by David Evans
* * *
All available officers were assembled and waiting in the CID room for the six o’clock briefing. Jim Ryan had done a good job of posting all necessary photographic information on the boards which Strong was studying. Ormerod stood by his shoulder. “Initial thoughts, guv?”
“Not enough info, Luke,” he said. “The sponge phallus was a surprise.”
Ormerod laughed. “Can’t be connected with the body in the bath though, surely?”
Unsmiling, he turned to look at his DC. “Kelly’s never really been happy with what happened to her but …” He shrugged.
Hemingford stormed into the CID room, the evening edition of the Yorkshire Post in his hand. “Right, which of you has been talking to the press?”
Silence descended like a winter fog. Puzzled looks were exchanged.
He held up the paper, folded at the appropriate page. “The fire,” he quoted, “is believed to have been started by an iron left on a pile of clothes.” He paused to look around the gathering. “Police are treating the death of a man found in an upstairs bedroom as suspicious. Too bloody right we are. But I’ll ask you again, who’s been talking to the press?” Another hard stare at all the officers present, many shaking their heads.
Eventually Strong responded to break the atmosphere. “That sort of information could have come from the Fire Service. They’d know how the fire started.”
Hemingford’s anger seemed to subside. “We wanted as much detail as possible held back on this. Only the person who started the fire would have known how they did it. Now, everyone does. At least they didn’t describe how Chamberlain was found.” He sat on a desk by the side of the whiteboard. “Okay, where are we with this?”
Over the course of the next ten minutes, various members of the team contributed information to the briefing. Strong confirmed that the identity of the victim had been formally established and the initial findings on cause of death. Doug Norris, the Scenes of Crime officer reported on his assessment of the fire scene. Working with the Fire Service, the seat of the fire was confirmed as the ground floor sitting room where a pile of clothing with an electric iron placed on top had ignited, all as mentioned in the newspaper. That had spread to the adjacent sofa. However, that had not burnt beyond salvation as with all burning in this situation, the clothing and material itself falls in on top of the fire and effectively preserves some of it.
“So what you’re saying is that we can retrieve some forensic evidence from here?” Hemingford asked.
“Exactly.” Norris responded. “We’re examining the remains in the lab at the moment. With a bit of luck, we can extract DNA from them.”
“How long for that?”
“Next week some time.”
“Make it as soon as,” Hemingford said. “So who can we compare those samples to? Who are our suspects?”
Jim Ryan took them through the photos on the board indicating names of those closest to the victim. There were also blanks for other friends and associates of Chamberlain who had yet to be identified.
The briefing finally ended with tasks allocated to various officers.
40
Saturday 18th August 2001
At the briefing the previous evening, Stainmore was charged with checking out Patrick Whitaker’s alibi. She’d been down to Pinderfields and spoken to a number of the A & E staff that were on duty on Thursday evening. But they’d struggled to remember if he’d been with them all shift. A check with security of their CCTV footage showed him leaving the hospital at 18:47 through a loading bay door and returning the same way at 20:12.
After she’d returned to Wood Street, Strong decided he would accompany her to Whitaker’s flat on the Lupset estate. He was driving.
“What did you reckon to Luke’s assessment, guv?” Stainmore asked.
Before they’d set off, Luke Ormerod had had a quiet conversation with Strong and Stainmore to voice his concerns about Hemingford’s attitude when questioning Belinda. He thought the new DCI had adopted an unnecessarily hard line. He’d reduced her to tears at one point, accusing her of being involved somehow.
“To be fair, Kelly, she wasn’t at home when we called on Thursday and the hospital told us she’d gone off sick. So I suppose, she’s offered no alibi for the relevant time frame.”
Stainmore was staring out of the window. “And … so far as we know, she would have the strongest motive of those we know about.” She looked back to Strong. “But you’ve spoken to her quite a bit recently. You don’t think she’s capable, do you?”
“Who knows what pressures she’s been under from Chamberlain. It must have been a shock, finding out what he’s been up to, never mind seeing the photographic evidence. But … no, my instinct tells me not.”
Pulling up outside Whitaker’s flat, Stainmore indicated the white Ford Transit belonging to Frank, with Patrick’s blue Vauxhall Astra parked in front. “With a bit of luck,” she commented, “they’re both at home.”
Patrick Whitaker answered the door himself, the disappointment obvious on his face. “What now?”
“Can we come in, Mr Whitaker?”
He sighed heavily and led the way up the stairs. “Close the door behind you. We don’t want anybody just walking in off the street.”
Up in the living room, there was no sign of Frank.
“You’re son not in?” Stainmore asked.
“Out with his mates.”
“Where was he on Thursday night between six and nine in the evening?” Strong enquired.
The line of questioning threw Whitaker for a second. “He was doing a job. Removals. Some old girl on Wrenthorpe was being moved into an old folk’s home off Batley Road. He knew the granddaughter and helped them out.” He looked at Stainmore. “I told you before; he’s not a bad lad.”
“But what about you Mr Whitaker,” Strong went on, “Thursday between six and nine.”
Again Whitaker addressed his answer to Stainmore. “I told you yesterday, I was working. A & E.”
