t remember where I had heard it before, but it came back to me. He made a speech at the interment of his sister, Alice, he kept doing the same thing. Clearing his throat before he spoke. I should have recognised it earlier when Brian Conway—’
‘What is it Chrissy?’ Claire Trent interrupted the coroner’s explanation. An indistinct conversation mumbled down the line, then the detective superintendent spoke again excitedly. ‘Chrissy has checked his LinkedIn profile. He went to Aberystwyth University and also did a Master’s in Theatre Studies there. She’s looking at his Facebook page.’ A slight pause. ‘No entries for the last nine months.’
‘We need to track him down. Phone records, bank accounts, car hire, anything and everything,’ ordered Claire Trent.
‘Don’t forget to check the TV studios where he used to work.’
‘Don’t teach me my job, Ridpath,’ she barked. ‘Well, get on with it you lot, I want Tony Seagram found.’ Claire Trent commanded, ‘Ridpath, keep watching the video with Mrs Challinor. See if she remembers anything else that could help.’
Mrs Challinor grabbed his wrist again. On the screen, the man in the wolf mask had moved in front of the camera and was now standing directly in front of the judge.
‘What’s going to happen?’ Mrs Challinor whispered.
Chapter 89
A little cough. ‘Sir Robert Brooking, judge of the Queen’s Bench, the jury has spoken. By a vote of 62,478 for versus 3,576 against, you have been found guilty of injustice.’
The man in the wolf mask moved out from in front of the camera to reveal the judge hunched over and looking down.
‘Your actions were a shocking dereliction of your duty to those who were accused of crimes. Have you anything to say in your defence?’
The judge mumbled a few words.
‘Speak up please so the world can hear.’
The judge raised his head and spoke clearly. ‘This is not a court I recognise. It is a kangaroo court. I refuse to dignify it with any statement.’
‘Thank you. Interestingly, we refuse to dignify you as well. There is a famous statue of the blind woman holding the scales of justice in her hand on top of the Old Bailey in London. It is supposed to indicate that justice is blind and all receive the same respect from the court regardless of their wealth, status or position. In your case, this was manifestly untrue. Your justice was not blind. But it soon will be.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, man. Who are you to sentence me?’
The man in the wolf mask bent down and picked up something at his feet. He showed a thin metal tube to the camera and set it alight.
‘Is that a welding torch?’ asked Ridpath.
Within seconds the metal glowed white hot, a small, bright flame protruding from the end.
‘You are hereby sentenced to have your sight removed. Justice was not blind in your courts and now you will be blind in life. If you die from your injuries, so be it. Justice will have been served. The sentence is to be carried out immediately.’
‘He’s going to kill him,’ shouted Mrs Challinor.
The man in the wolf mask advanced on the judge, the welding torch glowing in his hand.
The judge shouted, ‘No, no, what are you doing? I order you to stop immediately. You must sto—’
He plunged the heating iron into the man’s right eye, hearing the sizzle as it cut through the iris and into the aqueous humour. The judge wrenched his head back, screaming at the top of his voice.
Suddenly, the screams died in the judge’s throat and he went limp as the intense pain forced his body to the safe haven of unconsciousness.
A quick glance back to the camera and the man in the wolf mask brought the flame closer and closer to the left eye.
Chapter 90
After the judge had been blinded, the link faded to black.
Mrs Challinor and Ridpath were left stunned and silent. It was Ridpath who spoke first. ‘I have to get back to MIT, they’ll be needing me.’
‘Go, Ridpath.’
‘Are you ok, Mrs Challinor?’
She nodded without looking at him, busily searching for a file on her desk.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Just go, Ridpath,’ she finally looked up and smiled, ‘I’ll be fine.’
He made the gesture of thumb against ear and little finger pointing towards his mouth. ‘Call me if you need anything.’
‘I will.’
He turned to go.
‘One last question before you leave.’
Ridpath slowly turned back.
‘Was the judge on the Osman list compiled at MIT?’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘It’s rather obvious, isn’t it? Tony Seagram seems to be targeting all those in the legal system who were involved in the investigation of his sister’s death or the subsequent arrest of James Dalbey.’
As ever, Mrs Challinor understood exactly what was happening. ‘He was on the list but I don’t think any Osman warnings have been sent out yet.’
