Echoes of Guilt

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘Yes,’ Everett said.

  ‘Thank you. And so, in your professional capacity, what explanation is there for the defendant to have carried out these horrific acts he is alleged to have committed?’

  ‘I didn’t have the benefit of analysing Curtis until after these crimes took place, but what I can tell you is that his mental health problems are all consuming. He’s a very, very disturbed man, in many different ways. But, perhaps most pertinently, his fragmented mind also makes him highly susceptible to coercion.’

  ‘You believe it’s possible that the defendant was coerced into killing?’

  ‘I think it’s a highly likely explanation. In fact, my own experiences with him show that his psychosis manifests itself, in one respect, in him hearing voices in his mind, and having discussed this issue at length with Curtis, it’s entirely plausible that at least one of those voices has been… implanted.’

  There were a few questioning murmurs around the courtroom now, though Barker was head down again.

  ‘Implanted?’ O’Hare said.

  ‘What I mean is, it’s my view that at least one of the voices that Damian Curtis has heard could be there as the result of someone deliberately manipulating his fragile mind.’

  ‘And what would it take to achieve such a feat?’

  ‘It’s not a heavily researched area, but this wouldn’t be a simple task. Most likely, in my opinion, such manipulation could only be carried out by someone with extensive knowledge of mental health.’

  ‘A psychologist or psychiatrist?’

  ‘Someone medically trained in mental health, yes.’

  ‘And, remind me, which people with such qualifications was the defendant exposed to during his time in Long Lartin prison?’

  ‘Records show he had brief interventions and check-ups from various medical professionals during his time in prison, though these were all routine in nature, and were procedures carried out with other corroborating witnesses present. The only person who meets the professional criteria, and who also had, in effect, unfettered access to Damian Curtis, was Dr Helen Collins.’

  ‘Is it your view, therefore, that the only person who could have coerced the defendant into committing these crimes, was, in fact, Dr Helen Collins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Even more murmurs now. Dani clenched her fists to channel her rising frustration. What the hell was Barker doing, just sitting there?

  ‘Thank you, Mr Everett,’ O’Hare said.

  She took her seat and the judge prompted Barker, who after a couple of seconds of delay finally decided to look up from his folder. He apologised to the judge in his typically foppish manner, then rose to his feet.

  ‘Mr Everett, do you have any direct evidence that Dr Helen Collins manipulated Damian Curtis in the way you have suggested?’

  ‘I mean, there was of course no physical record of this. She had no notes describing such a procedure, there were no audio or video recordings, or—’

  ‘I think your answer is “no” correct?’

  Everett paused.

  ‘Mr Everett, yes or no, do you have any direct evidence that Dr Helen Collins manipulated Damian Curtis in the way you have suggested?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have any direct evidence that any other person or persons manipulated Damian Curtis in the way you have suggested.’

  A short pause. ‘No.’

  ‘And so the belief you have just expressed, that Damian Curtis was coerced into killing, is in fact a belief that is not corroborated by any direct physical evidence whatsoever.’

  Everett said nothing.

  ‘Mr Everett?’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise that was a question. I’m here to give my expert opinion which is based on my expertise in this field. Expert opinion is in fact considered evidence, is it not?’

  ‘Noted. But other than your opinion, there is no direct evidence either that Damian Curtis was manipulated into killing, or that if he was, who that manipulator may have been. Is that correct?’

  ‘Well… if you’re only talking about physical evidence—’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Then yes.’

  ‘Thank you. Likewise, do you have any evidence of a motive for such manipulation? Either in relation to Dr Helen Collins or any other party?’

  ‘Motive?’

  ‘Why would Dr Helen Collins have manipulated Damian Curtis into killing people? Herself included.’

  ‘I… I… that’s not what—’

  ‘Do you have any evidence of a motive for why Dr Helen Collins, or any other party, would manipulate Damian Curtis in the way you have stated on the stand here today? A simple yes or no will suffice.’

  ‘I’ve seen it suggested that Dr Collins was having an aff—’

  ‘I’m not asking for hearsay, or for what you’ve read in the press. I’m asking about evidence which you have directly seen. Is it yes or no?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you. No more questions.’

  * * *

  The first recess of the day soon arrived and as everyone in the courtroom rose to leave, Dani had to hold back from storming out. Barker stood and turned and did a double take, eventually catching Dani’s eye. His lips turned ever so slightly in an awkward smile of acknowledgement, before he looked away again and began a conversation with his underling.

  Was that it? Dani wondered. A little look and a smile? Or a smirk, was it? After all of the time and effort Dani had put into this case. After all of the interviews with Curtis and his lawyer, with her brother Ben, with Barker himself, and now when the big day came he was simply going to gloss over the entire theory of there being another party playing Curtis, as though it was some batshit crazy story whipped up by a struggling defence team.

  Dani moved off to try and intercept him.

  ‘What about Ben?’ Dani said, not shouting, but loud enough to get his attention.

  Barker turned, now looking less than impressed.

  ‘DI Stephens, good of you to come along.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me. So that’s it? You’re disregarding everything we talked about? Everything I worked on.’

