by Nick Oldham
‘ The girl will only talk to one person. It’s a cop she met a few years ago, some guy called Danny Furness.’
And that ‘guy’, Danny Furness, was at that very moment strolling through the rather grimy streets of Accrington, an East Lancashire town with great tradition but little else to show the modern world. Broadway was the main shopping street, now pedestrianised with the open market on one side and shops on the other.
The one Danny was looking for was at the end of a row of shops. Its huge plate-glass window was garishly covered in brightly lettered words which declared brashly, Everything-U-want — under 1 roof and that everything was permanently reduced. Danny went in and walked directly to the first member of staff she could identify. She flashed her badge and warrant card and asked to speak to the manager. She was led to the back stairs and up through an assault course of stock boxes to a first-floor office, where she was introduced to a woman who she immediately recognised as the former Mrs Joe Lilton.
The woman looked like Danny felt. She was a mess. Her stringy bleached hair was pulled back into a pony tail; her blotchy skin, puffed up around the cheeks, looked like too much alcohol had taken its toll; the smell of booze was one of the things Danny recalled from her previous encounter with this woman. She had a mouth which was permanently turned down at the corners and the skin around her thin lips was corrugated with age.
‘ You probably don’t remember me,’ Danny said, presenting her warrant card which the woman peered at suspiciously.
‘ No, you’re right. I don’t.’
‘ Look.’ Danny glanced quickly round the room. ‘I’m really sorry to barge in on you unexpectedly, but I’d like to talk to you. I need about half an hour of your time, but I don’t think talking in here is appropriate.’ She indicated the office. It was no place to sit and talk, particularly as Danny knew it would be a conversation of great delicacy. The room was a complete mess of papers, invoices and more stacked-up stock. And there was only one chair and a phone which rang constantly.
‘ I’m busy,’ the woman barked sharply.
Danny held her hands up placatingly. ‘I know you are, but so am I; I’m here doing some enquiries about the murder of a young girl in Blackpool. Her name is Claire Lilton. Her stepfather is your ex-husband, Joe Lilton.’
‘ I won’t make any apologies for this. He was a complete, utter, fucking bastard.’ She leaned over her cup of tea and hissed the words across to Danny. They were sitting in a cafe in the shopping centre, facing each other at a corner table. Danny had learned that since her divorce from Joe, the woman had reverted to her maiden name, Turner.
‘ In what way, Jackie?’
‘ Used to really slap me about. I should’ve got out years before, but the money was good… y’know?’ she admitted. ‘The money was hellish good.’ She sniffed.
‘ Why did you split up?’
Jackie Turner shifted uncomfortably, did not reply.
Danny saw she had struck some sort of chord. ‘What happened after the divorce?’
‘ He was a right bastard, but I screwed him as best I could.’ She lit a cigarette and Danny took a light from the match. ‘We had six shops then, all selling rubbish, mind, but little gold mines they were. He made sure I got the two least profitable ones and I even had to change the trading name, f’God’s sake. I sold one immediately, and ploughed the money into this one which has turned into a real good ‘un; I also got the house, but I couldn’t afford to keep it on, so I sold that and got myself a bungalow instead — in Wilpshire. Nice ‘n’ snobby… haven’t managed to find a bloke with much money yet, but I do all right.’ She gave a wistful smile. Danny warmed to her.
‘ And the kids?’
A shadow crossed her face momentarily, then cleared. ‘Kid — my daughter Julie.’ Danny’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name. Then: ‘She’s twenty-four, married, got two kids of her own now, but it’s a marriage made in hell, if you know what I mean?’
Danny considered the woman sitting opposite and was quite impressed. She was obviously a fighter and a survivor. Danny hoped she would turn out to be the same.
Jackie Turner’s eyebrows rose, what was left of them, that is. They had been plucked almost to oblivion, replaced by an unsure line. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘ Because it’s a murder investigation, we follow up all sorts of leads, so don’t think it’s unusual to be asked a few questions. Joe’s not a suspect, but we like to know as much as possible about families, backgrounds, all that kind of stuff.’
