Beyond Innocence

by Barrie Turner

  Bertram Carter stood at the side of his bed. He seemed a little nervous when he spoke, “Er, Hello Thompson. I hope you’re feeling a little better now, and, er, by the way, the doctor said you can only improve now although it’ll take a little time. I thought you might like to know that there’s a full scale enquiry under way in the prison and as soon as we find those responsible, you can rest assured we’ll throw the book at them. I don’t suppose you would have any idea yourself who was responsible would you?”

  Harry shook his head. It wasn’t a case that he genuinely didn’t know or he was afraid of saying who was responsible. Identifying his assailant would only add to his problems once he was back inside. Once back in the prison, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he came face-to-face with his attacker then it would be up to him to exact his own revenge. For the time being, in an effort to take the heat out of the incident, Harry insisted it was a complete accident, and that he had slipped on a bar of soap. He knew the governor wouldn’t fully accept this explanation but he was determined to stick with it, and nothing and nobody would encourage him to change his mind.

  Bertram Carter sighed as he realised that Harry was not going to assist him. Before terminating the interview, he asked him if there was anything he wanted or if he wished to see any specific visitors. In reply Harry asked if it would be possible to see Irene Yarwood, and the governor promised to assist, adding he would pass on the message as soon as possible.

  Irene reached her own office just as the telephone began to shriek its ugly sound. She quickly lifted the receiver. This time she was pleasantly surprised to find herself talking to Bertram Carter, the prison governor, and she readily agreed to his request to visit Harry that day. During the conversation, the governor told her about the attack on her client and sought her help in trying to get Harry to change his mind about identifying his assailant. En route to the prison, she wondered why she had received this summons, because under normal circumstances, this would have been something for Harry’s solicitor to handle but, she knew she would find out soon enough.

  When she arrived at the prison, the governor escorted her to the hospital wing where she could see Harry lying in bed. She broke the ice immediately by saying, “don’t bother to get up Harry.” She was rewarded instantly with a smile, possibly the largest smile she had ever seen upon his face, although that was hardly surprising considering his ordeal over the previous months.

  “I must say it’s nice to see you again. How are you feeling Harry and what on earth has been going on here?”

  Determined to stick to his story, Harry replied, “I had an accident in the shower block. I must have slipped on a piece of soap. The next thing I knew I’m in here. Now, everybody’s running round saying I’ve been attacked by another inmate, but I can assure you it wasn’t like that at all. I’m feeling much better now, and if I continue to make good progress then I should be moved back to the prison sick bay within the next week or so. That will be a lot better because at least I will be able to move around a bit. After that, it’ll be back to the old cell which brings me to the real point of your visit. Since this unfortunate accident, and whilst I’ve been lying here, I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said about getting my conviction quashed on the human rights issue and I’ve decided to go along with it. Lying here, in this state, has given me ample time for thought and I think you’re right. I should go for it because that’ll show everybody I have nothing to be afraid of, and I was not the guilty person. Therefore, if you’re still prepared to act for me on that basis, I’ll be very pleased to do as you say. I have to be perfectly honest and tell you that isn’t the only reason. The doctors have told me any type of fall, or another blow to the head, would probably be enough to finish me off. Therefore, I have to take advantage of every opportunity which comes my way. I also have to tell you, even if you are successful, I won’t ever stop trying to prove my innocence completely.”

  Irene was obviously pleased with this news, and she told Harry she was certain that he had made the correct decision. Then she outlined the progress the defence team were making in the Clarkson case. She deliberately stopped short of revealing anything connected to Timothy Harris preferring instead to confine her remarks to the false evidence given at the trial, and although she knew she couldn’t guarantee this would overturn the verdict, nevertheless she could see at once the effect this good news had on her client. She urged Harry to have a drastic rethink over his version of events in the shower block, but there was no way he would change his story. After a little light-hearted conversation, the meeting ended and she made her way quietly out of the room. Before leaving she made it known to Bertram Carter, that as far as she was concerned, this attack on Harry was no accident, and he and his staff had to make considerable improvements in the way they looked after, and protected, Harry Thompson whilst he was in their care.

  Now that Harry had changed his mind it pleased her no end because it made her job a little bit easier. She could devote all her energy to the task in hand which was to secure his release. She reached the car and swiftly seated herself and started the motor. The engine started effortlessly, and she drove slowly out of the car park heading back to the office for a meeting with Michael Mulrooney.

  The solicitor was already waiting for her when she arrived back and, from the look on his face, she could see something was giving him a little more than cause for concern. As she placed her briefcase beside her desk before sitting down, she asked apprehensively, “Come on Michael is it good news or bad?”

