Design for Murder

by Roy Lewis

  ‘Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!’

  Tam Riley switched off his radio. He looked about him, the dark, stark walls of the castle above, and he thought about the car that had been driven off, up towards Cullercoats, as the squad car had made its way slowly down Front Street. It could have been the driver of that car who had thrown the body down the steps into the moat. They had possibly been only a matter of yards from apprehending the killer. Too late to even think about following the vehicle: it could be anywhere by now.

  Now it was just a matter of waiting until other officers arrived.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1

  Eric took the late train from King’s Cross that evening and did not reach his flat until the early hours of the morning. He slept badly, woke early and turned up at his office by 8.30. Inevitably, Susie Cartwright was already there: she seemed to regard it as a matter of pride to be at her desk before he arrived. As soon as he had settled in behind his desk, she tapped on the door and entered the room.

  ‘Have you seen the Journal this morning, Mr Ward?’

  Eric shook his head, and then took from her the proffered newspaper. The lurid headlines leapt out at him from the front page.

  ZODIAC KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!

  Fourth victim found on Tyneside

  Eric looked up at Susie: she pulled a face at him, expressing sympathy and helplessness, and he knew what was on her mind. Many of the public would be seeking to blame the lawyers for the collapse of the Conroy trial. He folded the newspaper and settled down to read the leading article, as Susie quietly went back to her room.

  After three murders in the Midlands, the Zodiac Killer has struck again, this time on Tyneside. The body of a woman was discovered late last night at Tynemouth Priory. While no identification of the victim has been made public as yet, sources claim that the woman’s body, which was unclothed, showed identical injuries to those suffered by the women previously killed in the Midlands.

  It is also understood that the person previously charged with the killings, but released after the collapse of the trial held at Newcastle Crown Court, had stated his intention to remain on Tyneside. He now seems to have disappeared.

  The question is now being asked: where is Raymond Conroy?

  Eric leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully out of the window. After a little while he rose and went out to the reception area. Susie looked up from her desk, where she was assembling some documents into file covers. ‘Yes, Mr Ward?’

  ‘I’ve no doubt,’ he said slowly, ‘that during the next few hours there’ll be more than a few calls from journalists, wanting to seek comments from me.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s already started,’ Susie murmured regretfully. ‘Even this early in the morning. I’ve told them you’re not available at the moment.’

  ‘Right. I don’t want to talk to them. Just tell them I’m busy, and have no comment to make on the matter. In the meantime, can you ring Miss Owen’s chambers? I’d like to have a word with her.’

  He returned to his desk and continued to stare moodily out of the window to the Quayside, until at last the phone rang. It was Sharon. He went straight to the point.

  ‘Sharon, have you seen the newspaper this morning?’

  Her tone was subdued. ‘The Journal. I’ve got it in front of me right now.’

  ‘The journalists will be hounding us very soon: in fact, they’ve already started on me. I’m placing myself incommunicado. You’d be well advised to do the same. I think it would be a good idea if we got together this evening.’

  She was in agreement. ‘Your place?’

  ‘I’ll be there by six.’

  He found it difficult to concentrate for the rest of the day. His thoughts wandered; he went over the details of Raymond Conroy’s defence, and the presentation made by Sharon. He told himself they had merely been doing their job, acting as representatives of the accused, making no personal judgments on whether he was guilty or not. And the collapse of the prosecution case, that had been down to Mr Justice Abernethy, who had held there was no case to answer. He wondered how the judge would be taking the news this morning. He shook his head. Like Eric and Sharon, the judge had merely done his job. His conscience would be clear.

  Even so, another woman had died, and this time in the north-east. Eric frowned. If the killing had been committed by Raymond Conroy, what maniacal confidence had led him to commit such a crime again, when he was known to be in the area? The newspapers would have a field day, of course, and would be quick to point the finger, albeit carefully in view of the laws of libel. But he had no doubt that attention would also be focused on the part he and Sharon had played in the release of Raymond Conroy.