“That’s true to a point, Patrick.” Stainmore picked up the thread. “But you weren’t there all shift.”
Whitaker’s gaze avoided the officers.
“We have evidence to suggest you left the premises from about ten to seven until just before a quarter past eight. Right smack in the middle of the period we’re looking at.”
“You must be mistaken. I told you, I was working.”
“Get your coat, Mr Whitaker,” Strong said, “we’ll continue this conversation at Wood Street.”
* * *
In interview room two, Whitaker sat nervously at the table. “Can’t I have a fag?” he asked.
“Health and Safety now, Mr Whitaker. You’ll find most public buildings are ‘no smoking’. Rumour has it, it’ll be banned in pubs soon.” Strong cast a quick smile to Stainmore and, still on his feet, placed tapes in the recording devices.
Whitaker shook his head.
“But, if you tell me the truth about Thursday night, then … I could arrange for you to have a cigarette break out in the yard.”
Whitaker rubbed his hand down his face. “Look, can I have a private word?” He looked to Stainmore who was poised, notebook open ready to write down the salient points of the interview.
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of DS Stainmore,” Strong responded.
Whitaker screwed up his face. “Please Mr Strong,” he said, “Man to man like.”
“Kelly, can you see if you can get us some coffees?”
Stainmore rolled her eyes, stood up and left the room.
Strong sat down opposite Whitaker. “Okay, what’s so delicate that only I will do?”
Whitaker leaned forward, arms on the table in a conspiratorial gesture. “This is difficult. Not for me but for somebody else.” He drew a deep breath but Strong remained silent. “Can I trust you to be … discreet?”
Strong smiled. “I’m a policeman, Mr Whitaker.” He leaned forward, his face inches from the suspect. He thought
he knew what was coming but decided he wouldn’t make it easy for him.
“I was with someone else,” Whitaker said.
“A woman?”
He nodded.
“Married?”
“Yes.”
“You realise, I’ll have to speak to her.”
“Which is why I wanted to talk like this.”
Strong took out his notebook. “Go on.”
“She’s a ward clerk at the hospital. Gloria. Gloria Redfearn.”
“I’ll need some contact details?”
“She works on the Maternity Unit. She should be there today, extra hours. It would be good if you … didn’t need to call on her at home. Her husband wouldn’t be too understanding.”
“Where does she live?”
“One of those terraced houses just over the road and a bit lower down from the hospital.”
“Handy.” Strong nodded and checked his watch. “So you reckon she’ll be at work now?”
“Should be, she was going in to catch up on some paperwork. They’ve been busy recently.”
Stainmore came back into the room at that point with three coffees.
“Can we just look after Mr Whitaker for a little while, Kelly? Hopefully, I might be able to save us some time and effort.”
“Must have been something interesting he said then?” She looked put out and placed the drinks on the table.
Strong took a big slurp of his coffee, put the cup back down and gathered his notebook. “I won’t be too long,” he said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll accommodate you in a cell for a little while, Mr Whitaker. You can take your drink with you.”
* * *
Just under an hour later, Strong walked into the CID room and sought out Stainmore. With a slight movement of the head towards his office, he attracted her attention. Inside, door closed, he rested against the desk. “We can let him go, Kelly.”
“Why? What did he tell you?” She looked disappointed.
“Turns out he’s been giving one to a ward clerk who works at the hospital and has the convenience of living over the road. When the shifts work out and her old man’s out, as he was on Thursday evening, our romantic charmer slips out and slips her one.”
“Genuine?”
“I never mentioned why I was asking, just that I needed to know if she could confirm his whereabouts for the times in question. At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed.”
“The slimy little …”
“Come on, Kelly, he’s not married, she is.”
“Still though.”
“I know what you mean.” Strong pushed himself up. “So what does that leave us now?”
“Well I spoke to the daughter of the old girl who was being moved by Whitaker junior on Thursday and that checks out. He pitched up after work around six and they didn’t finish until ten.”
“Well, just to cover all the bases take DNA samples from the Whitakers. Forensics can run a check with any evidence from the Chamberlain fire and release Patrick.
41
Monday 20th August 2001
“Okay ladies and gents, listen up please.” Hemingford called the briefing to order, standing in front of a display board. At the top in the centre, a photograph of the victim, Charles Chamberlain. Felt tip pen lines connected to one side with Belinda’s name and below hers, two boxes with the children’s names, Anthony and Grace. To the other side, a box with Anita Matthews’ name. Below, the names of Patrick and Frank Whitaker had been written in red.
Hemingford briefly summarised the facts as known so far. Chamberlain had been tethered to a wooden frame bolted to a wall in the first floor bedroom of a terraced house he owned on Leeds Road, Outwood at some point before twelve minutes past eight on Thursday evening. A fire started in the sitting room immediately below the bedroom. Cause of ignition, an electric iron placed on clothing, mostly women’s underwear, which spread to the nearby settee. Cause of death, asphyxiation due to smoke inhalation. Unusual aspects, apart from the victim being naked and restrained, was the presence of a phallus-shaped sponge placed in the victim’s mouth prior to being taped up, all prior to death. Also, when firemen arrived the door was locked with a key still on the outside of the door.