He nodded. ‘I am too.’
‘Not surprising in your case.’
‘Shall I send a copper round to keep a watch over you and this office?’
She busied herself sorting out the files. ‘I’m sure the police have more important things to do at this point in time and I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Weren’t you leaving for MIT, Ridpath?’ she asked abruptly.
‘Call if you need anything.’
‘I will. Make sure you take care of yourself. I have a feeling Tony Seagram hasn’t finished yet.’
‘That’s my worry too, Coroner.’
Chapter 91
Back at MIT, the place was a hive of activity, all centred on one goal; find Tony Seagram.
Bank accounts were requested, telephone records checked, even his gas and electric bills were pored over.
Nothing was found.
His social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter were dormant. The last entry in both a cryptic message about ‘not being able to face the future any more.’
To Ridpath, it looked more like a suicide message than one of a man embarking on a murder spree.
Finally, Claire Trent called him into her office. Paul Turnbull was already there.
‘You saw the link to the murder this morning?’
‘I watched it with the coroner.’
‘Your thoughts?’
He glanced at Paul Turnbull. She saw the look and said, ‘Speak freely, Ridpath.’
‘I’m now convinced Dalbey was involved in the planning of these murders, if not their actual execution.’
‘An unfortunate choice of words.’
‘Sorry, boss. I meant even though he’s lying in a coma, I’m certain James Dalbey is behind all this. When I met Tony Seagram two years ago, he was smart but not organised enough to plan these murders.’ Ridpath scratched his head. ‘What I don’t understand was the lack of any clue. Each time up until now, we’ve been pointed in the direction of the next killing. But there was nothing this time.’
‘There was, Ridpath. I received the pathologist’s report into the death of Brian Conway this morning. A piece of paper was found in his mouth. Printed on it were the words, “Is Justice Blind?”’
‘Why didn’t we know earlier?’
Claire Trent glanced across at her DCI. ‘A breakdown in communication apparently.’
‘None of it matters until we capture Seagram, does it?’ growled Turnbull.
‘No, that has to be the priority.’
‘I’m so glad you agree with me, Ridpath.’
‘Stop it you two.’ Claire Trent slammed her fist down on the table. ‘This stops here and now. Understand?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Yes, Claire.’
After glaring at both of them, she fixed her gaze on Ridpath. ‘I need you to go to visit Mrs Seagram before the tabloids get to her.’
‘To do what, boss?’
‘Interview her and see if she knows anything about her son. Take Emily, put a team together and search the house for any clues to his whereabouts.’
‘She won’t be happy, boss.’
‘Her happiness is the least of my concerns at the moment. Well, what are you waiting for?’
Ridpath stood up to leave.
Claire Trent glanced across at Turnbull who kept his head down. ‘When you’ve finished and reported back your findings, you can go home, Ridpath. It’s obvious at the moment, you need a break.’
‘But, boss, there’s—’
‘That’s an order.’
‘But—’
Her voice rose. ‘Don’t try my patience. You have my orders, carry them out.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Chapter 92
With Emily Parkinson by his side he knocked on the door to Mrs Seagram’s house and it was opened immediately. ‘I was expecting you lot.’
Ridpath raised his eyebrow.
‘I watch the news too. Tony’s name is all over it.’
There had been a leak from somebody in the team. Emily had a call from the office. Claire Trent was furious. Paul Turnbull was swearing to publicly castrate whoever leaked the story, even if it were a woman.
But now the newspapers and TV were all over it. It was only a matter of time before they started to gather like a pack of hyenas outside Mrs Seagram’s door.
‘You’d better come in.’ She pointed to the team of constables behind Ridpath. ‘Can you ask them to wipe their feet? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life cleaning their shit off my carpets.’
She walked back into her sitting room.
Ridpath turned to the team. ‘Search everywhere for anything and everything to do with Tony Seagram. But do it respectfully, lads. This is a clean search.’
‘Aye, skipper,’ the lead sergeant, a Geordie, replied. ‘We’ll be as clean as Mrs Mop.’
‘Leave the sitting room till last.’
Half the team trooped upstairs and the rest headed for the kitchen and outbuildings.