‘ I’d suspect the bastard,’ Jackie said vehemently. ‘He could be really violent.’
‘ Even with kids?’
Jackie clamped her mouth shut tight, accentuating her corrugated lips.
‘ Jackie, when I came to see you all those years ago, you and Joe were having a real humdinger.’
‘ Yeah, I remember now.’
‘ What was it about?’
She shrugged. ‘The usual shite. Drink played its part. I’m not sure what sparked it.’
Danny looked directly into her eyes. Jackie’s dropped and she inspected her smouldering cigarette end.
‘ I don’t think it was the usual, was it, Jackie?’
‘ I don’t know what you mean.’
The detective’s eyes closed briefly in an expression which told Jackie that Danny thought she was a lying bitch. ‘It’s only just come back to me, Jackie. Literally only last night, but I think I’ve put two and two together. When I turned up at your house, I wasn’t really listening to the words of your ding-dong, but they must have sunk into my thick head.’ She tapped her skull. ‘And only now have they come out the other side.’ Danny opened her shoulder bag and took out the scrap of paper she had written on in the early hours after that vivid dream. She glanced at Jackie, who looked very unhappy.
‘ Joe said, “I never touched her”,’ Danny read out. ‘You said, “You did, you bastard. You had it off with her. She told me”.’
Jackie stared past Danny’s shoulders, her jaw set tight. Her eyes were moist. Danny was aware of the other woman tapping the floor with her feet.
‘ “ I never, as God is my witness”, or something like that, is what Joe then said. And you said, “You got into bed and…”’ Danny’s voice swooped to a whisper, ‘ “fucked Julie”. That’s what I remember, Jackie. What was all that about?’
Jackie’s head fell into her hands. A huge sob thudded through her body and Danny touched her shoulder. Then Jackie sat upright and wiped her face which was streaming with tears. ‘Snot rag, I need a snot rag.’ She patted her pockets desperately and stopped when Danny handed her a tissue. She blew her nose with a loud trumpeting sound and looked at Danny with a forlorn expression. ‘Oh God — Jackie, Joe and Julie, the three J’s… a perfect family by all accounts,’ she spat bitterly. ‘Money, businesses, big house, big bloody Jag and a father who couldn’t keep his filthy rotten hands off his only daughter. She was ten years old when he did it to her and then denied it. That’s
what really split us up. I don’t even need to start explaining why, do I?’
Danny shook her head.
‘ No bloody wonder Julie’s own marriage is on the rocks. She’s completely dysfunctional where sex is concerned, even though she’s had two kids.’
‘ Did you have any proof about Joe?’
‘ Julie’s word. A doctor’s examination.’
‘ Why didn’t you go to the police?’
Jackie stared contemptuously at Danny. ‘Because I didn’t trust you to do anything other than put Julie through hell — and she’d gone through enough already.’
Jackie’s hands fumbled with her cigarette packet in an attempt to get one out. Danny laid her hands over Jackie’s and took the packet from her, tapping one out and handing it to her. Jackie lit it from the one she was already smoking.
‘ Thanks, Jackie. I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories.’
‘ You haven’t.’ Jackie uttered a short laugh, a sardonic curl on her lips. ‘I
t’s with me every single day, every hour of every day and I can’t shake it off. It will never leave me and I’m not sure I want it to, perverse as it may seem.’
Danny nodded, rose to leave.
Jackie reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘There is one thing?’
‘ What’s that?’
‘ Please don’t approach Julie and ask her anything. She has to forget.’
‘ I won’t,’ Danny promised.
It was only a very short appearance at Blackpool Magistrates Court for Louis Vernon Trent. He was flanked by two large policemen, one of whom was handcuffed to him, the other standing slightly behind him in the dock, his hand rubbing the knob of his baton almost sensually, willing Trent to behave badly so he could whack him. As it was, Trent remained meek, mild and compliant.
There was no application for bail and Trent was remanded in custody to reappear before magistrates on the following Thursday.
