by Luke Delaney
He pushed himself away from the door and headed for where he’d returned the clothes he’d worn that terrible morning – the boiler suit hidden in plain sight amongst the other items on the rack, the balaclava and gloves stuffed back in the boxes he took them from. He’d assumed they would remain there until they were thrown out or incinerated to make room for new props. The revolver too he’d planned to leave where it lay until it was no longer needed, after which it would have been broken down and disposed of. The perfect place to hide the tools of murder – right under everyone’s noses, but where they would never think to look. But now Corrigan’s little speech had changed his mind. He couldn’t risk any of the things Corrigan had suggested coming to fruition and needed to dispose of them permanently. The worst that could happen would be that the old man who ran the props store would think he’d mislaid the items himself, or that someone had taken them as souvenirs of some show they been involved in – hardly a matter that would ever be reported to the police. And he’d be able to sleep at night knowing the evidence that could hang him had been destroyed – at least he would do once the nightmares stopped.
He found the boiler suit he’d used, checking the number written on the inside label to ensure it was the right one, stuffing it into the plastic bag he pulled from his pocket. He did the same with the balaclava and gloves, and headed over to the firearms section – his eyes constantly scanning the room, his ears straining to hear any noise.
It didn’t take long to find the revolver, lying on the bench exactly where he’d left it. He reached out for it, but suddenly stopped – an overwhelming feeling of trepidation freezing him in mid-motion, as if touching the gun would somehow seal his fate. In the silence of the basement he could hear nothing but the beating of his own heart and it scared him more than anything else had ever scared him in his entire life. Every muscle and sinew in his body shivered as he pushed his hand through his fear and seized the gun, reassuring himself that he was still suffering from of the strange sickness that had overtaken him since he took a life, that any sense of premonition he thought he was having was just another symptom of that illness. He thrust the gun into the same bag, hiding it under the clothing, and made his way quickly to the door that would lead him back into the main staircase.
From there he would head up to his third-floor office, place the bag in his briefcase, dress in his coat and head for the lifts that would take him to the lobby where he’d wave politely to the receptionists and security before making his way to his car and home. He’d park his car in the garage overnight, leaving the items locked in the boot, so as not to attract the attention of his wife or children. In the morning, once his wife was at work and his children at school, he planned to fire up their large wood burner and incinerate the clothing, although he’d have to remove the zip from the ashes for further disposal. The gun too he planned to burn. He knew it wouldn’t destroy the metal, but at least it would obliterate any DNA or fingerprints. He’d decided not to throw it in the Thames as he’d first planned – too many prying eyes and CCTV cameras – but there was a park not too far away that had a large, deep lake. After the fire had done its job, he would pay a visit to the park with the zip and gun wrapped in a neat cloth parcel, ready for permanent disposal. If by some fantastic stroke of luck they were ever found in the future, so what? They could never be tied to him or even the murder of Sue Evans.
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the stairwell. Suddenly, the bag was snatched away from him and he was pushed against the wall – a strong hand keeping him pinned firmly in place. The blood and air drained from his body, leaving him almost incapable of even the most basic thought. When his eyes were again capable of focusing he saw Corrigan let the plastic bag he was holding fall open as he peered inside. As he tried to recover the nausea hit him so badly he thought he was going to vomit. He tried to speak, but no words would form. He saw Corrigan’s lips moving, but in his state of shock he couldn’t hear what was being said to him. A few seconds later the basement door opened once more and Benton joined them in the stairwell nodding enthusiastically at Corrigan. Finally his hearing returned enough for him to understand what they were saying.
‘Oscar Stokes,’ Corrigan told him. ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Sue Evans. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention anything when questioned that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say can be used as evidence. Do you understand?’
All he could do was nod that he did and murmur a barely audible ‘Yes.’
***
Sean pressed the start button on the double-tape recording machine and filled the room with the usual high-pitched sound warning them to get ready for the imminent interview. As soon as the awful noise stopped he began.
‘This interview is being tape-recorded. It’s being conducted in the interview room at Southwark Police Station on Wednesday 5th November 2004. I am DS Sean Corrigan and the other officer present is …’
‘DC Zack Benton,’ he said for the benefit of the tape.
‘I am interviewing … could you give your full name please,’ Sean instructed Stokes who leaned forward towards the tape machine. Experienced criminals just sat back and tried to relax.
‘Oscar Stokes,’ he said meekly into the machine.
‘You don’t have to lean forward,’ Sean advised him. ‘The tape will pick up anything you say anyway.’
‘Oh,’ Stokes replied. ‘Sorry.’
‘The other person present is …’ Sean looked at the businesslike woman in her mid-thirties sitting next to Stokes, her wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail revealing her rather angular face and brown eyes.
‘Victoria Ashley-Smith, solicitor from Harding, Ingram and Pickers Solicitors.’
‘Oscar,’ Sean continued, ‘you are still under caution – that is to say you don’t have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention something when questioned that you rely on in court. Anything you do say can be given as evidence. Do you understand the caution?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, straining to speak.
