by Trevor Negus
‘I take it you’re referring to your daughter?’
A flash of anger passed momentarily across Jamieson’s eyes. ‘Don’t beat around the bush, Detective. What you mean is the death of my daughter.’
Danny spoke softly. ‘How did that tragedy happen?’
‘I never speak about this, and I don’t want to now. Move on, or I’m out of here.’
Danny said, ‘I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child. I’m genuinely sorry for your loss. Without going into the details of what happened to your daughter, what I need to know is, how did it affect you personally?’
Sam Jamieson leaned forward and stared at the surface of the desk. Without making eye contact, he said quietly, ‘I was crushed. Broken. I felt like I’d been snapped in half, like a dry twig. On the day I was told the news, I could barely breathe. I couldn’t move from my bunk. It was as though a heavy weight was crushing down on my chest.’
‘What stopped that intensity of pain?’
‘I had to be strong for the funeral. The prison chaplain visited me every day and helped me through the blackest of days.’
‘And after the funeral, how were you then?’
‘Raging.’
‘Explain what you mean, Sam. How did that rage manifest itself?’
Hearing Danny refer to him by his Christian name, Sam Jamieson looked up from the desk and made eye contact with Danny. He stared into his eyes for a full minute, the silence gradually enveloping the room, causing an oppressive atmosphere.
Danny held his gaze.
Finally, Jamieson said, ‘Honest answer, I wanted to kill somebody. Anybody. I didn’t care who. Anybody who crossed me, be it screw or con, I would lash out and cause as much damage and pain as I could.’
‘How long did that rage and anger last?’
‘Six long months.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘I suddenly realised that I could either spend my life raging against the system or use it to my advantage. I know it’s a cliché, but I had reached a crossroads. One road would lead me to a painful destruction; the other to a brighter future. I used education to ease my pain. I achieved a degree; I’m now doing my master’s, and I’ll easily find work when I qualify. I’ve moved on. Well, if you bastards ever let me, I’ll have moved on.’
Danny picked up the pinboard from the floor. ‘Tell me about this. Why the obsession over Mulberry Chambers and Rebecca Whitchurch?’
‘I’m writing a thesis on wrongful convictions. Specifically, what the driving forces are within the legal system that make them possible.’
‘Why Mulberry?’
‘It’s a Nottingham-based law firm, and I’m studying at Nottingham Trent University.’
‘Rebecca Whitchurch?’
‘She’s the main subject of my thesis. I’m writing from my own experiences. I was railroaded into a long custodial sentence by a barrister using the legal system for her own advancement and not for justice.’
‘Is that what you think Rebecca Whitchurch did?’
‘It’s what I know she did.’
‘And her actions cost you everything?’
‘Yes.’
‘Including the life of your only child.’
Jamieson’s eyes betrayed that flash of anger again. ‘Yes!’
‘Do you blame Rebecca Whitchurch for the death of your daughter?’
There was a long silence.
Jamieson was struggling to both control his temper and find the right response.
His eyes narrowed. He hissed, ‘That woman was responsible for sending an innocent man to prison. By doing that, she ensured that man wasn’t there to safeguard his only child when he needed to be. Do I blame her? Yes, I do.’
‘Is it hatred, Sam?’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Do you want revenge for your daughter?’
‘Revenge is a strange word to use, Detective. How about justice?’
‘Have you ever threatened Rebecca Whitchurch?’
Danny saw the slight change of expression on Sam Jamieson’s face, and he knew he had struck a chord.
He could see Jamieson was thinking carefully. His answer when it came was obviously considered. He said quietly, ‘My feelings towards Rebecca Whitchurch have changed over time. When my daughter died, I wasn’t thinking straight or behaving rationally. My prison record at that time illustrates this. I was in a very dark place. I lashed out verbally as well as physically.’
‘Did you ever threaten to physically harm Rebecca Whitchurch?’
‘I wrote to her at Mulberry Chambers, I remember that. I can’t remember making any specific threats.’
A silence filled the interview room.
70
7.35pm, 16 October 1986
Central Police Station, Nottingham
Sam knew the letter had contained some very explicit references to the physical violence he wanted to mete out to Rebecca Whitchurch. He waited for the next question, knowing those specific threats would now be raised.
The detective asked, ‘Why did you write to Whitchurch at all?’
Sam was shocked at the ambiguous, weak question. He quickly realised that the only reason the detective hadn’t gone into detail was because he hadn’t seen the content of the letter. In fact, where was the letter? Why wasn’t the detective proudly waving it around to prove his theory?
He asked, ‘If you can show me the letter, I’m sure it will jog my memory. It’ll help me understand what I was thinking at the time.’
‘I don’t have the letter with me.’
Sam thought to himself, You haven’t got it at all, have you?
Feeling more confident, he decided to test the detective. He said, ‘I don’t recall there being anything in the letter that was specifically aimed at Rebecca Whitchurch. I was just ranting about barristers in general. It was all part of my behavioural problems back then. I don’t feel anything like that now. I’m using my personal experiences to get on in life, that’s all.’
Having said his piece, he sat back. He would soon know if the detectives had the letter or not.
