After another affirmative nod from Bridget, the Sergeant began to make his way out of the rapidly emptying bar whispering “easy easy innit.” In his mind, he had already formulated his next move. Give her a couple of days, a week at the most and pull her in again then, like a knight in shining armour, he would come running to the rescue of a damsel in distress. No wonder this was easy. “Easy innit?” he whispered again under his breath.
Later that afternoon, Bridget Riley walked into Merseyside Police HQ in order to keep her appointment with Detective Inspector Peter Taylor to whom she then made her sworn statement, that before Angela Clarkson’s death she had seen Angela wearing the watch shown on the Crime watch TV Programme. She told the Inspector that she hadn’t volunteered this information earlier as she hadn’t seen the TV Programme when it was shown. As a result she failed to appreciate the relevance or the importance of her information. She also confirmed that she had seen the watch when Detective Inspector Taylor allowed her to identify it whilst she was giving her statement in the police station. During this interview she was able to positively state that it was the watch in question. Detective Inspector Peter Taylor couldn’t believe his luck as he took down this statement. He knew full well that somewhere along the line, Jim West must have had a hand in it but he wasn’t going to raise any awkward questions with his colleague at this or any other time. As far as he was concerned, this was just one of the breaks they so desperately needed in their efforts to bring criminals to justice.
Chapter 9
* * *
Three days had passed since Quentin Russell had spoken to his associate in the Commons tea bar and, when his mobile rang. He knew it would be the call he was expecting. He wasn’t disappointed. He was assured that the question would be asked in the House the next day and, by the end of the week, rumour and speculation would be rife following a denial by the Prime Minister himself. All Quentin needed to do was to ensure that he kept the pot simmering with a couple of paragraphs in his newspaper column until the time came to pounce.
At her home in Cheshire, Paula Harris was making afternoon tea for some of her friends from the ladies golf section and she too was wondering when something would be mentioned in the “House” about a certain and, as yet unnamed, MP.
Jim West was parking his car at Walton Gaol. He didn’t expect any results at all from this visit because this visit was merely to ensure he kept up the pressure on Royston Chambers in order to ensure that he got what he wanted when the time came. He was well aware Chambers would try to string him along by saying Thompson would not admit to anything, but, when Chambers realised that the chips were down, Jim West knew he would say almost anything that he wanted to hear. To Jim West, prisons were like hospitals or, even worse mortuaries, for they had a peculiar smell about them which always seemed to linger as a result of which, he always liked to get straight down to business in order to get away as fast as possible. Today would be no exception.
Once again he was taken inside by Alec Fulton and conducted to the same office. Within minutes Chambers appeared, and, from the look on his face, he was totally surprised to see his old adversary sitting in the assistant governor’s chair. The Detective Sergeant wasted no time at all in coming to the purpose of his visit. “How are you getting along with Thompson, Roy?” Is he talking to you yet, and, if he is, what’s he talking about?”
Chambers began to fidget and straightaway, Jim could tell from his nervous demeanour, that Chambers was quite unsure of himself let alone what he was going to say? Jim knew that he was going to say that he had nothing to report, but this did not bother him in the least. After a few moments’ silence however, Chambers finally summoned up sufficient courage to speak, “Look, Mr. West, I don’t think he’s going to say anything at all. I’m the only person he speaks to, and, although we knock about a bit during the day, each time I try to mention the subject he clams up tight or, he just says, “leave it. I’m not bloody guilty, and that’s it.” After that he goes back to his room sulking. So you see Mr. West, I don’t think he’s going to say anything.”
Jim West tried to look crestfallen and, even a little sad by this turn of events but it was the precise result he anticipated. Replying with as much sympathy in his voice as he could muster Jim said quietly, “Look Roy I know you’ve tried and I’ve taken on board what you’re saying but, it’s early days yet. Just keep chatting to the pillock and, I’m sure that he’ll come across before the trial. People like him always do. It’s like having toothache; it doesn’t go away until you get rid of it.” At this point Jim paused, he smiled at his old adversary trying to let him think that he, Chambers, was in control of this interview then he continued, “Anyway Roy, we both know that you’ve tried don’t we and that you’re going to keep on trying aren’t you? So Roy, I’ll pass that on to my boss at the nick. Mind you, I have to tell you that he won’t be very happy but, as I said I’ll tell him that you’ll keep Thompson matey and, you’ll stick at it but you must remember Roy without this, I can’t get my boss to do a bloody thing for you. You do understand that don’t you, Roy?”
Chambers was now only too anxious to terminate this interview. At the outset he was hoping against hope that Thompson’s reputed denials would get him off the hook and Jim West would then pull a few strings on his behalf but it was all too apparent that this was not going to be. Very reluctantly he whispered, “Alright Mr West, I understand, and you can rest assured that I’ll keep at it.” With that, he withdrew hastily from the room.
Jim West smiled broadly now as he watched Chambers exiting from the room, “Easy,” he murmured, “Easy innit?”