Twenty minutes later he was in the back of a prison bus which turned out of the rear yard of Blackpool police station, only to be met by a crowd of jeering onlookers who pelted the vehicle with eggs and rotten tomatoes.
Henry Christie yawned and stretched. He had been chatting to the CPS solicitor who had handled the short hearing, but had now gone, leaving Henry alone in the court, which was now deserted.
Henry was pleased Trent had been boxed off. It took a lot of pressure off him, particularly from FB who seemed to relish giving Henry grief. Now, other than the paperwork side of things, Henry could concentrate on Claire Lilton’s murder, which in a lot of respects was even more worrying than Trent’s escapades.
At least they knew they had been after Trent.
Now they had another murderer on the loose who they did not have a clue about. It was going to be a tough one to solve and he had to get a squad up and running from nothing again and motivate them to success.
As he walked towards the court door, it swung open and a breathless DS Furness stood there.
‘ I’ve got something.’
‘ What? From this dream nonsense?’ Henry laughed.
‘ Yes, from this dream nonsense.’
‘ Sit. Tell.’ Henry waved to a seat at the back of the court. She did both.
When she’d concluded, she said, ‘Well?’
Henry nodded slowly. ‘Let’s give it a run. Let’s pull him in.’
They walked out of the court, across the mezzanine and into the door of the police station.
‘ Danny!’
She turned to the enquiry desk where the Public Enquiry Assistant was tapping on the toughened glass screen, beckoning Danny towards her. The woman pointed across the foyer to the waiting area. ‘He wants to see you.’
Danny looked. It was Joe Lilton.
Chapter Seventeen
It was with a great deal of pleasure that Danny ‘laid hands’ on Joe Lilton and arrested him on suspicion of murdering his stepdaughter. She cautioned him to the letter and he replied, ‘I don’t blame you for arresting me, but I didn’t kill her; that’s what I’ve come in here to clear up.’
Danny led him down to the custody office.
Henry came along for the ride, switching off his pager which was irritating the hell out of him by vibrating in his pocket. Downstairs he phoned comms and they passed a message to him to ring Karl Donaldson at the FBI office in London.
A call that would have to wait.
Danny presented Joe Lilton to the custody officer who went through the computerised booking-in system which automatically checked all incoming prisoners on the PNC. No previous convictions were thrown up for Lilton, but reference was made to his firearms certificate. He still held one. The custody officer pointed this out to Danny, who said, ‘I know.’
They went through the full kit and caboodle with Lilton.
His clothing was seized and bagged up for forensic; swabs and hair were taken for DNA sampling. He was given a paper suit and slippers, then Danny booked out a set of tapes and she and Henry took him to an interview room.
He had indicated he did not wish to have a solicitor present.
As they left the custody office, there was the sound of an incredible ruckus from outside in the yard. Three police officers were fighting a young girl who was going berserk, scratching, spitting, kicking, screaming.
Henry caught sight of the rumpus as it tumbled through the custody office door. He gave a short laugh before following Danny down to the interview room.
‘ What’s going on, Karl?’ Myrna demanded to know.
‘ I’ve done what I can — left a message for the guy I know in Lancashire to contact me. I can only wait for his call, Myrna.’
‘ Yeah, sure, you’re right. Ring me as soon as you hear something, okay?’
‘ I will, Myrna, promise.’
‘ Promise?’
‘ Promise.’
She hung up and looked across the room at Tracey, still sleeping and twitching. Myrna folded her arms on the desk, laid her head on them, closed her eyes.
‘ I want to get this straight from the word go: I did not kill her. No way are you going to pin that on me.’
‘ Why are you here, then?’ Danny’s tongue flicked her bottom lip as she regarded the man sat opposite her in the paper suit. She hoped she was keeping a sneer off her face; probably it was a forlorn hope. Danny detested everything about Joe Lilton from the colour of his eyes to the fact he breathed the same air as she did.
‘ Because of what you said the other day, and that I know you lot will get round to me sooner or later.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, you always pick on the father or stepfather, don’t you? First port of call, usually.’
‘ That’s because they’ve usually done it, Joe,’ Henry observed.
