by Lisa Cutts
‘What’s he said up to now in interview?’
‘Tom and Soph hadn’t got all that far when I left,’ said Harry. ‘By the time they took his DNA, samples and clothing, they’d had one interview where he said that his only involvement was sending death threats through the post to Woodville.’
‘Any reason?’
The look Josh received in answer made him smile. He knew that Harry was about to rip into him for what was clearly a stupid question.
‘Because the man thought it was OK to rape children. That’s usually enough. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I get that, Harry, but it’s not like sex offenders are a dying breed. If anything, they seem to be flourishing. What I meant was, why Leon Edwards and Woodville? What’s the link between them?’
‘Years ago, Edwards was at a children’s home which was run by Woodville. Also at the home was Toby Carvell. He’s someone we’ve already been out to see and something doesn’t seem quite right there either. Carvell was part of the original enquiry into Woodville when he was sent down in the nineties. The only problem was, Woodville was acquitted of offences against Carvell.’
‘How about Leon Edwards? Was he part of the original investigation too?’ said Josh.
Harry shook his head. ‘Reading through the notes, he claimed that Woodville beat him a lot but nothing sexual. He didn’t even make a statement. It doesn’t seem right that nothing happened to him as a child, yet much later he decides to send death threats to a man he hadn’t seen for over twenty years.’
‘So what’s the next step?’
‘The usual forensic run with stuff going off to the lab, left, right and centre. Woodville took the letters he got in the post into the nick and gave them to Laura Ward. She was the ViSOR officer keeping an eye on him. We’ve had a conversation about what a high risk he was but she did all she could to find out who sent the letters.’
‘Fingerprints?’ asked Josh.
‘Nothing on the envelopes’ contents so someone was being careful. The outside isn’t helpful as it gets handled by God only knows how many people until it gets to its destination. We are, however, talking about a bit of a fuckwit who decided to lick the seal on the envelope. All we need to do now is determine whoever’s DNA it is by finding a match. The envelope went off ages ago to the lab but matched nothing already on the database. Might turn out to be Leon Edwards’s now we’ve got a sample from him.’
He pushed himself back in his chair and smiled. ‘What would that actually prove? We’ve got someone who’s now dead being threatened weeks before their murder. If the person sending the threats is the same person as the murderer, the threat to kill is too minor to worry about. If the offender isn’t one and the same, how are we going to prosecute? Woodville won’t be coming to court to give evidence to say how scared he was.
‘We have enough of a problem getting jobs home at court when the victim’s alive, let alone a fucking corpse. Can you see us even getting a charge authorized for this?’
‘Leon Edwards may accept a caution,’ said Josh.
When they both stopped laughing at this, Harry asked, ‘One for the road?’
‘You’re willing to suffer another orange juice?’ said Josh.
‘It’s either that, go back to work – and I’m probably going to out of sheer nosiness – or go home to the wife. I’d rather sit here and talk about detecting this murder. It’s more cheerful than being at home right now.’
‘Sorry to hear that things are still so bad indoors. Have you made any decisions?’
Harry pondered his answer. He knew that he avoided thinking about his domestic set-up but on the rare occasions he was asked a direct question about it it at least started him off on a train of thought, even if he didn’t always feel comfortable with it.
He rubbed at his stubble with both hands, recognizing it as a sign of thinking too deeply for his own good. One hand was habit, two were a bad omen. He preferred not to cogitate, especially when it came to his wife. He didn’t like the idea that his marriage was struggling because of his work. Better to blame the fact that his domestic arrangement was far from blissful, so he was forced to spend so much time in the office.
It wasn’t his fault then.
He opened his mouth to ask Josh how things were with him: he had meant to ask him, when his phone rang.
Harry saw Tom Delayhoyde’s name appear on the screen and answered. He could hear the excitement in the DC’s voice.
‘Boss, great news. Leon Edwards is talking, as you know. He admitted to sending the death threats through the post simply to put the frighteners on Woodville. He’s still insisting that he did it alone but when we pushed him on whether he’d ever been to Woodville’s flat or knew where it was, he went very quiet to begin with. Then came the good part.’
There was a pause whilst Tom got his breath back.
‘He said that he was in the area near to Woodville’s flat on the evening he was murdered. He saw Woodville come out of the Co-op and walk home. It looked like a car was driving slowly up and down past the victim. It only did it twice, something we probably hadn’t picked up on yet. Edwards thought it looked odd.
‘I’ll grant you, boss, it could be because he’s clutching at straws but right at the moment, we’re reviewing that bit of CCTV footage.’
‘It’s a start,’ said Harry, ‘but have we got any chance of identifying the car or the occupants?’
‘We’ve got the CCTV from the Co-op,’ said Tom. ‘The really brilliant news is that a bus goes past Woodville as he’s about to turn the corner to his road. We’ve got the CCTV from the bus and it shows someone in the car, though it’s a bit grainy. I’ve got to get it enhanced, but I think we should be able to get the registration at least.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Harry, ‘you bloody genius. I’m on my way.’