  About three in the afternoon there was a light tap on the door. Susie stepped into the room, in best mothering mood. ‘I thought you might like a cup of coffee, Mr Ward.’

  As she placed the cup on his desk he grimaced. ‘I’ll probably need something a damn sight stronger than coffee before the day is out.’ He realized she was carrying another newspaper in her hand. ‘What’ve you got there?’

  ‘It’s the early edition of the Evening Chronicle,’ she said in a quiet tone.

  ‘Same kind of headline?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded, then hesitated. ‘But there’s something else … an article inside.’

  Eric groaned mentally. ‘Is it worth reading?’ he demanded.

  Susie shrugged. ‘Depends on your point of view. It’s by Mr Fraser.’

  Eric frowned, making no immediate connection and then, thinking back, he said, surprised, ‘The guy who made an appointment with me? Wanted to talk to me about Conroy?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’ Susie placed the newspaper on the desk. ‘I’ll let you read it in peace.’

  After she had gone, Eric reluctantly picked up the paper. The bold front-page headline read TERROR ON TYNESIDE. He did not bother reading the regurgitation of facts concerning the discovery of the body at Tynemouth Priory: there would be little difference from that contained in the Journal. He had no doubt that the nationals would be offering the same fare, and there would be similar screaming headlines in the Midlands newspapers. He opened the Evening Chronicle and looked inside. The article Susie had referred to was on the third page.

  IS THIS THE PROFILE OF A KILLER?

  By Tony Fraser

  A great deal of published information has come out over the years, both in this country and in the United States, with regard to the forensic profiling of individuals convicted of heinous crimes. Serial killers such as Ted Bundy and Ed Gein in the States have been dissected, psychologically, in an attempt to discover what motivated them in their desire to rape, and torture and kill. Their mental processes have been investigated and probed, their family backgrounds pored over, their psychological strengths and weaknesses have been exposed, but while some conclusions have been drawn, conclusions of some general relevance, is it really possible to draw lessons from such investigations?

  Perhaps more to the point, it might be asked whether it is sensible to apply such conclusions to the British experience. Apart from Shipman and West, we have, fortunately, not seen too many serial killers among our midst, but is the American profiling experience valid in our context? And more seriously, can we be certain that such profiling served a useful purpose in the recent decision to prosecute Raymond Conroy for the so-called Zodiac killings?

  Eric read on with a growing feeling of surprise. The Fraser article went on to describe in some detail the life story of Raymond Conroy: an accountant father, the early death of his mother, a privileged education at a well-known public school and by the time he was twenty relatively well-off financially after his father’s death in a car accident and a legacy from a maiden aunt. It gave some details of Conroy’s work in a legal office before his decision to attempt to make a living in the art world, his attendance at an art college, his occasional sales of minor works.

  Eric was thoughtful when he finally laid the newspaper aside. Tony Fras
er was running close to the wind. A new killing had taken place, and on the same day it had been announced Fraser’s article had appeared. The article itself contained little that was not already in the public domain and was by and large an apologia for Raymond Conroy, with an attack upon the people who had taken the decision to prosecute him.

  It was skating on thin ice, Sharon suggested, when he showed her the article shortly after she arrived at his flat that evening. ‘He could well be sued for libel,’ she suggested, ‘particularly if Conroy takes offence.’

  Eric wasn’t so sure. ‘I’m not sure Conroy would feel that way. Fraser is pretty careful what he writes. It’s mainly supportive of the result we achieved in the hearing. It’s critical of the flimsiness of the prosecution case.’

  ‘Yes, but although it sort of claims to exonerate Conroy, the fact is it’s appeared on the same day as the headlines are yelling about this new murder! It just draws even greater attention to the whole business. It’s a flagrant piece of opportunism, cashing in on Conroy’s notoriety.’

