Murder Club

by Mark Pearson

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You said you could recognise the man again, from what you saw of him through that Scout-hut window?’

  ‘Yes, I would.’

  Selena Carrow nodded and paused for a moment. ‘Can you look around this room then, please, and tell the court if you can see him here.’

  Stephanie Hewson slowly looked around the courtroom, at the accused, at the visitors’ gallery, at the jury and finally at Jack Delaney. She looked at him for about three seconds, studying him, and then turned back to the lawyer.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t see the man who attacked me.’

  26.

  THERE WAS UPROAR in the courtroom. The judge had to bang her gavel several times to get order restored. Selena Carrow was about to speak, but the judge motioned her to silence.

  ‘Sit down, please, Miss Carrow,’ she said, then turned to the woman in the witness box.

  ‘Miss Hewson, you do understand you are on oath?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Mr Robinson was arrested and charged and brought to court, largely based on the identification you made of him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You picked him out of a police line-up. How were you able to do that, if he was not the man that you saw through the window of the Scout hut?’

  ‘Because I had seen a photo of him, Your Honour.’

  ‘When did you see the photo?’

  ‘Before the line-up took place.’

  ‘Days before the line-up, weeks?’

  ‘It was less than an hour.’

  Murmurs ran around the court once more, and yet again the judge gave a couple of sharp raps with her gavel. ‘And who showed you this photo of Michael Robinson?’ she asked.

  ‘He did,’ said Stephanie Hewson and pointed at the visitors’ gallery. ‘Detective Inspector Jack Delaney showed me the photo.’

  27.

  DI JACK DELANEY took a sip of his pint of Guinness and looked at his watch.

  He was sitting at the bar in the Viaduct Tavern on the corner of Newgate Street and Giltspur Street, right opposite the Old Bailey. He took another sip and smiled approvingly at the barmaid; it was a Fuller’s pub and they kept their beer well.

  ‘So what’s new and different then, Lily?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  Delaney pointed to her polo shirt with her name printed on it.

  ‘Keep forgetting about that. Only started yesterday.’

  ‘Well, you’re doing a magnificent job!’ He flashed her a smile and she smiled back, a tad embarrassed, and went off to serve another customer.

  Delaney put his beer glass neatly on a London Pride coaster and looked around the bar. It wasn’t the first time he had been there and as sure as Shinola wouldn’t be the last, he figured. Fighting for the cause of justice was thirsty work after all, and the tall lady on the dome of the building across the road was famous for turning a blind eye. The Viaduct Tavern had been built in 1869, the selfsame year that Her Britannic Majesty Queen Victoria had opened the Holborn Viaduct opposite, after which it had been named. The world’s first flyover connecting Holborn to Newgate Street over the River Fleet, which likewise gave its name to the famous street of shame nearby. A river that fittingly enough had become a sewer by the eighteenth century and was now the largest of London’s subterranean rivers. Subsumed as London grew. The Viaduct Tavern was a reverse Tardis of a pub, smaller on the inside than the large, curved frontage on the outside would suggest. But it kept its Victorian origins proudly evident. A square-shaped wooden and canopied bar in the centre of the room, with silvered and gilt mirrors on the wall and original art.

  Delaney liked it.

  A stool was moved beside him and DS Diane Campbell sat on it. She gestured to the barmaid. ‘Large vodka and slimline tonic, please.’

  ‘Cheers, Lily,’ said Delaney and smiled at her again.

  ‘Lily?’ said Diane and looked at him.

  ‘She’s got her name printed on her polo shirt.’

  ‘Hard for a man like you not to notice a thing like that.’

  ‘As a trained and experienced detective, you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking more of as a committed lecher.’

  Delaney held up his hands. ‘I’m a reformed man, Diane. There’s only one woman in my life now. Two, if you count my daughter.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Kate is a lovely woman.’

  ‘So she is.’

  ‘And she’s been through enough.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Delaney’s eyes darkened, remembering how close he had been to losing her, and sipped his Guinness.

  Diane picked up her change from the barmaid and took a sip of her vodka too.

  She looked back up at Delaney for a moment or two and then jerked her head backwards in the direction of the Old Bailey. ‘Well, that certainly didn’t go according to plan.’

  ‘No. Seems someone had rewritten the script.’

  ‘A clusterfuck in fact, as our ex-colonial cousins across the pond would have it.’

  ‘I take it Napier is not pleased?’

  ‘I would go so far as to say Superintendent George Napier would quite like to have your balls removed with a rusty pair of secateurs and fed to his pet dog.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had a dog?’

  ‘Small one.’

  ‘Figures.’

  ‘So what Stephanie Hewson said in court – you showed her a photograph of Michael Robinson just prior to the line-up?’

  Delaney shrugged. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Diane took a contemplative sip of her drink. ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘It was a while ago, Diane.’

  ‘I know. We had to wait until the man’s bones healed.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You remember that then?’

  ‘I had nothing personal against the man.’

  ‘You had everything personal against any man who hurt women, Jack. You still do.’

  ‘I’m not a vigilante.’

  ‘No – what you are is a pain in the bloody arse.’

