The death of Leanne Bell became another unsolved cold case, destined to lie on file for decades. It was the best solution for everyone and, with Baxter seemingly exiled abroad, no one could point the finger of suspicion at Leanne’s old man when he also went missing for a while. One of our lads cleaned up the mess and got rid of the body. He was a veteran of the firm and he didn’t say too much about it but he did confirm one thing; what he found there proved to him without doubt that every minute of the last five hours of Henry Baxter’s pathetic life was spent in unendurable agony.
36
We’d barely seen the back of one murder trial before we were embroiled in another, but this time I suspected the accused might not be guilty. I didn’t like Golden Boots, not many people did, but I didn’t have any great desire to see him banged up for life for a crime he hadn’t committed; having said that, I far preferred it to be him than me.
His barrister seemed to be struggling to combat the CPS case.
‘The prosecution is big on circumstantial evidence and the accused’s character, or lack of it,’ Susan Fitch had observed, ‘but they are weak on motive. He has to concentrate on that. As far as I can see they have yet to conclusively establish any kind of motive for the killing of Gemma Carlton and if they can show he had no reason to murder the girl then they are halfway there’.
She was right about one thing; when the trial started, the Prosecution tore straight into Golden Boots’ character.
‘Do you watch pornography on the internet?’ asked their barrister.
Golden Boots, wearing a suit and tie for possibly the first time in his life, shrugged, ‘Doesn’t everybody?’
‘But you watch a lot of it, don’t you?’
The footballer sniffed, ‘Not as much as you probably.’
That earned him a ticking off from the judge before the lawyer continued.
‘The police did a check on your internet history. They found a great deal of pornography. In fact I don’t think it is an exaggeration to say that was pretty much all they found.’
‘I like to play Angry Birds too,’ he smirked, ‘unless they got confused and thought that was a porn site.’ He laughed at his own weak joke, but nobody else did. The lawyer ignored him.
‘I appreciate that in these more liberal times it is not entirely uncommon for young, adult males to view porn online.’
‘You’re telling me,’ answered the footballer.
‘But not many would view the sites you look at for recreational purposes.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Girls being punished, adolescent girls being punished, schoolgirls being punished,’ the lawyer recited.
‘Oh, well yeah, but that’s bollocks isn’t it, they aren’t real schoolgirls and it’s all an act isn’t it? It’s just a bit of caning and naughty stuff before they get down to the real thing but it’s all basically harmless, you know, fake and that.’
The lawyer continued unabated, dispassionately rhyming off a list of extremely hardcore porn sites, ‘MILFs being punished, ex-girlfriends degraded, embarrassed girls stripped in public, real women groped in the street. Are they all basically harmless too?’
Golden Balls took a while to stammer an answer to that one. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you don’t always know what you are going to get when you land on those sites do you? And if you use porn, which I do, a lot, as you said, you get a bit desensitised to the vanilla stuff.’ I could see at least two members of the jury squinting their incomprehension at that phrase. ‘So, you know, you try a bit more specialist material.’
‘Yes, I see, and your specialist stuff all seems to revolve around the theme of women being tied up, punished and degraded doesn’t it? You don’t like women very much do you?’
‘Course I do. I’ve had loads of them.’ His joke was greeted with a stony silence in the courtroom.
‘Indeed,’ said the lawyer and something about the way he was taking his time made me realise he was saving the best bit till last. He didn’t disappoint. ‘And what about the rape videos?’
‘Eh?’ was all Golden Boots could respond with.
‘The rape videos,’ repeated the lawyer and you could have heard the proverbial pin drop at that point, ‘the ones you used a search engine to find — the nasty videos that aren’t on the more conventional pornographic sites. I have viewed one of those videos, one of the ones you downloaded for your personal pleasure and I have to say it was completely sickening. But I will allow you to answer me, so we can hear your side of things. You can tell us why you downloaded a video which contained fifteen minutes of a woman screaming and sobbing while she was stripped and raped by two men in her own home, while a third man videoed the whole thing.’
‘I saw that by accident,’ protested the Premiership’s finest.
‘You went on that site by accident?’
‘Yes!’
‘Seventeen times?’
‘Look, I don’t think it was real or anything. I reckon she was just acting. I reckon they was all acting in all of them videos.’
‘Really,’ the lawyer went on, ‘so you like to watch video footage of men pretending to rape women? Why ever would you do that?’
When Golden Boots finally answered he did so in a very small voice indeed, ‘It was just a laugh, that’s all. I never meant nothing by it.’
‘It was just a laugh?’ repeated the lawyer, ‘no further questions.’