In the House of Commons after a splendid lunch, followed by a very generous brandy, Timothy Harris settled himself into his seat. He was all set for the PM to launch another scathing and blistering attack, on the Opposition because of their stalling and delaying tactics over the proposed revisions to the National Health Service Bill. After this there would be another PM’s Question Time during which he looked forward to the almost ritualistic and savage butchering of the Opposition Shadow PM who looked so much out of his depth on these occasions. Due to his outside business interests he had missed the morning session and he had also ensured that his mobile phone had remained switched off and locked safely away in his ministerial case. Following this, he and his associates had enjoyed an exquisite lunch, and because he’d dallied so long over it, he was completely unaware that his leader and the party whips had been trying to locate and question him before his return to the House and, most importantly, before PM’s question time but it was far too late for that now.
The House was silent as the Prime Minister strode up to the front bench. As he saw Timothy Harris, his face bore a look designed to kill, but it passed unnoticed especially by the errant MP and the rest of the house. As the afternoon’s business began it was as expected, the usual Government rout of the Opposition and today’s pantomime produced a real bellyful of laughs. Timothy, along with most of his colleagues, found himself wondering why on earth the Opposition didn’t ditch their leader as he was always so ineffective during these exchanges but then he thought that was their problem not his. Now it was time for questions with the Prime Minister.
The House was repeatedly called to order by the Speaker, Helen Little, but eventually the Members settled down in order to allow business to continue. There followed the usual run and gamut of self congratulatory questions which always showed off the Government at its very best and most efficient. The fact that it wasn’t didn’t matter in the slightest. This Government still had more than a working majority and it was equally true to say that if the Opposition were in power, things would carry on in just the same manner. Proceedings were looking up now that Denis Panter, one of the Opposition’s most effective trouble-makers was on his feet and Timothy began to take a renewed interest. Panter never minced his words. If he had a question to ask it would certainly be of some relevance and, it would probably be acutely embarrassing for the person involved.
As soon as he received the acknowledgement of the Speaker, he began, “Madam Speaker, Members of the House, is the Prime Minister aware of any involvement by a member of his Government with the murdered prostitute Angela Clarkson and, can he emphatically deny that no member of his Government is involved and, if there has been any involvement by this Member, will he assure the House that there will be no cover up and that all the details will be given to this House once his enquiries have been concluded? Furthermore, will the Prime Minister ensure that the Minister involved tenders his resignation along with an apology to the House for his conduct in this affair. That was it. Short, and swift and, very precise but, most importantly, straight to the point. As Denis Panter sat down there was absolute pandemonium in the House. Papers were flung in the air, there were cries of ‘name him’ and ‘resign’, above which, the Speaker strove manfully to bring some semblance of calm to the proceedings.
During this period of absolute mayhem, the Prime Minister had been on his feet for quite some time waiting for permission from the Speaker to reply and for some sign of order to be restored. As the noise subsided and he received the Speaker’s acknowledgement, he answered, “Until I received the question earlier today I can assure the Honourable Member that I, along with all the other Members of the House, had no knowledge of this whatsoever and, I can assure the gentleman that I will carry out a full investigation into this most serious allegation. Obviously, I will advise the House of the full results of that enquiry and I trust that the Honourable Member is satisfied with the answer given.”
Dennis Panter jumped to his feet and quickly acknowledged the answer given. There the session ended and, utter chaos reigned once more.
Timothy Harris could not believe what he had just heard. He knew he had to get out of the House fast and, he also realised, he had to seek an urgent meeting with his leader in order to issue a complete denial to the allegation. ‘Jesus Christ’ he told himself, ‘this was terrible news. How on earth had Panter got hold of that scoop? Bob, his brother-in-law had put that safely under wraps for him therefore, what on earth had gone wrong?’ The more he thought about it the angrier he became. Inside he was absolutely seething as the implications and the ramifications of that meddling prat Panter and his bloody stupid question rushed around in his brain. With his mind in utter turmoil, he knew one thing. He had to get his act together fast and, whether he liked it or not he knew he would have to see the PM tonight and issue a complete denial in time to catch the news. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he thought, ‘that’s another thing, the press; they’ll have a bloody field day over this.’
With his mind in such a whirl he realised he might be getting agitated and, worst of all, it might be beginning to show and that would never do. Pulling himself together and, in a determined effort to regain control, he told himself, he had got himself into this mess and, somehow, he’d get himself out of it but first, he would have to go and face the PM.
Before he could go anywhere he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It was the Chief Whip, telling him, in no uncertain manner, to get to the Prime Minister’s office without delay.
When he reached the office, he was surprised at the amount of body traffic going in and out. Then it dawned on him that all the people involved were MPs from Liverpool, Warrington, The Wirral, and Chester. From this he assumed correctly that his leader was interviewing anyone who might have been in the area at the material time. Seeing and realising this, he began to calm down. He breathed a little easier thinking that this might mean no positive identification details had been made known. This also meant it was unlikely the source had come from Robert or one of his officers in the Merseyside force. In the end, though, this began to bother him because, by ruling out all the obvious choices, it only left somebody at the hotel or the restaurant. There and then Timothy decided, once this interview was over he’d telephone Rogerson, at the hotel in order to ask a few discreet questions of his own. Jesus, there he went again, before he did anything else after seeing the PM he’d better telephone his wife. This was bound to be a feature on the evening news and it had probably been shown on the Question Time show on television that afternoon. Once again he felt the jitters returning but there was no time to think about anything else as he was ushered into the “office.”