“So what else have we got?” Hemingford asked. “Colin?”
“There was a tenuous connection between the victim and those two up there.” Strong pointed towards the board. “Patrick Whitaker’s mother, Denise, our body in the bath case, cleaned the property for Chamberlain up until some time around May last year. As some of you know, she was living as a man and had, in her bathroom some … male genitalia, made of sponge.”
“Same as found in the victim’s mouth?” Hemingford looked surprised.
“Yes. But we’ve checked on father and son and they’re both out of the frame. Their alibis for the time of the fire hold up.”
DS Jim Ryan joined in. “We’ve been to his offices and checked through most of the files. Techy boys have his computer but so far, nothing out of the ordinary or unusual has come to light.”
“Luke and I have spoken to the wife,” Hemingford pointed to Belinda’s photo. “and the son. Mrs Chamberlain disappeared from her shift at the LGI around six, claiming to be unwell but wasn’t home until …?” He sought Strong out once more.
“She wasn’t at home when we first called on Thursday evening at five past ten. We called again at five to eleven, by which time she was there.”
“And all she’s told us is that she was unwell and sat in her car until she felt able to drive home,” Ormerod added.
“Not exactly a convincing alibi,” Hemingford commented. “Anything else?”
“Fire officer’s report confirms what you mentioned earlier, sir,” Darby said, “and forensics are running tests on the clothing that started the fire. Apparently they can obtain DNA of the regular wearer, especially if it involves collars, cuffs, waistbands, that sort of thing, where sweat might accumulate.”
“Do we know what the garments were?”
“Women’s I believe, bras and knickers.” Darby had a smirk on his face. “But with some of those photos we saw, it’s a toss up whether they were worn by women or blokes.”
Strong quickly moved the discussion on. “What about the victim’s clothes, personal effects, mobile phone?”
“Good point, Colin,” Hemingford responded.
“Found in the other bedroom, sir,” Darby answered. “Neatly folded on the bed with his suit hung up on a hanger. It looks like he was staying at the house. We found some more of his clothes in the wardrobe and drawers in that bedroom. His mobile was in his jacket pocket. Again, that’s been sent off to Technical Support.”
“Personal effects?”
“Wallet, credit cards, keys, all with us as evidence,” Darby added. “And we’ve brought his car in for forensic examination. It was parked in a side street.”
“Can you chase up their report on the phone please, John. Be interesting to see who he called and who called him in the hours leading up to the fire.” Hemingford’s gaze switched to DC Kirkland. “Sam, anything from door to door?”
Kirkland shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. The victim’s car had been seen regularly outside the property but nobody reported any unusual activity on the evening of the fire.”
Hemingford sighed, then switched his focus to DS Ryan. “Jim, can we get a time-line marked up here too?” He turned to face the board again. “And what about this one,” he said, pointing to Ormerod PA. “What has she had to say?”
“We interviewed her on Friday morning,” Stainmore picked up. “Reckons she was at home alone on Thursday evening. But she’s coming in shortly to go through those photographs that Mrs Chamberlain had taken in to be developed the other week. I think this time she’ll be willing to identify who was involved. Again, that should give us more background to the victim.”
“As long as she doesn’t identify the Chief Constable, we’ll be okay,” Hemingford quipped.
O
rmerod glanced at Strong and made a face, as if to say, ‘Fuck, he’s cracked a funny.’
Strong just smiled.
“Right, you should all know what you’re doing. To it,” the DCI instructed.
* * *
“Thanks for coming in, Anita.”
Anita Matthews was seated at the table in the front interview room where Stainmore had brought in drinks in styrene cups for them both.
“Didn’t have a lot of choice, did I?”
“But you do want to help find out who murdered Mr Chamberlain though?”
Anita let out a deep breath. “Of course. There doesn’t seem much point in keeping secrets any more.” She looked intently at Stainmore and pointed towards a folder of photos on the table. “Do you think one of those here was responsible?”
“The point is, we don’t know. But we do have to explore all avenues. In my experience, the perpetrator is normally known to the victim and finding out as much as we can about them will help.”
Anita held her gaze for a moment then lifted her coffee and took a sip. “Okay, let’s do it.”
This time, Stainmore had the full images to show her. She opened the folder and began. Ten minutes later, she had an interesting array of names. Anita also thought that the photographs had probably been taken prior to May 2000. One of the men involved had moved to Bristol around that time and another had died in January this year. Both were clearly identified. Also prominent was Bernard Faulkner. Anita informed her that he was very much into sadism and used to throw himself into those activities, rather too enthusiastically for Anita’s liking. “Horrible man,” she opined. “But Charles obtained a lot of work through him. Faulkner’s secretary was also named, with her proclivities more on the masochistic side. “Ideally suited, I suppose,” Anita said. “She always seemed subservient to him. Maybe even a little bit frightened of him, I suppose.” Other names included a female head of department at a secondary school in Barnsley and a number of prominent local businessmen.
Once Anita had left, Stainmore knocked and entered Strong’s office.
“Well guess who are members of the Talisman Club then, guv?” A smile played around her lips.