Susan Fitch told me that Golden Boots had no real motive for killing Gemma Carlton. She’d said it was the big flaw in the Prosecution case, but their barrister never even bothered to counter that. He didn’t just admit there was little motive. The way he portrayed it, motive was meaningless when dealing with someone as disturbed as Golden Boots. ‘We may never reach an understanding of the motive of this spoilt footballer for this violent act,’ he told the jury. ‘Was he slighted in some way by the young girl he had slept with, then discarded, as if she was little more than a piece of meat? Had she flirted with a teammate and made him jealous, did she gossip about his bedroom performance, leaving him open to scorn or ridicule, did she fail to comply with some degraded sexual request? We may never know but it is enough for us to realise that here is a man who has been denied nothing since the day he first signed professional terms as a footballer. He thinks he can have anything he wants, whenever he wants it. It is the Prosecution case that Gemma Carlton, in some way, however slight, managed to annoy, offend or irritate a man with a long history of casual violence, often against women, to such a degree that she became the victim of an assault that led to her death. He even managed to retain the presence of mind to don gloves before carrying out this heinous act of strangulation on his innocent victim, driving her out into the woods and dumping her body as if it were refuse.’
After that little speech, I sensed that Golden Boots was irretrievably fucked.
37
I was as certain as I could be that Golden Boots was going to be convicted of the murder of Gemma Carlton. Everything stacked up; the evidence all pointed to him as the killer; he’d slept with her, she’d been rebuffed and slagged him off, he’d argued with her, she was seen at his party that night and the DNA proved she’d been driven out to the woods in one of his cars, either by him or someone who was protecting him. The presence of her purse and mobile phone in his house was the final piece of evidence in the Prosecution’s favour but, every time I thought about it, I kept feeling the whole thing was just a bit too easy.
I know I shouldn’t have cared. I was off the hook, but I was thinking like Austin now. I didn’t want the man who had done this to be walking around the streets of our city while the wrong guy did time for Gemma’s murder. I thought about it all for a while and suddenly remembered the CCTV footage of Gemma in Cachet with that other girl before they met Golden Boots. We’d never had a satisfactory explanation from Gemma’s best friend for her absence from the party on the night her flatmate died. Louise Green had said fuck all to the DC who’d interviewed her, according to Sharp, a
nd wasn’t very forthcoming when Kevin went to see her either, but I wondered if he had been asking her the right questions.
There was no particular reason why I found this whole thing unsatisfactory. I certainly had enough on my plate already but, like it or not, I was involved in Gemma Carlton’s case, which was probably why I found myself instinctively turning my car into the small street of terraced properties that housed the student digs Gemma had shared with Louise Green.
The girl who answered the door was not unattractive, but clearly thought she was. You could tell by the baggy sweater she wore, which did its best to disguise whatever curves she had. The leggings were shapeless too, like pyjama bottoms. She wasn’t much older than eighteen, but she looked like she’d given up already. Maybe it was the effect of sharing a flat with two very attractive girls like Gemma Carlton and Louise Green. She was telling the world she wasn’t interested in being pretty and girly, so there. She looked like the kind of lass who wrote long heart-felt poems late at night when she was alone but never showed them to anyone.
‘I’m here for a quick word with Louise,’ I told her and she turned away from me without a word, called her flatmate’s name up the stairs then left me standing on the doorstep.
Louise Green eventually padded down the stairs to greet me, a look of trepidation on her face. ‘What is it?’ she asked, before she stepped down off the bottom step.
‘I’d like a word if I may, about Gemma,’ I explained.
‘But I’ve already been through it all,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest defensively. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt but was still wearing full make-up, and her hair had been straightened. ‘Are you with the police?’
I didn’t confirm or deny it, I just said, in an authoritative voice, ‘I’ve been in the court all week. I just have some questions for you about the night Gemma died. Is it okay if I come in?’ and I crossed the threshold before she could reply.
‘Alright,’ she said doubtfully, ‘we can talk in my room.’ I guessed she didn’t want the mousy friend listening in, so I followed her up the stairs. She led me into a tiny room with a bed, a desk and a wardrobe, but not much else. There were piles of clothes on the bed, but little evidence of study.
‘I’ll make us a brew,’ she suggested, ‘tea or coffee?’
‘Tea’s fine, thanks; milk, no sugar.’
While she was gone I looked around the room, but there was nothing of any note. I walked over to the window and stared out at the rooftops. It was a grey day with ominous-looking clouds hovering. A moment later I heard the back door open and watched as Louise Green came out in a hurry. I noticed she had her coat on and she didn’t look as if she was putting the rubbish out. She dashed out through the back gate and was gone.
‘Fucking bitch,’ I said aloud and I turned to go after her, only to find the slight, mousy-looking girl waiting for me on the landing. She gazed at me intently.
‘You the police?’ she asked me, ‘or some sort of private eye?’
‘Private,’ I said. I should have knocked her out of the way and shot down the stairs after Louise Green but there was something about the way this girl was looking at me, with a combination of interest and nervous hesitancy, that made me wonder if I might actually get more out of her. She looked like she had something to say.
‘I’m David, by the way. My mates call me Davey,’ and I held out my hand to her. She shook it limply.