  Eric poured her a stiff whisky, splashed some soda water into the glass and handed it to her where she sat on the settee, indignant, poring over Fraser’s newspaper article. ‘Don’t assume too much from the coincidence of the timing,’ Eric suggested. ‘Fraser’s article would have been written some time ago, I’d guess: it would have had to be submitted, and cleared by the editorial staff, some days before it was printed. Certainly before the killing at Tynemouth. So the timing is coincidental.’

  Sharon shook her head in doubt. ‘I wonder where he got all his personal details about Conroy.’

  Eric grimaced, and sat down beside her, putting his arm along the back of the settee. ‘A lot of it would have come from information gleaned from the trial itself, I think. Then, as I recall, there was a great deal of stuff written about Conroy’s background in the newspapers, before the trial was ever moved up here to the Newcastle Crown Court. This article, it’s just a scissors and paste job, Sharon. He’s patched it together, using published information and larded it with a review of forensic profiling in sensational cases in the States.’

  ‘It says at the end that there will be further articles to follow.’

  ‘I don’t think we should concern ourselves about it. Anyway, the best thing we can do is to keep our heads down, make no comments and wait to see what comes out of all this business. Remember, we’re no longer involved. Our relationship with Raymond Conroy, and the murders of these unfortunate women, is over.’

  She shook her head in doubt. ‘We’ve consoled ourselves with that thought several times. I hope you’re right.’

  ‘I am. Now then, how about beef stroganoff this evening? I’m cooking.’

  ‘And I’m paying, I suppose.’ She smiled.

  He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘We can talk about that a little later.’

  She relaxed while he prepared the meal. After a second whisky she seemed to be at ease, and put on some music in the background while they chatted inconsequentially about the day’s events, staying away from further discussion of Raymond Conroy. To the background of Rodrigo and guitar adagios he opened a bottle of Bordeaux and then, over dinner, she asked him, ‘So did you have a successful few days in London?’

  He hadn’t quite decided what to tell her about his meeting with Linwood Forster, but when she gave him the opening he thought it best to tell her the truth. Not least because it would have a certain impact upon their future professional relationship, since he had agreed to send her fewer briefs for opinions.

  ‘I met the guy who’s responsible for putting the immigration cases my way,’ he explained. ‘It was OK. I mean, the Home Office is more than happy about the work we’ve been doing for them. But there was one thing came up in my discussion with Linwood Forster, the civil servant who is responsible for sending us the briefs.’ Eric paused, delaying the moment. ‘You know, when I met Coleen Chivers to get her signature on the trust documents, signing things off and closing the whole business on your behalf, she mentioned to me she’d never met you, in spite of the fact you’re cousins.’

  Sharon nodded, sipped her wine. ‘Yes, that’s right. Our parents were, as I told you, somewhat distant, the one from the other. My mother Anne never seemed interested in family reunions with her brother Peter so there were no get-togethers. As for me and Coleen later, well, there never seemed opportunity, or need, for us to meet. We didn’t socialize as children, so why change the situation? But why do you ask?’

  Eric hesitated. It was best to come clean. ‘It sort of ties in with what was said to me at the Home Office. Linwood Forster suggested … in fact, laid it on strongly, that he thought it would be a good idea if I passed fewer immigration briefs to you.’

  Sharon raised puzzled eyebrows, staring at him in surprise. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re related to Coleen Chivers.’

  There was a brief, stunned silence. ‘But that’s absurd! What the hell has that got to do with anything?’ Sharon flared, staring at him in indignation. ‘I can understand if this man has problems with my professional performance, or found some fault with my legal opinions—’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ Eric assured her.

  ‘Because I come from the same family background as Miss Chivers? What the hell is that all about?’

  Eric pushed his plate aside. He leaned over and topped up Sharon’s wine glass. He could see the glint of anger in her eyes. ‘It’s all a bit stupid, in my view, especially since there’s been no real contact between you and your cousin over the years, other than the dispute over the trust funds. But, like the typical civil servant he is, cautious to the point of folly, he’s asked me to make sure that certain marked files should not be handled by you, when I need to seek an opinion.’