  He stepped closer to her, looked around him as though nervous someone might overhear, but there was barely a soul inside the room now except a couple of clerks.

  ‘DI Stephens, this is not the time or the place.’

  ‘For what? Exploring the truth? I thought that was kind of the point of this place, actually.’

  ‘Damian Curtis is on trial today. Not Dr Collins, and not your brother.’

  With that he turned and marched off.

  Dani remained where she was, her brain rumbling, her anger bubbling. She felt like going after him and having it out with him. Would it even make a difference?

  ‘Come on,’ Easton said, coming over to her side, his tone conciliatory. ‘You ready to go? I think we’ve seen enough here, don’t you?’

  Dani agreed.

  * * *

  Outside the court building, the centre of Birmingham was bathed in low winter sunlight that cast long shadows between the city’s tall buildings. Swathes of tarmac intermittently glistened wetly where the warming rays had started to melt the frost, but there were large corners where icy white remained untouched. Those cold and bleak areas drew Dani in as she headed down the steps onto the street.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ Easton said, breaking their silence and Dani’s line of thought.

  ‘Barker?’

  She practically spat the word.

  ‘Curtis is on trial here, Dani. He killed those people. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘But we both know that’s not the whole story.’

  ‘We believe it’s not.’

  Why was nobody listening to her about Ben? He’d been Curtis’s cellmate. He was himself a murderer, was known to be cunning and manipulative. Just look at what he’d done to Dani who still suffered, mentally and physically, after he’d tried to bludgeon her to death. Although perhaps that was
it. No one was listening to her for that very reason. She was too connected to Ben for anyone else to take it seriously.

  Dani huffed. ‘Don’t you get it?’ she said. ‘This is the only chance the CPS have to cement the theory of a third party onto the record. The defence are handing it to them on a platter, even if it is Collins they’re pinning and not Ben. Curtis took those lives, I know that, but someone else made him. So why is Barker trying to bury that? How will they ever convict anyone else if they’ve already rubbished the notion during Curtis’s trial?’

  ‘Like I said, I agree with you, but this trial really isn’t going to determine that.’

  ‘Isn’t it? So if the CPS push and get a murder conviction for Curtis, quashing the theory of a third party coercing him, what then?’

  ‘You’re saying that’d be a bad thing? To get Curtis for murder? Even after what he did to you and Jas—’

  ‘Of course it’s a bad thing, if it means that the CPS pat themselves on the back and walk away like it’s job done. If the CPS go down this route now they’re basically rubber-stamping an automatic defence for Ben. There wouldn’t even be any point in pursuing it to trial.’

  Easton shrugged as though he was OK with that; as though there wasn’t any prospect of such a trial, regardless of what happened here.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Dani said.

  She stormed off towards Corporation Street, further away from HQ.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Easton shouted.

  Dani didn’t answer, just huddled her head into her coat as she strode away.

  She’d only made it ten yards when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She stopped walking and lifted it out. Someone from HQ was calling.

  ‘DI Stephens?’ she said.

  She turned back to the courthouse. Easton was still standing there watching her. Dani listened without saying a word. Perhaps something about the look on her face told Easton what he needed to know, because he started to edge towards her.

  ‘OK. We’re going now,’ she said, before hanging up.

  ‘Not good news, I’m guessing,’ Easton said.

  ‘No. We’ve got a body.’

  Chapter 2

  It was nearing midday by the time Dani and Easton arrived in Oldbury, a small market town within the Black Country, a few miles west of Birmingham. Like most towns within the area, Oldbury remained scarred by the remnants of its industrialised past. At least for this town retail dynamics had taken over, perhaps due to its proximity to major road networks – the M5 included – which had seen the opening of a number of modern retail parks over the last couple of decades that now encircled the town like a corrugated steel exoskeleton.

  The address Dani and Easton arrived at was a few streets away from the old high street, where traditional shops and businesses sat with stoic dignity next to numerous abandoned units, a continuous struggle to remain trading.

  The street they were on was straight as an arrow with two rows of identical terraces opposite each other. Each unit was narrow with just a door and single window taking up the ground floor, and tiny front yards that were used mainly for storing wheelie bins, it seemed.

  With cars parked on both sides, bumper to bumper, Dani found a space several doors away from where they needed to be, though as they headed onto the pavement, it was clear which house they were aiming for because of the uniformed copper standing outside with a bright yellow hi-vis jacket on.

  At least during the week the kids and teenagers were still at school, and parents at work, limiting the gawkers somewhat.

  Dani took out her warrant card as she ducked under the blue and white police tape which had been rolled across the front gate. She held it up for the PC at the door, who she didn’t recognise at all.

  ‘Bathroom, downstairs,’ was all the grumpy sod said as he stepped out of the way of the door.

  A downstairs bathroom, in a two up, two down home: a strange quirk that remained prevalent all over the country in houses of a certain age. When these terraces were built at the start of the twentieth century, there was no bathroom inside at all, just an outside toilet. Modern plumbing had brought those toilets inside, though the cheapest and simplest solution was to tack the toilet to the back of the house at ground-floor level. Modern central heating had soon brought modern bathrooms into homes, but with such limited space, once again the cheapest and simplest solution prevailed: a bathroom at ground level, at the back of the house, beyond the kitchen.