Initially the PM was brutal. He was taking it out on Timothy because he was the member of the constituency where the crime had taken place. Because the PM knew in advance that the question was coming, he had wanted to see Timothy before question time in order to confer about it, rather than be caught on the hop. Eventually, his anger subsided as Timothy assured him that although he was in his constituency and, in the area at the time, his movements were accounted for. “Furthermore,” he added, growing a little in confidence, “if you want to check further ask the Home Secretary’s office to check with the Chief Constable Merseyside CID. You see, I was interviewed at the time but this was because I was in the area and I had booked into a local hotel after holding a surgery. Now it is possible that this, er, this er, prostitute visited the hotel maybe she called in for a drink, who knows? I certainly don’t because I never met her. The lies were flowing glibly now and his confidence increased as he added, “In fact I’ve just remembered, I spent the rest of the evening having a couple of drinks with Paul Rogerson, the assistant manager. We watched the football on the television then, when it was over, he locked up whilst I went to bed. After listening intently, the Prime Minister announced that he would check Timothy’s story along with all the other possibilities and explanations he had received in order to show he had conducted an inquiry and, that the allegations were groundless. He went on to say that he would be seeking an apology and a complete retraction from the Member concerned who had made the allegation.
No longer sweating and in a much calmer state, Timothy left the office and telephoned home. He was feeling much more comfortable within himself and, as a consequence, he was able to talk to Paula much more freely about the events of the day, including the panic and pandemonium which had been caused in the House. He assured her, despite what she had seen on television, it was nothing more than a storm in a teacup, to be followed by a statement by the Prime Minister demanding a complete retraction by Denis Panter together with a full apology to the House.
As Paula Harris replaced the receiver on the hook she couldn’t take it in. She shook her head in utter disbelief as she wondered, how the hell does he do it? How the bloody hell does he get away with it? Every bloody time he wriggles off the hook but I’ll nail him yet, I really will, she promised herself.
Elsewhere the newspaper presses were beginning to roll. They would all carry the story but, the early editions were far too late, apart from those controlled by Quentin Russell’s employers.
Quentin Russell was seated with his editor looking over the first proof. Once again the editor had had to admit that wherever he got his stories from, there was no question about it, Quentin Russell was without doubt the best. Not just the best but, the best, by a very long way. Yet again, he had left the Opposition miles behind and that’s why he was paid such a fabulous sum but he was worth every penny.
On the Wirral, a car driven by Michael Mulrooney was slowly making its way to Walton Gaol. He was not alone because this time, he was accompanied by another man Trevor Bailey QC. He was the man empowered with the job of securing the release from prison of Harry Marcus Thompson and, from what he had heard of the case so far, he did not particularly relish the prospect. To him this job was just another case with a nice fee at the end of it. Secure a not guilty verdict if possible but don’t go overboard on it because, the word was already about that Thompson was a psychopath and that he should really be in a secure place. Given half a chance that’s where Trevor Bailey intended to place him.
Ch
apter 10
* * *
As Michael Mulrooney and Trevor Bailey entered the gaol, they were shown into a small, dark dank room where the interview was to be conducted. A solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling stained almost brown with the constant nicotine from the everlasting supply of cigarettes and tobacco, which had obviously been consumed there. Paint was peeling from the walls and the only furniture to be seen was a small table with four chairs arranged untidily around it in the middle of the floor. The sound of the door opening heralded the arrival of Harry Thompson and both men stood in readiness for the introductions conducted by the solicitor.
Michael extended his hand to Harry saying, “Nice to see you again Harry, I’ve brought along Trevor Bailey; he’s going to be your defence QC. I’ve worked with Trevor before on a number of cases and they don’t come much better I can assure you. As a matter of fact, I think we have been very fortunate to secure his services so let’s get straight down to business.” After Harry shaking hands with Trevor Bailey they all sat down and the meeting began.
Trevor Bailey began speaking whilst taking his papers, together with his notes from his brief case. “Mr. Thompson”, he began. That was as far as he got, as Harry interrupted him saying, “Please call me Harry.”
Pretending not to hear, his QC. began again, “ Mr. Thompson.”
Harry interrupted him again saying rather angrily this time, “Mr. Bailey, Trevor, I asked you to call me Harry. It might not seem anything to you but I’m cooped up in this stinking cesspit all day long. I appear to be in trouble right up to my bleeding neck and, at this moment in time, it seems to me that I don’t have a friend in the world. Please cut out all the crap and try to be a little bit friendlier by saving all the official lawyer bit for the courts.”
Beyond Innocence Page 7