‘Theresa,’ she told me.
I smiled at her, ‘I popped round to ask your mate there a few questions but she went to put the kettle on and… well it looks like she isn’t coming back.’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ she said and I followed her down the stairs. ‘You won’t get anything out of Louise,’ Mousy told me, ‘she’s too scared.’
‘Scared of what?’
‘Taking the blame.’
‘What for?’
‘Everything she’s been up to with Gem,’ she looked like she couldn’t wait to twist the knife into the girl who ran out on me.
‘You mean the drugs?’ I offered.
She didn’t want to put it into words. ‘All of it; being out every night, not bothering with essays or studying, going to the clubs where the footballers hang out all the time, not coming home after, all of that.’
When we reached the cramped kitchen she took two clean mugs from a cupboard and made tea. We sat at a small table opposite one another.
‘Must have been lonely for you if they were never around.’
‘I didn’t care.’ And I realised I had the chance to exploit this girl’s loneliness and isolation.
‘So it was Louise leading Gemma astray then? Not the other way round, like some people are saying?’
‘Who’s been saying that? Gemma was really nice,’ she took a reflective sip of her tea, before adding, ‘at first.’
‘Until all Louise wanted to do was party.’
‘She just wants to get drunk and be with boys the whole time. I didn’t. I came here to get a degree. Gemma was the same to begin with but she only really moved out of her parents’ house because they were strict with her. They didn’t like her going out, always wanted her home early, you know.’ It sounded like the classic case of a girl who hadn’t been allowed to do much suddenly finding herself off the leash and not knowing when to stop. ‘And Louise can be so…’
‘Persuasive?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Theresa, ‘we all went out a few times but she has to get really hammered and I don’t like that.’
‘That’s understandable,’ I said, ‘particularly if you have lectures in the morning.’
‘Louise doesn’t do lectures.’
‘So Louise went out every night and persuaded Gemma to do the same thing.’
Theresa started mimicking Louise’s voice, ‘You’re only young once Gemma, don’t be so boring, live a little, life’s too short,’ and for a second she looked like she might cry, ‘that’s a laugh isn’t it? Life’s too short.’
‘Did they always go to the same spot?’
‘Pretty much,’ she said, ‘some club where they could get free drinks because Louise knew all the footballers. By know I mean shagged, obviously. She met them when she worked up at the football ground, handing out drinks to stupid businessmen in suits in corporate hospitality.’
I asked her if they went to parties at Golden Boots’ house and she confirmed they had done on several occasions.
‘They were bragging about it. “Trees”, she calls me Trees, I hate it. “Trees you should have been there, it was awesome, they drink champagne like it’s tap water,” but they all sounded like wankers to me.’
‘Did you tell the police that Louise was the one persuading Gemma to be out partying every night?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘They never asked me. They didn’t ask me anything.’
‘They didn’t speak to you about your flatmate’s murder?’ I found this pretty hard to believe.
‘The morning after the night Gemma was killed, I took a train home for the week to see mum and dad. I just assumed Gem had spent the night with her footballer. I didn’t even know she’d been killed because I wasn’t here. I read about it in the papers days later. If the police came round to speak to Louise while I was gone, she probably didn’t tell them about me. She wouldn’t want me talking to them.’
The DC who’d questioned Louise was a numpty. He should have realised there was a third girl in the house and gone back to talk to her but Theresa was probably correct, Louise had thrown him a curveball to avoid any inconvenient facts from coming out.
‘But you saw Gemma and Louise before you went home? That weekend I mean? You saw them going out on the town?’
‘Yes. They both went clubbing together on the Friday night but Gem went out on her own on Saturday. She wanted to go to that footballer’s party again but she didn’t want to take Louise.’
‘Why not?’
‘They had a row.’
&nbs
p; ‘What about?’
‘Some bloke, obviously. It’s always a bloke with Louise. Some famous guy was after Gem, the one who killed her I suppose. Louise got jealous so they had an argument. Gem wanted to see this guy again the next night but she didn’t want Louise to know about it. I caught her creeping out late at night.’
‘You saw her go?’
‘I was up late, planning an all-nighter. We’ve got exams,’ she sounded defensive, like she didn’t want me to think she’d been snooping on her flatmates. ‘I went down to the kitchen to make some tea and she was just going out.’
‘And she told you what she was up to?’
‘She told me not to make a noise in case Louise heard she was going out again. She was all dressed up.’
‘But she wasn’t going to the club? She was going straight to his house?’
She nodded, ‘She was excited about it. She said he must really like her because he was sending a driver.’
‘Yeah, they do that.’
‘When they want a girl?’
I nodded.
‘But it doesn’t mean anything, does it?’ she asked me, ‘not what Gemma thought anyway?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘He just wanted to use her and dump her, but she must have had a row with him and now she’s dead.’ She did start crying then, dabbing her eyes with a scrunched-up tissue.
The Dead db-3 Page 21