Ridpath and Emily Parkinson followed the woman into her living room. She was already seated in her chair, staring out of the window.
He decided not to waste time. ‘Do you know where Tony is, Mrs Seagram?’
She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. ‘No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.’
‘You said before, he vanished about six months ago.’
‘Lost his job and went rapidly downhill. Was drinking too much, taking drugs. He couldn’t handle the guilt you see.’
‘Guilt?’
There was a loud thump on the ceiling followed by the heavy tread of coppers’ boots. Mrs Seagram stared upwards before continuing. ‘The loss of Alice, then reburying her. James being locked up for so long when he was innocent. You know Tony gave evidence at his trial. He was always convinced it was his evidence that swayed the jury. It was why he worked so hard to free James later when he was convinced the man had nothing to do with the death of his sister.’ She paused for a moment, sitting upright in her chair to recover her composure. ‘After the death of his father, Tony went to pieces.’ She turned to face Ridpath, her eyes blazing. ‘My son was successful, intelligent, hard-working and you lot destroyed him. I detest every single one of you.’ A long pause. ‘I hope he kills you all, leaves your families as empty as mine.’
The woman’s teeth were bared like an attack dog ready to strike. A tap on the door broke the tension.
The Geordie sergeant entered cradling a Smith & Wesson nestling in a cloth. ‘We found this canny piece upstairs in a drawer, Ridpath.’
‘What are you doing with a firearm, Mrs Seagram?’ asked Emily Parkinson.
‘It makes me feel safe. I often keep it by my bed at night.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘I told you Harry was an armourer in the REME. He loved guns. We often used to spend weekends shooting with the gun clubs up in the Derbyshire Hills with Tony. Alice didn’t like them though so she never went with us. It is licensed you know. They all are.’
‘They?’
‘There’s two more in a safe out in the garage.’
‘Is Tony armed, Mrs Seagram?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?’
The interview ended soon after. Ridpath, Emily Parkinson and the team spent the next hour searching the house from top to bottom but discovered nothing new.
As he was leaving, Mrs Seagram stood by the door. ‘You won’t find him you know, not unless he wants to be found. Tony was always good at blending in. It’s why he did so well at his job. One last thing, Inspector Ridpath.’
‘What’s that?’
‘This is all your fault. None of this would have happened without you.’
She slammed the door in his face.
He was left staring at the frosted glass panel, hearing the first shouts of the newly arrived reporters at his back.
‘What did Mrs Seagram have to say?’
�
�Is she supporting her son?’
‘Who’s going to be his next victim?’
He hated every single one of them.
Chapter 93
The body of the judge was found that evening in a wooded area close to the Manchester Ship Canal in a suburb called Partington.
It had been placed in an upright position with the back leaning against an ash tree. A man walking his dog had come across it almost by accident when the dog had suddenly veered off his usual path and went charging down through the woods bordering the Red Brook.
Claire Trent and Paul Turnbull, accompanied by a hungry pack of reporters, were there twenty minutes after the discovery. Dr John Schofield, the duty pathologist, arrived slightly later with a CSI team. Immediately the body was covered by a white tent while the doctor suited up.
After less than five minutes inside the tent, the doctor came out and walked slowly over to where the detectives were standing.
‘I’ve pronounced him dead at 7.35 p.m.’
‘Anything you can tell us?’
‘Look, it’s early days but my bet is he died from shock. The heart of an old man wouldn’t have been able to withstand the pain of having his eyes cauterised.’
Paul Turnbull rubbed his shiny bald head, freshly shaven this morning, another small red nick above the ear. ‘Time of death?’ he asked.
‘I can’t give you a time until I’ve performed the post mortem. Any time between the event and now with a time close to the event being more than likely.’ He gestured towards the white tent. ‘I thought I’d come out and let you know. I need to go back in and finish the paperwork as well as make my preliminary examination before we let the CSIs loose and move the body to the morgue.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’
The doctor turned to go before stopping and turning back. ‘I’ve also completed the post mortem on Don Brown, the report should be in your office. Cause of death was a myocardial infarction as I predicted. A heart attack in the common parlance, brought on by exposure to extreme cold. The toxicology has also come back. There was a large dose of Propofol in his system. It’s a drug used—’