‘You have the right to free and independent legal advice, and your solicitor is present.
‘If you want a private consultation with your solicitor at any time just say so and we’ll stop the interview so you can do that. Okay?’
‘Yes,’ Stokes nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Right,’ Sean took a breath and mentally prepared himself for the duel that was about to follow. Stokes may have come across as a broken man with no fight left in him, but anyone who could steel themselves to take another life was always an opponent to respect. ‘Oscar – do you know why you’ve been arrested?’
‘Yes. For the murder of Sue Evans,’ he replied.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ Sean asked, clearly throwing Stokes who was no doubt expecting a more straightforward round of questions and answers.
‘I …,’ he began to answer before stopping himself. ‘No comment.’
So this was his plan – take his brief’s advice and answer everything no comment. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble,’ Sean tried to knock him out of his silence. ‘You know that don’t you?’
‘No comment,’ Stokes stood firm.
‘You knew Sue Evans, right?’
‘No comment.’
‘How long had you known her for?’
‘No comment.’
‘You told me before it was at least five or six years?’
‘No comment.’
Sean didn’t want to allow him to settle into a pattern of no comment answers. ‘You worked with her for quite a while on a TV show?’
‘No comment.’
‘Were you also having a relationship with her?’
‘I …’ Stokes said before checking himself. ‘No comment.’
‘Any sort of relationship at all?’
‘No comment.’
Sean leaned back in his chair and sighed, making sure Stok
es and his solicitor noticed it. He spread his arms before continuing. ‘If you choose to answer all my questions with no comment, then that’s fine. It’s your right. But you should know that I don’t really need to interview you. I’m merely doing it to give you the chance to explain what happened – if indeed you can explain. You see, I know you killed her and the items you had in the plastic bag and the very place you were when you were arrested are completely damning. If there’s any possible excuse – any possible reason for you to have those items and be in that location, then here and now is the place to explain it.’ He leaned forward, fixing Stokes in his sight. ‘Well?’
Stokes shook his head – his mouth was opening and closing, but no words came out. Eventually his solicitor came to his rescue. ‘Have the items in the bag been forensically examined yet?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Sean admitted.
‘Then although we concede they were in my client’s possession at the time of his arrest, you can’t prove he knew what was in the bag, or that he’d touched any of the items inside, or indeed that the items are in any way connected to the murder of Sue Evans.’
‘Technically you’re right about the second point,’ Sean answered casually, ‘but as DC Benton here saw Oscar put the items in the bag from his concealed vantage point in the basement, I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble proving he knew what was in there. And I’ve already spoken to forensic ballistics and they’re almost one hundred per cent sure they’ll be able to match the gun to the bullet that killed her. The barrel may not have been rifled, but it left enough unique striation marks on the bullet to make a definitive match. As for the clothing, we’ve always got an excellent chance of getting DNA from that – a small amount of saliva or a hair left in the balaclava, pieces of skin left in the suit and gloves. If you’re relying on there being no forensic evidence then I’m pretty damn sure you’ll be disappointed. What do you think Oscar? D’you think we’ll find something of you on the revolver or clothing?’
‘No comment,’ Stokes answered, shuffling in his chair, his lips pale and his eyes bloodshot.
‘Because I reckon you didn’t bother to check,’ Sean explained, ‘because you never thought we’d look. Hide everything in plain sight, right? No one would ever think to look in the props department – or so you thought.’
‘No comment.’
‘And you would have been in one hell of a hurry to strip off the suit and other clothing,’ Sean pressed, ‘and join the growing crowd in the lobby – just another concerned member of staff. Even if you’d thought of it, you wouldn’t have had time to remove any forensic evidence – would you?’
‘No comment.’
‘Although perhaps you can answer this,’ Sean kept going. ‘Was it always your plan to recover the items at a later time and get rid of them permanently or did you intend to leave them there until they were chucked out or destroyed?’
‘No comment,’ Stokes shook his head, the questions beginning to break through.
‘One last joke on the victim – on Sue Evans?’
‘None of this is a joke,’ Stokes muttered mournfully.
‘You must have really hated her to not just kill her but to laugh at her too,’ Sean attacked.
‘I think we’re going a little too far now, Sergeant,’ Ashley-Smith intervened. ‘Perhaps you could keep the questioning to matters of fact – not hypothesis.’
‘Fine,’ Sean relented with an unpleasant smile. ‘Then here’s a question of fact – have you fired a gun recently or been in close proximity to firearms being discharged by someone else?’
‘No comment.’
‘Have you had a shower or bath since the shooting of Sue Evans, Oscar?’ Stokes shook his head, his eyes squinting with suspicion as he looked to his solicitor for advice.
‘I don’t see the relevance of the question,’ she argued.
‘It’s a simple enough question,’ Sean replied, ‘and its relevance will become clear.’
‘Yes,’ Stokes replied. ‘Of course I have.’
‘I must remind you of my advice to answer all questions with no comment,’ Ashley-Smith tried to stop him.