  He responded quickly saying, “Well, when I last spoke to you we were both a bit pleased because we thought we might get somewhere if we could appeal the cases individually. Even when we found that this wasn’t possible, it looked as though we might be in with a chance especially with Bridget Riley and Royston Chambers about to admit to giving perjured evidence. With Theresa O’Rourke willing to testify and, since she’d also been requested to testify to the same evidence as Bridget, it really did look as though we were going somewhere with this case but now there is this to contend with. With that he pushed a number of documents across the desk whilst continuing, “these came today from the Crown Prosecution team and, on the face of it, it looks as though we don’t have one chance in hell. According to this, the scientists at the forensic laboratory have come up with a method of obtaining DNA results from clothing. Until now, this was something which was not possible before. According to these documents, they’ve carried out tests on the clothing of Angela Clarkson and Diane Wilson, after which they compared the results with the sample from Harry Thompson. The result is, Bingo, it’s him. Of course if this is true, he’s run us round absolutely ragged and, to make matters worse, he’s known all along he was as guilty as sin.”

  For a moment, the news shattered Irene and she was completely lost for words. All she could do was read the contents of the correspondence over and over again, unable to believe the message it contained.

  Eventually she spoke, “Michael, this is indeed a body blow but it’s a good job that we have been given this information now, and that it’s not just been dropped on us when we arrived at court. We do have a little time to find our own forensic expert who may be able to contradict this evidence. He might be able to tell us that the tests have not been carried out properly. After all, it’s a new procedure and we may be able to cast sufficient doubt upon it. Then, with two of our three musketeers revoking their earlier evidence, we might still be in with a chance. The thing that bothers me about this though is if this is correct, only two things are possible. Either Harry had been with the Clarkson girl earlier or he actually is the killer. Really, I cannot believe it. All this time, all this effort and just when we think we are getting close something like this has to happen. I’ve just come from the prison Michael, and I’ve just seen Harry and although he’s recovering nicely from the attack that we discussed earlier, nevertheless, he’s still adamant he slipped on a piece of soap. That’s all I, and the prison authori
ties, can get out of him. However, as a direct result of the attack, he knows it’s in his own interests to get himself out of there as soon as possible, even if it means freedom on a technicality so to speak. On my way back here from prison I was feeling quite pleased thinking we might be going somewhere, and then you come up with this. Jesus Michael, whatever next, eh?”

  Michael breathed a heavy sigh as he replied, “Yes Irene I know. This is why I had to get round here straight away because I can’t believe it either. “Furthermore, I never thought I could ever be taken in by anybody like this, and I would have bet everything I have that our man was innocent.”

  Still grimacing, Michael remained unconvinced and continued, “I know we still have to go through the procedure but, quite frankly Irene, I’m sure it’s well nigh hopeless, and I reckon the press will have a field day when this gets out. However, for our sakes as well as Thompson’s, I’ll get my hands on the best forensic person I can locate. Meanwhile, in the forlorn hope that we might yet be granted a miracle, may I suggest we keep this to ourselves for the time being. That includes not even telling Thompson.”

  Irene had recovered from her surprise, and her brain was moving into overdrive as she snapped, “No Michael. I don’t agree. Please listen. We haven’t got much time so first I think you’d better contact the prosecution. Tell them we need samples providing for our own independent analysis. In the meantime, find me the best forensic expert in the country, or even Europe for that matter; somehow, we’ll have to dig up something ourselves on this. Meanwhile, I’ll go and see our man Thompson to have it out with him, and boy oh boy, he’d better come up with some answers. If I can get him to admit he was one of Clarkson’s clients, and she was still alive when he left her, we might be in with half a chance. On the other hand, he might possibly admit to some kind of necrophilia, or similar sexual act if he’d stumbled across her body before the alarm was raised. Either way, he won’t come out of it with any credit at all, but at the moment I do not see what else I can do. One thing’s certain however, the appeal will still go ahead because I’ll also try to get the judges to refuse to admit this new evidence.”

  She was in full flight now as she continued, “Remember Michael, at the trial, Judge Ewing made mincemeat of me over the fact there was no DNA sample involving the Clarkson case. He stopped me from even mentioning it as the crown were not going to introduce it in evidence. Therefore, if I can reverse the argument now, their lordships might just throw this new evidence out. Even so, I’ll go and visit Thompson to see if he’ll admit to any involvement, although when I confront him with this he’ll have a hard time denying it.”

  As the solicitor left her office, she looked again at the new evidence lying on the desk before her, thinking it was turning out to be a very bad day indeed. Totally unaware of what she was doing even, she gathered up the papers and made her way to the office of Sebastian Kreiff, the head of chambers. At the moment she felt an urgent need to confide in someone.

  Sebastian was kindness personified, and he sat back in his large leather armchair whilst he digested the information which Irene had just given him. He read the forensic report again, then, shaking his head replied, “Well Irene, this looks like bad news. Let’s face it, if you can’t shake their forensic expert and this evidence counts, it seems to me this is the end of the line for Harry Thompson. Obviously, I’m sure you’ll give this your best shot. I wouldn’t expect anything else but after this, if the cause is lost, I’d strongly urge you to put the case to bed. I’m sure we can find you plenty of other worthwhile causes in this practice. In the meantime, let me say, irrespective of the outcome of this case, in this practice we are all very proud of you and the way you have conducted this case. Let me tell you Irene, nobody else could have done any better and I really mean that. Remember this, in the case of Regina v Thompson, you took on a hopeless case. One that nobody else wanted to even look at and the odds were stacked hopelessly against you right from the beginning. I can assure you everyone in these chambers is extremely proud of you and your effort in this case.”