  Delaney winked at her. ‘Nice arse, though!’

  ‘This one is out of my ability to control.’

  ‘What I figured.’

  ‘There’s going to be an investigation.’

  Delaney shrugged. ‘I’m on holiday after Christmas anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, Jack. Not really the point here.’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘You’re going to lose your job over this, if it isn’t sorted. Napier will see to that. The official interview is for Monday afternoon. So you have the weekend to get your facts straight.’

  ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.’

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Losing my job.’

  ‘Really? What would Kate think? What with a baby on the way and all?’

  ‘Kind of my point. This job is toxic, Diane. This whole city is toxic.’

  ‘No, it’s not. People are toxic, Jack. Some of them. That’s why we do the job we do.’

  ‘Sanitation engineers?’

  ‘About that.’

  ‘I can’t remember what happened that morning, Diane. But I am pretty sure Eddie Bonner covered for me. I didn’t get in until just before the line-up.’

  ‘Jesus, Delaney!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘The CPS knew that, this would never even have made it to court.’

  ‘The man is guilty, boss.’

  Diane Campbell shook her head, disgusted. ‘Eddie-fucking-Bonner!’

  Sergeant Eddie Bonner had been Jack Delaney’s partner for a while. Up until the time he tried to kill him, that is. Bonner had been involved in serious and criminal corruption within the force, working with Kate Walker’s uncle, a senior police figure now in jail awaiting trial for murder, attempted murder and child-rape charges, amongst others. Delaney was getting close to exposing him, and Bonner, who wasn’t involved in the child crimes, changed horses mid-gallop. He
was going to give Delaney information to help put Walker away. He didn’t get the chance to, for Bonner was killed in a hit arranged by Walker, and Delaney was nearly taken out too.

  ‘Bonner may well have shown her a photo – I wouldn’t put it past him, but I doubt it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She could have said Bonner showed her the photo, if in fact he ever did. But she didn’t; she said I did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. But Michael Robinson called me this morning. He seemed very upbeat.’

  ‘Jesus, Jack! You didn’t think a little detail like that was important enough to mention it to me?’

  ‘I’m mentioning it now.’

  Diane took a healthy glug of her vodka. ‘What the fuck was that sick flake calling you for?’

  ‘He mentioned Kate and Siobhan, Diane. And the baby on the way.’

  Diane gestured to the barmaid. ‘Can we get some more drinks over here, and make mine a large one,’ she said and turned back to Delaney. ‘You want a whiskey with that?’

  ‘No. I’m okay with this, thanks,’ he gestured at his half-finished glass of Guinness.

  ‘You reckon he was making some kind of threat?’

  ‘That was my understanding. Plus he seemed confident about the court case. Almost as if he knew Stephanie Hewson was going to recant on her testimony.’

  ‘What did he actually say?’

  ‘Just that. He knew he was getting off.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Somebody got to the woman. Someone has been in contact with him. Watching me. Intimidating her.’

  ‘He had a partner?’

  ‘He has a partner. Maybe not that night. But yeah. There’s two of them.’

  ‘He’s definitely guilty, Jack? He did rape and slice the woman?’

  ‘Stephanie picked him out, Diane. I saw her when she did it. She wasn’t faking it. And what would be the motive?’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We go over everything again.’

  ‘Something you might have missed?’ she asked, taking the glass from the barmaid and swallowing at least half the contents.

  ‘There’s two of them, Diane. Stephanie Hewson wasn’t the first. I’d bet my mortgage on it.’

  ‘They are going to turn over every stone in your career, Jack.’

  ‘Of course they will. But it’s bureaucracy, Diane. Red tape. We haven’t got time for that.’

  ‘Okay. You’ve got the weekend. I’ll try and stall things as best I can.’

  ‘Napier won’t like it.’

  ‘Napier can kiss my arse.’

  ‘He might enjoy that.’

  Diane looked at him coolly for a moment or two and then nodded. ‘Just don’t fuck me over on this, Jack. Nail the sick son of a bitch!’

  ‘Boss.’

  Diane tossed back the remains of her drink and headed to the door. Delaney grinned at the barmaid. ‘Be an absolute darling, Lily. And give me a shot of Jameson’s, will you?’

  The barmaid placed the shot glass in front of him and he looked at it for a long moment. A woman came up the bar and sat next to him. She had a tumble of auburn hair framing a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were big and blue. As she turned to Delaney, she had a smile on her face that could have melted frozen tundra.

  ‘Are you going to drink that whiskey or just look at it?’ she said.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Delaney replied.

  ‘Could go either way?’

  ‘Life’s a lot like that. Sometimes the small decisions help you make some big ones.’

  ‘And have you got a big decision to make?’

  ‘Seems like my life is full of big decisions,’ Delaney said and smiled back at her.

  ‘My name’s Kimberley Gold,’ she said.

  ‘Hello Kimberley, my name’s Jack Delaney.’

  ‘And don’t you shake a lady by the hand when you meet one?’

  ‘I’m married,’ he said and held his hand out.

  Kimberley looked at his open hand for a moment and then slapped an envelope in it. ‘And you’re served, Jack Delaney!’ she said, got off her stool and walked out.