Lilton raised his face towards Henry in a challenging manner. ‘Not in this case.’ His voice was hoarse.
‘ What did I say the other day, Joe — to make you come in?’ Danny asked.
‘ It was when you were talking about how the investigation was going and you mentioned DNA.’
‘ Go on,’ Danny encouraged him.
‘ Is it right that if you get DNA samples you can match them up to offenders?’
‘ It’s very true.’
‘ How, like, accurate is it?’
‘ Foolproof,’ Henry said.
Joe’s head dropped. He studied his thumbs as they circled each other.
‘ For example, Joe,’ Henry began, ‘in the case of Claire, she had semen inside her that is estimated to be four days old. It’s a piece of piss to match that up with a suspect. It’s also piss-easy to prove that someone ISN’T involved.’
Joe’s cranium remained pointing towards the detectives.
‘ So, Joe,’ Danny sighed, ‘why have you come here?’
Joe looked at her. ‘You fucking know, don’t you? You fucking know you bitch, don’t you?’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘You fucking know why I’m here.’
Danny remained impassive as the end of his finger hovered near the tip of her nose; she willed him to hit her. Instead he sat slowly back, dropped his head into his hands and sobbed.
‘ I didn’t kill her. You’ve got to believe me,’ he slavered through his fingers.
‘ What did you do?’
Joe looked up again. ‘Made love to her.’
Danny seethed. It was the second time a child-molester had referred to making love to his victims. ‘You made love to her?’ she demanded with a snarl.
‘ Yeah, she was willing.’
‘ She was eleven years old,’ Henry pointed out. He too was holding himself back from pitching over the table to strangle the bastard.
‘ You put your penis into her vagina and you ejaculated. Is that what you’re trying to say, Joe?’ Danny persisted.
‘ God, you make it sound so clinical,’ he snapped. ‘It was nothing like that.’
‘ What exactly was it like, Joe? Eh? Screwing your eleven-year-old stepdaughter? Go on, did the earth move? Was it all passion? Do you expect us to believe this
shite?’ Danny’s voice was rising uncontrollably, particularly as she remembered Claire’s face when she drove her back home that day of the storm, back to a home where she was suffering abuse of the worst kind. That look on her face… ‘You screwed your daughter, for God’s sake! A forty-four-year-old man, screwing his eleven-year-old daughter. That is not making love, as you so eloquently put it. It’s a serious criminal and moral matter, not a moment of passion between consenting adults.’ Danny stood up, pushed herself away from the table and walked to the corner of the room.
‘ DS Furness has stood up and walked across the interview room, away from the suspect, Lilton,’ Henry said for the benefit of the tape.
‘ But I didn’t kill her. That’s the bottom line.’
Henry spoke into the microphone in a steady tone. ‘I suggest, Mr Lilton, you take on the services of a solicitor. I feel it is inappropriate for this interview to proceed without one being present.’ Henry concluded the interview as per the Codes of Practice, sealed one of the tapes and got Joe to sign across the seal.
Danny remained tucked away in one corner, arms folded, head down, silently scuffing a shoe across the carpet.
Without warning, Henry’s hand shot out and grabbed Joe Lilton’s throat. He heaved the man to his feet, sending the chair underneath him spinning across the room with a clatter. He shoved Lilton into the wall, on which his head smacked hollowly. Lilton had fear flittering in his eyes. Henry’s face was only inches away from Lilton’s.
‘ You are a fucking pervert,’ he growled at the man. ‘In the past you would’ve been bounced around the cells and sometimes, just sometimes, I hanker for the good old days, Joe, because more than anything, I want to beat you to an inch of your life — and then kick you some more — whether or not you killed Claire.’
He released Joe with an exaggerated flick of the fingers, like he was dropping something horrible. Then, grabbing Joe’s arm, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go and see the Custody Officer.’
‘ There was no need to do that, Henry.’ Danny’s voice was strained. She was sitting on the examination couch in the police surgeon’s room in the custody complex, her feet swinging. Lilton was in a cell, awaiting his brief.