Chapter 59
The day had been an interesting albeit difficult one for Hazel. Pierre had seemed out of sorts too, although he spoke on the journey back about Charles Culverton, and also about Monica Lewis’s big revelation with an openness that Hazel couldn’t seem to muster. She admired him for the common-sense stance he took when it came to children telling lies and not knowing how much trouble they could get someone into, but every time she pushed the girl’s admission from her mind up sprang the image of Dean Stillbrook hanging from a tree.
By the time they got back to East Rise Police Station, she didn’t know which she wanted to do first: vomit or take a long hot shower. At least she had come across someone who proved there could be survivors of childhood sexual abuse. With that thought she managed to salvage something good from her day.
The two detectives trudged up the stairs to the incident room and dropped their paperwork off on their desks.
‘You get off home,’ Hazel said to Pierre. ‘It’s only your first day back from your holiday. I wanted to have a chat to the DI if he’s still about.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ he said. ‘It was an early start, though at least we didn’t end up staying overnight. I was happy to book into a hotel, but I’m even happier to be going home.’
‘Yeah, goodnight and thanks for your company today,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch up with you in the morning.’
She waited until Pierre had signed out in the diary and made sure that there was no one else around before she took the short walk along the corridor to Harry Powell’s office.
Even as Hazel stealthily made her way along the worn blue carpet-tiles, she wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to ensure she was alone. It wasn’t as if she was doing anything wrong by wanting to speak to Harry on his own. She tried to rationalize it and paused outside the disabled toilet when a thought hit her. She wanted to talk to him because she had him down as someone she could confide in and trust.
Such a perception about someone she had only met fourteen hours ago was an extremely odd one. Few people gained her trust, even after years.
Either he was remarkable or she wasn’t her
self.
Disappointment hit her when she got to his door and realized that his office was empty.
A lamp was lit on the far side of his desk, illuminating the back corner of the small room where there was a small circular table with two chairs. One of the chairs had a broken arm and there was a hole in the carpet. The only thing in the room that gave the impression of being relatively new was the enormous whiteboard hanging on the wall.
Hazel stood for a moment, absorbed in the list of operation names written in black marker pen, some going back two years. Nothing from Operation Rotation 2015 to Operation Hydrant 2014 rang any bells with her, merely made her feel that the country was awash with crimes that most people either knew nothing of, or chose to remain ignorant of.
She heard a noise behind her and for a second she thought that Harry had found her in his office, lost in thought, staring at the wall.
‘Hello,’ said a voice. ‘Are you after Harry?’
Hazel turned to see an older woman, attractive, kind face, smiling at her. Something about her said senior officer, although Hazel couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m DC Hazel Hamilton. I started here this morning. I can come back later.’
‘I’m Barbara Venice. Have you got time for a coffee? I know that you and Pierre had an early start today.’
Her name rang an immediate bell, loud and clear. Hazel knew that she was talking to the DCI and if truth be told she was desperate to get away now that she knew Harry wasn’t there. Even so, she didn’t think it would do any harm to pass half an hour warming herself with a drink and chatting to her new boss.
‘Thanks,’ she heard herself say before she could change her mind. ‘I’ll make it.’
‘No, I’ll do it. Take a seat in my office and I’ll be with you in a minute.’
‘OK, ma’am. Milk, no sugar, please.’
Hazel followed the direction Barbara waved towards, having also guessed that the DCI’s office would be where it had always been.
A photograph of what was clearly the Venice family took pride of place on the desk, confirming that Hazel was in the correct room. Hazel didn’t have to wait long before she heard a woman’s footsteps coming towards her.
‘How was your first day?’ said Barbara once she’d handed her a mug and they’d both sat down.
‘Odd, if I’m honest.’ Hazel blew on the coffee to cool it, although the benefit of instant water from a tap on the wall was that it was rarely too hot. Still, it gave her time to collect her thoughts. She decided to keep her forthright attitude under wraps until her feet were firmly under the table.
When it was clear that Barbara expected her to expand on her comment, she continued. ‘It was hard going today speaking to Monica Lewis. I’ve mixed emotions about the whole thing: on one hand, she’s a petrified little girl who didn’t know what to do when the balloon went up and everyone started to believe what she was saying; on the other hand, she did something so stupid, eventually she cost an innocent man his life by saying he’d touched her when he’d done nothing of the sort.
‘It’s the problem with one person’s word against another’s, isn’t it? Monica was accusing Dean Stillbrook of something that wouldn’t necessarily lead to DNA evidence, and certainly not in this case. Especially as it didn’t happen anyway.’
Barbara sat and listened. She allowed Hazel to unburden herself of the day’s events and after some time, said, ‘Well, according to what’s been happening in the cells whilst you’ve been in Sussex, it seems that we may have some progress on who murdered Albert Woodville. I’ve a sneaking suspicion that it may well be the same people who put a rope around Dean’s neck and hoisted him into the trees.’
Hazel’s eyes opened wide.
‘Really? That’s great news. We hadn’t been told this. What’s happened?’
