Beyond Innocence

by Barrie Turner

  However, Jim West did not take care of it and neither did his boss, as later that day events took a dramatic turn when Diane Wilson’s body surfaced at Chorley Wood near Preston.

  Chapter 7

  * * *

  Two divers from the Preston and District Sub Aqua Club found the body. They had entered the murky waters, and they had only got down twenty feet or so when one of them spotted the trailing rope and this led them to the parcel on the shelf. At first, they thought it might be drugs and that they had stumbled upon a huge haul. This prompted them to leave things as they were until the police arrived.

  Word spread quickly throughout the country and it wasn’t very long before detectives from Merseyside CID were making their way to the scene. With all sirens operating at full pitch, the convoy of cars sped up the motorway at speeds well in excess of the normal speed limit whilst another car was dispatched to collect Mr. and Mrs. Wilson who would be asked to identify the body.

  Accompanied by a trained police counsellor, the Wilsons made the painful journey to the mortuary at Preston where the body had been taken. Brenda, Diane’s mother, couldn’t face the ordeal and it was left to her husband to identify her.

  As John Wilson began to walk slowly to the doors at the entrance, his movement became distinctly laboured and, to those watching him, it was obvious that he must be absolutely dreading this terrifying ordeal. Brenda, his wife, watched with growing apprehension too as the officer accompanying him began to open the dark green doors in order to let him pass and it was at this moment, as she prepared herself for the inevitable, that she knew that all her fervent prayers were now in vain. As she felt her body tighten involuntarily, she somehow steeled herself for the inevitable sounds which she knew would be forthcoming as the sheet was drawn away from her daughter’s face and the shock and horror registered with her beloved husband. Despite this, and still hoping against hope, even she could not have prepared herself for what was to follow. As John Wilson disappeared through the dark green doors and, although Brenda Wilson was silently weeping uncontrollably, she was totally unprepared for the sound that followed. When it began it was almost inaudible as though it was emanating from below bowel depth and moving with agonising slowness through his body until, when it finally emerged, the howl of anguish chilled all within earshot as the finality of the all-embracing tide of death washed over all of those present.

  Distressed beyond belief, Brenda found it impossible now to express her own grief and release her inner torment, especially in the presence of strangers as she sank into the comforting arms of her husband. She endeavoured instead to attempt to share his burden whilst knowing only too well that together their suffering would now be never-ending. Before their tragic and tearful journey home began, they were both sedated and they listened in solemn silence as Inspector Taylor told them he wouldn’t rest until he, and his team, had their daughter’s killer safely locked up behind bars.

  Although still in a state of shock, John Wilson leaned forward in his seat and directing his anger directly to the Inspector said, “Well, I don’t think you’ll have very far to look, will you Inspector? Let’s face it, if I get my hands on Harry Thompson before you do, there won’t be any need for a bleeding trial. With that, John Wilson wound up the window and the car drove slowly out of the parking area to journey back to the Wirral at a much more sedate pace. Neither of the bereaved parents spoke much during their lonely ride back home. There wasn’t any need. They both knew the pain the other was feeling and they also knew that their world no longer existed. Furthermore, as far as they were both concerned, Harry Thompson was the biggest evil, lying bastard, on this earth.

  Inspector Taylor and Jim West made their way to their car. Before moving off, he checked with his own superiors that the total news blackout he had requested was being observed and that the men that he had asked for were on hand waiting in readiness to make an early arrest as soon as they got back. It wasn’t as if Detective Inspector Taylor was presuming Harry Thompson to be guilty. It was more of a case of keeping him secure and unharmed until the cause of Diane Wilson’s death had been established and the DNA samples analysed and compared. Once all this had been accomplished, he felt sure that Harry Thompson would end up inside for a very long period of time.

  Leaving the mortuary behind, Jim West was skilfully driving the car at speeds within the limits and now they were approaching Ellesmere Port. His boss was on the radio making sure that the men were ready. Receiving confirmation that all was to his satisfaction, Peter Taylor told his Sergeant to go straight to the home of Harry Thompson. In order to make Thompson’s arrest official, one of the other officers in attendance had secured the necessary warrant and Inspector Taylor didn’t anticipate any trouble or any members of the press to be in attendance.

  The cars drew up outside the front door of the neat little house in Eastham village and silently disgorged their human cargo of officers and men. Both men strode purposefully to the door at the front. No time for niceties now thought Jim West as he lifted up the knocker and launched a thunderous assault on the door. Inspector Taylor thought about asking him not to overdo it, but that hardly mattered for the door was beginning to open.

  As the door swung open, both men could see the frame of Harry Thompson in the doorway. They saw the smile on his face diminish as he saw the group of men assembled. Thrusting forward his ID card, Detective Inspector Taylor began. “Harry Marcus Thompson My name is Detective Inspector, Taylor, Merseyside Police. I have a Warrant for your arrest in connection with the death and disappearance, of Diane Wilson. You do not have to say anything at this stage but I must warn you that anything you do say may be used in evidence against you. I must now ask you to accompany my officers, and myself, to Bromborough police station where we will continue our enquiries.”