  Thus heartened, Irene Yarwood took her leave, and returned to her own office.

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  Theresa and Bridget were walking slowly along Rodney Street. Although it was almost midnight, they were both hopeful they would find another punter or two before they went home. They saw the sleek black car turn into Rodney Street, heading slowly towards them. As the driver switched his lights on and off quickly they knew one of them was in luck. With the car noticeably slowing down, Theresa walked quickly towards the door which the driver had already opened. She entered the vehicle and sat down. “Before closing the door, she said a swift goodnight to Bridget adding, “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow Bridey,” then the car sped rapidly away into the night. Bridget turned to watch the car disappear then she began to walk towards the traffic lights at the junction, determined to give her shift one last try before going home. At the bottom of the street she didn’t notice the car turn into Rodney Street, making its way silently towards her. As the vehicle drew alongside the driver spoke through the open window, “Hello Bridget, have you got time for a quick chat. This won’t take a minute and it is important.”

  Before venturing towards the car, Bridget looked up and down the street but it was still deserted, apart from her and the driver. Cautiously she moved towards the vehicle and spoke to Detective Sergeant West, “If you think you’re on for a quick jump or anything, you can think again you bent bastard.”

  “Bridget,” appealed the driver, “just come here. I’m trying to help you and there’s no need to get in the car if you don’t want to.”

  Despite recognising the voice, it was still a very nervous Bridget who moved towards the stationary car and enquired, “Well then, what is it you want, and make it bloody quick?”

  Sergeant West held out his hand through the open window and Bridget could see that his outstretched hand held an envelope. She took it quickly and opened it. In order to read the contents of the letter, she leaned through the open window. The letter was from The Chief Constable’s Office of the Merseyside Police, informing her she was not to be prosecuted for possession of an illegal substance and she was being let off with a caution.

  “How’s that for good news then Bridget?” enquired the detective. “I thought things got a little out of hand last time so I put in a good word for you and Theresa, and I persuaded those two rookie cops this was the best way forward under the circumstances. Don’t you agree?” Before she could answer, his hand was at her throat, and the electric windows started to push up, trapping her head with the top of the car door. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound, she felt the full force of a blow to the head with the hammer he had concealed beside him. With the windows slowly retracting and the door already open, he had her inert body in the car beside him in seconds. Then unseen by anybody he drove quickly away from the scene. As he drove, he muttered to the still figure beside him, “I’ll teach you to try and put the squeeze on me you little bloody tart. After tonight, you won’t be telling any bugger anything about me and you won’t ever be in a position to cause trouble for me either.” He knew he was wasting his breath, because, the girl was already dead but it made him feel better, and it gave him a complete sense of satisfaction. Driving along the deserted streets, heading towards Southport and the sand dunes at Ainsdale Beach, he began to relax as he whispered over and over to himself “Easy innit!”

  Chapter 22

  * * *

  It was another grey and miserable Tuesday morning when Michael Mulrooney arrived at his office. He was surprised to find Theresa O’Rourke waiting for him. Just one look at her extremely nervous state confirmed to him that something totally unexpected had occurred, because this certainly wasn’t the hard-bitten, streetwise prostitute he had recently got to know. He ushered the woman into his office and asked his secretary to put the kettle on. As they both sat down, he asked Theresa what was the nature o
f her visit.

  Even though she knew they were alone, she kept looking nervously around her before blurting out that Bridget Riley had disappeared.

  At once a dozen questions sprang to his mind and from his lips, but her answers were always the same. Yes she’d been there and she’d telephoned here, there, and everywhere but, as far as she was concerned, there was no trace of her friend whatsoever.

  “Mr. Mulrooney, what am I going to do now? You see I’m frightened for my own safety. I think it’s all something to do with this bloody murder case, and the fact we were going to give evidence against the police.” At this point she began to break down, and he realised she really did think her own life might be threatened.

  He poured out the tea, and began to talk quietly to her saying, “Come on Theresa, think hard. Tell me when you last saw her, and when did you plan to meet again. Also, do you think it’s possible she might have decided to take off for a couple of days without saying anything to anybody?”

  Theresa didn’t think long, or hard, she looked up at him and replied, “On Sunday night we were both on Rodney Street. It was getting late, but at the last minute I got a client which left Bridget alone. As it was getting late, she said she was going home and that was our signal. Whenever it’s getting late and one of us is alone, we make a point of going home leaving the one with the client to telephone afterwards to make sure everything’s all right. Later, well in the early hours of the morning, I telephoned Bridget to say all was well but there wasn’t any answer. I got up and dressed and I went round to her house but it was all locked up. My first reaction was to telephone you, but I decided to wait until today, just in case she turned up but there’s no trace of her. Mr. Mulrooney, what am I going to do now? You see I’m certain she’s been killed because it is so unlike her not to keep in touch.”