by Bill Kitson
Lambert wasn’t about to give up his discovery that easily. He wanted her to work it out. ‘Think about it, Kate. What did I say when I stood up just now?’
‘You were agreeing with me. I complained about how rubbish the film was, and that it wasn’t a patch on the last one we watched.’
‘Correct, and what was that film? Can you remember?’
It took a few seconds before she got it. ‘Oh no, surely not! You really think that’s what happened?’
‘I do, but we’ll need to check a few facts before I can be sure.’
‘And you don’t think we can prove it?’
‘How could we? There isn’t a scrap of evidence to back my theory up. Being certain that I’m right isn’t going to convince a jury, let alone the Crown Prosecution Service. We’ll have a heck of a job to persuade the chief and Old Bill, let alone outsiders.’
‘I’ll tell you something, if you are right, and the truth does come out, it will definitely be one for the record books.’
‘We’ll have a better idea after we’ve checked the files tomorrow.’
Excitement over their discovery got them to the office early the next morning, and by the time their superiors had arrived at Bainton headquarters, they had checked the information they required to confirm the possible accuracy of Lambert’s theory. ‘I’ll ring Old Bill and see if we can get an appointment to see him and the chief together. That way we don’t have to repeat ourselves.’
Lambert made the call, but had to wait for Sharpe to ring back. ‘The earliest the chief can see you is later this afternoon,’ the superintendent told him. ‘Does this mean you’ve had a breakthrough?’
‘We believe so, but we’d rather tell you both,’ Lambert told him. ‘I certainly don’t want to share it with Leeds, not just yet.’
Lambert and Kate had to spend the next few hours waiting for the forthcoming meeting. Lambert spent the time collating the facts from each of the files, whilst Kate wrote out an internal memo. At four o’clock, as agreed, they arrived at Bainton and were ushered straight into the chief constable’s office where Sharpe was already seated.
The chief greeted them cordially, saying, ‘I’m told you’ve made some progress. Please tell us what you’ve discovered that the massed masterminds of Leeds CID missed; even with their superior intelligence.’
Lambert grinned at the chief’s sarcasm before beginning his story. ‘We believe we’ve identified the killer. However, before you get too excited, I should warn you that short of a confession, I believe the chances of a successful prosecution are exceedingly slim, even if we could convince CPS to take on the case. The problem we had was trying to find someone who had reason to want all four victims dead. That couldn’t be done, because no such person exists; no one wanted all four dead that we could see. But what we do have is four suspects, and each has an extremely strong motive for the murder of one of the victims, but no connection to the others. That was all very well, except for the fact that each of them has a cast-iron alibi for the time the person they hated was murdered. With the exception of Victor Gardner, that is. He has no alibi for the time his ex-wife was killed, but again, we discovered that he has unbreakable alibis for the other three murders. The fact that the same weapon was used in all four killings didn’t help us. In fact, we think it was designed to do exactly the opposite.’
‘Sharpe interrupted, ‘What do you mean by that, Peter?’
‘We believe the weapon was chosen purely because it would leave such distinctive wounds that it could not be confused with any other knife. In fact, we’d go so far as to suggest that the blade of the knife was deliberately notched to leave that elliptical gash in the skin of the victims. The reason for that was to convince us that the same person was responsible for all four murders. One weapon – one killer – a simple equation. There are, as you know, a good many deep lakes and abandoned mineshafts in this county, and we doubt very much if that knife will ever be found.’
‘If you think you’ve identified the killer, couldn’t we search their home?’ The chief constable asked. ‘Perhaps we’ll get lucky with bloodstains or soiled clothing.’
‘I doubt if there would be any such evidence. This plot was too carefully thought out to allow for such basic errors. We could try, of course, but I think it would prove to be a waste of time and effort.’
‘OK, Peter, you’ve had your fun. Stop tormenting us. Who is this clever killer you don’t think we can catch?’
‘We were watching TV last night when the solution came to us.’
‘Peter’s being modest,’ Kate interrupted, ‘it was all his idea.’