After a pause, the frustrated detective picked up the fluorescent green training shoes. ‘I take it these are yours?’
Sam allowed a small smile to form on his lips; he now knew for certain that they didn’t have the letter.
‘Yes, they’re mine.’
‘Are you a keen runner?’
‘I run whenever I can. After being locked up in a cell for seven years, I find the freedom running brings both exhilarating and therapeutic.’
‘Where do you run?’
‘I generally run through Mapperley Park. It’s quiet, not too much traffic, and I like the hills.’
‘Do you run in Mapperley Park because you know that’s where Rebecca Whitchurch lives?’
Sam remembered he had pictures of the Whitchurch house on the pinboard. He could see where the detective’s questions were leading. He said, ‘I knew she had a house up there, but that’s not the reason I run there.’
‘Where were you on the afternoon of October the second?’
‘I would have been travelling home from the university.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘My last lecture finished at three thirty in the afternoon. It was raining heavily, so I would have got home about three-quarters of an hour later, at four fifteen, give or take five minutes.’
‘Can anyone verify what time you got home?’
‘No. I didn’t see any of the other tenants when I got home.’
‘What transport do you have?’
‘I’ve got a Suzuki 125cc motorcycle at the moment. It’s all I can afford. It’s rained every day since I bought it. I hate the bloody thing.’
‘Can you drive a car?’
‘Yes, I can drive.’
‘Do you have access to a car?’
‘No, or I wouldn’t have been getting soaked every day. Are we nearly done?’
‘Are you in any way involved
in the disappearance of Emily Whitchurch?’
‘Of course I’m not. Whatever I feel about Rebecca Whitchurch, I would never harm a child. After what happened to my own little girl, could you ever see me harming a child?’
The detective sergeant said, ‘Even the child of the person who, in your mind, is responsible for the death of your own?’
Sam almost spat his reply. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m not even going to dignify that question with an answer. It’s a disgusting suggestion. What I will say is this: Maybe you should be looking closer to home for this girl.’
The sergeant sat back, allowing the other detective to take over. ‘Go on.’
‘Look, as you know, I’m a keen runner. I run whenever I get the chance, day or night.’
The detective leaned back in his chair and allowed the silence to urge him to say more.
Sam knew what the detective was doing, but continued anyway. ‘The other night, I was running through Mapperley Park near to where the Whitchurches live. It was quite late, and the roads were empty. Anyway, I saw a car pull up on Richmond Drive. There were two people in the car, a man and a woman. As soon as the car stopped, they began kissing. Proper snogging, not just a peck on the cheek.’
The sergeant interrupted again. ‘So now you’re a peeping Tom?’
Sam retorted angrily, ‘Do you want to hear this or not?’
The other detective said calmly, ‘What’s so special about a couple kissing in a car?’
‘The man in the passenger seat was Dominic Whitchurch, and the woman driving the car was definitely not his wife.’
‘What sort of car was it?’
‘It was a dark-coloured Volvo. I did make a mental note of the number plate, but I’d forgotten it by the time I got home. It was quite a new model, though. So, you see, Detective. Everything isn’t perfect in the Whitchurch house.’
The detective was thoughtful for a minute; then he said, ‘Thanks for your cooperation today, Sam. I’ll arrange a ride home for you. We may need to speak to you again soon, so don’t go anywhere.’
Sam said, ‘I’m halfway through my master’s; I’m not going anywhere.’
‘One last thing, Sam. I truly am very sorry for your loss.’
‘Me too, Chief Inspector. Me too.’
71
8.00am, 17 October 1986
MCIU Offices, Mansfield, Nottinghamshire
Danny walked into the MCIU offices and was pleased to see both his detective inspectors already there. They were drinking coffee and holding an animated conversation with Andy Wills, Glen Lorimar and Rachel Moore. They were robustly discussing various aspects of their enquiries.
Danny grabbed a coffee himself, then sat down in the main office with his staff.
He turned to Rob Buxton and said, ‘I know you told me last night it was a dead end, but how exactly did the Fletcher enquiry pan out?’
Rob put his coffee down. ‘I went with Glen to Mulberry Chambers and obtained statements from Sebastien Dawson and Felicity Spencer. We found out from Dawson which hotel Fletcher is staying in while he’s working the case at Manchester Crown Court. We drove up there and spoke to Fletcher at his hotel in the evening. He was extremely cooperative. He has given us a strong alibi for the afternoon and evening of the second of October, the day Emily Whitchurch went missing. We intend driving over to Fiskerton this morning to check his alibi and make sure it’s legit. He admitted making the comments about the Whitchurch girl to the secretary. He said he was pissed and just trying to impress her. He admitted it was crass and a stupid thing to do. He definitely doesn’t like Rebecca Whitchurch, though. He told us that there’s blatant favouritism shown to Rebecca and Dominic when it comes to allocation of briefs. From what he was telling us last night, it seems that the Whitchurches are despised by most of the other barristers working at Mulberry Chambers.’
Rob glanced at Glen Lorimar and continued. ‘We spoke at length about Fletcher and what he’d said on the drive back from Manchester. We were of the same opinion, and that hasn’t changed after sleeping on it. As I said last night, we both think it’s another dead-end, boss.’