‘There was a vehicle seen near to Woodville as he came out of the shop minutes before he was murdered. Two figures got out and followed him. We’ve got a partial registration and we’re narrowing down the owner. I think we’ll have made some arrests by morning.’
‘That’s us set for another long day tomorrow,’ said Hazel, memories of working through the night flooding back.
‘Have you missed all this?’ said Barbara. ‘I doubt much has changed in the time you’ve been gone.’
Hazel hesitated to say any more but the long day with its mental strain and being new in the job meant she found herself letting her guard down.
She took a breath and said, ‘The work’s unique, I’ll say that much. I left Major Crime once because of a mistake I made. I failed to recognize the signs that one of my rape victims showed and she took her own life.’
Both of them sat and absorbed the weight and sadness of Hazel’s words.
‘I know it wasn’t my fault. At least that’s what I tell myself. It didn’t stop me feeling bad and I can’t help thinking that the eighteen-year-old girl would now be twenty-two. She might have got married, had a baby, I don’t know, become a scientist and made inroads into the cure for cancer. Instead, a random man with no thought further than his own sexual gratification and the need to pretend that his own bloody miserable existence on this planet meant something, raped her and made her feel like shit.
‘The physical act is bad enough, isn’t it? A disgusting stranger with who knows what diseases forcing himself on you, but the constant, never-ending feeling that must stay with you morning, noon and night that something bad has happened …’
Hazel paused for breath. The feeling didn’t escape her that she had probably said too much. And Barbara was the second person she had told in one day. The expression on Barbara’s face was of mild concern, but largely interest.
‘We all make mistakes,’ she said. ‘If someone goes through their entire life without making a mistake, they’re either extremely lucky or a dictator. It can’t happen that in thirty or so years of police work none of us will ever go wrong. It’s impossible.’
‘Can I ask,’ said Hazel, ‘what thought fills your mind and keeps you awake at night?’
A shadow passed across Barbara’s face. It might have been the lighting but Hazel thought she recognized the flicker of a personal torment. The glance away, sideways to the left, confirmed to her that she wasn’t about to get the truth.
‘There have been a few, you know,’ she said with a liar’s smile. ‘There’s no single specific thing but now and again I remember something I hesitated to pass on, or recall that I left an enquiry for a day longer than I should have. As SIO, I have to make bigger decisions, follow my instinct and lead the team in a particular direction. I suppose that I wouldn’t always know if I’d got it wrong. Take one pathway and you’re never going to know where the other one would have led.’
They sat in silence for a second or two: Barbara knowing she had said something that was completely untrue and Hazel suspecting it.
‘You’re right about not blaming yourself,’ said the DCI, ‘though I doubt that my words help. Every victim of crime reacts differently, especially to something as serious as rape or child abuse.’
‘I know and I expect that’s why I found today so tricky. It would have been bad enough if Dean Stillbrook had committed suicide, but the fact that he was murdered for something he didn’t even do … that young girl is going to have some serious issues in her later life. Something that huge will always come back to haunt us.’
Chapter 60
‘Tell me a bit more about who you saw following Albert,’ said Tom to Leon that evening.
He sat on one side of the interview-room table, Leon opposite him and Sophia to the side. It was the third interview, and the fourth time Leon had turned down the opportunity of having a solicitor present.
If truth be known, Tom would have felt more comfortable with a brief there. He couldn’t insist but he had never known a prisoner suspected of such a serious crime as murder to go it alone.
Leon’s bulk took up most of his side of the table and
his backside was hanging over both sides of the wooden chair. He was dressed in police-custody-issue grey tracksuit bottoms and top, the largest size they had. Both were stretched to capacity and almost required a trip to the shops when nothing they had in the store seemed to fit. The jailer managed to rummage in the recently laundered returns and save them a dash into East Rise High Street’s many discount clothes shops.
Only once had Tom known a prisoner to decide that he wasn’t going to be interviewed and walk out. His money was on Leon seeing it through to the end, although he didn’t fancy his chances of stopping him if he chose otherwise. The man was massive.
Fortunately, he also seemed to be passive with it.
‘Look,’ said Leon, picking up one of the three paper cups of water he had been supplied with, ‘I came in here to tell you that I’d sent Mr Woodville death threats through the post. It’s not something I’m proud of. It was poxy stupid of me. I know it now and knew it at the time. He was a total git to me when I was a kid but I wouldn’t kill the man.
‘The size of me, it wouldn’t take much to hurt him but I know that two wrongs don’t make a right. I wasn’t going to tell you about the bloke in the car I saw that night. I may not be the fizziest cola in the fridge but I do know that I’ve just put myself near his flat on the night he was killed. I couldn’t help myself. I knew where he lived and I wanted to see what he was up to. He lived near to a school and there’s always kids hanging around those shops. I suppose if I saw him talking to kids or doing something he shouldn’t be doing, it would’ve made me feel less shitty about sending him death threats.
‘I feel bad that someone’s killed him, though I can’t say I feel any sadness that he’s dead.’
‘The bloke?’ asked Tom.
Leon’s forehead creased and his eyebrows became reacquainted.