  Jack watched her leave, then put the envelope on the bar counter and looked at his whiskey. Then he stood up, picked up the envelope and headed out himself. Leaving the whiskey untouched.

  28.

  KATE WALKER WAS seated at her desk drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper when there was a quick knock on her door and Laura Chilvers stuck her head round.

  ‘Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Sure, come in.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Kate looked at her. ‘What’s up? You look terrible.’

  ‘I feel terrible.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  She held her hands out – they were raw. Streaks of blood dried on her fingers, her knuckles puffy and swollen. Split.

  ‘Dear God, Laura, what’s happened? Have you been attacked?’

  ‘Like I said, I don’t know, Kate. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Let me clean that up for you.’

  ‘No!’ said Laura sharply and drew her hands back, clasping them together and holding them on her lap. ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘I think I was raped.’

  Kate looked for a moment too stunned to say anything, remembering the trauma she had gone through when she thought she had been raped. Only she hadn’t.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m sorry.’

  ‘The thing is, I can’t remember what happened last night. I’m okay up to a point and then it goes hazy.’

  ‘You think you might have been drugged?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was at a club. I had some drinks. Took some other stuff.’

  ‘Laura!’

  ‘Yeah, I know, I know. I should have known better! I’m a doctor. But if every doctor who took drugs was fired today, there would be queues at every health centre stretching for miles.’

  ‘I know – sorry. I wasn’t judging you.’

  And Kate wasn’t. She recalled again the time she thought she had been raped. She had had a big argument with Jack and had got herself completely plastered at The Holly Bush in Hampstead. Drowned her sorrows, as they say, in a small pond of vodka. She had allowed herself to be chatted up by a smooth Delaney lookalike. Dark curly hair, handsome, full of charm. Except that was where the similarities ended. His charm was as false as the smile on a double-glazing salesman’s face. He was a children’s doctor and she thought she could trust him, only she couldn’t. She let him stay in her bed and was convinced he had raped her. Only he hadn’t, and was playing sick mind-games with her. Delaney had busted him on the nose, and she wished he had done more than that.

  ‘I know what it’s like to lose control, Laura,’ she said.

  ‘I had things … I don’t know, I couldn’t deal with them, Kate. I wanted to be in a different place. I was stupid.’

  ‘Whatever happened, it isn’t your fault.’

  ‘That’s just it, though. It is my fault. All of it. I deserve this.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.’

  Laura wiped the sleeve of her overcoat across her eyes. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You’ll need your rape-kit.’

  29.

  JACK DELANEY STOOD by the side of the ditch watching as ‘Bowlalong’ Bowman, the forensic pathologist, and his team worked on uncovering the body. A protective marquee had been erected over the site. It had stopped snowing, but judging by the heavy sky overhead, it wouldn’t be long before it started again.

  The skeleton had nearly been fully uncovered, and rags still clung to part of the body, bits of a suit by the looks of it. The rest had decomposed over the years that the body had lain there. The skull had been broken in several places and what looked like a book lay under the skeleton’s right arm
.

  ‘You want to talk me through it?’ said Delaney, putting an unlit cigarette into his mouth.

  Derek ‘Bowlalong’ Bowman looked up at the detective. He was a large, portly, cheerful man. His hair, as ever, was a tangled mass of grey curls, his dress sense equally scruffy, although he was now encased in a white forensic examination suit. ‘Hello, Jack. Didn’t expect to see you here. I’d have thought Napier would have had you on a convict ship to the colonies by now. Hard labour under the Australian sun.’

  ‘If he had his way, he probably would,’ Delaney agreed. ‘Some minor details to sort out first. Things have to be investigated thoroughly after all – innocent before being found guilty, and all that kind of malarkey.’

  The large man smiled. ‘I know you’re a stickler for due process yourself.’

  ‘Famous for it.’

  ‘I take it you didn’t show the woman in question the photograph of Robinson?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that might be awkward. No clear recollection?’

  Delaney shook his head. ‘I certainly don’t remember doing that, no.’

  ‘Lost-weekend kind of thing.’

  Delaney nodded drily. ‘Sometimes a little longer.’

  ‘The man was guilty, though?’

  ‘And now he’s walked free. But not for long.’

  ‘Best tread careful, Jack.’

  ‘My middle name.’

  ‘Really, I thought it was Daniel.’

  Delaney gestured at the skeleton. ‘Our friend here a John or a Jane?’

  ‘Definitely male. Probably somewhere in his fifties.’

  ‘Can you tell how long he’s been in there?’

  ‘Bowlalong’ shrugged. ‘Not recent – the best I can do for you. For now at least.’

  ‘They look like old bones. Might have been moved here, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The clothing has decomposed, you can see it in the soil. We’ll do some tests, but the bone alignment, the clothing … I’d say this was the original site of burial.’

  ‘But you can’t say when.’

  ‘Bones react differently with different soil. Acids, alkalis, chemicals.’ He waggled his hands. ‘All manner of things either preserve or speed up the decaying process. I’ll know more when Lorraine and I get him back to the office.’