‘Okay, Rob. Good work tracking him down so quickly. I still want his alibi checked out this morning, though.’
‘We’re on it.’
‘While you’re all here, Andy and I can tell you how we got on with Sam Jamieson yesterday. I made the decision not to arrest him. He came to the nick with us voluntarily and cooperated fully, answering all questions. He spoke openly about how he still thinks he was stitched up by Rebecca Whitchurch when he was convicted of the robbery offence. It’s plain to see that he loathes the woman, and that despite what he told us last night, he still blames her for his daughter’s death. He’s an intelligent man and was very switched on during the interview. He very quickly picked up on the fact that we didn’t have the threatening letter that he’d written to Whitchurch from the Armley jail. He’s definitely no stranger to police procedures and tactics. He was very careful how he chose the words of his responses to our questions.’
Andy said, ‘I totally agree. It was obvious he knew we hadn’t seen the content of that letter for ourselves. He was almost grinning. His reaction makes me think that there would have been a lot of incriminating stuff in that letter.’
Danny said, ‘I agree with that assessment. Anyway, we haven’t got the evidence to connect Jamieson in any way to Emily Whitchurch’s disappearance. I still think he’s one to watch. We shouldn’t rule him out completely. He needs to remain on our radar.’
Rob said, ‘Didn’t you find anything from the search of the flat?’
Danny replied, ‘Nothing of any note. There was a lot of stuff in there about Rebecca Whitchurch. The problem is, he’s currently working on a thesis about her, so he could easily explain that away. The only positive thing that came out of the interview was something he told us about Dominic Whitchurch. He claims to have seen Dominic locked in a passionate embrace with a woman in a dark-coloured Volvo while it was parked up just down the road from the Whitchurch house in Mapperley Park. According to him, that woman was definitely not Rebecca Whitchurch. Andy, I need you to follow that up today.’
Andy said, ‘I’m putting a call into the Special Operations Unit this morning. I want them to check all the observation logs they have from Richmond Drive. Hopefully, if what Jamieson is telling us is true, they will have seen this Volvo. I’m also hopeful they’ll have a full registration number for the vehicle. So we should be able to locate this mystery woman pretty quickly.’
Danny said, ‘Keep me posted.’
He then turned to Brian. ‘Have you made any inroads on that other enquiry we spoke about?’
Brian said, ‘I’m going with Rachel to Nottingham Trent University this morning. We’ve got an appointment with the professor who’s currently mapping the cave systems beneath Nottingham. I’m hoping he’s already completed the area around Forest Road East.’
‘That’s good. Again, keep me posted, please. I’ll be interested to hear what he’s got to say. I’m having an admin day today. I’ve got a stack of paperwork to catch up on, so I’ll speak to you when you get back from your enquiries.’
72
11.00am, 17 October 1986
Nottingham Trent University, Goldsmith Street, Nottingham
There was nowhere to park outside the Newton Building on Goldsmith Street. Brian and Rachel left the CID car in the rear car park at Central Police Station and made the short walk to Goldsmith Street.
Brian had brought an old golf umbrella with him, and the two detectives huddled together beneath it, trying to shield themselves from the heavy rain that continued to fall.
As they walked, they discussed what they hoped to get from the meeting with the professor.
Rachel said, ‘Did Professor Temple say much on the telephone yesterday?’
‘Only that he was an extremely busy man, and that the only window he had was for this morning at eleven o’clock.’
‘What did he soun
d like?’
‘Honestly? He sounded arrogant and a little too full of his own self-importance for my liking. He’s a world-renowned expert on caves and all things subterranean, so I suppose he should feel important.’
Brian winked at Rachel, and she laughed. ‘What are you like, boss?’
Brian grinned and said, ‘Seriously, I always knew there were caves beneath this city, but I’ve got no idea where they are, what they’re like, how big they are. I just want to find out everything I can this morning, and see if my theory is feasible, that’s all.’
‘Your theory being that Emily wasn’t snatched and taken away; she was just hidden from view? That she’s still somewhere in the area where she went missing?’
‘Do you think I’m mad, Rachel? I can take the truth.’
Rachel laughed. ‘I think you’re barking at the moon, boss.’
She paused, stopped smiling and said, ‘Of course not. I think we’ll both know more in about an hour. That’s the Newton Building over there.’
The two detectives walked into the white stone monolith that was the Newton Building. It towered above the surrounding buildings, an enduring testament to the art deco style so popular in the mid-1950s.
Brian approached the main reception area and spoke to the elderly woman behind the desk. ‘My name’s Hopkirk. I’ve an appointment with Professor Temple at eleven o’clock.’
The receptionist smiled and glanced at the huge notepad in front of her. ‘Ah, yes. Here you are.’ She indicated an area of seating near the entrance doors and said, ‘Take a seat over there, please. His assistant will be down to collect you presently.’
Brian smiled and said, ‘Thank you.’
As they walked across the foyer to the seats, Brian said, ‘I think I’ll introduce you as my assistant. It’s only fair, if the professor’s got one.’
Rachel chuckled and said, ‘You bloody well needn’t bother.’