‘When we went to see Victor Gardner, I noticed he had a large collection of films. One that caught my eye was Strangers on a Train. That’s because we only watched it a few weeks ago.’
‘That’s the old Hitchcock classic, about two complete strangers agreeing to commit a murder for each other, isn’t it?’ Sharpe asked. ‘Oh, my God, is that what you think happened?’
‘We believe so. We think Gardner orchestrated the whole plot; he wanted his ex-wife dead. What better way of dealing with it than linking it to a series of murders. We think he recruited the others and arranged for them to exact their revenge for the justice they failed to get.’ Lambert glanced at a sheet of paper he had brought with him. ‘We checked the files, and although the four suspects all had alibis for some of the killings, none of them had an alibi for all four. By a process of elimination, we believe that Gardner did kill his ex-wife, but we also believe that he directed Lily Holt to murder Frank Barrington, Terry Gilbert to kill Ashley Fortune, and Carmela Flores to murder Rev. Campion. We thought it significant that only one of the victims had also been beaten. That was Ashley Fortune, and we think that Gilbert, who is by far the most unstable of the suspects, exceeded his brief. However, like I said at the beginning, short of a confession I don’t think we’ve a ghost of a chance of bringing any of them to trial.’
The chief constable and Sharpe accepted their report in gloomy silence, and as they left, Sharpe pleaded with Lambert to continue his efforts. ‘I will,’ Lambert agreed, ‘as long as you don’t expect miracles. I’ll put all this in writing, of course. It might come in useful in thirty years’ time, if one of them makes a deathbed confession. I’m just not prepared to hold my breath for it.’
As he was speaking, Lambert noticed Kate talking to the chief constable, and saw her hand him an envelope. That evening she cooked a celebration meal. ‘Are you all right?’ Peter asked.
‘I’m fine, Peter. As you were telling them the story this afternoon, I remembered something that the QC, Stephen Jardine, said to me after the Ashley Fortune acquittal. He quoted the law relating to double jeopardy and said there was no second chance for the victim. However, I think he was wrong. Perhaps this is their second chance.’
‘That sounds rather as if you’re defending their actions.’
‘I’m neither defending them nor condemning them. I don’t think it’s possible to be judgemental unless you’ve experienced what they had to endure.’
‘That still doesn’t give them the right to take the law into their own hands.’
‘Whose hands should they place it in, then? They went to the courts, obeying the law, and the courts failed them. How can you blame them for seeking another road to justice?’
‘That’s no way for a serving police officer to think. Is that why you handed in your resignation this afternoon?’
Kate smiled. ‘That’s why you’re such a good detective, Peter. You’re very observant – most of the time. You might miss what’s under your nose occasionally, but that’s another matter. No, I decided to resign because I intend to follow another career entirely. One that has more to do with protecting the innocent than sticking to a rigid code that is riddled with faults.’
‘Yes, but Kate, what you describe isn’t justice. It’s retribution, pure and simple.’
‘That may be so, but you have to remember that I interviewed two of those peop
le who were abused. I had nightmares afterwards because of some of the things they told me. But hearing what they had suffered wasn’t the worst part. The worst bit was knowing that they had left huge chunks out of their stories, because their pride or shame would not allow them to reveal it to anyone.’
‘I accept that they went through a harrowing ordeal, but that still doesn’t give them the right to revenge.’
Kate thought for a moment. ‘OK, Peter, let me put this scenario to you. Suppose it had happened to you. Suppose, for instance, that you discovered your child had been abused in the way they had, and that there was nothing the law could do to punish the abuser. What would you do about it?’
‘That’s unfair. I can’t possibly answer that, because I don’t have children.’
‘OK, let’s agree to leave it at that for the time being. I’ll ask you again in six months’ time, shall I?’
Peter stared at her for several seconds before the penny dropped. ‘Kate, is that why you resigned?’
She chuckled. ‘Tell me, Peter, how do you feel about becoming a father?’
END
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Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014
ISBN 9781783753116
Copyright © Bill Kitson 2014
The right of Bill Kitson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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