‘Then I hope the water was almost too hot to bear,’ Sean further confused them, ‘and that you had at least several of them – scrubbing your skin raw with a brush and strong soap. And that you did the same to your hair and that you cleaned deep, deep inside your nostrils and ears, because if you didn’t … we’ll find firearms residue in or on your body. That stuff sticks around forever. Can be damn difficult to explain.’
Stokes sighed. ‘No comment.’
‘My client doesn’t have to explain anything,’ Ashley-Smith defended him, ‘because as of yet you haven’t found any firearms residue or any forensic evidence.’
‘Your solicitor’s right,’ Sean agreed, looking only at Stokes, ‘but the law’s changed these last few years. You can’t just sit there and answer “no comment” then concoct a story to get around the forensic evidence when you eventually see what was found. If you’re an innocent man and you have an explanation for the facts stacking up against you, then you need to say what it is here and now. You understood the caution – yes?’
‘No … no comment,’ Stokes struggled on.
‘Fine,’ Sean sat back. ‘Have it your way. All this talk of forensics and firearms – it’s not really the heart of the matter anyway, is it?’ Stokes cocked his head to one side as he eyed Sean. ‘The real point is … why? Why did you kill Sue Evans?’
‘No comment,’ Stokes answered and looked at the top of the desk.
‘It wasn’t over money,’ Sean deliberated. ‘You weren’t family or business partners and I’m pretty sure you’re don’t work as a hit man on the side – so why?’
‘No comment,’ he answered swallowing hard.
‘You’re a married man – is that correct?’
‘No comment.’
‘With children?’
‘No comment.’
‘When we spoke before you said you had children – yes?’
‘No comment.’
‘You were having an affair with Sue Evans, weren’t you?’ Sean pushed, ‘And you wanted to end it, but she threatened to tell your wife and destroy your nice comfortable family life.’
‘No. No,’ Stokes insisted.
Sean leaned forward. ‘You know what – I believe you,’ he told him, making Stokes recoil with suspicion. ‘That wouldn’t have been enough to drive you to murder. It was more than that wasn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
‘I watched the videos of you working together – watched you go from colleagues to something much more and then become nothing to each other … or at least I saw you become nothing to her.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Stokes finally fought back.
‘Sure I do,’ Sean smiled. ‘That must have really hurt, the way she used you up and spat you out. Did you beg her not to end it – promise to leave your wife and kids for her?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘I think it was,’ Sean told him. ‘I think it was exactly like that. And if that wasn’t enough, after she dismissed you, her career went from strength to strength, while yours faded away to nothing.’
‘I told you,’ Stokes argued, ‘it was my choice to step away from the front of the camera, to concentrate on …’
‘To concentrate on writing, yeah sure,’ Sean interrupted. ‘Why be a well-paid celebrity – picture in the papers, best seat in the restaurant, adoring fans – when you could be a nobody stuck in a side office being ignored? Of course it was your idea.’ He smiled sarcastically. ‘Did she put a word in with the studio directors – ask them to sack you from the show? Was it because of her they lost faith in you and never gave you another show? That must have burnt you up.’
‘This is all just … just …’
‘You must have been insane with jealousy,’ Sean accused him.
‘Is that a question or a statement?’ Ashley-Smi
th asked.
‘Did you imagine the two of you as the perfect celebrity couple?’ Sean ignored her. ‘All you had to do was quietly leave your wife and children and you and she could have been together. Only she had different ideas – use you for a while and then move on – on to the next.’
‘You don’t know what she could be like,’ Stokes snarled for the first time. ‘No one knows what she could be like.’
‘But she knew what you could be like,’ Sean told him, ‘and it scared her – scared her enough to end your little fling.’
‘She could be such a … such a bitch,’ Stokes spat the words out.
‘I should remind you of my advice to answer no comment,’ Ashley-Smith tried to silence him.
‘Maybe she was,’ Sean played along with him, ‘but you were still so jealous of her that you couldn’t even stand her having a friendly relationship with one of her male fans – Ruben Thurlby – so you made her report him to the police for stalking, even though he’d done nothing wrong. But she did it anyway – not out of fear of him, but out of fear of you.’
‘He was a pest,’ Stokes said with disgust. ‘Always hanging around her home, outside the studio.’
‘You mean he was getting in the way of your relationship?’ Sean explained. ‘If he started seeing you together it would only be a matter of time before he worked out what was going on, which wouldn’t have bothered you, but it did her. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she was having a serious relationship with you. How many times did she cancel one of your liaisons because Thurlby was hanging around?’ Stokes began to chew on his bottom lip. ‘Too many eh? So you came up with the plan to get him out of the way, but then she dumped you anyway. I think she knew you might be a threat, but she underestimated just how dangerous you could be, didn’t she? And when you couldn’t take it anymore you remembered Thurlby – the perfect suspect. Who wouldn’t blame him for her murder – dressed in his combat gear, his obvious mental health issues, hanging around her all the time? You thought you could get away with murder – the perfect murder.’