  With that Harry Thompson was led away to face another ordeal. When they arrived at the police station he was taken in by the rear entrance and, as a precaution, a blanket covered his head. He was then led upstairs to the interview room. Harry knew the predicament he was facing so he didn’t waste any time in requesting the presence of a solicitor. As instructed by Brian Donnelly, the solicitor who had come to assist him the last time, he made a specific request for Michael Mulrooney to attend. He also made his position crystal clear to the officers from the very beginning that he would not answer any questions until Michael Mulrooney, or his appointed representative, arrived irrespective of how long it took.

  It was late when Michael Mulrooney arrived and he was allowed immediate access to his client, Harry Thompson. Straight away he told Harry that he should only answer questions when he nodded and, whenever he didn’t nod, Harry was to remain silent and let him do the talking.

  All too soon the officers were back in the room and the interview began in earnest. Inspector Taylor switched on the tape recorder and began as follows.

  “We have arrested Harry Marcus Thompson on suspicion of causing the deaths of Diane Wilson and Angela Clarkson. This interview is being conducted by myself, Detective Inspector Peter Taylor, and Detective Sergeant West from the Merseyside Police Force. Also present are Harry Marcus Thompson and his solicitor, Michael Mulrooney. At this point the Inspector stopped for a moment and looked at his watch, then he continued, “The time is now seven fifty six pm, and, I would like to commence this interview with your affirmation that your name is Harry Marcus Thompson and that you are currently residing at 43 Eastham Village Road, Eastham, South Wirral.”

  Noting the nod from his solicitor, Harry confirmed that the officer’s statement was correct.

  “Can you confirm to us the last time you saw Miss Wilson and can you give us an accurate account of your subsequent movements covering the following twenty-four hours?”

  This time there was no nod, and, Michael Mulrooney answered, “Mr. Thompson has already given you a full statement concerning this matter, and he has instructed me to say that he has no reason to add to it at this stage.”

  And so it went on. As
each question was put to him his solicitor was there with the answer. The Inspector concluded matters by telling them that the interview would be adjourned until 9 am the following morning when there would be an application for a remand in custody whilst enquiries continued.

  Michael Mulrooney nodded his assent to this adding that the police had only 36 hours in which to conduct their enquiries, after which time, they would either have to release Harry, or charge him with murder. He also added that Harry was completely innocent of any charge and any custodial remand application would be vigorously resisted.

  The following day the remand hearing was held in the Magistrate’s Court and, Harry Thompson was formerly charged with the murders of Diane Wilson and Angela Clarkson. Following a two minute hearing he was remanded in custody to Walton Gaol for 28 days pending further police enquiries. Despite protests by his solicitor and, a not guilty plea, bail was refused and he was led to the cells below to await transport to the prison remand centre.

  Later that day, the two officers were discussing the case again over a pint of beer in a little country pub. They had received confirmation that Thompson’s DNA had proved a match but only to that obtained from Diane Wilson but they knew this was only to be expected in view of the fact that Thompson had freely admitted to having sex with Miss Wilson just before her disappearance. They also knew that this was the crux of the case against Thompson simply because as far as they had been able to ascertain, he was the last person to see her alive.

  The Clarkson case was very different though and much more circumstantial. Both men went over the details again together with a plan of procedure.

  The body had been found just a quarter of a mile from the Thompson home and that was too much of a coincidence as they considered it was far too close for comfort when considered along with the other aspects of the case.

  Thompson must have known the spot because he readily admitted to walking his dog in the vicinity of the golf course and the surrounding area.

  At an earlier interview, Thompson had also admitted walking with his girlfriend around the same area on a regular basis.

  Thompson had handed in a watch at Bromborough Police Station that he claimed to have found. When the actual spot was pointed out it was found to be less than sixty feet from where the body of Angela Clarkson lay. Although they did not have specific confirmation that this watch belonged to Clarkson, they were quite sure that, given time, events would prove that this was indeed the case.

  Thompson was known to drink in the local pubs and hotels in the area and, although he had been identified as being in the Roundhead Hotel on the night in question, nobody could confirm having seen him there with the Clarkson woman.

  The railway guard had come forward following the crime watch programme and volunteered the information that a well dressed young lady, who bore a strong resemblance to Clarkson, had boarded his train at the Bromborough Rake station late one evening around the time of her death. Subsequent examination of the CCTV footage revealed the presence of a man on the platform and, although the image caught on screen resembled Thompson, they were unable to obtain definite proof or, confirmation of this.

  “What do you think about it now then?” Jim asked his chief.

  Jim West didn’t take long to think about his reply.

  “Well Peter, I see it like this we have no DNA in this case so all we can do is build up the circumstantial case against him. First of all we treat the DNA in Clarkson as though it doesn’t exist. After all, if we don’t introduce it the defence cannot comment upon it. Then we devote all our efforts into tying the watch in with Clarkson. If we can show that Clarkson wore that watch, I think we are home and dry simply because it’s all too coincidental.”

  Inspector Taylor agreed adding, it was just a pity that they couldn’t get access to her last client but, given a decent break, they would get there in the end.