  She was not mollified. ‘I still don’t see what this is all about!’

  Eric sighed. ‘In reality, it’s not about you. It seems that Coleen Chivers, apart from being the chief executive of Chivers Properties Limited, is on the board of various other subsidiary companies, as well as being a non-executive director of some companies in which she has no financial interest.’

  ‘So?’

  Eric glanced at her. ‘Have you heard any rumours about her personal life?’

  Sharon grimaced. ‘I don’t listen to gossip.’

  Eric guessed she had in fact come across rumours. ‘Well, according to Linwood Forster, it seems your cousin has led a somewhat rackety sexual life over the last few years. She’s never married, but there have been several relationships, varying in length and intensity. One of them has caused concern to our friend and benefactor at the Home Office.’

  There was a short silence. ‘You’ve met her,’ Sharon remarked, almost accusingly. ‘So what is she like?’

  Eric nodded. ‘I met her in her office, to sign off the trust documents. She’s a handsome woman, but she does come across somewhat … predatory. But that’s not the point. She is what she is. But what’s been of concern to Linwood Forster is the affair she’s apparently been conducting of recent months with a certain George Khan.’

  ‘Who might he be?’ Sharon demanded.

  Eric thought back over the conversation at Linwood Forster’s club. ‘According to Linwood Forster, George Khan is Iranian in origin, apparently, but became a naturalized British subject some years ago. He’s currently managing director and chairman of a company called Eastern Textiles Limited. Import-export according to the classifications but … it seems MI5 has been interested in Mr Khan for some time.’

  Sharon’s eyes widened. ‘In what respect? What has this Khan guy been up to?’

  ‘Linwood Forster was discreet. Just came out with vague comments, nothing specific. But what it all amounts to, as far as I can make out, is that George Khan is suspected of having links with terrorist organizations in Afghanistan. Linwood Forster suggested there’s some evidence that his company has been acting as a front for money-laundering, providing financial support for proscribed organization
s, that sort of thing.’

  ‘So why hasn’t he been arrested?’ Sharon demanded.

  Eric shrugged. ‘Who knows? Probably not enough evidence. Or maybe the authorities have been playing a waiting game. I don’t know. Linwood Forster wasn’t specific, and I got the impression that even he thought that there was a certain amount of over-reaction in attitudes among his colleagues. Or maybe MI5 officers are biding their time for bigger fish. I really have no idea. Linwood Forster was vague. But what it comes down to is that George Khan has been sleeping with Coleen Chivers with some regularity when she visits London. And up here, we get immigration briefs which occasionally include sensitive information. I pass most of those briefs to you for opinions to be drafted. And you’re a cousin of Coleen Chivers. Like it or not, that makes nervous civil servants even more nervous.’

  ‘But I’ve never even met her!’ Sharon insisted angrily.

  ‘As Linwood Forster said, that’s as may be. But there are those in the Home Office who would see this as an unnecessary security risk. So I’m advised: make less use of you.’

  Sharon frowned grumpily. ‘So be it, then. I’ve plenty on my plate anyway. It’s just that it’s all so … irrational, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Eric replied softly. ‘But clients—’

  ‘Have a right to choose who works for them,’ she concluded for him. She drained her glass, reached for the bottle determinedly. She filled her glass; her hand was shaking slightly. ‘Been quite a day, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Tonight will be better,’ he promised her.

  ‘I look forward to it.’ She sipped her wine and took a deep breath, calming herself, and then glanced at him curiously. ‘And you say Coleen Chivers came across as a bit of a man-hunter?’

  Eric smiled. ‘I think she’s pretty direct in her attitudes.’

  ‘So did she come on to you when you met her at her office?’ Sharon asked mischievously.