  Dani put plastic gloves on her hands and covers over her feet before she stepped inside.

  She heard sobbing coming from inside the front downstairs room. Dani moved to the doorway and peeped into the modest lounge to see a female PC sat on a sofa next to a teary woman. The woman looked to be in her forties and was wearing jeans and a zipped-up hoodie. Her carefully manicured fingers were scrunched around a tissue.

  ‘Detectives,’ the PC said as she got to her feet. ‘If you head into the back room, the FSIs are in there.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Dani said. ‘And this is?’

  ‘Bianca Neita,’ the PC said. ‘A friend. She found Ms Doyle’s body.’

  At the mention of the victim, Bianca sobbed even more loudly.

  ‘OK, thank you,’ Dani said. ‘We’ll come back to speak to Mrs Neita shortly.’

  Dani stepped back out and she and Easton carried on through the narrow corridor into a galley kitchen. Much like the hallway and the front room, the furnishings in here were modern enough, but clearly cheap. There was little that was homely about the place at all, everything bland. Dani envisaged a landlord with a well-oiled routine of turning modest but outmoded dwellings into modern but affordable rental units, devoid of any real character.

  They moved through the kitchen to a small utility area; off to their right the door to the back yard, in front of them a door open to a bathroom where two white-suited forensic investigators were hunched down by the bathtub. Beyond them Dani spotted the dark matted hair draped across the white of the bath.

  The FSIs both stood and turned. Dani recognised the man who stepped forward as Saad Tariq, one of the more senior and personable of the team of FSIs she dealt with.

  ‘Morning, Detectives,’ Tariq said.

  ‘What have we got?’

  Tariq moved out of the way and Dani stared down as she swallowed hard. The water had by now been drained from the bath, leaving the woman’s body slumped. Her dull skin was white as a sheet, her lips blue. Her glassy eyes were open, staring across to the wall. Her slim body was blemish free, Dani noted, with no obvious sign of external injury.

  ‘PC Rowden in there said she’s found the victim’s driving licence,’ Tariq said. ‘Clara Doyle. Thirty-eight.’

  ‘Any idea what’s happened?’ Easton asked.

  ‘No. This is going to need a PM.’ Post-mortems were carried out by a pathologist. The FSIs were trained to deal with crime scenes, rather than specifically dead bodies themselves, though their experience of scenes was often useful in gaining an initial insight. ‘No sign of abrasions or contusions to the body, as you can see. When we got here the water was still in the bath, but cold. No idea how long she’d been submerged for.’

  ‘Her head was submerged?’ Dani said.

  ‘Not fully, about up to her nostrils.’

  ‘So she could have drowned?’

  ‘Possible. But she was moved by the friend, who initially pulled her up to check her breathing, so you’d have to figure out with her exactly what it looked like before we arrived. We’re not going to know what’s happened to her until we take her out of here.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Dani said, pointing to the half-finished tumbler by the side of the bath.

  ‘We’ll get it taken back to the lab, but smells like vodka to me.’

  ‘And there’s these,’ Easton said.

  Dani turned to him. He was by the cabinet above the sink, the mirrored door open to reveal a whole swathe of toiletries and pill bottles. A lot of pill bottles. It reminded Dani of her own ba
throom cabinet and her constant struggle to ease herself off the medication that had become such a big part of her life in her struggle to overcome her TBI.

  ‘Diazepam,’ Easton said, holding the bottle out to Dani. She didn’t take it. Instead she stepped over to the cabinet and glanced across the other labels.

  Diazepam, also known as Valium, was a classic anti-depressant, Naproxen, a high-strength pain reliever and anti-inflammatory and Mirtazapine, Amitriptyline were two other types of anti-depressant.

  Together with the alcohol by the side of the bath, and the lack of external injuries, Dani was already quickly coming to a conclusion as to how Clara Doyle’s life had come to an end. So why had the Homicide team received the call?

  Dani turned to Easton. ‘You go upstairs, take a look around, I’ll go and speak to the friend.’

  Easton nodded and headed off, and Dani was soon seated in an uncomfortably hard armchair in the cramped living room.

  ‘Mrs Neita, can you tell me what happened here?’

  She snuffled into her tissue for a few seconds, then began to twist the wedding band on her finger around – anxiety? – as she turned her reddened eyes to Dani.

  ‘She didn’t turn up to work this morning. She wasn’t answering her phone.’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘Hatty’s Coffee Shop. It’s a few minutes’ walk from here. It’s not like her at all.’

  ‘So you came over?’

  ‘I knocked on the door. She didn’t answer. I was really worried, you know?’

  She paused now, letting those last words hang. Why was that? Some sort of justification? But for what?

  ‘I tried the door. It wasn’t even locked. When I pushed it open, that was when it happened.’

  She paused. Dani looked to PC Rowden and back to Bianca again.

  ‘What happened?’ Dani asked.

  ‘The back door. It slammed shut.’

  Dani’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did you see someone?’

  ‘I… I just… I think… maybe. No, not really. But the door slammed shut. Why was the back door open if it wasn’t because someone was there?’