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Jim West had left his boss in his office and he was driving alone to Walton Gaol where he was going to interview Royston Chambers, an old lag whom he had put away many times before. He had telephoned the prison before he set out in order that Chambers could be informed of his impending visit and dwell upon the implications of it. Over the years Chambers had operated as a paid informer to the police and he was one of Jim West’s own snouts. This time however Chambers was in big trouble as it looked like he was going to go down for a long time on the aggravated assault and burglary charges he was facing. In the circumstances, Jim West reasoned, it might just be the right time to call in a few markers and, Roy Chambers fitted the bill nicely.

  Meanwhile, many miles away, a train was pulling slowly into Paddington Station. Today, Quentin Russell was not in his usual hurry to make his way to the Commons’ tea bar. Today he wanted to take his time in order that he could plan his strategy with the MP he was going to meet. Last night, he had received a tip- off, from one of his most impeccable sources that a member of the house might be implicated in the death of Angela Clarkson, a Liverpool prostitute, found murdered on the Wirral.

  Quentin Russell was seen by many of his colleagues as a political assassin but he always played the game fairly and squarely. He never pursued or persecuted anybody unfairly or without just cause or reason. He didn’t have to because his sources of information were always spot on. Some people said quite openly that he must have a mole within cabinet circles but he never gave anything away and preferred instead to leave his other political reporter colleagues floundering in his wake. It was academic to him anyway because he would never disclose his primary source even if he’d wanted to, due to the fact that he had never met her. He only knew her by the name she had chosen – Rose. In this instance, it was late last night when the call came on his mobile requesting him to contact one of his MP colleagues in order to ask him to put down a question in the House. In return for this, Quentin Russell knew that the Member would put down his question at Prime Minister’s question time. The question would be asked and, as a result, Quentin would have secured a political scoop for his paper. Furthermore, his political nose told him that this might well be a case that could run a long, long way. Who knows? He mused, it might even outrun the Profumo affair or, even the Stonehouse scandal.

  Now he was entering the tea-rooms and, he could see his appointed companion already seated. He quickly joined him and told him what he knew. Arrangements were put in place so that he would be advised the night before the question was to be asked, then the following morning his paper would publish an unsubstantiated claim that a Member of the House might have something to hide in connection with an ongoing murder enquiry. He quickly left his colleague in order to circulate swiftly around the room, having a quick word here, a quick word there, hearing all the latest gossip and, generally trying to see if there was anything further to be gained. It was very obvious from his roaming that, as usual, he was out on his own on this one but, as far as he was concerned, that was only to be expected as he already knew that his contact, Rose, was the best in the business.

  Although Rose and her information might be excellent, little did Quentin Russell know that in this instance, she would prove to be far too good for herself, himself and the paper’s editor! By the time this story concluded, there would be a lot of people cast by the wayside, unable to continue in their chosen field of employment. At the end of the day, Timothy Harris MP would have a lot to answer for.

  In Lancashire, Jim West was getting out of his car in the reserved parking area for special visitors to Walton Gaol. He patted his pocket to make sure he still had the watch in his possession which would form a crucial part of his investigations later in the day. Then he strode purposely forward to greet Alexander Fulton the Assistant Governor, who was waiting outside to greet him. He ushered Jim inside and escorted him to his office. Alec knew the purpose of Jim West’s visit and he made arrangements for Roy Chambers to be brought to the office where he intended to leave the two men alone in order that the detective sergeant c
ould endeavour to elicit the information he required safe from prying eyes and wagging tongues and ears. There was a slight knock on the door and in answer Jim West swiftly called out, “come in.” Roy Chambers immediately entered the room. A quick glance around the room told the hardened criminal he was alone with Jim West, Alec Fulton having left by an interconnecting door. Jim West motioned to Roy to sit down then he began.

  “Look Roy you don’t need me to spell it out for you this time but, I’ve got to tell you that I’ve already had a word on your behalf and my boss Peter Taylor is not prepared to give you a frigging inch. In fact, he’s quite adamant that when you get sent down this time, and you will get sent down, you will be looking at seven years at least. I’ve spent a lot of time arguing with him about how useful you’ve been in the past but he just will not listen to me. In some respects, I have to agree with him because you didn’t have to go on this last pissing job yourself. As you damn well know, you stupid bastard, you could have told us about it beforehand and then we could have picked you up the day before on something or other rather than simply lifting you and the others as we did at the scene. The difficulty I’m facing now, and this is how my chief sees it, you want to pick and choose which bleeding jobs you tell us about and, as far as he is concerned that just isn’t good enough. In a nutshell what he’s saying to both of us is, Roy Chambers, failed mobster, failed master criminal, has outlived his period of bleedin’ usefulness, and now that his sell-by date has expired, the pillock’s expendable. Jim West locked his fingers together and leaned forward across the wide desk in order to get a lot closer to his man. Looking the criminal straight in the eye he said, “I hope I am getting through to you, Roy. You do understand the seriousness of your position don’t you? I really have done my very best to help you but it’s really out of my hands now.”